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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
SEVENTH EDITION.
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BRITANNICA
DICTIONARY
OF s
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.
SEVENTH EDITION,
WITH PRELIMINARY DISSERTATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF THE SCIENCES,
AND
OTHER EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS;
INCLUDING THE LATE SUPPLEMENT.
A GENERAL INDEX,
AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
VOLUME XV.
THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA
OR
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH;
M.DCCC.XLIL
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
M E Y
Meyahoon j^/i’EYAHOON, a town of the Burman dominions, ex-
|| IVJL tending about two miles along the western margin
Meynn- 0f ^ xrrawaddy, and glittering at a distance with gilded
' v spires. It has also many spacious convents. The vicinity
is uncommonly productive in rice, of which large stores are
kept here ready to be transported to any part of the empire
where a scarcity occurs. Long. 95. 8. E. Lat. 18. 19. N.
MEYWAR, a very extensive district of Hindustan, in
the province of Ajmeer, situated principally between the
25th and 26th degrees of north latitude, and occasionally
named Chitore and Odeypoor. The general surface is
hilly, but not mountainous, although it abounds in natu¬
rally strong positions. The productions of this territory
are wheat, rice, sugar, barley, and other grains; besides
which it has a good breed of camels and horses. The
principal manufactures are matchlocks, swords, and cotton
cloth. The principal towns are Odeypoor, Shapoorah, and
Bilarah. The district is at present possessed by numerous
petty rajpoot chiefs, who live in perpetual hostility with
each other.
MEYRINGEN, a town of Switzerland, which, on ac¬
count of its natural beauties, is visited by most persons
who, to gratify their taste for picturesque scenery, visit
that country. It is situated in the vale of Hosli, in the
upper part of the canton of Berne. It stands on a moun¬
tain 1950 feet above the level of the sea, and is surrounded
by the snow-covered pinnacles of the neighbouring hills.
The town, though so high, is situated in a rich and well-
cultivated valley, into which there are some of the most
lofty and copious waterfalls from the surrounding heights.
The most remarkable of these cascades is the Reichen-
bach, which forms seven successive falls, the first of which
is the largest, being 300 feet in height; it falls into a basin,
into which the sun rarely penetrates, and, when seen from
below, exhibits, about noon, in fine weather, some surpris¬
ing rainbows. The town itself contains only 650 inhabi¬
tants ; but there are two large hotels generally well filled
with strangers during the summer months. The whole
valley and parish contain 4490 souls, whose chief occupa¬
tion consists in making butter and cheese, their cows being
nearly 4000 in number.
VOL. xv.
M E Z
MEZERAI, Francois Eudes de, a celebrated French M&serai.
historian, the son of Isaac Eudes, a surgeon, was born atv'—‘'v'—^
Rye, in Lower Normandy, in 1610, and took the surname
of Mezerai, from a hamlet near Rye. Having completed
his studies at Caen, he discovered a strong inclination to
poetry ; but on proceeding to Paris, he was advised by
one of his friends to apply himself to the study of politics
and history, and procured the place of commissary at war,
which he held during two campaigns. He then shut him¬
self up in the college of St Barbe, in the midst of books
and manuscripts; and, in 1643, published the first volume
of the History of France, in folio. Some years afterwards,
the other two volumes also appeared. In that work Me¬
zerai surpassed all who had written the history of France
before him, and was rewarded by the king with a pension
of four thousand livres. In 1668 he published an Abridg¬
ment of his History of France, in three volumes quarto,
which was well received by the public ; but as he inserted
in that work the origin of most of the taxes, with very free
reflections, M. Colbert complained of it, upon which Me¬
zerai promised to correct what he had done in a second
edition. As his corrections, however, amounted rather to
palliations than changes or retractations, the minister caused
half of his pension to be suppressed. Mezerai complained
of this in very severe terms, but the only answer he obtain¬
ed was the suppression of the other half. Annoyed at this
treatment, he resolved to write on subjects which could
not expose him to such disappointments, and composed
his treatise on the origin of the French, which did him
much honour. He was elected perpetual secretary to the
French Academy, and died in the year 1683. He is said
to have been extremely negligent of his person, and so
careless of his dress that he might have passed for a beg-
ger rather than a man of letters. He was actually seized
one morning by the archers des pauvres, or parish officers;
a mistake which, so far from provoking, highly diverted
him. He used to study and write by candle-light, even
at noon-day in summer; and, as if there had been no sun
in the world, always waited upon his company to the door
with a candle in his hand. In regard to religion, he affect¬
ed a species of Pyrrhonism, which, however, was not so much
A
M E Z
M E Z
Mezieres in his heart as in his mouth, and rather the effect of a con-
11 tradictory humour than the result of conviction. This ap-
Mezuzoth. peare(j from his last sickness ; for having sent for those
^friends who had been the most frequent auditors of his li¬
centious talk about religion, he made a sort of recantation,
which he concluded with desiring them to forget what he
might formerly have said upon the subject of religion, and
to “ remember that Mezerai dying was more to be be¬
lieved than Mezerai living.” The following is a list of the
works of Mezerai, viz. 1. Histoire de France, 1643, 1646,
1651, in three vols. folio; 2. Abrege Chronologique de
THistoire de France, 1668, in three vols. 4to ; 3. Traite
de 1’Origine des Fran^ais, Amsterdam, 1688, in 12mo ; 4.
Une Traduction de 1’Histoire des Turcs de Chalcondyle,
Paris, 1662, in two vols. folio; 5. Une Traduction f'ra^"
^aise du Traite de Jean de Salisbury, intitule La Vanite
de la Cour, Paris, 1640, in 4to ; 6. Traite de la \ erite de
la Religion Chretienne, translated from the Latin of Gro-
tius, Paris, 1644, in 8vo; 7. Histoire de la Mere et du
Fils, that is, of Mary of Medicis and Louis XIII., Amster¬
dam, 1730, in 4to. A compilation entitled Memoires His-
toriques et Critiques sur divers points de X Histoire de Franee,
has also been ascribed to Mezerai, though apparently with¬
out the slightest foundation.
MEZIERES, an arrondissement of the department of
the North, in France, extending over 380 square miles. It
is divided into seven cantons, and subdivided into 113
communes, containing 56,500 inhabitants. rl he capital is
the city of the same name situated on the river Meuse, by
which it is separated from Charleville. It contains 460
houses, and 3400 inhabitants. There is a strong citadel,
and also a school for the engineers. Long. 4. 38. 1. E.
Lat. 49. 45. 47. N.
MEZIRIAC, Claude Gaspar Racket Sieur de, one
of the most ingenious men of the seventeenth century, was
born at Bourg-en-Bresse on the 9 th of October 1581. He
was a good poet, an excellent grammarian, a great Greek
scholar, and an admirable critic. Fie was well versed in
the controversies both in philosophy and religion, and
deeply skilled in algebi'a and geometry, of which he gave
proof by publishing the six books of Diophantus, enriched
with a very able commentary and notes. In his youth he
spent a considerable time at Paris and also at Rome,
where, in competition with Vaugelas, he wrote a small col¬
lection of Italian poems, amongst which there are imi¬
tations of the most beautiful similes contained in the first
eight books of the .ZEneid. He also translated Ovid s
Epistles, great part of which he illustrated with very cu¬
rious commentaries of his own ; and undertook the trans¬
lation of Plutarch’s works, with notes, which he had near¬
ly brought to a conclusion, when he died, at Bourg-en-
Bresse, in 1638, at the age of fifty-seven. He left behind
him several works, the principal of which are, 1. Problemes
Plaisans et Delectables qui se font par les Nombres, Ly¬
ons, 1613, 1624, in 8vo ; 2. Diophanti Alexandrini Arith-
meticorum libri sex, et de Numeris multangulis liber unus,
Gr. et Lat. Commentar. illustrat. Paris, 1621, in folio; 3.
Chansons devotes et saintes sur toutes les principales
fetes de I’Annee, et sur autres divers sujets, Dijon, 1615,
in 8vo ; 4. Les Epitres d’Ovide, trad, en vers Francois,
avec des Commentaires, Bourg-en-Bresse, 1626, in 8vo.
MEZUZOTH, in the Jewish customs, certain pieces of
parchment, which the Jews affix to the door-posts of their
houses; taking that literally which Moses commanded them,
when he said, “ Thou shalt never forget the laws of thy
God, but thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy
house, and on thy gates.” This expression apparently
meant nothing more than that they should always remem¬
ber the lawrs of their God, whether they came into the
house or went out. But the Hebrew doctors imagined
that their lawgiver meant something more. They pretend¬
ed that, to avoid making themselves ridiculous, by writing
the commandments of God without their doors, or rather
to avoid exposing themselves to the profanation of the v'“
wicked, they ought at least to write them on a parchment,
and to enclose it in something. They, therefore, wrote these
words upon a square piece of parchment prepared on pur¬
pose, with a particular ink, and in a square kind of charac¬
ter. The Hebrew word mezuza properly signifies the door¬
posts of a house ; but it is also applied to the roll of parch¬
ment now mentioned.
MEZZOTINTO, a particular manner of representing
figures on copper, so as to form prints in imitation of paint¬
ing in Indian ink. See Engraving.
The invention of this art has usually been attributed to
Prince Rupert. But Baron Heinikin, a judicious and ac¬
curate writer upon the subject of engraving, asserts, with
great appearance of truth, that it was a Lieutenant-colonel
de Siegan, an officer in the service of the landgrave of
Hesse, who first engraved in this manner; and that the
print which he produced was a portrait of the Princess
Amelia Elizabeth of Hesse, engraved in the year 1643.
Prince Rupert learned the secret from this gentleman, and
brought it into England when he came over the second
time with Charles II. Prince Rupert’s print of an execu¬
tioner holding a sword in one hand and a head in the other,
a half length, from Spagnoletto, is dated 1658. This art
has never been cultivated with success in any country but
England.
The prince laid his grounds upon the plate with a chan¬
nelled roller ; but, about the same time, one Sherwin laid
his grounds with a half-round file, which was pressed down
with a heavy piece of lead. Both these grounding tools
have for many years been laid aside; and a hand tool, re¬
sembling a shoemaker’s cutting-board knife, with a fine ci e-
nelling on the edge, was introduced by one Edial, a smith
by trade, who afterwards became a mezzotinto engraver.
Mezzotinto is very different from the common way of
engraving. To perform it, the surface of the plate is raked,
hatched, or punched all over with a knife, or instrument
made for the purpose, first one way, and then the other,
until the surface of the plate is entirely furrowed with lines
or furrows, close and as it were contiguous to each other;
so that, if an impression were then taken from it, it would
be one uniform blot or smut. Ibis being done, the design
is drawn or marked on the same face ; after which, the
artists proceed with burnishers, scrapers, and other tools, to
expunge and take out the dents or furrows in all parts
where the lights of the piece are designed to be; and that
more or less as the lights are to be stronger or fainter, leav¬
ing those parts black which are to represent the shadows or
deepenings of the draught.
As it is much easier to scrape or burnish away parts of
a dark ground corresponding with the outline of any design
sketched upon it, than to form shades upon a light ground
by an infinite number of hatches, strokes, and points, which
must all terminate with exactness on the outline, as well
as differ in their force and manner, the method of scraping,
as it is called, in mezzotinto, becomes much more easy and
expeditious than any other method of engraving. The in¬
struments employed in this kind of engraving are, cradles,
scrapers, and burnishers.
In this engraving, the plate must be prepared and po¬
lished in the same manner as for other engravings, and af¬
terwards divided equally by lines parallel to each othei, and
traced out with very soft chalk. T-he distance of these
lines should be about one third of the length of the face
of the cradle w hich is to be used, and these lines should be
marked with capital letters, or strokes of the chalk. The
cradle is then to be placed exactly between the first two
lines, and passed forwards in the same direction, being
kept as steady as possible, and pressed upon with a mode-
Mezzo-
tinto.
M E Z
rate force. The same operation must be repeated with re¬
spect to all other lines, till the instrument has thus passed
over the whole surface of the plate. From the extremi¬
ties of the other two sides, other lines must then be drawn,
which, intersecting the first at right angles, will with them
form squares; and the same operation must be repeated
with the cradle as in the case of the first. New lines must
then be drawn diagonally, and the cradle passed between
them as before; and when the first diagonal operation is per¬
formed, the lines must be crossed at right angles, like the
former, and the cradles passed between them in the same
manner. The plates having undergone the action of the
cradle according to the disposition of the first order ot
lines, a second set must be formed, having the same dis¬
tances from each other as the first. But they must be so
placed as to divide those already made into spaces one
third less than their whole extent; that is, every one after
the first on each side will take in one third of that before it.
These lines of the second order must be marked with small
letters, or lesser strokes, to distinguish them from the first;
and the same treatment of the plate must be pursued with
respect to them as was practised for the others. When
this second operation is finished, a third order of lines must
be made. By these means, the original spaces will be
exactly divided into equal thirds ; and the cradle must be
again employed between those lines, as before. When the
whole of this operation is finished, it is called one turn ;
but in order to produce a very dark and uniform ground,
the plate must undergo the repetition of all these several
operations for above twenty times, beginning to pass the
cradle again between the first lines, and proceeding in the
same manner through all the rest. When the plate is pre¬
pared with a proper ground, the sketch must be chalked
on it, by rubbing the paper on the back with chalk; and
it is also proper to overtrace it afterwards with black lead
or Indian ink. The scraping is then performed by paring
or cutting away the grain of the ground in various de¬
grees, so that none of it is left in the original state, except
in the touches of the strongest shade. The general man¬
ner of proceeding is the same as drawing with white upon
black paper. The masses of light are first commenced;
then those parts which go off into light in their upper part,
but are brown below. The reflections are next entered
upon, after which the plate is blackened with a printer’s
blacking ball made of felt, in order to discover the effect,
and then the work is proceeded with, observing always to
begin every part in the places where the strongest lights
are to be.
The art of scraping mezzotintos has been applied to that
of printing with a variety of colours, in order to produce the
resemblance of paintings. The inventor of the method of
doing this was Le Blon, a native of Frankfort, and pupil of
Carlo Marata, between the years 1720 and 1730. It was
established by the inventor upon this principle, that there are
three primitive colours, of which all the rest may be com¬
posed by mixing them in various proportions ; that any
two of these colours being mixed together, preserve their
original power, and only produce a third colour such as
their compound must necessarily give, but if transparent
colours be mixed, and three primitive kinds compounded
together, they destroy each other, and produce black, or a
tendency to it, in proportion to the equality or inequality
of the mixture ; and that if the three primitive colours
be laid, either separately or upon each other, by three
plates, engraved correspondent!y on these principles to the
colouring of the design, the -whole variety of tints neces¬
sary may be produced. The requisites, therefore, to the
execution of any design in this method of printing are the
following: 1. To settle a plan of the colouring to be imi¬
tated, showing where the presence of each of the three
simple colours is necessary, either in its pure state or com-
M E Z 3
bined with some other, to produce the effect required, and Mezzo-
to reduce this plan to a painted sketch of each, in which tinto-1
not only the proper outlines, but the degree of strength,
shall be expressed ; 2. to engrave three plates according
to this plan, which may print each of the colours exactly
in the places where, and the proportion in which, they are
wanted; 3. to find three transparent substances proper for
printing with these three primitive colours. The manner in
which M. le Blon prepared the plates may be briefly stated.
The three plates of copper were first well fitted to each
other with respect to size and figure, and grounded in the
same manner as those designed for mezzotinto prints; and
the exact place and boundary of each of the three primi¬
tive colours, conformably to the design, were sketched out
upon three papers answering in dimensions to the plate.
These sketches were then chalked upon the plates ; and all
the parts of each plate which were not to convey the colour
to which it was appropriated to the print were entirely
scraped away, as in forming the light of mezzotinto prints.
The parts which were to convey the colours were then work¬
ed upon ; and where the lightest or most diluted tints of the
colour were to be, the grain in the ground was proportion¬
ally taken off; but where the full colour was required, it
was left entire. In this, regard was had not only to the
effects of the colour in its simple state, but also to its com¬
bined operation, either in producing orange-colour, green,
or purple, by its admixture with one alone; and further, to
its forming brown, gray, and shades or different degrees,
by its co-operation with both the others. But though the
greater part of the engraving was performed in the mez¬
zotinto manner, yet the graver was employed occasionally
for strengthening the shades, and for correcting the out¬
line where it required great accuracy and steadiness. It
was found necessary sometimes to have two separate plates
for printing the same colour, in order to produce a stronger
effect; but the second plate, which was used to print upon
the first, was intended only to glaze and soften the colours
in particular parts which might require it. As to the black
and brown tints, which could not be so conveniently pro¬
duced in a due degree by the mixture of the colours, um¬
ber and black were likewise used.
With respect to the order in which the plates are to be
applied, it may be proper to observe, that the colour which
is least apparent in the picture should be laid on first; that
which is between the most and least apparent next; and
that which predominates last of all; except where there
may be occasion for two plates for the same colour, as was
before mentioned, or where there is any required for add¬
ing browns and shades.
M. le Blon applied this art to portraits, and showed, by
the specimens he produced, the possibility of its being
brought, by further improvements, to afford imitations of
painting which might have some value. It is, nevertheless,
much better adapted to the simpler subjects, where there
are fewer intermixtures of colours, and where the accu¬
racy of the reflections and demi-tints are not so essentially
necessary to the truth of the design, from the greater lati¬
tude of form and disposition of the colour, as in plants,
anatomical figures, and some subjects of architecture. But
perhaps plates engraved, or rather finished, with the tool,
particularly with respect to the outline, would be better
accommodated in some of these cases than those prepared
only by scraping.
M. Cochin remarks, at the end of an account he has given
of M. le Blon’s manner, that although this ingenious artist
confined his method principally to the use of three colours,
yet, should this invention be again taken up and cultivated,
there would be more probability of success in using a
greater variety; and that several different kinds might be
printed by one plate, provided they were laid on in their
respectively proper places by printing-balls, which should
4 MIC
Mt'lin be used for that colour only. His hint might, however, be
II very greatly improved by tbe further assistance of pencils,
Mkhaeli?. accommodated to the plates, for laying on the colours in
v ^ the proper parts.
MGLIN, a circle of the Russian province of Tscherne-
gow, extending in north latitude from 52. 49. to 53. 17.
and in east longitude from 32. 37. to 33. 54. The capital
is a city of the same name situated on the river Sudenka.
It is one of the best built cities of the province, and con¬
tains 980 houses, with 5370 inhabitants, who carry on con¬
siderable trade in the productions of its vicinity, especially
in hemp, which is conveyed by the rivers to the Baltic ,
ports. It has some large annual fairs, and is 611 miles
from Petersburg. Long. 32. 39. E. Lat. 53. 6. N.
MIANA, a village of Persia, in Azerbijan. Here the
celebrated traveller Thevenot died upon his return from
Ispahan. It is 60 miles S. E. from Tabreez.
MIASSE, a considerable river of Asiatic Russia, which
rises in the Ural Mountains, and, traversing the district of
Kourgan,in the government of Tobolsk, falls into the Icette.
MIASMA, amongst physicians, a particular kind of
effluvia, by which certain fevers, particularly intermittents,
are produced.
MIAVA, a town of Hungary, in the circle of Neustadtel,
in the province of the Lower Danube. It stands upon the
river Waag, and is a manufacturing place, producing large
quantities of linen and woollen cloths, of blankets and quilts ;
there are also several distilleries and extensive tanneries.
The inhabitants amount to 10,000 persons, who are chiefly
of the Sclavonian race.
MICA, Muscovy Glass, or Glimmer, a species of mineral
substance.
MICAH, or The Book of Micah, a canonical book of
the Old Testament, written by the prophet Micah, who is
the sixth of the twelve lesser prophets.
MICHAEL, Mount, formerly one of the most celebrated
state-prisons of France. It is a rock situated in the middle
of the Bay of Avranches, and is only accessible at low wa¬
ter. Nature has completely fortified one side, by its craggy
and almost perpendicular descent, which renders it imprac¬
ticable to ascend it by any address or courage. The other
parts are surrounded by walls fenced with semilunar towers
after the Gothic manner, but sufficiently strong, together
with the advantage of its situation, to render it impreg¬
nable to any attack. At the foot of the mountain begins
a street or town, which winds round its base to a consider¬
able height. Above are chambers where state-prisoners
are kept, and where there are other buildings intended for
residence. On the summit is erected the abbey itself, oc¬
cupying a prodigious space of ground, and of a strength
and solidity equal to its enormous size; since it has for
many centuries withstood all the injuries of the weather,
to which it is so much exposed. In an apartment called
the Salle de Chevalerie, the knights of St Michael used to
meet in solemn convocation on important occasions. They
were the defenders and guardians of this mountain and
abbey, as those of the Temple, and of St John of Jerusa¬
lem, were of the holy sepulchre. The hall in which they
met is very spacious, but rude and barbarous.
Michael’s Mount, St, in the county of Cornwall, and
in the corner of Mount’s Bay, is a very high rock, only
divided by the tide from the main land, so that it is land
and island twice a-day. The town here was burned by the
French in the reign of Henry VIII. At the bottom of
this mount, in digging for tin, there have been found
spear-heads, battle-axes, and swords, of brass, all wrapt up
in linen. The county is contracted here into a sort of
isthmus. Large trees have been driven in by the sea be¬
tween this mount and Penzance.
MICHAELIS, John David, a celebrated biblical cri¬
tic, and author of many esteemed works, was the eldest
son of Dr Christian Benedict Michaelis, professor in the Michael-
university of Halle, in Lower Saxony, and was born at mas
that place on the 27th of February 1717. His father de- II
voted him at an early age to an academical life ; and with
that view he received the first part of his education in a v , "
celebrated Prussian seminary called the Orphan-house,
at Glanche, in the neighbourhood of his native place. He
commenced his academical career at Halle in 1733, and
took his master’s degree in the faculty of philosophy.in
1739. In 1741 he made an excursion to this country,
where his superior knowledge of the oriental languages,
which was considerably increased by his indefatigable re¬
searches in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, introduced him
to the acquaintance, and gained him the esteem, of our
first literary characters, with several of whom, particularly
Bishop Lowth, he afterwards corresponded for many years-
On his return to Halle, after an absence of fifteen months,
he began to read lectures on the historical books of the
Old Testament, which he continued after his removal to
Gottingen in 1745. In 1746 he was appointed professor
extraordinary, and soon afterwards professor of philoso¬
phy, in that university. The next year he obtained the
place of secretary to the Royal Society there, of which
he was director in 1761, and he was soon afterwards made
aulic counsellor by the court of Hanover. In 1764 his
distinguished talents, and a publication relative to a jour¬
ney to Arabia, which was undertaken by several literary
men at the expense, of the king of Denmark, in conse¬
quence of his application through Count Bernsdorf, pro¬
cured him the honour of being chosen a corresponding,
and afterwards a foreign, member of the Academy of In¬
scriptions at Paris, of which class the institution admitted
only eight; and in the same year he became a member of
the society of Haerlem. In 1775 Count Hopkin, who,
eighteen years before, had prohibited the use of his writ¬
ings at Upsal, when he was chancellor of that university,
prevailed upon the king of Sweden to confer upon him the
order of the Polar Star, as a national compensation. In
1786 he was raised to the distinguished rank of privy
counsellor of justice by the court of Hanover ; and in 1788
he received his last literary honour, by being unanimously
elected a fellow of the Royal Society of London. His
great critical knowledge of the Hebrew language, which
he displayed in a new translation of the Bible, and in
other works, raised him to a degree of eminence almost
unknown before in Germany ; and his indefatigable la¬
bours were only equalled by his desire of communicating
the knowledge he had acquired to the numerous students
of all countries who frequented his admirable lectures,
which he continued to deliver, in half-yearly courses, on
various parts of the sacred writings, and on the Hebrew,
Arabic, and Syriac languages, to the last year of his life.
He was forty-five years professor in the university of Got¬
tingen, and during that long period he filled the chair
with dignity, credit, and usefulness. He died on the 22d oi
October 1791, in the seventy-fourth year of his age.
MICHAELMAS, or Feast of St Michael and all
Angels, a festival of the Christian church, observed on the
29th of September.
MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI, the greatest
master of the arts of design who has appeared since
the days of Phidias, was born in the castle of Caprese,
in Tuscany, on the 6th of March 1474. His father, Lu¬
dovico di Leonardo Buonarotti Simone, was a descen¬
dant of the noble and illustrious family ot the counts
of Canossa, and allied to the imperial blood. This cir¬
cumstance had nearly occasioned the world the loss ot
the great artist; for when the strong bias ot his mind be¬
came apparent, which occurred at a very early age, his fa¬
ther and uncles discouraged his pursuits, and treated him
with harshness, conceiving that their family would be de-
5
M
I C
M I C
Michel
Angelo.
traded should a scion of their race adopt the profession
of artist. But objection, prejudice, and even persecution,
proved useless when opposed to devoted attachment and
irresistible genius. Michel Angelo received the rudiments
of his education at Florence, the nursing-mother of the
arts, and here he enjoyed ample facilities of gratifying his
taste for drawing. Ludovico finding it hopeless to at¬
tempt to frustrate the intentions of nature, yielded at last
to the advice of friends, and the wishes of his son, who
was accordingly placed under Domenico Ghirlandaio, a
distinguished professor of the arts of painting and design.
The youth was articled to serve three years ; but, contrary
to custom, instead of paying, he received a premium, an
indubitable proof of his great merits, even at the age of
fourteen. The original document by which he was en¬
gaged bears date April 1488. His earliest effort in oils
showed that he was born to grapple with difficulties from
which other men shrink, whilst his success proved that
he was also destined to overcome them. The subject was
St Antony beaten by devils. In this little picture, be¬
sides the figure of the saint, there were crowded wild and
grotesque forms and monsters, to which he was so intent
upon giving an aspect of reality, that he painted no part
without referring to some natural object. But painting
did not engross the whole of his time and attention. 1 he
great patron of the arts at this period was Lorenzo de’ Me¬
dici, who, for the purpose of elevating sculpture to a level
with painting, opened a garden in blorence, which he
amply supplied with antique statues, bas-reliefs, busts, and
the like. Thither the youth of the city repaired to study
the classic creations of antiquity ; and it is scarcely neces¬
sary to say that it became the favourite haunt of Michel
Angelo.
From copying the drawings and paintings of others, his
attention was turned to the modelling of figures in clay, in
imitation of the monuments of ancient art; and the tran¬
sition from this, the initiatory step in sculpture, to the
mouldingofthe marble into symmetrical forms, was natural,
and speedily withdrew his mind from every other study.
The vigilant and practised eye of Lorenzo soon discover¬
ed the genius of the'youthful sculptor in the execution of
a mask representing a laughing faun. His father was sent
for, and requested to resign Michel to the care of the fa¬
mily ; and this being complied with, apartments were al¬
lotted to him in the ducal palace. Here he received every
indulgence and attention, being treated with parental affec¬
tion, and allowed to pursue the bent of his genius, not only
without interruption, but cheered and encouraged by the
cordial approbation of his munificent patron. Amongst the
works which he executed under these favourable auspices,
was a bas-relief representing the battle of the Centaurs;
on viewing which at a future period of his life, he lamented
that he had not confined himself to a branch of art therein
he had so soon attained such excellence. This is the
strongest evidence which could be produced of the rare
merits of the sculpture ; for artists almost uniformly speak
disparagingly of their early efforts.
On the death of Lorenzo, which happened about two
years after he had entered his service, Michel Angelo, with
a heavy heart, returned to the paternal mansion. Nothing
belonging to Lorenzo was inherited by his son Piero, except
the territorial possessions of the family ; and although the
young artist continued to pursue his studies with unabated
zeal, little patronage or encouragement was to be expected
or obtained from a frivolous debauchee. The pusillanimi¬
ty of this person soon distracted the councils of Florence ;
and Michel, to escape the storm which he saw impending
over that city, retired to Bologna, but returned in about
a year afterwards, when tranquillity had been restored.
About this period there prevailed a sort of mania for the
antique. Whilst the discoveries of antiquity created a new
era in art and literature, the importance of which can never Michel
be too highly estimated, many ignorant individuals, smit- Angelo,
ten with the enthusiasm of the time, betrayed their wantv
of judgment by the indiscriminate manner in which they
lavished their praise on these remains ; and Michel Angelo
resolved to take advantage of the popular excitement. He
executed a Sleeping Cupid ; and having stained the marble
in such a way as to give it the appearance of a genuine an¬
tique, it was transmitted to a proper person in Rome, who,
after burying it in his vineyard, dug it up, and then re¬
ported the discovery. The pardonable trick completely^
succeeded for a time, and the statue was bought by a car¬
dinal for a considerable sum; but of this Michel Angelo
received only a small portion. Such deceptions, however,
seldom remain long concealed ; the officious zeal of friends,
or the vanity of authorship, usually brings about the ex¬
posure of a successful imposition. After the mask was
laid aside, and the real artist became known, he received
a flattering invitation to visit Rome. Thither he accord¬
ingly repaired, and whilst there he executed a statue of
Bacchus, another of a Cupid, and a group of the Virgin with
a dead Christ reclining on her knees, together with a car¬
toon representing St Francis receiving the stigmata.
The celebrated gonfaloniere, Pietro Soderini, well known
as a patron of genius, having been elected to guard the
peace and protect the liberties of Florence, Michel Angelo
returned to that cify. With the sanction of the new chief
magistrate, he was allowed to appropriate to his use a huge
block of marble, which had for many years lain neglected
in Florence; and out of this he executed a gigantic statue
of David, which gave great satisfaction. He also cast a
figure in bronze, of the size of nature, and a group of Da¬
vid and Goliath ; but, that his hand might not “ lose its
cunning” in the sister art, he painted a Holy Family. This
picture is preserved in the Florence gallery ; and it is the
only painting in oil by Michel Angelo now remaining, the
authenticity of which is not disputed. Having been com¬
missioned to ornament the hall of the ducal palace with a
cartoon, he chose for the subject an event connected with
the war between the Florentines and Pisans. The work
represents the Florentine soldiers, who, alarmed by an un¬
expected assault whilst bathing in the Arno, are getting
out of the water with the utmost expedition, and prepar¬
ing for action; and, although only outlined in charcoal,
chalk, and the like, it was considered as the most extra¬
ordinary production which had appeared since the revival
of the arts in Italy. In the mean time Julius II. having
been raised to the pontifical throne, Michel Angelo was in¬
vited to the Vatican, whither he repaired without finishing
the cartoon ; but being disgusted with Rome, he returned
to Florence, and completed the design. The painting of the
picture itself, however, w as never begun. Political events,
and a second invitation from Julius II. again attracted him
to the Eternal City, and he was employed by his holiness
to construct a magnificent mausoleum, which, although
immediately commenced, was interrupted during its pro¬
gress, first on account of a misunderstanding between the
artist and the pope, and afterwards from other causes.
The artist repaired to Bologna, and political events having
brought the pope to this city, a reconciliation took place.
In a few days Julius II. ordered a colossal statue of him¬
self to be executed in bronze, which Michel Angelo finish¬
ed in sixteen months, and returned to Rome at the end of
June 1508. He was, however, disappointed in his hopes of
being allowed to proceed with his great architectural un¬
dertaking; for the pope had changed his mind, it is al¬
leged through the jealousy of Bramante, and the artist
was requested to decorate with pictures the ceiling and
walls of the Sistine Chapel. But his primary disappoint¬
ment was forgotten in his subsequent triumph. This stu¬
pendous work of genius excited the highest admiration.
r
MIC MIC
Michel which contemporary opinion and the judgment of after ages
Angelo, have confirmed ; yet, from its commencement till its con-
elusion, only eighteen or twenty months elapsed.
After the death of Julius II. in 1513, the papal throne
was filled by Leo X., whose magnificent reign forms an
era in the intellectual history of modern times. Yet,
strange as the fact may appear, the life of Michel Angelo
during his pontificate is nearly an entire blank. He was
employed in^extracting marble from a quarry which was
wrought with difficulty, and in constructing a road over
intricate swamps and through mountainous ridges, for the
purpose of conveying it to the sea. Leo X. died in 1521,
and under his successor Adrian VI., Michel Angelo em¬
ployed himself upon the monument of Julius. The reign of
Adrian was short, and on his death Clement VII. was raised
to the papal throne. The confusion with which the civil
affairs of Rome were soon overwhelmed, drove the artist
to Florence, where he continued his architectural and
other works for the chapel and library of S. Lorenzo, and
executed a statue of Christ. His talents as an engineer
were likewise put in requisition for the defence of the city.
Before commencing the works, he visited Ferrara, then the
best fortified town in Italy, and was received with the
utmost courtesy by the Duke Alphonso, who showed him
every part of the works, and at the same time requested
a specimen of the artist’s abilities either in sculpture or in
painting. A picture of Jupiter and Leda was the result;
but this great production is generally supposed to have
been lost. Michel Angelo was enabled to complete the
fortifications of Florence before the siege of the city com¬
menced ; and, as in the case of Syracuse, the genius of
one individual for a considerable time proved more than
a match for thousands of armed men and the mightiest
engines of war. By treachery the city passed into the
hands of the enemy; but the great artist, although he
had shown the dexterity of Archimedes in frustrating the
designs of the besiegers, did not share the fate of the
great geometrician. The finishing of twro monuments for
the Medici family was the price of his liberty.
Tranquillity being restored to Italy, Buonarotti returned
to Rome; and although frequently interrupted, both by
Clement VII. and by his successor Paul III., he at last
completed the monument to Julius II. It consists of
seven statues, amongst which is the celebrated one of
Moses, a production evincing, in a higher degree than any
of his other sculptures, that character of majesty and su¬
blimity which more or less pervades them all. Flis next
work was the painting of the Last Judgment in the Sistine
Chapel, which was finished in 1541 ; and so great was
the admiration excited by this mighty effort of genius,
that many persons came from distant parts of Italy to see
it. He subsequently painted the martyrdom of St Peter
and the conversion of St Paul, which cost him great fatigue,
as age was beginning to impair his physical energies. But
that his intellectual powers still retained their pristine vi¬
gour, the church of St Peter’s, the most splendid monu¬
ment of his genius and success as an architect, affords
ample evidence. This fabric was begun by Julius II. in
1506, and, being successively intrusted to Bramante and
Antonio de San Gallo, by this transference from hand to
hand it was in danger of becoming a huge incongruity.
On the death of the last-named architect in 1546, Michel
Angelo was appointed architect; and, notwithstanding the
jarring and complexity of the original designs, he suc¬
ceeded in simplifying and harmonizing the whole. The
work proceeded for a time with considerable rapidity. But
he was occasionally withdrawn from it to other things, such
as the building of bridges, the superintendence of which
might have been safely intrusted to some inferior person.
During the latter years of his life the papal chair was filled
by several pontiffs, some of whom forwarded, and others
retarded, his great undertaking, employing him in the con¬
struction of chapels and other buildings. Nor did he live to
witness the completion of this splendid edifice, the greatest
and most magnificent Christian temple on earth. He was
carried off by a slow fever on the 17th of February 1563.
His obsequies were celebrated as became the memory of
so unrivalled a genius. Michel Angelo was of the middle
stature, bony in his make, and rather spare, but broad over
the shoulders. His complexion was good; his forehead
was square, and somewhat projecting; his eyes were of a
hazel colour, but rather small; and the general effect of
his countenance was impaired by a blow which he had re¬
ceived in youth.
The character of Michel Angelo as an artist has already
been delineated in this work by a masterly hand (see the
article Arts, Fine). Grandeur of conception is the quality
which distinguishes his works from those of all other artists
who have appeared in modern times. Whether he excelled
most in painting, in sculpture, or in architecture, it would
not be easy to determine. He has left the noblest speci¬
mens of human genius in each department of art. He is
the Milton of artists. Things beyond the visible diurnal
sphere were within the range of his imagination ; and
when he stoops to earth, he invests nature with an ideal
grandeur and majesty. His boys are men, his men are a
race of giants ; his demons are the evil spirits of Dante and
Milton made visible : and his angels are the offspring of the
sky. The Sistine Chapel is allowed to be the most finish¬
ed wmrk of art in the world ; and its perfection is owing
chiefly to Michel Angelo’s divine paintings. The whole
wall behind the altar is covered by his picture of the Last
Judgment; the vaulted ceiling represents the creation of
the world, and around it are prophets and sibyls. In the
sublime painting of the Last Judgment, terrible power is
the predominating feature. The good and the bad, angels
and devils, crowd the scene, and Christ is represented in the
act of judging, or rather of condemning. His complete
knowledge of anatomy, which he constantly studied, en¬
abled him to represent in the most perfect manner the
human figure in every possible attitude, and to express pain
and despair through all their gradations. His other pictures
exhibit the same daring sublimity of conception and power
of execution. The church of St Peter’s at Rome j.s the
most splendid triumph of his architectural talents. His
style in architecture is distinguished by grandeur and bold¬
ness; and, in his ornaments, the untamed character of his
imagination is frequently apparent, in his preference of the
uncommon to the simple and elegant. In sculpture, his
statue of Moses is universally acknowledged to be the
noblest monument of his genius, displaying, more than any
other of his numerous works in this department of art, ail
the great qualities of his mind. Michel Angelo was like
wise an author, and excelled both in verse and prose. His
works have been printed in several collections; but they
have also been published separately. (r. r. r.)
MICHELDEAN, a town of the county of Gloucester,
in the hundred of St Breavell, 119 miles from London.
It is on the western side of the Severn, in the forest of
Dean, which abounds in mines of coal, and in iron-works,
that have consumed much of the wood that formerly
covered it. The town consists principally of one long
street, and has a market which is held on Monday. The
population amounted in 1801 to 563, in 1811 to 535, in
1821 to 556, and in 1831 to 601.
MICHIGAN, one of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, which, until 1835, was denominated a territory. It
is situated between 41. 38. 58. and 46. 50. of north lati¬
tude, and 82. 15. and 87. 10. of west longitude, being
bounded on the north by the Straits of Michilimackinac,
on the south by Ohio and Indiana, on the west by Lake
Michigan, and on the east by Lakes Huron, St Clair, and
Michel-
dean
I!
Michigan.
MICHIGAN. 1
Michigan. Erie, and their waters. It may be described generally as
'a large peninsula, somewhat resembling a triangle, with its
base resting upon the states of Ohio and Indiana. It is
two hundred and fifty miles in length from north to south,
from one hundred and eighty to two hundred miles in
breadth from east to west, and comprehends a superficies
of about 36,000 square miles. The surface of this state is
generally level, or gently undulating, there being no moun¬
tains, nor even elevations, with the exception of a strip of
table-land, stretching north and south, and assuming to-
Avards the north the character of a ridge, but at the highest
it is only three hundred feet above the level of the lakes.
Notwithstanding the almost uniform flatness of the coun¬
try, there is comparatively little swampy or wet land ; at
any rate, not so much as is found on the northern belt of
the state of Ohio adjoining the lakes. The soil is a bed of
alluvial earth from thirty to one hundred and fifty feet
deep, resting upon limestone and argillaceous sandstone.
Ferriferous sand rock, saliferous rock, and millstone grit,
are found alternating on the surface, at various points in
the middle and western parts of the peninsula. The gene¬
ral level of the interior, towards the sources of the rivers,
is interspei'sed with lakes and morasses; and a considerable
belt of land along the southern shore of Lake Michigan is
sandy and sterile, being exposed to the bleak and desolating
gales of the lake. But a great proportion of the land is
fertile, and well adapted to the purposes of agriculture.
The country generally is divided into nearly equal propor¬
tions of grass prairies, distinguished, according to their pre¬
vailing character, by the names of wet and dry ; and broad
and deep forests of trees, nearly similar to those of Ken¬
tucky, namely, black walnut, black cherry, honey locust,
buck-eye, pawpaw", sugar-tree, mulberry, elm, ash, haw¬
thorn, coffee-tree, and the grand yellow poplar, which in¬
dicates the richest soil. South of a line drawn due west
from the southern extremity of Lake Huron, Michigan
consists of open land, known by the name of Oak Plains.
The soil is a loam, with varying proportions of clay. It be¬
comes fertile by cultivation, and is good farm land. In the
country bordering on the Kalemagoo and St Joseph Rivers,
prairies of a black, rich, alluvial soil, and unusual produc¬
tiveness, frequently occur. The northern part of the pe¬
ninsula is less known, being occupied by Indians ; but the
land there is in many parts more elevated than that farther
south, and is covered with the trees usually met with in those
latitudes. Amongst the minerals found in this state may be
mentioned bog iron ore, lead ore, gypsum, and bituminous
coal, but none of them are present in great quantities. Peat
is abundant in many parts. There is a plentiful supply of
water everywhere; rivers with their tributaries, and small
lakes and springs, being unusually numerous. The princi¬
pal stream is Grand River, which flows into Lake Michi¬
gan. It rises in the south-east angle of the state, and in¬
terlocks at its sources, or in its course, with the waters of
the Raisin (which derives its name from the number of
vine-trees on its banks), the Black, the Mastigon, and the
Saganum. Small boats reach its source, and, by means of
this river and that of the Huron, periogues pass from Lake
Michigan to Lake Erie. The St Joseph is a considerable
stream, falling also into Lake Michigan; as do the Kikal-
amezo, Barbue, Beauvaise, St Nicholas, Marguettes, and
other rivers. On the other side of the peninsula are the
Detroit, which is twenty-five miles in length, and above a
mile in average breadth ; the St Clair, which is forty miles
in length and half a mile in average breadth; the St Ma¬
ry’s, which is fifty miles in length and three quarters of a
mile in average breadth ; and the Huron, Thunder, and
Sagana, which are considerable rivers. Other streams
there are in abundance, but not of such magnitude as to
merit particular attention.
The peninsula of Michigan being surrounded upon all
sides, excepting the southern extremity, with water, the va-Michigan,
rious lakes and straits require to be described. That lake
which bears the name of the state is one of the five great
lakes in the northern part of the United States. It is
nearly three hundred miles in length, about sixty miles in
breadth, and has an average depth of about nine hundred
feet. The waters are clear and wholesome, and contain
many kinds offish. In the north-west part there are two
large bays, called Noquet’s and Green ; and on the east
side there are also two, called Sable and Grand Traverse.
Lake Michigan is connected with Lake Huron by the
Straits of Michilimackinac, a channel forty miles in length
from east to west, and four miles in breadth at the narrow¬
est part. Lake Huron is two hundred and eighty miles
in length, about ninety miles in breadth, and has a medium
depth of nine hundred feet. There are two large bays on
this lake called Thunder and Sagana, the latter of which
is about forty miles in length, by from eight to twelve in
breadth. Lake Huron is connected with Lake St Clair by
a strait of the same name, twenty-six miles in length, and
having deep groves of beautiful white pine all along its
banks. Lake St Clair is only twenty-four miles in length
by forty in breadth, and about twenty feet in depth. It
is connected with Lake Erie by the Strait of Detroit, which
is twenty-four miles in length, narrow, and studded with
islands, but navigable by large vessels. A rise and fall of
water has been observed in some of these inland seas, par¬
ticularly at certain points of Lakes Michigan and Huron ;
but the experiments instituted have failed to determine
whether these are to be regarded as tides corresponding
with the flux and reflux of the ocean. In the interior of
this state there are great numbers of small lakes and ponds,
from which the rivers chiefly derive their origin.
In consequence of the level nature of this region, and
from its being nearly surrounded by a belt of noble lakes,
the climate is milder and more temperate than might have
been expected from its latitude. The southern parts are,
of course, more so than the northern, which is subjected to
a Canadian temperature. The transition from the cold of
spring to the heat of summer is rapid; but the change
from summer to winter proceeds by slow degrees. .As
generally characterising the climate, the spring may be
termed wet and backward, with an average temperature of
50° of Fahrenheit j the summer dry, wuth a temperature of
80°; the autumn mild, with a temperature of from 60° to
65°; and the winter dry but cold, the temperature being
only from 20° to 25° upon an average. The winter com¬
mences early in November, and does not terminate until
the end of March. The climate throughout the whole
state is considered as healthy. From the general fertility of
the soil, the productions, as well natural as cultivated, are
numerous. The wild rice or wild oats, which covers the
marshes near the margins of the lakes and rivers, is a valu¬
able grain of the former class. The great varieties of fo¬
rest trees we have already noticed. Wheat, Indian corn,
oats, barley, buck-wheat, potatoes, turnips, peas, apples,
pears, plums, cherries, and peaches, are raised easily and
in abundance; and no part of the United States is more
abundantly supplied with fish, aquatic game, and wild
fowls. The country is favourable to cultivated grasses,
more so than the territory to the westward; and in all re¬
spects it is well adapted to farming operations. Possess¬
ing admirable facilities for commerce, Michigan enjoys
considerable trade. A number of steam-boats are conti¬
nually plying upon the lakes, bays, and rivers, by far the
largest proportion of which belong to Detroit, the capital.
No inland country, considering its comparatively recent set¬
tlement, possesses a greater trade. The value of the imports
for the year ending 30th September 1833 was 63,876 dol¬
lars, and the value of the exports for the same year was
9051 dollars; the whole consisting of domestic produce.
8
MICHIGAN.
Michigan. Detroit is the political capital, and the only place of any
“v'"'—" size in the state. It is situated upon the western bank of
the river of the same name, eighteen miles from Lake
Erie, and seven from Lake St Clair. It was settled as
early as 1683 by the French from Canada, who penetrated
these inland districts for the purpose -of prosecuting the
fur trade. Its site is an elevation of between twenty and
thirty feet above the level of the river, and the plain upon
which it stands is adorned with beautiful and romantic
scenery. The plan of the town upon the river, and for
twelve hundred feet backwards, is rectangular ; behind this
it is triangular. The streets are wide and airy, three of
them running parallel to the river ; and these again are
crossed at right angles by six other streets. It contains
above four hundred houses, some of which are built of
stone. The public edifices are, a council-house, State-
house, United States store, a Presbyterian church, a Ro¬
man Catholic chapel, and other buildings. Three roads,
constructed by the general government, terminate in the
centre of this town ; the Chicago, leading to Illinois ; the
Sigana, leading to the head of Sigana Bay; and the fort
Gratiot, to the foot of Lake Huron. A United States
road, leading from Detroit to Ohio, has also been com¬
pleted. Several wharfs project into the river, one of
which is 140 feet long; and vessels of 400 tons burden
can load and unload at its head. The population of this
place in 1830 amounted to 2222, but it has since been
greatly augmented. A strong and increasing tide of im¬
migration has set in; and as its situation is favourable for
a very extensive inland commerce, it must rapidly rise
into a town of considerable importance. Hitherto its pros¬
perity has depended principally on the precarious support
afforded by the fur trade, the disbursement of public mo¬
nies whilst it was a military post, and the liberal appro¬
priations of government for public objects. But the set¬
tlement and cultivation of the surrounding country has
advanced considerably, and the impulse and vitality which
this has imparted to trade is already great. In 1834 it
possessed thirteen steam-boats, one brig, thirty-three
schooners, and thirty-five sloops, being an aggregate ton¬
nage of four thousand nine hundred and thirteen. A con¬
siderable number of these vessels trade between Detroit
and Ohio; others go regularly to Buffalo and other pla¬
ces. All along the banks of the Detroit River are nume¬
rous mansions, chiefly built by the French. They are
embosomed in ancient and rich orchards, all having an
appearance of comfort, and some of splendour and opu¬
lence.
Mackinac, or Michilimackinac, is a post-town and also a
military post in this state. It is situated on an island of
the same name, about nine miles in circumference, lying
in the strait which connects Lakes Huron and Michigan.
The town stands on the south-east side of the island, on a
small cove, which is surrounded by a steep cliff one hun¬
dred and fifty feet in height. It consists of.two streets run¬
ning parallel with the lake, intersected by others at right
angles, and contains a court-house, a jail, and several stores.
It is much resorted to by fur traders, and during the sum¬
mer months is visited by thousands of Indians on their
way to Drummond’s Island. On a cliff above the town is
the fort, which is remarkably strong, indeed almost im¬
pregnable. The population of the island may be about
1000. There are a number of other islands in Lake Mi¬
chigan, the largest of which, called Manitou, is six miles
in length and four in breadth. Fort Gratiot is a military
post on St Clair River, and defends the entrance into Lake
Huron. The Sault de St Marie is of importance as a mi¬
litary and trading post, being at the head of ship naviga¬
tion on the great lakes, and the grand thoroughfare of In¬
dian communication for the upper countries as far as the
arctic circle, ad the fur trade of the north-west necessarily
passing through it. The government of the United States Michigan,
resolved to occupy this post, and in June 1820 obtained
from the Chippewayan Indians the cession of a tract of
land four miles square, commencing at the Sault, and ex¬
tending two miles up and the same distance down, with a
depth of four miles. Michigan being now one of the prin¬
cipal points of immigration, a correct statement of the
n umber of inhabitants is not to be expected.
The counties into which the state of Michigan is divid¬
ed, the seats of justice, and the number of inhabitants, are
shown in the following table.
Topographical Table.
Counties.
Berrien 
Branch 
Calhoun....,
Cass 
Jackson 
Kalmazoo...
Lenawee....
Macomb....
Monroe  
Oakland....
St Clair 
St Joseph...
Washtenaw,
Wayne 
Population.
Seats of Justice.
Distance
from
Detroit.
1,787
764
3,280
1,865
3,124
7,911
6,035
6,055
8,542
13,844
2,244
3,168
14,920
16,638
Berrien 
Branch 
Eckford 
Cassopolis....
Jacksonburg.
Bronson 
Tecumseh....
Mount Clemens
Monroe 
Pontiac 
St Clair 
White Pigeon...
Ann Arbour....
Detroit 
180
133
100
160
77
137
63
25
36
26
60
125
42
The population, as shown in the above table, is 85,856,
and it is given according to the census taken near the end
of the year 1834. The number of counties at the com¬
mencement of the year 1836 was 36 ; and the population in
July 1836 was supposed to amount to 120,000. The In¬
dians who reside in this state are chiefly the Ottawas,
Miamies, Pottawattomies, Chippeways, and Wyandots.
By different treaties they have ceded the greater part of
their native soil to the United States; but they still retain
some fine tracts of country, and have many reservations
and villages even amongst the settlements. The Ottawas
and ChippewayS are hunters and trappers. The former
are the most agricultural in their habits ; and a band of this
tribe have a flourishing settlement at L’Arbre Croche, on
the western coast of Lake Huron. Some of the Indians
have made »no inconsiderable advances in cultivation and
the arts of civilized life. Most of the converts to Christi¬
anity are Roman Catholics; but the Protestants have
within these few years established missionary stations and
schools amongst them. Their numbers are gradually dimi¬
nishing, and the whole may not exceed 8000. The borders
of St Clair River and Lake, Rivers Detroit, Raisin, Clinton,
and Plaisance Bay at the mouth of the Raisin, are settled
by French inhabitants. They occupy a belt of land upon
the borders of these streams, three miles broad. They
are civil, honest, unobtrusive, and industrious, with little
education, and essentially deficient in enterprise.
This state began to be regularly settled about the be¬
ginning of the last century. Under the French the govern¬
ment was arbitrary, uniting the civil and military authority
in the power of a “ commandant.” In the year 1763 it pass¬
ed into the hands of the British, along with other posses¬
sions in this quarter, which had been wrested from the
crown of France. By the treaty of Paris of 1783, the
country was transferred to the United States; and al¬
though the British government held possession of the mi¬
litary posts until 1796, it ceased to exercise criminal juris¬
diction over it from that period. Subsequently it was
M I C
Michigan, erected into a district territorial government. Upon the
breaking out of the last war with America, this state be¬
came the theatre of part of the military operations. Mac-
kinack was captured by the British, and Chicago surren¬
dered to the savages. Soon afterwards the Americans
made an inglorious surrender of Detroit, of which Britain
held possession for a year. But the disastrous affair on
Lake Erie, together with the subsequent defeat of the Bri¬
tish on land, changed the current of success, and Michigan
was again amalgamated with the United States. For
many years it continued to be only what is called a terri¬
tory, sending a delegate to Congress, who was elected bi¬
ennially, and might debate in the great council of the na¬
tion, but could not vote on any question. On the 11th of
May 1835 a constitution was formed by a convention which
met at Detroit, with a view to the erection of Michigan
into a free and independent state. This being submitted
to the people for ratification or rejection in the October fol¬
lowing, was approved of, and forwarded to congress, which,
towards the close of the session of 1836, passed an act ad¬
mitting Michigan into the Union as a state. The follow¬
ing are some of the principal features of the constitution,
taken from the American Almanac for 1836.
The powers of the government are divided into three dis¬
tinct departments; the legislative, executive, and judicial.
The legislative power is vested in a senate and house of re¬
presentatives. The representatives are chosen annually,
and their number cannot be less than forty-eight, or greater
than a hundred. The senators are chosen for two years,
one half of them every year, and they consist as nearly as
possible of one third of the number of the representatives.
An enumeration of the inhabitants is to be made in 1837
and 184*5, and every ten years after the latter period; and
after every enumeration so made, and also after each enu¬
meration made by order of the United States, the number
of senators and representatives is to be apportioned anew
amongst the several counties, according to the number of
white inhabitants. The legislature meets on the first Mon¬
day in January every year. The executive power is vest¬
ed in a governor, who holds his office during two years, and
a lieutenant-governor, who holds his office for the same
period. The governor, lieutenant-governor, and members
of the legislature, are chosen at the same time.
The judicial power is vested in one supreme court, and
in such other courts as the legislature may from time to
time establish. The judges of the supreme court are ap¬
pointed by the governor, with the advice and consent of
the senate, for the term of seven years. Judges of all
county courts, associate judges of circuit courts, and judges
of probate, are elected by the people, for the term of four¬
teen years. Each township is authorized to elect four jus¬
tices of the peace, who hold their offices for four years.
In all elections every white male citizen above the age of
twenty-one years, having resided six months immediately
preceding any election, is entitled to vote at such election.
Slavery, lotteries, and the sale of lottery tickets, are pro¬
hibited. The seat of government is at Detroit, or such
other place or places as may be prescribed by law, until
the year 1847, when it is to be permanently fixed by the
legislature. The governor has power to nominate, with
the advice and consent of the legislature, a superintendent
of public instruction, who shall hold his office for two years,
and whose duties are prescribed by law. The legislature
is required to encourage, by all suitable means, the pro¬
motion of intellectual, scientific, and agricultural improve¬
ment. The proceeds of all lands which have been or may
be granted by the Union to this state for the support of
schools, and which shall hereafter be sold or disposed of,
are to remain a perpetual fund, the interest of which,
together with the rent of all such unsold lands, is to be
inviolably appropriated to the support of schools through-
vol. xv.
MIC 9
out this state. The legislature is to provide for a system Mickle,
of common schools, by which a school may be kept up and '""■'■'v—
supported in each district at least three months in the
year ; and any district neglecting to keep and support such
a school may be deprived of its equal proportion of the
interest of the public fund.
Besides the state of Michigan, there is a tract of coun¬
try lying to the westward of Lake Michigan, which goes
by the same name, and is attached to the state without
being included in it. This region is bounded on the east
by Lake Michigan, on the north by Lake Superior and the
chain of small lakes connecting that inland sea with the
heads of the Mississippi, and on the west and north-west by
the Upper Mississippi. It has not been thoroughly explor¬
ed ; but, judging of the whole from those portions which
have been examined, it is likely to become of great inte¬
rest and importance as its natural resources are deve¬
loped. The district included between the Fox and Wis-
cousin Rivers is particularly inviting. The soil is a rich
black alluvial mould, irrigated by innumerable streams of
water, unbroken by mountain ridges, and in all respects ad¬
mirably adapted for agriculture. From its northern boun¬
dary south to the Milwalky and the heads of Rock River,
it is covered with a dense forest, which, as traced farther
down to the southern head of Lake Michigan, opens into
fertile and extensive prairies. It has been remarked as a
geological characteristic, that the pebbles which are usually
found upon the surface of these prairies, and to a depth of
two or three feet downwards, are entirely wanting. Clay
constitutes the succeeding stratum. More than 36,000,000
pounds of lead were yielded by the mining district in this
region from the autumn of 1824 to that of 1829. Strong
indications of the presence of copper appear on the south¬
ern shore of Lake Superior. By the treaty of Prairie du
Chien, which was entered into in 1829, the^United States
purchased from several Indian tribes a tract of about six
millions of acres of land, of which between two and three
millions are supposed to be within the limits of the terri¬
tory. About one hundred and thirty-two thousand acres
in the vicinity of Green Bay have likewise been ceded.
The former cession comprehends nearly all the mining dis- .
trict of the Upper Mississippi, and is occupied by various
Indian tribes. The white population, which is confined
chiefly to Green Bay, is estimated at six thousand. Mili¬
tary posts are established at Green Bay, Prairie du Chien,
Fort Snelling on the river St Peters, and Fort Winne¬
bago at the portage of the Fox and Wiscousin Rivers.
Settlements more or less extensive have been formed at
Green Bay, Pembino on Red River, Lake Winnepeg,
Prairie du Chien, the Mississippi, and the lead mine bor¬
dering on the latter river and the Wiscousin. (r. r. r.)
MICKLE, William Julius, the translator of the Lu-
siad, was the son of Mr Alexander Mickle, a Scottish
clergyman, who had formerly been a dissenting minister
in London, an assistant to Dr Watts, and one of the trans¬
lators of Bayle’s Dictionary. He was born in London
about the year 1735, and educated by his father, after
whose death he came to Edinburgh to reside with his
uncle, who was a brewer there, and who admitted him
into a share of his business; but not being qualified to
succeed in this line, he went to London about the time of
the conclusion of the war which began in 1755, with a
view to procure a commission in the marine service. In
this he was disappointed; but he introduced himself to
the first Lord Lyttelton, to whom he sent one of his poems.
From his lordship, however, he received no other favour
than that of being admitted to several interviews, and en¬
couraged to persevere in his poetical plans.
From the time of Mr Mickle’s arrival in London till the
year 1765, it is not known how he employed his time,
although it is probable that he was occupied in some branch
£
10 M I C
Micro- of the printing business ; and in that year he engaged him-
tnoter. self as corrector to the Clarendon press. From this time till
1770, he published several small pieces in prose and verse,
which brought him into some notice ; and he was likewise
a frequent writer in the Whitehall Evening Post. When
not more than seventeen 3rears of age, he had read Gas-
tara's translation of the Lusiad of Camoens into French,
and then projected the design of giving an English ver¬
sion of that poem. This, however, he was prevented from
executing by various avocations till the year 1771, when
he published the first book as a specimen ; and having
prepared himself by acquiring some knowledge of the
Portuguese language, he determined to apply himself en¬
tirely to the task of translation. With this view he quitted
his residence at Oxford, and went to a farm-house at
Forest Hill, where he pursued his design with unremitting
assiduity till the year 1775, when the work was completed.
During the time that Mr Mickle was engaged in this
work, he subsisted entirely by his employment as correc¬
tor of the press; and on his quitting that employment he
had only the subscriptions which he received for his trans¬
lation to support him. But notwithstanding these difficul¬
ties, he adhered steadily to the plan he laid down, and
completed his task in about five years.
When his work had been finished, Mr Mickle applied to
a person of high rank, with whom his family had been con¬
nected, for permission to dedicate it to him. The permission
sought was granted, and his patron honoured him with a
very polite letter ; but after receiving a copy, the latter did
not think prop'er to take any notice of the author. The
applause with which the work was received, however, soon
banished from the author’s mind the disagreeable sensa¬
tions which had been occasioned by the contemptuous ne¬
glect of his patron, as well as some severe criticisms which
M "I C
had been circulated concerning it. A second edition was Micone
prepared in 1778; and whilst he was meditating a publi- II
cation of all his poems, he was appointed secretary to
Commodore Johnstone, who had obtained the command ^
of the Romney. In November 1779 he arrived at Lisbon,
and was appointed by his patron joint agent for the prizes
which were taken.
. In June 1782 Mr Mickle married Miss Tomkins, daughter
of the person with whom he had resided at Forest Hill whilst
engaged in translating the Lusiad. Having received some
fortune with this lady, and made a little money himself
when in the service of Commodore Johnstone, he now en¬
joyed a comfortable independence. He afterwards fixed
his residence at Wheatley, in Oxfordshire, where he died
after a short illness, on the 25th of October 1788, leaving
a son behind him. His poetry possesses considerable
beauty, variety, and harmony of numbers. His life was
without reproach; his foibles were few and inoffensive,
his virtues many, and his genius respectable.
MICONE, an island of the Archipelago, in the Turkish
province of Andros, which, with the small islands which sur¬
round it, contains forty-six square miles, and about 6000 •
inhabitants, living in one town of the same name, and in
many detached rural hamlets. Although the soil is not
good, and there is a scarcity of water, yet much wine and
some corn, besides olives and figs, are produced. A great
number of seamen*are educated in the island. There are
very few Turks, except the officers of government. Long.
25. 59. E. Lat. 37. 30. N.
MICROCOSM, a Greek term signifying a little world,
and used by some for man, who is supposed to be an epi¬
tome of the universe or great world.
MICROGRAPHY, the description of objects viewed with
the assistance of a microscope. See Microscopic Objects.
MICROMETER.
Micrometer, from /i/zpo;, small, and [tsrzov, a measure,
is the name of an instrument generally applied to tele¬
scopes and microscopes, for measuring small angular dis¬
tances within the field of the former, or the size of small
objects within that of the latter.
Previously to the invention of the telescope, astronomers
experienced great difficulty in measuring small angles in
the heavens ; but we may safely infer from the observa¬
tions of Hipparchus, that he had succeeded, either by
the actual division of his instruments, or by estimation, in
determining celestial arcs to one third of a degree.
When the telescope was applied by Galileo, and our
countryman Harriot, to the examination of the solar spots,
it does not appear that they executed their drawings from
any other than estimated measures. This indeed seems
quite certain in the case of Harriot, whose original sketches
we have had an opportunity of inspecting.' The elaborate
solar observations of Scheiner made in 1611, with a tele¬
scope on a polar axis, and published in 1630 in his Rosa
Ursina, though minutely laid down, and performed with
great care, were certainly made without any instrument
for subdividing the field of view.
Gascoigne. As telescopic observations, however, multiplied, astro¬
nomers felt the necessity of having something more accu¬
rate than their eye for ascertaining minute distances in
the heavens ; and there can be no doubt that a micrometer
was invented by our countryman Mr Gascoigne, previous
to 1640, not long after the publication of the Rosa Ursina.
According to the description of it which he addressed in
a letter to Mr Oughtred, and to the account of one of
Gascoigne’s own instruments which Dr Hooke examined,
its construction is as follows:—A small cylinder, stretch- ,
ing across the eye-tube of the telescope, is cut into a fine
screw throughout one third of its length, the other two
thirds being formed into a coarser screw, with threads at
twice the distance. This compound screw is confined at
both ends to its place, the fine part of it passing through
a female screw in one bar, and the coarse part through a
female screw in another bar, these two bars being grooved
into each other, as in a sliding rule. Hence, if a nicely
ground edge is fixed to one bar, and another to the other *
bar, so that these edges are accurately parallel, a motion
of the screw round its axis will separate these two edges,
and each edge will move with a different velocity. The parts
of a revolution are measured by an index and divided face,
at the coarse end of the screw, while the number of whole
revolutions is measured by a graduated bar moved by
the coarse screw. The fine screw serves the purpose of
keeping the middle part of this variable field (or the open¬
ing between the edges) in the axis or line of collimation
of the telescope ; for while the coarse screw moves the
edge which it carries from the other edge considered as
fixed, the fine screw moves both the edges, and indeed
the whole frame, in an opposite direction, with one half of
the velocity, an effect which is produced by fixing its
bar to the tube of the telescope.1 As Mr Gascoigne fell
in the civil wars, near Y’ork, in 1644, before he had given
any full account of his invention, and its application to as-
. 1 See Phil. Trans. No. 29, p. 540, Nov. 1667 ; Lowthorp’s Abridgment, voh i. p. 226 ; and Costard’s History of Astronomy.
MICROMETER.
11
Introduc¬
tion.
Hooke.
Mai vasia.
Auzout.
tronomy, we are indebted to Mr Richard Townley, into
whose hands one of the instruments fell, for the preserva¬
tion of so valuable a relic. Mr Townley informs us that
Mr Gascoigne had made use of his micrometer for some
vears before the civil wars, and had measured distances
on the earth, determined the diameters of the planets, and
erfdeavoured to find the moon’s distance from two obser¬
vations of her horizontal and meridional diameters. Mr
Townley’s instrument was of the size and weight of “ an
ordinary pocket watch.” It marked 40,000 divisions in a
foot, 2^ divisions corresponding to a second of space. Mr
Townley had it improved by a common watchmaker.
Flamsteed was presented with one of the instruments in
1670, by Sir Jonas Moore ; but though he left three gui¬
neas with Mr Collins to get proper glasses made for it, he
could not procure them till autumn 1671, when he began
his observations with it at Derby, and continued them
with it in 1671, 1672, 1673, and'1674.1 He informs us
that Townley’s improvement consisted in substituting one
screw for two. He mentions also that Gascoigne had, in
August 1640, measured with his micrometer the diame¬
ters of the sun and moon, and the relative distances of the
stars in the Pleiades.
Dr Hooke made an important improvement in this mi¬
crometer, by substituting parallel hairs for the parallel
edges of the brass plates;2 and Dr Pearson conjectures
that he had adopted this construction in his zenith sector,
by which he proposed, in his dispute with Hevelius, to
measure single seconds.
It would appear, from the Ephemerides of the Marquis of
Malvasia, published in the year 1662, that he had measured
the distances of stars, and the diameters of the planets,
and projected the lunar spots, by means of a reticle of silver
wire fixed in the focus of the eye-glass of his telescope.
In order to determine the distances of the wires which
composed this network, he turned it round till a star moved
along one of the wires, and having counted the number of
seconds which the star took to pass over the different dis¬
tances between the wires, he obtained a very accurate
scale for all micrometrical purposes.
About the year 1666, MM. Auzout and Picard, unac¬
quainted with what had been done by Gascoigne, pub¬
lished an account of a micrometer.3 Auzout’s microme-
Huygens.
ter is said to have divided a foot into 24,000 or 30,000
parts. It resembled the Marquis of Malvasia’s, with this
difference, that the divisions were measured by a screw,
and he sometimes employed fibres of silk in place of silver
wires.
The celebrated Christian Huygens was also an early
inventor of micrometrical methods ; and the subject wras
prosecuted with great diligence and success by Cassini,
Roemer, Bradley, Savary, Bouguer, Dollond, Maskelyne,
Ramsden, Sir W. Herschel, Troughton, Wollaston, Arago,
Fraunhofer, and Amici.
In giving an account of the inventions and methods of
these various authors, we shall adopt the following ar¬
rangement :—
1. Description of wire-micrometers in which the wires
are moved by one or more screws.
2. Description of wire-micrometers in which the angu¬
lar distance of the wires is varied optically, by changing
the magnifying power of the telescope.
3. Description of double-image micrometers in which
two singly refracting lenses, semi-lenses, or prisms, are
separated by screws.
4. Description of double-image micrometers in which
the two images formed by two singly refracting lenses,
semi-lenses, or prisms, are separated optically.
5. Description of double-image micrometers in which
the twro images are formed by double refraction.
6. Description of position-micrometers.
7. Description of the lamp-micrometer, and the lucid
disc micrometer.
8. Description of fixed micrometers with an invariable
scale.
9. Description of micrometers for microscopes.
Wire-Mi¬
crometers.
CHAP. I DESCRIPTION OF WIRE-MICROMETERS IN WHICH
THE WIRES ARE MOVED BY MEANS OF ONE OR MORE
SCREWS.
The micrometer of Gascoigne, when furnished with Trough-
hairs, as suggested by Dr Hooke, embodies the principle ton’s wire-
of the best and most recent micrometers. Instruments on nncrome-
this construction have been made by all our eminent opti-tGr'
cians ; but we have no hesitation in saying, that the micro¬
meter constructed by the late celebrated artist Mr 1 rough-
ton combines all the ingenuity which has been displayed
in this delicate and useful apparatus. This eye-piece, and
micrometer attached to it, are shown in Plate CCCLVII. fig.
1, 2, and 3, where fig. 1 is a horizontal section in the direc¬
tion of the axis of the telescope. The eye-piece AB con¬
sists of two plano-convex lenses A, B, of nearly the same
focal length, and the two convex sides facing each other.
They are placed at a distance less than the focal length of
A, so that the wires of the micrometer, which must be dis¬
tinctly seen, are beyond B. This arrangement gives a fiat
field, and prevents any distortion of the object. This
eye-piece slides into the tube CD, which screws into the
brass ring EF, through two openings, in which the oblong
frame MW passes. A brass circle GH, fixed to the tele¬
scope by the screw' I, has rack-teeth on its circumference,
that receive the teeth of an endless screw W, which, be¬
ing fixed by the arms XX to the oblong box MN, gives
the latter and the eye-piece a motion of rotation round the
axis of the telescope ; and an index upon this box points
out on the graduated circle upon GH, fig. 3, the angular
motion of the eye-piece. The micrometer properly so
called is shown in fig. 2, where K, L are two forks, each
connected with a screw O and P, turned by the milled
heads M and N. These forks are so fitted as to have no
lateral shake. Two pins Q, R, with spiral springs coiled
round them, pass loosely through holes in the forks K, L,
so that when the forks are pressed by their screws towards
Q.and R, the spiral springs resist them, and consequently
push them back when the screws are turned in the oppo¬
site direction.
Two fine hairs, or wires, or spiders’ lines, S, T, are
stretched across the forks, the one being fixed to the in¬
ner fork K, and the other to the outer fork L, so as to be
perfectly parallel, and not to come in contact when they
pass or eclipse one another, in which case they will appear
as one line. A wire ST is stretched across the centre of
the field, perpendicular to the parallel wires.
The most difficult part of this instrument in the execu¬
tion, as well as the most important, is the screw or screws
which move the forks. The threads must not only be at
the same distance, but have their inclination equal all
round. In the screw used by Troughton, there are about
103'6 threads in an inch. On the right hand of the line
ST, fig. 2, is seen a scale, which indicates a complete revo¬
lution of either screw, the small round hole being the zero.
This hole is bisected when the two lines appear as one.
In using this instrument, we separate the wires by their
respective screws, till the object to be measured is exactly
1 See Mr Baily’s Account of the Reverend John Flamsteed, 1835, p. 24, 29, &c. 2 Hooke’s Posthumous W orks, p. 497-8.
3 Phih Trans. No. 21, p. 373, January 1660.
12
MICROMETER.
Wire-Mi-
crometers.
Methods
of finding
the value
of a revo¬
lution of
the screw.
New me¬
thod.
Fibres for
microme¬
ters.
included between them. The number of revolutions and
parts of a revolution necessary to bring the two wires into
the position of zero, will then be a measure of the angle
required, provided the value of a revolution has been pre¬
viously ascertained with accuracy.
The easiest method of ascertaining the value of a revo¬
lution of the screw, according to the late Dr Pearson, who
devoted much attention to this subject, is to ascertain how
many revolutions and parts of one measure exactly the
sun’s vertical diameter in summer, when his altitude is
such that the refraction of both limbs is almost the same.
The sun’s diameter in seconds being divided by that num¬
ber, the quotient will be the value of a single revolution,
the sun’s diameter having been corrected by the differ¬
ence between the refraction of his two limbs. The ordi¬
nary method of ascertaining the value of a revolution is,
to observe accurately the time taken by an equatorial star,
or a star of known declination reduced to the equator, to
pass over the space between the wires when at a distance,
and to convert this time into degrees, at the rate of 15°
per hour. The number of degrees, minutes, and seconds,
divided by the revolutions and parts of a revolution which
are necessary to bring both wires into zero, will give the
value of one revolution of the screw. The same thing
may be done by measuring a base with great accuracy,
and observing the space comprehended between the wires
at that distance. The angular magnitude of this space,
divided by the number of revolutions of the screws which
bring the wires to zero, will be the value of each.
A most elegant and accurate method has been recently
employed, we believe by Professor Gauss of Gottingen, for
measuring the value of the revolutions of micrometer
screws. He employs for this purpose a standard telescope,
with a micrometer the value of whose scale has been ac¬
curately determined. Since the wires of a telescope-mi¬
crometer adjusted to distinct vision of the stars or planets
are accurately in the focus of parallel rays falling on the.
object-glass, it follows, that rays issuing from the wires and
falling on the inside of the object-glass, will emerge from
it perfectly parallel. Now, if we place the object-glass of
the standard telescope close or near to that of the first
telescope, the parallel rays formed by those issuing from its
wires will be refracted to the focus of the standard tele¬
scope, and a distinct image of the wires will be there formed.
The observer, therefore, when he looks into the standard
telescope, will see distinctly the wires of the first telescope,
and, by means of his micrometer, he will be able to measure
exactly the angular distance of these wires, at whatever
distance they happen to be placed. This angular distance
divided by the revolutions and parts of a revolution which
are necessary to bring the wires of the first telescope to
the zero of their scale, will give the value of one revolu¬
tion of the screw, or of one unit of the scale on the right
hand of the long wire ST, fig. 2.
The most essential parts of a micrometer are the paral¬
lel fibres, which require not only to be extremely fine, but
of an uniform diameter throughout. Gascoigne, as we
have seen, employed the edges of brass plates, Dr Hooke
hairs, and subsequent astronomers wires and fibres of silk.
Fontana, in 1775, recommended the spider’s line as a sub¬
stitute for wires, and he is said (we think erroneously) to
have obtained them so fine as the 8000th part of a line.
Mr Troughton had the merit of introducing the spider’s
line, which he found to be so fine, opaque, and elastic, as
to answer all the purposes of practical astronomy. This
distinguished artist, however, informed the writer of this
article, that it was only the stretcher, or the long line which
sustains the web, which possesses these useful properties.
Sir David Brewster has employed the fibres of spun glass,
which are bisected longitudinally with a fine transparent
line about the yo^Q-th of an inch in diameter. This central
line increases with the diameter of the fibre, and diminishes Wire-Mi.
with the refractive power of the glass. In cases of emer- crometera.
gency, the fibres of melted sealing-wax may be advantage-
ously employed, or, as recommended by Professor Wallace,
the fibres of asbestos. We have found crystals of mesolite
so minute and regular as to be well adapted for the same
purpose.
The art of forming silver wire of extreme minuteness w0llas-
has been perfected by Dr Wollaston. Having placed a ton’s fine
small platinum wire in the axis of a cylindrical mould, he wires,
poured melted silver into the mould, so that the platinum
wire formed the axis of the silver cylinder. The silver
was now drawn out in the usual way, till its diameter
was about the 300th of an inch, so that if the platinum
wire was at first jQth of the diameter of the silver cylin¬
der, it will now be reduced to the 3000th part of an inch.
The silver wire is now bent into the form of the letter U,
and a hook being made at each of its ends, it is suspended
by a gold wire in hot nitric acid. The silver is speedily
dissolved by the acid, excepting at its ends, and the fine
platinum wire which formed its axis remains untouched. In
this way Dr Wollaston succeeded in forming wire ^ly^th,
jy^th, and even ygjjgoth of an inch in diameter. When
the fibres are prepared, their ends are placed in parallel
scratches or grooves drawn on the forks, or, in other cases,
on the diaphragm or field bar, and fixed by a layer of bees’
wax or varnish, or, what is more secure, by pinching them
with a small screw-nail near their extremities. For a great
deal of valuable practical information respecting the con¬
struction and use of the wire-micrometer, the reader is re¬
ferred to the late Dr Pearson’s Introduction to Practical
Astronomy (vol. ii. p. 99, 110, 115, &c.), where valuable
tables will be found for facilitating the application of the
micrometer, both to celestial and terrestrial purposes. See
also Sir John Herschel and Sir James South’s Observations
of SSO Double and Triple Starsfp. 22, 23), containing tables
of the values of Troughton’s screws.
CHAP. II. DESCRIPTION OF WIRE-MICROMETERS IN WHICH
THE ANGULAR DISTANCE OF THE WIRES IS VARIED OP¬
TICALLY BY CHANGING THE MAGNIFYING POWER OF
THE TELESCOPE.
MM. Roemer and De la Hire first conceived the ideaiioemer,
of varying the angular magnitude of the meshes of a net
of silver wire fixed in the focus of the eye-glass of a tele¬
scope, for the purpose of measuring the digits of eclipses.
This was done by a second lens moving between the wires
and the object-glass. The late Mr Watt informed the writer
of this article that he had used a similar principle, but had
never published any account of it.
The plan of opening and shutting a pair of parallel wires
optically instead of mechanically, and of using it as a ge¬
neral principle in micrometers, was first adopted by Sir
David Brewster, and has been applied to a variety of me¬
thods of varying the magnifying power of the telescope.
The general principle will be readily understood from
the annexed diagram, where AB,
CD are two wires or lines of any Fig. 1.
kind permanently fixed in the fo¬
cus of the eye-glass of a telescope.
If the sun SV is in contact with
the lower wire CD, it is obvious,
that if we increase the magnifying
power of the telescope by any op¬
tical means anterior to the wires, c
we may magnify or expand the
sun’s disc SY, till it becomes Ss,
when its north or upper limb will exactly touch the upper
wire AB. Now if the sun’s diameter happens to be ‘3F
MICROMETER.
13
Wire-Mi- when its disc Ss just fills the space between the wires
crometers. .AB, CD, the distance of the wires must have been 62'
v—^ when, as at S's', it fills only half that space. Hence the
wires have been moved optically, so to speak, and have
subtended all angles between 31' and 62'.
The methods of varying the magnifying power of the
telescope used by Sir David Brewster, consist, 1, in vary¬
ing the distance of the two parts of the achromatic eye¬
piece ; and, 2, by varying the focal length of the princi¬
pal object-glass by means of another object-glass, either
convex or concave, moving between it and its principal
focus.
Eye-glass The first of these methods is shown in fig. 2, where AB
microme¬
ter. Fig. 2.
is the eye-piece with its four lenses, A, C, D, B, in their
natural position. The part AFG, with the two lenses A, C,
is fixed to the telescope, and a space is left between the
tube AC and the outer tube AFG, to allow the moveable
part DB of the eye-piece to get sufficiently near the lens
C. The tube DB is moved out and in by a rack and pi¬
nion E. A scale is formed on the upper surface mn, and
subdivided in the usual manner with a lens and vernier,
which it is unnecessary to represent in the figure. The
value of the divisions of the scale are determined by direct
experiment. A motion of DB through a space of four
inches will, generally speaking, double the magnifying
power of the telescope.
Object- The best method, however, of varying the magnifying
glass mi- power of the telescope is the second, which is shown in
crometer. ^ where O is the object-glass,/its principal focus, and
Fig. 3.
L the second lens, which is moveable between O and /
Parallel rays HR, after being refracted by O, so that they
would converge to f, are intercepted by L, which conver¬
ges them to F, the focus of the combined lenses. The ef¬
fect of the lens L is therefore to diminish the focal length
of the object-glass, and consequently the magnifying power
of the telescope, which will obviously be a minimum when
the lens L is at /, and a maximum when it is at V. The
angle subtended by a pair of fixed wires will suffer an op¬
posite change to the magnifying power, being a maximum
when the lens L is at /, and a minimum when it is at-
Hence the scale for measuring the variable angle of these
wires may always be equal to the focal length of the ob¬
ject-glass O ; and the inventor of the instrument has
shown, both by theory and by experiment, that the scale
is one of equal parts, the variations in the angle of the
fixed wires being proportional to the variations in the po¬
sition of the moveable lens.
When we wish to measure angles that do not suffer a
great change, such as the diameters of the sun and moon,
a scale less than the focal length of the object-glass will be
sufficient. For example, if we take a lens L, which by a
motion of ten inches varies the magnifying power from 40
to 35, then, if the angle of the wires is 29' when the lens L
is at C, it will be 33' 9" when the lens is ten inches from
or the magnifying power 35. We have, therefore, a
scale of ten inches to measure a change of angle of 4' 9'', Wire-Mi-
so that every tenth of an inch will correspond to 3"*3, and crometers.^
every 100th of an inch to ^d of a second. Such a micro-
meter w-ill serve to measure the diameters of the sun and
moon at their various distances from the earth.
If we wish to measure the distances of some double stars,
or the diameters of some of the smaller planets, with a te¬
lescope whose magnifying power varies from 300 to 240,
by the motion of a lens over ten inches, place the parallel
wires at a distance of 40", which will be increased to 50"
by the motion of the lens. Hence we have a scale of ten
inches to measure ten seconds, or the tenth of an inch to
measure one second, or the 100th oftm inch to measure
Tiyth of a second.
Several pairs of wires placed at different distances might
be fixed upon the same diaphragm, or upon separate dia¬
phragms, which could be brought into the focus when
wanted; and the second pair of wires might be placed at
such a distance that their least angle was equal to the
largest angle of the first pair, and so on with the rest.
A wire-micrometer thus constructed is certainly free
from almost all the sources of error which affect the
common moveable wire-micrometer. The errors arising
from the imperfection of the screw, the uncertainty of
zero, and other causes, are avoided; and the wires are al¬
ways equidistant from the centre of the field, so as to be
equally affected by any optical imperfection in the tele¬
scope. The scale indeed may be formed by direct expe¬
riment, and the results will be as free from error as the ex¬
periments by which the scale was made.
When this micrometer is applied to a portable telescope,
it becomes of great use in naval, military, or geodetical
operations, and is employed in measuring distances, either
by taking the angle subtended by a body of known dimen¬
sions, or by measuring the two angles subtended by a body
of unknown dimensions from the two extremities of a
known or measured base. For these purposes the tele¬
scope is fitted up without a stand, as shown in Plate
CCCLYII. fig. 4.
The principle of separating a pair of wires optically is
singularly applicable to the Gregorian and Cassegrainian
telescopes, where no additional lens or mirror is required.
As the magnifying power of both these telescopes may be
increased merely by increasing the distance of the eye¬
piece from the great speculum, and then re-adjusting the
small speculum to distinct vision, we can thus vary the angle
of a pair of fixed wires by making the eye-piece moveable.
This will be easily comprehended from the annexed figure,
where SS is the great speculum of a Gregorian reflector,
AA the tube, M the small speculum, whose focus is G,
and centre of curvature H. It is fixed to an arm MQ,
moveable to and from SS in the usual way. The image
RV is that formed by the speculum SS, and r"R" that
Fig. 4.
formed by the small speculum. This last image being in
the focus of the eye-glass E, will be seen distinct and mag¬
nified. If the eye-glass E is pulled out to E', then, in
order that the object may be seen distinctly, the image
r"R" must be brought into the position r'"R'", FF' being
equal to EE'; but this can be done only by advancing the
small speculum M to M',/and F' being now the conjugate
14
MICROMETER.
Double-
Image
Microme¬
ters.
Rbemer.
Savary.
Dollond.
foci of M. But by this process the magnifying power has
been considerably increased, because the part of the whole
MF
magnifying power produced by M was equal to where-
. . M'F , , . M/
as it is now a much larger quantity. The angle sub¬
tended by the wires has therefore been diminished in the
same proportion as the magnifying power has been in¬
creased. The scale, in this case, is not one of equal parts,
but after the extreme points of it have been determined
experimentally, the rest may be filled up either by calcu¬
lation or direct experiment.
Dr Pearson1 has, with singular inaccuracy, stated that
Sir David Brewster’s “ patent micrometer is not competent
to measure very small angles, even if it had sufficient mag-
nifying power.” If he means the patent micrometer as
made by Mr Harris, as a naval and military telescope for
measuring distances, or as a coming-up glass, he is quite
right, because the power of measuring small angles is not
required for these practical purposes. But it is quite evi¬
dent that the smallest angles can be measured by the mi¬
crometer when fitted up for astronomical purposes. We
have only to use a pair of wires placed at a very small dis¬
tance, or a pair of semi-lenses whose centres are placed at a
very small distance, and then vary their angles till it be¬
comes equal to the very small angle which we wish to
measure.
CHAP. III. DESCRIPTION OF DOUBLE-IMAGE MICROME¬
TERS IN WHICH TWO SINGLY REFRACTING LENSES, SE¬
MI-LENSES, OR PRISMS, ARE SEPARATED BY SCREWS.
M. Rbemer, the celebrated Danish astronomer, is said
to have been the first who suggested the use of a double¬
image micrometer. He did this about 1678, but the idea
does not seem to have been carried into effect, or known
to his successors. Nearly seventy years afterwards, viz.
in 1743, Mr Servington Savary, of Exeter, communicated
to the Royal Society an account of a double-image micro¬
meter ; and five years afterwards, in 1748, the celebrated
Bouguer proposed the very same construction, which he
called a heliometer. This instrument consisted of two'
lenses, which could be separated and made to approach
each other by a screw or other mechanical means. These
lenses gave double images of every object; and when the
two images of any object, such as the sun or moon, were
separated till they exactly touched one another, the dis¬
tance of the object-glasses afforded a measure of the solar
or lunar diameter, after an experimental value of the divi¬
sions of the scale had been obtained.
As two complete lenses, however, must always have
their least distance equal to the diameter of either, this
instrument was incapable of measuring the diameters of
small bodies. This obvious defect no doubt led John Dol¬
lond, in 1753, to the happy idea of the divided object-glass
micrometer, in which the two halves of an object-glass are
made to recede from the position in which they form a com¬
plete object-glass. When the centres of the two halves coin¬
cide, they obviously form one lens, and give only one image.
When the centres are slightly separated the images will
be slightly separated; and small objects may be brought
into contact, and have the angles which they subtend ac¬
curately measured. The scale will, therefore, have a zero
corresponding to the coincidence of the centres of the
semi-lenses. The principle of this instrument will be un¬
derstood from fig. 5, where H, E are two semi-lenses,
whose centres are at H, E, and F their focus. If PQ be a
circular object whose diameter is to be measured, or P, Q
two points whose angular distance is to be
determined, the lenses are to be separated Fig. 5.
till the two images x, z are in contact at F.
As the rays QHF, PEF pass unrefracted
through the centres H, E of the semi-lenses,
the angle subtended by QP will be equal to
the angle HFE, or that which the distance
of the centres of the semi-lenses subtends
at F. As the angles, therefore, are very
small, they'will vary as HE ; and when the
angles corresponding to any one distance
of the centres is determined, those for any
other distance will be ascertained by simple
proportion.
Mr Dollond, who had not at this time in¬
vented the achromatic telescope, applied
his micrometer to the object end of a re¬
flecting telescope, as shown in Plate
CCCLVII. fig. 5, which represents the mi¬
crometer as seen from beyond the object
end of the reflector. A piece of tube B,
carrying the micrometer, slides into or over
the tube A of the telescope, and is fast¬
ened to it by a screw. The tube B carries a wheel (not
seen in the figure) formed of a ring racked at the outer
edge, and fixed* M the brass plate CC, so that a pinion
moved by the handle D may turn it into any position.
Two plates F, G are kept close to the plate CC by the
rabbeted bars H, H, but with so much play that they
can move in contrary directions by turning the handle
E, which drives a concealed pinion that works in the two
racks seen in the highest part of the figure. As the two
semi-lenses are fixed to the plates F, G, their centres
will be separated by the action of the handle E, and their
degree of separation is measured by a scale of five inches
subdivided into 20ths of an inch, and read off by a ver¬
nier on the plate F, divided into 25 parts, corresponding
to 24 of the scale, so that we can measure the separation
of the semi-lenses to the j^th of an inch. The vernier
is seen to the right of H, and may be adjusted to the zero
of the scale, or the position of the lenses when they give
only one image, by means of the thumb-screw I, a motion
of the vernier being permitted by the screws which fix it
to the plate F passing through oblong holes.2
In this construction, the micrometer is too far from the
observer, and destroys the equilibrium of the telescope.
The instrument itself, however, has more serious defects, as
it has been found that the measures of the sun’s diameter,
taken by different observers/with the same instrument,
and at the same time, differ so much as 12 or 15 seconds.
This defect has been ascribed to the different states of the
observers’ eyes, according as they have a tendency to give
distinct vision within or beyond the focal point, where the
image is most perfect; in the former case the limbs being
somewhat separated, and in the latter overlapping. M.
Mosotti, in the Effemeride of Milan for 1821, has discov¬
ered the true cause of this defect, by a series of accurate
experiments which he made with this micrometer attached
to a Gregorian reflector of two feet in focal length. The
focal length of the divided object-glass was 511-3357 inches,
or 42 feet 7^ inches. M. Mosotti has shown that a diver¬
sity of measures will be obtained by the same observer,
if, for the purpose of obtaining distinct vision, he gives a
slight displacement to the small speculum by the adjusting
screw. If the position of this speculum which gives dis¬
tinct vision were a point, it would be easy to find that
point; but as distinct vision may be obtained within a
Double
Image
Micromi
ters.
1 Introduction to Practical Astronomy, vol. ii.
’ Phil. Trans, vol. xlviii.
MICROMETER.
15
Double- space of 10 or 12 thousandths of an inch, owing to aber-
Image ration, every different observer will place the mirror at a
Microme- different point within that range, and consequently ob-
ters’ tain a measure corresponding to the image which he
views. M. Mosotti recommends that the axis of the ad¬
justing screw, which carries the small speculum, should
carry a vernier connected with a scale on the outer sur¬
face of the tube A. By means of this vernier the observer
is able to give a fixed position to the small speculum, so
that he always views the same image, and is thus sure of
obtaining the same measure of the same object, so far as
the observation is concerned. M. Mosotti found also that
the measures were affected by a change of temperature,
which, by changing the length of the tube, displaced the
small speculum. In his instrument this displacement
amounted to 0-0075 of an inch, which, he has shown, cor¬
responds to a change of focal length from 511-3357 to
5l4-84j inches ; and that the error from this cause, upon a
length of 30', will be 13" in excess.
The following is Dr Pearson’s enumeration of the differ¬
ent sources of error in the divided object-glass microme¬
ter when applied to reflectors.
1. A variation in the position of the small mirror when
the eye estimates the point of distinct vision.
2. A displacement of the small mirror by change of
temperature.
3. A change of focal distance when central and extreme
rays are indiscriminately used. The amount of this error
depends on the aberration of the semi-lenses.
4. A defect of adjustment, or of perfect figure, in the two
specula, as they regard each other, the measures varying
when taken in different directions.
In order to enable Dollond’s micrometer to measure dif¬
ferences of declination and right ascension, Dr Maskelyne
introduced the aid of cross wires, which he fixed in a move-
able ring at the place where the double image is formed.
One or both of the two pla¬
nets or stars are referred to
one or other of these lines, as
will be seen in the annex¬
ed figure, which we take as
an example, out of four cases.
Let ENWS be the field of
view, NS the meridian, and
EW the line of east and west;
then, in order to obtain the
difference of right ascension
and declination of two stars,
he opened the semi-lenses till
he obtained double images of
each star. He then turned round the micrometer till the
two images of the first star passed over the vertical wire
NS at the same instant, and having counted the time that
elapsed till the two images of the other star passed over
the same line, he had the difference of right ascension in
time. By means of the screw which elevated his telescope,
and partly by opening the semklenses, he made the north
image of one star, and the south image of the other, as at
A, B, describe in their motion the horizontal wire EW, and
at that position of the semi-lenses the scale indicated the
difference of declination.
Fig. 6.
IS*
Mr Dol- A very important improvement upon the divided object-
lond’s im- glass micrometer’ was made by Mr Dollond’s son, who
menT* adapted it to a refracting telescope, and removed the dif¬
ferent sources of error to which it had been found liable.
This improvement consists both in the nature, form, and
position of the semi-lenses. The semi-lenses are made con¬
cave, and consist of crown and flint glass, so as to give an
achromatic image along with the object-glass of the tele¬
scope to which they are applied. These concave semi- Double¬
lenses, of course, lengthen the focal distance of that object- Image
glass. When a circular lens was bisected, as in the old
construction, the metallic parts which held the semi-lenses v .
obstructed the light in proportion to their separation ; a
defect of a serious nature in an instrument. In order to
correct this evil, Mr J. Dollond substituted two long slices
of glass cut from the diametral portion of a lens nearly
six inches in diameter. Hence, in every position of these
oblong semi-lenses, none of the metallic setting comes be¬
fore the object-glass, and consequently the light is never
obstructed, and is always of the same amount, whatever
be the separation of the lenses. In the old construction,
where the diameters of each lens slid along each other in
contact, a part of the central portions having been re¬
moved by grinding the diameters smooth, the two images
of an object never could coincide so as to give an accurate
zerobut in the new construction, the space equal to what
was removed by grinding is filled up with a brass scale and
vernier, and the only evil of this is the loss of light cor¬
responding to the thickness of this scale; but this trifling
defect is amply compensated by the perfect coincidence
of the images at zero.
This important instrument is shown in Plate CCCLVII.
fig. 6, where the same letters are used as in fig. 5 to denote
the analogous parts of the two instruments. The end of the
telescope is shown at A, and B is the rim of brass, which, by
sliding upon A, fixes the micrometer to the telescope. The
frame CC', moved by teeth on its outer edge, carries one of
the halves G of the lens, and a similar frame with teeth car¬
ries the other half F. The scale S, six inches long, is fas¬
tened like an edge-bar to CC', and each inch is subdivided
into 20 parts, which are read off with a vernier of 25
parts, which is fastened as an edge-bar to the moveable
frame that carries F. The two moveable frames are im¬
bedded in a fixed plate HIT, screwed to the tube B of the-
micrometer, and having a circular hole in its middle equal
to the diameter of the object-glass. The two semi-lenses
are separated by turning the milled head to the right of A,
which moves the frame CC', and then the other frame F
through the medium of a concealed wheel and a concealed
pinion. The mechanism for giving the rotatory motion is
also concealed. The adjustment of the vernier to zero is
effected by the screw I.
The property which the double-image micrometer pos¬
sesses, of measuring angles in all directions, directed to
it the attention of Itamsden and other eminent opticians.
Itamsden accordingly communicated to the Royal Society
of London, in 1777,1 an account of two instruments of
this kind, under the name of the Dioptric and Catoptric
Micrometers. In order to avoid the effects of aberration, Itarnsden’s
Ramsden proposed, in his dioptric micrometer, to place two dioptric
semi-lenses in the conjugate focus of the innermost lens of j™crome"
the erect eye-tube of a refracting telescope. In place or “
the imperfections of the lenses being magnified by the
whole power of the telescope, they are magnified only
about five or six times, and the size of the micrometer
glass does not require to be Tooth Part °f the area which
is necessary in Dollond’s instrument. This instrument is
shown in Plate CCCLVII. fig. 7, where A is a convex or
concave lens, bisected in the usual way. One of the semi¬
lenses is fixed in a frame B and the other in a similar frame
E, both of which slide upon a plate H, against which they
are pressed by thin plates a, a. The milled button D, by
means of a pinion and rack, moves these frames in opposite
directions ; and the separation of the semi-lenses thus ef¬
fected is measured by a scale of equal parts L on the frame
B, the zero being in the middle, and the divisions read off
by two verniers at M and N, carried by the frame E; the
1 See Phil. Trans, vol. Ixix. 177£), p> 419.
16 MICROMETER.
Double- vernier M showing the relative motion of the two frames
Image when the frame B moves to the right, and N when the
Microme- frarae B is moved to the left. An endless screw F gives
ters' v the whole micrometer a motion round the axis of vision.
This instrument being only the divided object-glass mi¬
crometer in miniature, and differently placed, the reader
will have no difficulty in understanding its construction
and use, from the details already given in the preceding
pages.
Dr Pearson informs us, on theauthority of Mr Troughton,
that a Captain Countess, R. N. having accidentally broken
the third lens of a terrestrial eye-piece of his telescope,
observed the double images which it produced; and that
this observation led to the contrivance of the coming-up
glass that was first made by Nairne, with a double screw
for separating the halves of the amplifying lens. Hence
it is conjectured that Ramsden derived his idea of using a
bisected lens for his dioptric micrometer and dynameter.
The above facts may be quite true, but Ramsden certainly
did not require any such hint, as it was a very natural tran¬
sition from a bisected object-glass to a bisected eye-glass.
Dr Pearson also states that Mr George Dollond had
constructed a dioptric micrometer almost the same as
Ramsden’s, without knowing any thing of what Ramsden
had proposed. We have no doubt that both these ingeni¬
ous opticians were quite original in their ideas, for it will
not be supposed that Captain Countess’s broken lens fur¬
nished Mr Dollond with the idea of his contrivance. Dr
Pearson has given a drawing and description of Mr Dol-
lond’s construction of the micrometer as made for Mr
Davies Gilbert and himself.1 It does not appear that Mr
Ramsden ever constructed it. The weight of this micro¬
meter was found by Dr Pearson too great for an ordinary
achromatic telescope.
liamsden’s Mr Ramsden likewise proposed a catoptric double-image
catoptric micrometer,"which, from being founded on the principle of
microme- reflection, is not disturbed by the heterogeneity of light,
ter' while he considered it as “ avoiding every defect of other
micrometers,” having “no aberration, nor any defect which
arises from the imperfection of materials or of ^execution,
as the extreme simplicity of its construction requires no
additional mirrors or glasses to those required for the te¬
lescope.” “ It has also, peculiar to itself, the advantages
of an adjustment to make the images coincide in a direc¬
tion perpendicular to that of their motion. In order to
effect these objects, Mr Ramsden divided the small spe¬
culum of a Cassegrainian reflector into two equal halves, and
by inclining each half on an axis at right angles to the
plane that separated them, he obtained two distinct images;
but as their angular separation was only half the inclina¬
tion of the specula, which would give only a small scale,
he rejected this first idea, and separated the semi-specula
by making them turn on their centre of curvature, any
extent of scale being obtained by fixing the centre of mo¬
tion at a proportional distance from the common centre of
curvature. The mechanism necessary to effect this is
shown in Plate CCCLVII. fig. 8, where A is the bisected
speculum, one of the semi-specula being fixed on the inner
end of the arm B, its outer end being fixed on a steel axis
X extending across the mouth of the tube C. The other
semi-speculum is fixed on the inner end of the arm D, its
outer end terminating in a socket«/, which turns upon the
steel axis x. These arms are braced by the bars a, a. A
compound screw G, having its upper part cut into double the
number of threads in an inch, viz. 100, to the lower part g,
which has only 50, works with the handle in a nut F in the
side of the tube, while the part g turns in a nut H fixed to
the arm B. The point of the compound screw separates the
ends of the arms B and D, and, pressing against the stud
h fixed to the arm D, turns in the nut H on the arm B. Double.
A spiral spring within the part n presses the two arms B, lma8e
D against the direction of the double screw e g, so as to 5
prevent all shake or play in the nut H. The progressive s
motion of the screw through the nut will be half the dis¬
tance of the semi-specula, so that these specula will be
moved equally in opposite directions from the axis of the
telescope.
A graduated circle V, divided into 100 parts on its cylin¬
drical surface, is fixed on the upper end of the screw G, so
as to cause it to separate the semi-specula. The fixed
index I shows the parts of a revolution performed by the
screw, while the number of whole revolutions of the
screw is shown by the divisions of the same index. A
steel screw R, moveable by a key, inclines the small spe¬
culum at right angles to the direction of its motion. Dis¬
tinct vision is procured in the usual manner, and the tele¬
scope has a motion about its axis, in order to measure the
diameter of a planet in any direction ; and the angle of ro¬
tation in reference to the horizon is shown by a level, gra¬
duated circle, and vernier, at the eye end of the large tube.
A catoptric double-image micrometer has been suggest- Catoptric
ed by Sir David Brewster as applicable to the Newtonian microme.
telescope. The plane mirror is bisected, and is made toterfora.
form two images, either by giving each semi-speculum
motion round .their common line of junction, or round a
line perpendicular to that common line. The mechanism
by which this may be effected does not require any de¬
scription. If the micrometer is required for the sun or
any luminous body, the small mirror may be made of pa¬
rallel glass, which would have the advantage of not ob¬
structing any of the light which enters the telescope, while
it reflects enough for the purposes of distinct vision. We
shall again have occasion to refer more particularly to this {;
idea in the next section. tl
Professor Amici of Modena has described, in the Me- Amici’s
moirs of the Italian Society, a new micrometer, which
gives double images by means of semi-lenses separated byter*
mechanical means; but as we have not access to this
work, we shall draw our description of the instrument
from one given by Dr Pearson, which is very far from be¬
ing distinct, in so far at least as the construction of the
semi-lenses, or bars of glass as they are called, are con¬
cerned. The semi-lenses seem to be portions of a large
concave lens, separated in the usual manner, so as to give
two distinct images of objects; but the peculiarity of the
invention seems to consist in the lenses being placed be¬
tween the object-glass of a telescope and its principal fo¬
cus, the cone of rays being divided at a point about six
inches before the place where the focal image is formed.
Dr Pearson, who made experiments with one of these in¬
struments, has hinted at the inconveniences which he ex¬
perienced in using it.
CHAP. IV. DESCRIPTION OF DOUBLE-IMAGE MICROME¬
TERS IN WHICH THE TWO IMAGES FORMED BY TWO
SIMPLY REFRACTING LENSES, SEMI-LENSES, OR PRISMS,
ARE SEPARATED OPTICALLY.
In the year 1776 Dr Maskelyne constructed and used Maske-
his prismatic micrometer, which he had contrived with lyne’s pris-
the view of getting rid of the sources of error to which he mad0 nU'
found the divided object-glass micrometer liable. Having cu>meter'
cut a prism or wedge of glass into two parts, so as to form
two prisms of exactly the same refracting angle, he con¬
ceived the idea of fixing them together, so as to produce
two images, and to vary the angle which these two ima¬
ges formed, by making the prisms move between the ob-
1 Introduction to Practical Astronomy, vol. ii. p. 182.
MICROMETER.
17
Double-
Image
Microme¬
ters.
[New di¬
vided ob-
Iject-glass
microme¬
ter.
ject-glass and its principal focus ; so that the scale is equal
to the whole focal length of the telescope. The two
prisms may be placed in three, ways, with their thin edges
joined, with their square thick edges or backs joined, or
'with their sides or triangular edgds joined. In the first
position the double images will have only one halt of the
light which is incident on the object-lens when the prisms
are close to it, and their degree of illumination will dimi¬
nish as they approach the focus. In the second position
they will, as before, have only one half of the incident
light when close to the object-glass, but the illumination
will gradually increase as the prisms advance to the focus.
In the third case, the prisms being in a reverse position,
the light will be the same in every part of the scale, each
of them receiving half the rays which fall upon the object-
glass. On this account Dr Maskelyne preferred this last
arrangement.
In the instrument which Dr Maskelyne constructed,
and which seemed to have had only a thirty-inch object-
glass, the prisms were not achromatic, and consequently
the touching limbs of a luminous body were affected with
the prismatic colours. In the case of the sun, where all
the rays might have been absorbed but the red, this was
of little consequence; but in other cases it was a serious
defect, which could be removed only by making the prisms
achromatic ; or it might have been diminished by making
the prisms of fluor spar, in which the dispersion is very
small. One of the Dollonds, accordingly, executed for Dr
Maskelyne an achromatic prism, which performed well.
It does not appear that Dr Maskelyne made any observa¬
tions of value with this instrument.
A new divided object-glass micrometer has been con¬
structed by Sir David Brewster, and described in his Trea¬
tise on New Philosophical Instruments. It consists of
an achromatic object-glass LL, fig. 7, between which
Fig. 7.
Fig. 8.
have an instrument which will measure with the greatest
accuracy all angles between the two extreme ones. Ano¬
ther or more pair of semi-lenses may be used in the same
telescope, and placed at smaller or greater distances, so
that, by means of other scales adapted to them, we may
obtain all angles that may be required. The lenses A, B
may be concave or convex; and when a large scale is re¬
quired, with a tenth of an inch to a second, or even great¬
er, we have only to use semi-lenses of long foci, and the
scale may be confined to the part of the tube nearest the
focal point.
Sir David Brewster has proved, both from theory and
experiment, that the scale is one of equal parts; so that,
after having ascertained by experiment the two extreme
angles, the whole scales may be completed by dividing
the interval into any number of equal parts, and these sub¬
divided, if necessary, by a vernier scale.
When the semi-lenses are placed without the object-
Fig. 9
Double-
Image
Microme¬
ters.
and its principal focus/ two achromatic semi-lenses, fixed
at a given distance, are made to move. These lenses are
shown in fig. 8, and are fixed on a piece of tube, which screws
into a tube ; by pulling out and
pushing in which, they are
made to recede from or ap¬
proach to the object-glass LL.
By this motion the angle sub¬
tended by the two images va¬
ries in the same manner as the
angle subtended by a pair of
fixed wires was made to vary
by the motion of a second ob¬
ject-glass. When the semi¬
lenses are close to LL, as
shown at A, B, fig. 7, the two
images which they form are much separated, and their cen¬
tres subtend a large angle ; but as the lenses approach to/
the centres of the images gradually approach each other,
and consequently the angle which they subtend continually
increases. Hence, if we determine by experiment the an¬
gular distance of their centres when the lenses are close to
LL, and likewise the angle when they are at/ the other
end of the scale, and if we fill up the intermediate points of
the scale either from theory or direct experiment, we shall
VOL. xv.
glass LL, and this object-glass moved towards / as in the
annexed figure, the angular distance of the images is in¬
variable.
This instrument has been constructed for measuring
distances, and as a coming-up glass for ascertaining whe¬
ther a ship is approaching to or receding from the ob¬
server. In this form it constitutes part of fig. 4, Plate
CCCLVIL, the semi-lenses being made to screw into the
same place as the second object-glass, and having a sepa¬
rate scale for themselves. In this form many of the in¬
struments have been constructed by Tulley.
Among the optical micrometers, we may describe ano- Prismatic
ther invented by Sir David Brewster, and adapted solely microme-
to the Newtonian telescope. In order to get rid of the ^g^?rnian
loss of light by the reflection of the small plane speculum,
he uses an achromatic prism to reflect the light just as
much out of the axis of the telescope as will allow the head
of the observer to be applied to the eye-tube, without ob¬
structing any of the light which enters the tube. By using
two prisms, as in Maskelyne’s instrument, and moving them
along the axis of his telescope through a small distance,
we shall obtain a good micrometer. The prisms may be
separated mechanically, or a doubly refracting prism may
be fixed upon the face of the single or achromatic prism
used to turn aside the rays. The achromatism of a single
glass prism may be corrected by the doubly refracting
prism, a balance of refraction being left sufficient to turn
aside the image to the observer’s eye.
CHAP. V. DESCRIPTION OF DOUBLE-IMAGE MICROMETERS
IN WHICH THE TWO IMAGES ARE FORMED BY DOUBLE
REFRACTION.
The happy idea of applying the two images formed by Rochon’s
double refraction to the construction of a micrometer un-first micio-
questionably belongs to the Abbe Rochon ; and though Dr meter.
Pearson has laboured to show that Dr Maskelyne’s prisma¬
tic telescope was constructed before Rodion’s, yet this does
not in the smallest degree take away from the originality
and priority of Rochon’s invention ; for the idea of varying
the angle by the motion of the prisms can scarcely be view¬
ed as an essential part of the invention.
18
MICROMETER.
Double- Although the double refraction of rock-crystal is small,
Image yet? from jts limpidity and hardness, the Abbe Rochon re-
ters™0* garded ^ as suI)er‘or t0 any other substance for making
^ r . doubly refracting prisms. When he used one prism so
Rochon’s cut that its refracting edge coincided with the axis of the
first micro-prism, in which case its double refraction was the greatest,
meter. he found that the separation of the two images was too
small to give the angles which he required.1 He therefore
fell upon a most ingenious plan of doubling the amount of
the double refraction of one prism, by using two prisms of
rock-crystal, so cut out of the solid as to give each the
same quantity of double refraction, and yet to double that
quantity in the effect produced. This construction of the
compound prism was so difficult, that M. liochon informs
us, that “ he knew only one person, M. Narci, who was
capable of giving rock-crystal the prismatic form in the
proper direction for obtaining the double refractions neces¬
sary to the goodness of the micrometer.” The method
used by Narci seems to have been kept a secret, for in
1819 Dr Wollaston set himself to discover the method of
constructing these compound prisms, and has described it
in the Philosophical Transactions,2 but not in such a man¬
ner as to be very intelligible to those who are not familiar
with such subjects. We conceive that the process may be
easily understood from the following rule. Cut a hexago¬
nal prism of quartz into two halves by a plane passing
through or parallel to its axis. Grind and polish the two
cut faces, and by means of Canada balsam cement the one
upon the other, so that any line or edge in the one face
may be perpendicular to the same line in the other. Cut
and polish a face on each of the united portions, so that
the common section of these faces with the cemented
planes may be parallel to the axis of the crystal, while
they are equally inclined to these planes, and the prism
will be completed.
Method of We shall now’explain, by a diagram, a more simple and
cutting the economica] way 0f cutting these prisms, though the prin¬
ciple is exactly the same. Let AKGDBLHF be half of a
hexagonal prism of quartz, the height of which, DF, is
equal to half of its diameter AD. Bisect AD in C, and
join CK, CG, and draw CE parallel to AB or DF. This
line CE will be the axis of the prism. Grind and polish
the section ABFD, and cut off the prisms AKCBLE and
DGCFHE, setting aside the intermediate similar prism
KGCLHF. The faces ACEB, DCEF are square and
equal, so that if we cement these faces together, making
the line AB coincide with FE, AC will coincide with FD,
CE with CF, and EB with CF. If we wish each prism to
have an angle of 60°, we may take either GDFH or GCEH
for the refracting face of it; we
shall suppose the former. In this
case we must grind and polish a
face on the other prism ABL, which
is accurately parallel to the face
GDFH, and the compound prism
will be completed. If 60° is too
great, we must grind down the
face GDFH till it has the desired
inclination to DF, and grind and
polish a face parallel to it on the
other prism. The external faces, in
short, to be made upon each prism,
must be equally inclined to the ce¬
mented planes DCEF, ABEC, and
have their common section DF pa¬
rallel to the axis CE of the prism.
prisms
from the
crystal.
ters.
In place of cutting off the prism AKCBLE, we may cut off Double
only the prism GCDHEF, leaving the intermediate one 1 Image
KGCLHE attached to AKCBLE, and proceed as before. Microme
The object of this is to leave enough of solid quartz at KL
to give a face of the same breadth as GDFH. If the
prisms required are small compared with the quartz crys¬
tal, we may obtain, by the first method, six prisms out of
the crystal, or three pair of compound ones. On the other
hand, if the required prism is large compared with the
crystal of quartz, it may require one half of the crystal to
make one prism, and the other half the other. Nay, it may
be necessary to cut each individual prism out of separate
crystals, the method of doing which is very obvious from
the preceding description.
When the prism is completed, it is obvious that a ray of
light incident perpendicularly on the face GHFD will be
perpendicular to the axis of the prism CE, and therefore
the extraordinary ray will suffer the greatest deviation, viz.
17'; and the same is true of the other prism. But when
the ray passes through both,
it is found to have a devia- Fig. 11.
tion of 34', which is produ¬
ced in the following manner: '
Let AB be a line viewed  °
through one of the prisms,
with its refracting angle
turned upwards ; two images   
of it will be seen, viz. the A____ _B
extraordinary image at E,
and the ordinary one at O.
If we now interpose the other prism with its refracting
angle downwards, both these images E, O will be refract¬
ed downwards. But, owing to the transverse cutting of
the prisms, the extraordinary image E, which was most
raised, now suffers ordinary refraction, and is least depress¬
ed, so that in place of being refracted back to AB, it comes
only to E'Q'. On the other hand, the ordinary image O,
which suffered the least refraction, is now extraordinarily
refracted, and, in place of reaching AB, is depressed to
O'E'; and since the double refraction of each prism, as
well as the angles of the prism, are equal, the angular
distance of the images E'O', O'E' foi'med by the combined
prisms will be double of the distance EO, or 34'.
The same rule maybe followed in cutting the prism out
of the limpid and homogeneous topazes of New Flolland,
the principal axis of which coincides with the axis of the
prism. When the crystals are amorphous, the cleavage
planes will be a sufficient guide, as the above axis is al¬
ways perpendicular to them. Such prisms are incompar¬
ably superior, as we have practically experienced, to those
made of rock-crystal.
When a very large angle is required for any particular
purposes, artificial crystals, such as carbonate of potash,
&c. may be advantageously employed, the crystals being
ground with oil, or any fluid in which they are not soluble.
By cementing plates of parallel glass on their outer sur¬
faces, they will be as permanent as rock-crystal.
Dr Pearson fitted up with one of Rochon’s micrometers
an achromatic telescope 33 inches in focal length, and
having a magnifying powrer of 35^. He applied to it two
separate compound prisms, one of which had a constant
angle of 32', and the other an angle only of 5', the ver¬
nier in the former case indicating seconds, and in the lat¬
ter tenths of seconds. A drawing is given of the tube, with
the prisms and scales, in Plate CCCLVII. fig. 9 and 10,
as given by Dr Pearson. The tube is graduated from the
1 In his first experiments Rochon corrected the dispersion of the rock-crystal prism by a similar prism placed in front of it, and
having its exterior face perpendicular to the axis of the crystal. This prism, having no effect in doubling the image, gave him a
complete correction of the dispersion for the ordinary image.
a Phil. Trans. 1820, p. 120.
MICROMETER.
19
Double- solar focus into two scales, one being placed on each side
Image of the slit or opening cut along the middle of the tubes,
■ Microme- t0 all0w the sliding piece, shown separately in tig. 10,. to
ters- move from the object-glass to the solar focus. This sliding
piece holds the prism, the larger prism of 32' being shown
as placed with its sliding piece in the tube, and the smaller
prism of 5' being shown in the separate sliding piece, tig.
9. The two verniers of the scales are seen on each side
of the two screws with milled heads, which pass through
the slit, and serve to move the sliding piece to or from
the object-glass when they are not too much tightened.
In his original memoir on the subject, published in the
JournaldePhysique \'ox 1801,1 M.Rochon makes the follow¬
ing observations. “ I ought not to omit, that in this new
construction there are difficulties of execution not easy
to surmount, which may have been one reason why these
instruments, so useful to navigators, and in certain very
nice astronomical observations, have not been adopted.
This induced me at length to adopt Euler’s method. In the
construction of achromatic object-glasses I found I could
increase or diminish the absolute effect of the double re¬
fraction within certain limits, by means of the interval be¬
tween the glasses of different refracting powers; the se¬
paration of the images at the focus being so much the
greater, as the interval is larger, when the flint-glass is
the first of the object-glasses, and less when it is the se¬
cond. Conformably to these new principles, I have had
two telescopes with a doubly refracting medium construct¬
ed under my own inspection, which General Gantheaume
will employ for determining the position of his ships, and
to find whether he be approaching any he may meet with
at sea.”2
Rodion’s In 1812 M. Rochon constructed his doubly refracting
second mi-micrometer in another form, from which he anticipated
crometer. great advantages. He made a parallelepiped of rock-
crystal, consisting of two prisms whose refracting angles
were each about 30°, so that the angle which they gave
was less than 30', and the two images of the sun of course
- overlapped each other. The prisms being firmly united
by mastic, he ground the parallelepiped into a convex
lens, so that when combined with a concave one of flint-
glass, it formed an achromatic object-glass with a focal
length of about 3 decimetres, or nearly 12 inches. This
object-glass separated the centres of the images of the
sun about 28 minutes. “ He then adapted to this object-
glass a common micrometer, which measured angles of 10
minutes, and he had thus 3 decimetres and 10 minutes to
complete the measure of the diameters of the sun or
moon.”3
M.Arago’s M. Arago appears to have been the first person to ap-
microme- p]y doubly refracting prisms to the eye-pieces of tele-
Cer' scopes for the purpose of measuring very small angles.
He explained his general method to the writer of this ar¬
ticle in July 1814<, and mentioned the results which he had
obtained with it in measuring the diameters of the planets.
We do not recollect distinctly how he varied the constant
angle of the doubly refracting prism ; but Dr Pearson
and ,M. Biot state,4 that the constant angle was increas¬
ed by placing the prism in an oblique direction as re¬
gards the line of vision; and “ that he determined the re¬
spective values of the angles thus increased by means of
concentric circles placed vertically at a measured distance
from the eye wheti looking through the prism; for as he
knew the diameters of each circle, he could generally find
one out of the number which would come into exact con- Double¬
tact with its image, and thus give the value of the con- Image
slant angle.”5
Dr Pearson has proposed an ocular crystal micrometer, v Y - y
and has given a drawing and description of the instru¬
ment.6 It is nothing more than M. Arago’s ocular crystal
prism, in which the constant angle is varied by Sir David
Brewster’s variable eye-piece already described. On the
same principle, the angle of the prism may be varied by a
convex or concave lens moving between the object-glass
and its principal focus ; but what would be still better, by
pulling out or pushing in the eye-piece of a Gregorian or
Cassegrainian telescope.
In 1821 Mr George Dollond communicated to theMrG.Dol-
Royal Society an account of his spherical crystal micro-
meter, a very ingenious instrument, though, we should
think, one difficult to execute ; and, at the same time, even meter>
when well executed, liable to error. Mr Dollond’s improve¬
ment consists in making a sphere or lens from a piece of rock-
crystal, and adapting it to a telescope in place of the usual
eye-glass, as shown in Plate CCCLVII. fig. 11, where a
is the sphere or lens, formed of rock-crystal, and placed in
half holes, from which is extended the axis bb, with an at¬
tached index, the face of which is shown in fig. 12. This
index registers the motion of the sphere on the graduated
circle. The sphere a is so placed in the half holes, that
when its natural axis (axis of double refraction, we pre¬
sume) is parallel to the axis of the telescope, it gives only
one image of the object. In a direction perpendicular to
that axis, it must be so placed that when it is moved the
separation of the images may be parallel to that motion.
The method of acquiring this adjustment is by turning
the sphere a in the half holes parallel to its own axis. A
second lens d is introduced between the sphere and the
primary image given by the object-glass, and its distance
from the sphere should be in proportion to the magnifying
power required. The magnifying powers engraven in fig.
12 are suited to an object-glass of 44 inches focal length.
The following are the advantages of this construction, as
stated by its inventor. 1. It is only necessary to select a
piece of perfect crystal, and, without any knowledge of
the angle that will give the greatest double refraction, to
form the sphere of a proper diameter for the focal length
required. 2. The angle may be taken on each side of
zero, withoxit reversing the eye-tube ; and intermediate
angles may be taken between zero and the greatest sepa¬
ration of the images, without exchanging any part of the
eye-tube, it being only required to move the axis in which
the sphere is placed. 3. It possesses the property of a
common eye-tube and lens; for when the axis of the
crystal is parallel to that of the objgct-glass, only one
image will be formed, and that as distinctly as with any
lens that does not refract doubly.7
Dr Pearson had one of these instruments constructed
by Mr Dollond, and applied to an achromatic object-glass
43-6 inches in focal length. He has shown that the scale
is not one of equal parts, and has pointed out a method of
determining the constant angle of the crystal.
Knowing from experience the imperfect structure of
rock-crystal, especially in directions approaching to the
axis, we dreaded that a spherical eye-glass ot this material
would not give perfect vision. Dr Pearson confirms this
opinion by actual observation. He attempted to measure
the diameter of Mars when about 9", “ but its limits were
1 Translated in Nicholson’s Journal, 8vo, vol. iv. p. 110-120. 2 Hid. p. 117*
3 This description is not very intelligible, but we cannot at present refer to the original memoir.
4 Introduction to Practical Astronomy, vol. ii. p. 20G-212.
5 We regret that M. Arago has, in so far as we know, not published an account of his methods. What Dr Pearson says is not very
intelligible. We presume his meaning to be, that M. Arago made his scale for measuring the varying angle of the images by direct
experiment.
u Introd. Pract. Astron. vol. ii. p. 219. 7 See Phil. Trans. 1821, p. 101-104.
MICROMETER.
so imperfectly defined that no satisfactory observation
could be made.”1 We would therefore strongly recom¬
mend to Mr Dollond the substitution of limpid topaz from
New Holland, in place of the rock-crystal.
Position
microme¬
ters.
Sir W.
Herschel’
position
microme¬
ter.
CHAP. VI. DESCRIPTION OF POSITION MICROMETERS.
A position micrometer is an instrument for measuring
angles when a plane passing through the two lines which
contain these angles is perpendicular to the axis of vision.
Sir W. Herschel first proposed such an instrument for the
purpose of verifying a conjecture, that the smaller of the
two stars which compose a double star revolves round the
larger one. Hence it became necessary to observe if a
line joining the centres of any two stars always formed the
same angle with the direction of its daily motion. After
constructing the instrument which we are about to de¬
scribe, and making a long series of observations, he veri¬
fied his conjecture by the important discovery, that the
double stars formed binary systems, in which the one re¬
volved round the other.2 The position micrometer used
by Sir William Herschel in his earliest observations, viz.
5 those made in 1779-1783, was made by Nairne, and was
constructed as shown in Plate CCCLVII. fig. 13, which
represents it when enclosed in. a turned case of wood,
and ready to be screwed into the eye-piece of the tele¬
scope. “ A is a little box which holds the eye-glass. B
is the piece which covers the inside work, and the box A
screwed into it. C is the body of the micrometer, con¬
taining the brass work, showing the index-plate a project¬
ing at one side, where the case is cut away to receive it.
D is a piece having a screw b at the bottom, by means of
which the micrometer is fastened to the telescope. To the
piece C is given a circular motion, in the manner the hori¬
zontal motion is generally given to Gregorian reflectors,
by the lower part going through the piece D, where it is
held by the screw E, which keeps the two pieces C and D
together, but leaves them at liberty to turn on each other.
Fig. 14 is a section of the case containing the brass work,
where may be observed the piece B hollowed out to re¬
ceive the box A, which consists of two parts enclosing the
eye-lens. This figure shows how the piece C passes through
D, and is held by the ring E. The brass work, consisting
of a hollow cylinder, a wheel and pinion, and index-plate,
is there represented in its place. F is the body of the brass
tvork, being a hollotv cylinder with a broad rim C at its
upper end ; this rim is partly turned away to make a bed
for the wheel dL The pinion e turns the wheel d, and car¬
ries the index-plate a. One of its pivots moves in the
arm f screwed on>the upper part of c, which arm serves
also to confine the wheel d to its place on c. The other
pivot is held by the arm g fastened to F.
A section of the brass work is shown in fig. 15, where
the wheel d, which is in the form of a ring, is laid on the
upper part of F or C, and held by two small arms_/i h, screw¬
ed down to e with the screws i, i.
A plan of the brass work is shown in fig. 16, where d
d is the wheel placed on the bed or socket of the rim of
the cylinder cc, and is held down by the two pieces f, h,
which are screwed on cc. The piece f projects over the
centre of the index-plate to receive the upper pivot of
the pinion mn, the fixed wire being fastened to cc, and
the moveable wire op, fastened to the annular wheel dd.
The index-plate a, milled on the edge, is divided into
sixty parts, each subdivided into two. When the finger
is drawn over the milled edge of the index-plate from q to
r, the angle viso will open, and if drawn from r towards q, Position
it will shut again. The case cc must have a sharp corner Microme-
t, which serves as an index to point out the divisions on ^ ^ers‘
the index-plate.3
We do not know the value of the divisions in the instru¬
ment used by Sir William Herschel ; but in the position
micrometer of the five-feet equatorial used by Sir John
Herschel and Sir James South, in their observations on
double stars, the position circle was large enough to show
distinctly minutes of a degree by means of its vernier.
The position micrometer which we have now described
has been greatly improved by Sir David Brewster; and
the following account of these improvements, which is not
susceptible of abridgment, is given in his own words.
In the position micrometer invented by Sir William Improved
Herschel, “ the two wires always cross each other at position
the centre of the field, and consequently their angular microme.
separation is produced uniformly by the motion ot the er‘
pinion. This very circumstance, however, though it ren¬
ders it easy for the observer to read off the angle from
the scale, is one of the greatest imperfections of the instru¬
ment. The observations must obviously be all made on
one side of the centre of the field, as appears from fig. 16 ;
and the use of the instrument is limited to those cases in
which Ss is less than the radius SC. The greatest disad¬
vantage of the instrument, however, is the shortness ot
the radius SC ; for the error of observation must always
diminish as the length of this radiifs increases. This dis¬
advantage does not exist in measuring the angle of posi¬
tion of two stars S, s, for the distance Ss remains the same
whatever be the length of SC ; but in determining the
angle tvhich a line joining two stars forms with a line join¬
ing other two stars, or those which compose a double star
(an observation which it may often be of great importance
to make), and all other angles contained by lines whose
apparent length is greater than SC, this impertection is
inseparable from the instrument. Nay, there are some
cases in which the instrument completely fails; as, for in¬
stance, when we wish to measure the angles formed by two
lines which do not meet in a focus, but only tend to a re¬
mote vertex. If the distance of the nearest extremities of
these lines is greater than the chord ot the angle which
they form measured upon the radius SC, then it is impos¬
sible to measure that angle, for the wires cannot be brought
to coincide with the lines by which it is contained. Nay,
when the chord of the angle does exceed the distance
between the nearest extremities, the position of the wires
which can be brought into coincidence with the lines is so
small as to lead to very serious errors in the result.
The new position micrometer which we propose to sub¬
stitute for this instrument is free
from the defects just noticed, and is
founded on a beautiful property of
the circle. If any two chords, AB,
CD, fig. 12, intersect each other in
the point O within the circle, the
angle which they form at O will be
equal to half the sum of the arches
AC, BD ; but if these chords do
not intersect each other within the
circle, but tend to any point O without the circle, when
they would intersect each other if continued, as in fig. 13,
then the angle which they form is equal to half the differ¬
ence of the arches AC, BD ; that is, calling <p the angle
required, we have, in the first case, as shown in fig. 12,
AC 4- BD , . ,
<p — £ ; and in the second case, as shoivn in fig.
Fig. 12.
1 Introd. Pract. Astron. vol. ii. p. 233.
2 In the case of the double star Castor, this revolution is performed in 342 years.
3 Phil. Trans. 1781, p. 5011.
'I
MICROMETER.
21
, 13, ? =
AC —BD
Hence, if the two wires AB, CD be
placed in the focus of the first eye-glass of a telescope, the
moveable one AB may be made to form every possible
angle with the fixed one CD, and that angle may be rea¬
dily found from the arches AB, CD.
The mechanism for measuring these arches is shown in
Plate CCCLVIII. fig. 17, where the graduated circular head
CD may be divided only into 180°, in order to save the
trouble of halving the sum or the difference of the arches
AC, BD; but as it would still be necessary to measure
two arches before the angle could be ascertained, we have
adopted another method, remarkable for its simplicity, and
giving no more trouble than if the wires always intersected
each other in the centre of the field.
Let AB, for example, fig. 13, be the fixed wire, and
CD the moveable one, and let
it be required to find at one
observation the angle AOC
or <p. Set the index of the ver¬
nier to zevo when D coincides
with B ; and as C will be at
c when D is at B, the arch -A-l
cA will beaconstantquantity,
which we shall call b. Mak¬
ing AC — m, and BD = n, we
Fig. 13.
have p =
m -j- n
T
But since the extremity C will move
over the space Cc while D describes the space DB, these
arches must be equal, consequently b = tn — hence,
adding 2n to each side of the equation, we obtain b 2n
771 I 71
— m + n, or ^ b + n = —~—, consequently <p =
1 6 + rc. Hence the angle AOC is equal to half the arch
Ac added to the arch DB ; or, since Ac is invariable, the
half of it is a constant quantity, and the angle required is
equal to the sum of this constant quantity and the arch
DB.
When the wires do not intersect each other, as in fig.
13, we have p —
, and b — m n ; hence, sub-
? = 2
trading 2n from each side of the equation, we have
b — 2n — m — n, and, dividing by 2, we have ^ b — n
— consequently <p — \b — n. That is, the angle
AOC is equal to the difference between half the arch Ac
and the arch DB, or to a constant quantity diminished by
the arch DB.
In finding the angle AOC, therefore, we have merely to
observe the place of the index when the wires are in their
proper position ; and as the scale commences at B, or where
D and B coincide, and is numbered both ways from B, the
degree pointed out on the circular head CD, when increas¬
ed or diminished by the constant quantity, will give the
angle of the wires which is sought. The semicircle on
each side of a diameter drawn through B is divided into
180°, the 180th degree being at the opposite end of that
diameter.
We may simplify still further the method of reading off
the angle AOC, so as to save the trouble even of recol¬
lecting the constant quantity, and of adding it to, or sub¬
tracting it from, the arch pointed out by the index of the
vernier. This advantage is obtained by making the index
of the vernier point to the constant quantity upon the part
of the scale below B, fig. 12, when the points D, B coin¬
cide, or when the wire CD is in the dotted position cB ;
for it is obvious that if z marks the zero of the scale, and
Bz is equal to the constant quantity, the arch Dz, which
is pointed out by the index of the vernier, will be equal to
^ 6 + rc, or the angle AOC. In like manner, in fig. 13,
where the wires do not cross each other within the field, Position
and where Bz is the constant quantity, the arch Dz marked Microme-
out by the index of the vernier is obviously equal to6—n, v te*'s'. ,
or the angle AOC, which the wires tend to form at O.
By means of this adjustment, therefore, we are able to
read off the angle AOC with the same facility as if the
wires intersected each other in the centre of the field,
when the arches are accurate measures of the angles at
the centre.
The end of the eye-tube is represented in Plate CCCLVIII.
fig. 17, where the circular head CD is divided into 360°,
and subdivided by the vernier V. L is the level, and AB
the part of the eye-piece which contains the diaphragm,
w ith the fixed and moveable wires. The head CD, and the
level L, are firmly fixed to the eye-tube T; and from the
head CD there rises an annular shoulder, concentric with
the tube, and containing the diaphragm, across which the
fixed wire is stretched. This diaphragm, which is repre¬
sented in fig 18, with the wire extended across, projects
through the circle of brass EF. All these parts remain
immoveable, while the outer tube AB, and the other half
EF, of the circular head which contains the vernier V,
have a rotatory motion upon the shoulder, which rises from
CD. The tube AB is merely an outer case, to protect a
little tube within it, which contains the eye-glass, and the
moveable diaphragm, with its wire extended across it.
The enclosed tube is screwed into the ring EF, and the
outer tube is also screwed upon the same ring, so that by
moving AB, a motion of rotation is communicated to the
vernier V, and to the diaphragm and wire belonging to
the inner tube, while the rest of the eye-piece, containing
the other diaphragm with its wire, remains stationary. By
these means the moveable wire is made to form every
possible angle with the fixed wire, and the angle is deter-
mined by the method which we have already explained.
The fixed wire is placed a good deal out of the centre of
the diaphragm to which it belongs; and the diaphragm
itself is placed in a cell, in which it can be turned round
so as to adjust the wire to a horizontal line when the level
is set. The moveable wire is likewise placed at a dis¬
tance from the^centre of its diaphragm, as shown in Plate
CCCLVIII. fig. 19 ; but, by means of screws which pass
through the inner tube into the edge of this diaphragm,
it can be moved in a plane at right angles to the axis of
the eye-piece, so that the moveable wire may be placed
either in the centre of the field or at different distances
from it.
The double-image micrometer affords a convenient me-Double-
thod of measuring angles of position ; and we believe this image mi-
application of it was first made by Sir David Brewster. erometer
In every instrument in which a double image of an
object is formed by means of two semi-lenses with their ter<
centres at a distance, the one image appears to have a ro¬
tatory motion round the other when the telescope is turned
about its axis. Thus, in Plate CCCLVIII. fig. 20, if A, B
be images of two objects formed by the upper semi-lens
when the common diameter of the semi-lenses is perpen¬
dicular to the horizon, and C, D the images of the same
objects formed by the lower semi-lens ; then, by turning
the telescope about its axis, or the semi-lenses round in
their tube, the image A will appear to move round C in
the circle A«E, and the image B round D in the circle
B/;F, or in the opposite direction if the telescope, or the
semi-lenses, are turned the other way. When the distance
AC is equal to CD, as in fig. 21, the image A will pass
over the image D ; or if the telescope is turned in the
opposite direction, the image B will pass over the image
C. In like manner, when AC is greater or less than CD,
the images will move as we have represented them in
fig. 20 and 22. In all these cases the four images may be
brought into one straight line ; and when this takes place,
MICROMETER.
22
Tosition the line which passes through all the images will uni-
Microme- form]y form the same angle with the horizon, as the
common diameter of the semi-lenses. It is very easy
to ascertain with the utmost accuracy when the images
form one straight line ; but particularly in the case where
AC, fig. 21, is equal to CD, for the image of A will then
pass over D; and the coincidence of the images will
mark the instant when the line which joins them is pa¬
rallel to the common diameter of the lenses. Hence, as
we obtain by this means the relation of the line joining
the images to a fixed line in the instrument, the relation
of this line to the horizon may be easily found by means
of a level, and a divided circular head. If the image is a
straight line (fig. 22), then the coincidence of the two
images, so as to form one straight line, will indicate the
parallelism of that line to the diameter of the semi-lenses.
In constructing a micrometer of this kind solely for the
purpose of measuring angles when the eye is not at their
vertex, either the object-glass or the third eye-glass
might be made the divided lens. If the object-glass is
divided, it should be so constructed that it may have a ro¬
tatory motion in its cell, by applying the hand to a milled
circumference AB, Plate CCCLVII1. fig. 23. Connected
with the tube TT of the telescope is a circular ring of
brass CD divided into 360° ; and the divisions upon this
scale are pointed out by the index of a vernier v, which
moves along with the semi-lenses. A level L is fixed to
the plate AB, having its axis parallel to the common dia¬
meter of the lenses, and being adjusted to a horizontal line
when the index points to the zero of the scale. In using
the instrument, therefore, the observer turns round the
semi-lenses by means of the projecting milled circumfer¬
ence AB, till the coincidence of the two images is distinct¬
ly perceived. The index of the vernier will then point out
upon the graduated head the inclination of the line which
is required.
When the telescope is long, this form of the instrument,
though extremely simple, is not very convenient. The
construction represented in Plate CCCLVIII. fig. 24, is in
general to be preferred. This instrument consists of three
tubes BL, LC, CA. At the extremity B of the first tube
is placed the divided object-glass, and at the other extre¬
mity L is fixed the divided circular head EF. The tube
CL, which remains always at rest, is fixed to the stand
HI by means of the clasp and screw at H. The tube AC,
which contains an eye-piece, moves within both the tubes
CL and LB. The tube BL extends towards C within
the tube CL, and round its circumference are cut a num¬
ber of teeth, in which the endless "screw G works, and
thus gives a rotatory motion to the tube LB and the di¬
vided head EF. By this means the common diameter of
the semi-lenses at B is made to form every possible angle
with a horizontal line, which is indicated-by a level above
L, having its axis parallel to the common diameter of the
semi-lenses. The index of the vernier v, fixed to the
stationary tube CL, points out on the graduated head the
angle required. When the instrument is constructed so
that the semi-lenses are in the eye-piece, the graduated
head must be placed in the eye-tube.
If the principle of this micrometer is applied to the
double-image micrometer described in Chap. IV. in which
a pair of fixed semi-lenses moves between the object-glass
and its principal focus, we obtain an instrument which
will measure at the same observation the angle subtended
at the eye of the observer by a line joining two points,
and likewise the angle which that line forms with the ho¬
rizon or any other line. When the two images of the line
which joins the two points are brought into contact by the
motion of the semi-lenses along the axis of the tube, these
images must necessarily be in the same straight line, soLampanf f
that the relation of that line to the horizon, or to any other Lucid-Dis cr
given line, and the contact of the two images of it which Micromel
determines its angular magnitude, are obtained simultane-. _,teJs:l
ously, without any additional observation or adjustment.
Dr Pearson has given some very useful details respect¬
ing the use of double-image micrometers in measuring an¬
gles of position.1
When the brightness of the two stars which compose a
double star is considerable, their discs may be drawn out
into lines of light either by cylindrical refraction or reflec¬
tion, and the coincidence of these lines will furnish the
means of determining the angle of position.
A position micrometer upon a new principle has been
proposed by Sir David Brewster. He expands the images
of the two stars into luminous discs till they overlap each
other. The southern limb of the lower disc is then made
to move along the fixed wire of the position micrometer.
A line joining the two points where the circumferences of
the discs intersect each other, is obviously perpendicular
to a line joining the centres of the stars, and will there¬
fore form an angle with the fixed wire equal to the com¬
plement of the angle of position required. If we therefore
make the moveable wire pass through the two points where f,
the luminous discs intersect each other, the micrometer h
scale will give the complement of the angle of position.2 «
CHAP. VII. DESCRIPTION OF THE LAMP MICROMETER
AND THE LUCID-DISC MICROMETER.
In measuring the distances and angle of position of dou- Lamp mi-
ble stars, Sir William Herschel encountered many practi-crometer'
cal difficulties which interfered with the accuracy of his
results. The uncertainty of the real zero of his scale, the
inflexion of light, the imperfections of the screws and di¬
vided bars and pinions, and the difficulty of obtaining fibres
sufficiently minute for his purpose, but, above all, the dis-
appeaiance of small stars by the illumination of the wire,
led this eminent astronomer to the contrivance of his lamp
micrometer, which, while it is exempt from these sources
of error, has also the advantage of a large scale.
The lamp micrometer is represented in Plate CCCLVIII.
fig. 25, where AB is the upright part of the stand, 9 feet
high, upon which a wooden semicircle qhogp, 14 inches
ladius, may be fixed at different heights, by a peg p put
into holes in the stand. An arm L, 30 inches long, moves
round a pivot in the centre of the board by means of the
handle P, which works by a string fastened to a hook
at the back of L. I he arm L is kept at any inclination
to the horizon by the weight of the handle P, which is 10
feet long. A small slider b, about 3 inches long, moves
along the front of L towards and from the centre at n, by
means of the handle t\D, which operates by a string pass¬
ing oyer the pulley m, and' returning by n to a bamd at
r, while a second string bnw, with a weight iv, causes the
slider b to return to the centre. The end of the arm L is
shown on a large scale in fig. 26.
Two lamps a, b, figs. 27 and 28, 11 inch high and
1| inch deep, having sliding doors with small apertures
made with a fine needle opposite the flame of a single cot¬
ton-thread wick, so that when the sliders are shut down,
nothing is seen but two fine lucid points like stars of the
third or fourth magnitude. The lamp a is placed at the
centre u, so that its lucid point may occupy that centre,
while b is hung on the slider S, so that its lucid point may
be in a line with the lucid point of a when the arm L has
a horizontal position.
A person, therefore, at a distance of teu feet,, may govern
1 Introd. to Practical Astron. vol. ii. p. 255.
2 Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, p. 45.
MICROMETER.
23
the two lucid points so as to bring them into any required
position by the handle P; and by the handle D he may
place them at any distance, from six tenths of an inch to
twenty-five inches.
In using this micrometer, Sir W. Herschel placed it ten
feet from his left eye, while with his right he viewed a
double star through his Newtonian reflector. By means
of his left eye the double star is seen projected upon the
micrometer, and he then placed his two lucid points at
such a distance that they were exactly covered by the
stars. The distance of the lucid points was the tangent
of the magnified angles subtended by the stars to a radius
of ten feet. This angle, therefore, being divided by the
magnifying power of the telescope, gives the real angular
distance of the centres of a double star. With a power of
460 the scale was a quarter of an inch for every second.
Sir W. Herschel, in measuring the apparent diameter of a
Lyra with this instrument, used a magnifying power of
6450. The magnified angle was 38' 10", so that the real
38' 10"
angle was -rrr^T- — O^SSS, giving on this occasion a scale
6450
of no less than 8^ inches to a second.1
ticid-disc In using high magnifying powers, Sir W. Herschel em-
crome- ployed another apparatus called the lucid-disc micrometer.
A lucid disc made of oiled paper, or any other semi-trans¬
parent substance, was placed in the front slider of a lan¬
tern, and illuminated by a flame behind it. The lantern
was then removed to a distance till the diameter of the
disc appeared equal to that of a planet seen in the tele¬
scope, so that the angular diameter of the planet became
known by dividing the angle subtended by the disc by
the magnifying power of the telescope. The result was
affected by the colour of the disc and the degree of illumi¬
nation. The measure was always too small when the illu¬
mination was strong, and too great when a black disc was
placed on an illuminated ground. Hence Sir William
Herschel took a mean of the two as the true measure.
M. Schroeter of Lilienthal, in measuring the diameters
of the four new planets, used a lucid-disc micrometer,
which we presume was not much different from Sir W.
Herschel’s.
Dr Pearson constructed and used an analogous instru¬
ment, in which the left eye looked into a tube containing
a system of lines upon a disc of glass, or a spider’s line
micrometer, so that the object seen with the right eye was
projected against these divisions, and its angular diameter
ascertained.*2
CHAP. VIII.—DESCRIPTION OF FIXED MICROMETERS WITH
AN INVARIABLE SCALE.
vgens’s The earliest fixed micrometer of which we have a dis-
rome- tinct account is that of Huygens, who placed a circular
diaphragm in the focus of the eye-glass of his telescope,
and found its angular value to be seventeen and a quarter
minutes by the time which a star took to pass across it.
He then formed two or three long brass plates of different
breadths so as to form wedges of different angles. In
measuring the diameter of a planet with one of these, he
made one of them slide through two slits in the opposite
sides of the tube, so that the plane of the brass wedges
touched the plane of the circular diaphragm ; and having
observed in what part of the wedge its breadth just cover¬
ed the whole planet, he took this breadth in a pair of com¬
passes, and having found what part it was of the whole
aperture, he divided seventeen and a quarter minutes by
this part, and obtained the diameter required. Sir Isaac
iixed Mi-
imeters.
Newton has stated, that the measures thus taken are al-Fixed Mi-
ways in excess. Had Huygens used long wedge-shapedcrometers-
slits or openings, he would by the same process have ob-
tained measures which erred in defect, and the mean be¬
tween these two measures would have given the true dia¬
meter of the planet.
The reticulum or fixed micrometer, composed of wires, Cassini’s
was invented and used by Cassini,
nexed figure, where ab, cd, ef,
gh, are four hairs or wires inter¬
secting each other at right angles
at i, in the focus of the eye-glass,
ab, cd being inclined 45° to ef and
gh. In order to find with this ap¬
paratus the differences of the right
ascension and declination of two
stars, direct the telescope so that
the first or preceding star may ap¬
pear upon the wire ab, and turn
round the tube till that star moves
along ab. The time when this star
reaches i is carefully noted, and
also the time when the following star reaches the wire ed.
The interval between these times, converted into degrees,
is the difference of right ascension required. To find the
difference of their declinations, mark the time of the se¬
cond or following star’s arrival at the points £ and / of the
oblique wires ef, gh. The half of the interval between these
times is the time in which the star describes the space Im
or mk, which, converted into degrees a, is the angular dis¬
tance Im, which, multiplied by the cosine of the declination
of the known or preceding star, gives an approximate differ¬
ence, which, v hen applied to the declination of the known
star, gives the approximate declination of the unknown or
following star. If we now multiply the angular value of
Im by the cosine of this approximate declination, we shall
have the correct difference of declination, which, applied
to the declination of the known star, will give the true de¬
clination of the unknown star.
In using the above reticulum, Dr Bradley found his ob- Bradley’s
servations embarrassed by the crossing of all the wires at i,retlcle-
which hid the preceding star at the very point where it
was required to be most distinctly seen. He therefore
proposed the construction shown in the annexed figure,
where the wires hg, hi, inter¬
sect one another perpendicu¬
larly at f, the centre of the
rings. Two slender bars of
brass pg, og are fixed to the
ring abc, and inclined each to
the diameter hg 26° 34', half
the angle of a rhomb whose
greater diagonal is double of
the lesser. Hence fk and fi
will be each one half of fg,
hi — fg, and /k — nl—ik. To
avoid the inconvenience of
turning the telescope about its
axis, Dr Bradley placed the ring abc, which carries the
wires or brass bars in a groove in the fixed ring ABC, and,
confining it laterally by three pieces of brass at A, B,
and C, he employed an endless screw DEF to work in a
toothed rack de, fixed to the inner ring abc. Let us now
suppose the telescope so directed that a star is at f, and
moving in any line fg; then, by turning the milled head D,
the wire /A will move round / till it touches the star at g,
and will then lie in the direction of the star’s motion, while
all other stars will move parallel to it. The mode of ob¬
taining accurate results from this apparatus will be un-
Fig. 15.
It is shown in the an-
Fig. 14.
1 Phil. Trans, vol. Ixxii. p. 102.
Introd. Tract. Astron. vol. ii. p. 245.
24
MICROMETER.
Lacaille’s
reticle.
Ilev. Mr
Wollas¬
ton’s re¬
ticle.
M. Valz’s
reticle.
Fig. 16.
I'm. 17.
Fraunho¬
fer’s net-
micrometer,
derstood from the following description of an analogous
contrivance described by Lacaille.
This eminent astronomer used a rhomb FMIL, the dia¬
gonals of which, FI, ML, must be exactly perpendicular
to one another, and as two to one. The length F was 15-4
lines, the angle subtended by ML 1° 25 '-5, and consequent¬
ly FI 2° 50' 10", as determined by the passage of several
of the equatorial stars. Now, as
the vertical height of each triangle
in the rhomb is equal to the short
diagonal, the path of any star pass¬
ing through the field in a line pa¬
rallel to that diagonal will always
cut off a similar triangle, and the
distance of this path from the com¬
mon apex will have the same i*atio
to the vertical height of the large
triangle, one half FI, or ML, that
the value of the diagonal in time
has to the observed time of the passage. Hence the time
which any star takes to pass from m to l, reduced to de¬
grees, and multiplied by the cosine of the declination, is the
difference of declination required. The difference of right
ascension is obtained as before. With this simple appa¬
ratus, Lacaille observed the comparative right ascensions
and declinations of the 1942 stars which are given in his
Ccelurn Austral# Stelliferurn. Lacaille constructed another
reticulum, in which ML was one fourth of FI.
Mr Wollaston employed a reticulum similar to that
shown in the annexed figure, AB
being the horary line, and CD the
equatorial line. The four squares
being within the field, any of them
may be used separately, so that
observations made successively in
a pair of them will check each other
as well as the principal observation
made in the large right-angled tri¬
angle. As the diagonals are equal
to one another, they afford a larger
passage of a star, and thus increase B
the accuracy of the observation.
M. Valz1 of Nismes has proposed the reticulum shown
in fig. 18, as possessing several advantages over others.
It consists of three wires AB, CD,
AD, and the equatorial one MN
perpendicular to AB, CD. The
arches AC, CM, MD, DB, &c. are
all 60°. When the stars pass pa¬
rallel to the equator, the angle
formed at the vertex A or B will
be 30°, and its cotangent = VS
= L732; therefore, calling t the
line of passage of one star from the
first to the second wire, and tf'that
of the other star, the difference of
declination will be 1-732 (=tr t =+z f), and the difference
of right ascension will be had from the times of the stars
passing the middle of the space between CD and AB, or
the means of the times of passing CD and AB. Baron
Zach observes, that this reticulum requires no illumination,
that the values of its lines do not require to be known, and
that it may be used out of exact adjustment to the parallel
of declination, as the corrections for such want of adjust¬
ment are easily computed.
The fixed net-micrometer of Fraunhofer is shown in Plate
CCCLV1II. fig. 29. The vertical and oblique lines shown
in the figure are cut upon glass with fluoric acid or dia-
Fig. 18.
mond, and the plate has a circular motion in its cell. These Fixed A;
lines are illuminated by light passing through the eye-tube urometer
and falling on their cut edges, so that no light passes down “
the tube. The lines parallel to ef are adjusted perpendi¬
cular to a circle of declination, and in that position the ob¬
lique light of the lamp illuminates both the vertical and
inclined lines. The mutual distances both of the vertical
and inclined lines are known from the machine by which
they were drawn, and hence the ratio of the times of tran¬
sit of a star from the vertical to the inclined lines will en¬
able us to determine the position of these in reference to
a circle of declination. “ The great number of lines,” says
Dr Pearson, “ afford the means of making several obser¬
vations, which, on an average, will give right ascensions and
declinations equally exact, whether the differences of de¬
clination be great or small. When the difference of right as¬
cension is small, as in the case of double stars, the transit
of both stars cannot well be observed over the same indi¬
vidual line, but one of them may be observed at the first,
and the other at the second line, alternately, till the ob¬
server is satisfied with his observation ; and should the net¬
work experience an alteration of position from any cause,
it will in all probability be detected before the computation
is commenced. The ingenious artist contrived an engine
by which he could cut straight parallel lines at distances
so small as xo o units from each other, and to be cross¬
ed by other parallel lines at any given angle of declination ;
and in the net-micrometer he formed the parallel lines at
such a distance from each other that the inclined intervals
bear the same proportion to the vertical intervals that the
cosine of the angle of inclination bears to radius, so that
about as jnany transits will take place over the inclined as
over the vertical lines. Five lines only are drawn at equal
distances from each other, and the sixth line, including the
fifth interval, is cut at the distance of one interstice and a
half; yet the whole value of any number of intervals may
always be known, provided it be noticed how many of the
larger kind are included in the whole number. When the
cell containing the disc is attached to a revolving gradu¬
ated circle, the position of a line uniting two stars may also
be measured, by first adjusting zero to the equatorial posi¬
tion of the line fg, and then turning the divided disc round
till all its parallels successively receive both the stars at
the same instant as they pass through the field, which con¬
temporary ingresses may be effected by repeated adjust¬
ments and subsequent trials, when the telescope is mount¬
ed on an equatorial stand properly rectified.2
Another micrometer of Fraunhofer’s is showrn in Plate Fraunho-
CCCLVIII. fig. 30, and consists of concentric circles cut^er’s con-
upon glass, and illuminated like the preceding one. The cfntric
inner and smallest circle is like a dot. Other five circles crometen
are seen in a telescope of five feet focal length, magnify¬
ing 110 times. With a power of 63, eight circles are vi¬
sible ; and with the lowest power of 45, eleven circular lines
are visible. The observer may choose any circle he likes
for observing the passage of the star, avoiding those in
which it would pass near the centre or near the circum¬
ference. The observation, too, ma}' be made with more
rings than one. The following are the dimensions of the
circles in one of these instruments.
Diameter in
Paris Inches.
Circle 1. -0038
2. -0243
3. -0840
4. -1678
5. -2513
6. -3590
Diameter in
Paris Inches.
Circle 7. -4426
8. -5264
9. -6338
10. -7178
11. -8012
' Zach’s Correspondance Astronomique, tom. i. p. 353.
Introd. Pract. Astron. vol. ii. p. 143.
MICROMETER.
25
Microme.
ters for
. Micro¬
scopes.
Fraunho¬
fer’s sus¬
pended cir¬
cular mi¬
crometer.
Cavallo’s
mother-of-
pearl mi¬
crometer.
Circular
nother-of-
jearl mi-
rometer.
By subtracting these numbers from one another, we
obtain the breadths of the spaces between the rings.
Fraunhofer’s suspended annular micrometer, which is a
more perfect instrument than the preceding, is shown in
Plate CCCLVIII. fig. 31, which represents a disc of glass,
having a hole in its centre a little larger than the inner
diameter of a metallic ring oo, turned truly in a lathe.
This ring is cemented on the glass disc, and when placed
in the field of view of a telescope, the observer notes the
instants when, a star on the limb of a planet enters and
emerges from each side of the ring. The only data re¬
quired for computing the difference of right ascension and
declination, are the times that an equatorial star takes to
pass along the internal and external diameters of the ring.
The passage of stars whose relative position is required,
must be observed at a distance from the centre, as well as
from the upper edge of the ring. The formulae of Bessel
for using this and other circular micrometers will be found
in Zach’s Monatlicfie Correspondenz, vol. xvii. xxiv. and
xxvi.
A simple and useful fixed micrometer, proposed by Mr
Cavallo, is a divided slip of thin mother-of-pearl stretch¬
ing across the diaphragm of the telescope, and finely divid¬
ed into 200ths of an inch. It is shown in Plate CCCLVIII.
fig. 32, crossing the diaphragm of the telescope. The
value of the division may be ascertained either by measur¬
ing a bar, or by the passage of an equatorial star across the
field of view.
In a portable telescope this micrometer is very conve¬
nient, though it has the great disadvantage of shutting
out the field of view. In telescopes upon stands it will
measure only angles in one direction, unless there is a
contrivance to turn it round. This micrometer has also
the additional imperfection, that its divisions, from being
unequally distant from the eye-glass, are not all seen with
the same distinctness.
To remove these imperfections, Sir David Brewster pro¬
posed, in 1805, the circular mother-of-pearl micrometer,
which is shown in Plate CCCLVIII. fig. 33, where the black
ring which forms part of the figure is the diaphragm of the
telescope, and the more luminous part is an annular portion
of mother-of-pearl divided on its inner circumference into
360°. This divided circumference can be placed exactly in
the focus of the eye-glass, and all its parts seen with perfect
distinctness. In order to understand the use of the instru¬
ment, let A/>B be the inner edge of
the mother-of-pearl ring, and mn
the object to be measured. Bisect
the arch mn in p, and draw Cm,
Cj», Cn, and we shall have AB : mn
mpn .
■ “fj—> and mpn — sin.
Fig. 19.
— rad.
\mpn
rad.
XAB, a formula by which
CHAP. IX.—DESCRIPTION OF MICROMETERS FOR MICRO¬
SCOPES.
may be used, its diameter being 9^th of an inch. We
Diameter in Parts
of an Inch.
Lycoperdon bovista, seed of. 8500th of an inch.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
the angle subtended by the chord
of any number of degrees may be
readily found. The first part of the formula is constant,
while AB varies with the magnifying power employed.
Vlicrome- All the micrometers above described may be adapted to
roscopeT1"00111^01111^ rn’croscopes, where the eye-glass has a consi¬
derable focal length. A good micrometer, however, for sin-
1 Physico-Mathematical Dissertations, p. 45. 2 We consider this the best measure.
3 The late Mr Pond has observed, that the pale, slender, double-headed scales of the Ponlia or Pieris Irassica, which taper to a
point, and terminate in a brush-like appendage, are of an invariable length, about 5gth of an inch.
VOL. XV. D
Micro¬
scopes.
gle microscopes, which can be used with facility, and at Microme
the same time give accurate results, is still a desideratum. ters for
When the single lens is so minute, or when the first lens
of a microscopic doublet or triplet almost touches the sur¬
face of the object, it is an extremely difficult matter to in¬
troduce any scale, or any minute body of known dimen¬
sions, with which the object may be compared. In some
cases, when the object to be measured is minute, the seed
of the lycoperdon bovista or pvff-ball might be introduced,
its diameter being about the Part of an incl1 '■> an(1
when the object is less minute, the seed of lycopodium
may advantageously adopt, in some cases, the method of
Dr J urin,1 who introduced into the field small pieces
of silver or brass wire, whose diameter he had previously
ascertained by coiling the wire round a cylinder, and ob¬
serving how many breadths of the wire were contained in
a given number of inches.
This method of introducing a substance of known di¬
mensions may be carried much farther. We may use all
the variety of hairs and wool which have a known diameter ;
and for this purpose Dr Young's .tables of substances mea¬
sured by the eriometer will be of great use. The follow¬
ing are a few of them :
Smut of barley 4600th
Silk, fibre of (average) 2500th
Human blood, particles of (Bauer) 2500th2
Mole’s fur 1875th
Goat’s wool 1575th
Saxon wool 1320th
Farina of Laurestinus 1100th
Seed of lycopodium 940th
The distance of the fibres of the crystalline lens of fishes
may also be advantageously used, and also the distance of
the teeth which unite the fibres. For this purpose, the
lens must be well dried, and perfectly hard, so that with a
sharp knife we can detach minute portions of any of the
laminae. The thinnest should be used ; and as the fibres
always taper to the pole, and the teeth become smaller in
proportion as the fibres diminish, we must determine the
distance of the fibres, and also those of the teeth, at both
ends of the lamina;, by the method described by Sir David
Brewster in the Philosophical Transactions for 1833, p.
324. The larger lined scales of moths and butterflies may
also be used, especially as we can measure the distance of
the lines by the coloured spectra which these lines pro¬
duce.3 These operations will require much dexterity on
the part of the observer, and they are recommended only
to those who cannot succeed in their measurements by
other methods.
An excellent method of measuring microscopic objects
is to project the image of the object against a divided
scale, at a given distance from the eye. The scale must
be seen either by the same eye which is looking into the
microscope, or by the other eye. In the first case, the
rays from the microscope will enter one side of the pupil,
and the rays from the divided scale the other side; the aper¬
ture through which we look at the scale, and the aperture of
the microscope, being at a distance less than the diameter
of the pupil. When the right eye looks at the divided
scale, the left, which looks into the microscope, will see
the object projected against the scale, although it has no
vision "of the scale itself. This second method may be
carried into effect in two ways. The scale may form no part
' J
26
MICROMETER.
Dr Wol
laston’s
Microme- of the instrument, and may be viewed by the naked eye;
tTM-S f°r or ^ ma^ ^orm Part t^ie ^nsfrument» like a binocular
scones" t0!6800?6’ ^l16 l0^ ey0 looking into one tube, viz. the mi¬
croscope, while the right eye looks into another tube, in
which a divided scale is magnified by an eye-lens.
Dr Wollaston has constructed and used a very ingenious
  micrometer on the first of the principles above mention-
lens-micro-ed, viz. when the object and the scale are viewed by the
metei. same eye ; but its use is limited to microscopes with small
lenses. When the lenses are larger, we have adopt¬
ed another method, namely, to perforate the lens with a
small hole in or near the centre, or, if it is thought better,
near the margin of the lens. A slit extending from the
margin of the lens may often be executed more easily.
The following is Dr Wollaston’S own description of this
instrument:
“ This instrument,” says Dr Wollaston, “ is furnished
with a single lens of about ^th of an inch focal length.
The aperture of each lens is necessarily small, so that
when it is mounted on a plate of brass, a small perforation
can be made by the side of it in the brass, as near to its
centre as ^jth of an inch.
“ When a lens thus mounted is placed before the eye
for the purpose of examining any small object, the pupil
is of sufficient magnitude for seeing distant objects at the
same time through the adjacent perforation, so that the
apparent dimensions of the magnified image might be com¬
pared with a scale of inches, feet, and yards, according to
the distance at which it might be convenient to place it.
“ A scale of smaller dimensions, attached to the instru¬
ment, will, however, be found preferable, on account of the
steadiness with which the comparison may be made ; and
it may be seen with sufficient distinctness by the naked
eye, without any effort of nice adaptation, by reason of the
smallness of the hole through which it is viewed.
“ i he construction that I have chosen for the scale is
represented in Plate CCCLVIII. fig. S3. It is composed
of small wires about j^th of an inch in diameter, placed
side by side so as to form a scale of equal parts, which
may be with ease counted by means of a certain regular
variation of the lengths of the wires.
“ -lhe external appearance of the whole instrument is
that of a common telescope consisting of three tubes. The
scale occupies the place of the object-glass, and the little
lens is situated at the smaller end, with a pair of plain
glasses sliding before it, between which the subject of ex¬
amination is to be included. This part of the apparatus
is shown separately in fig. 35. It has a projection, with a
perforation, through which a pin is inserted to connect it
with a screw, represented at b, fig. 34. This screw gives
lateial motion to the object, so as to make it correspond
with any particular part of the scale. The lens has also a
small motion of adjustment, by means of the cape, fig. 36,
which renders the view of the magnified object distinct.
“ Before the instrument is completed, it is necessary to
determine with precision the indications of the scale,
which must be different, according to the distance to
which the tube is drawn out. In my instrument, one di¬
vision of the scale corresponds to y^^th of an inch
when it is at the distance of IG'S inches from the lens;
and since the apparent magnitude in small angles varies
in the simple inverse ratio of this distance, each division
of the same scale will correspond to at the distance
ot o] 0 inches; and the intermediate fractions 7^77, -^-t1 
«xc. are found by intervals of 1-66 inch, marked on the
outside of the tube. The basis on which these indications
were founded in this instrument was a wire, carefully as- Micronic
certained to be J-^th of an inch in diameter, the magnified ters for
image of which occupied fifty divisions of the scale when Micro-
it was at the distance of 16‘6 inches ; and hence one divi- sc°pes.
1
50 x 21)0
——Since any error in the
10000 J
original estimate of this wire must pervade all subsequent
measures derived from it, the substance employed was
pure gold drawn till fifty-two inches in length weighed
exactly five grains. If we assume the specific gravity of
gold to be 19-36, a cylindrical inch will weigh 3837 grains ;
and we may hence infer the diameter of such a wire to be
gyyth of an inch, more nearly than can be ascertained by
any other method.
“ For the sake of rendering the scale more accurate, a
similar method was, in fact, pursued with several gold
wires of different sizes, weighed with equal'care; and the
subdivisions of the exterior scale were made to correspond
with the average of their indications.
“ In making use of this micrometer for taking the mea¬
sure of any object, it would be sufficient, at any one acci¬
dental position of the tube, to note the number on the
outside as denominator, and to observe the number of di¬
visions and decimal parts which the subject of examina¬
tion occupies on the interior scale as numerator of a frac¬
tion, expressing its dimensions in proportional parts of an
inch ; but it is preferable to obtain an integer as numera¬
tor, by sliding the tube inward or outward, till the image
of the wire is seen to correspond w ith some exact number
of divisions, not only for the sake of greater simplicity in
the arithmetical computations, but because we can by the
eyo judge more correctly of actual coincidence than of the
comparative magnitudes of adjacent intervals. The small¬
est quantity which the graduations of this instrument pro¬
fess to measure, is less than the eye can really appreciate-
in sliding the tube inw'ard or outward. If, for instance,
the object measured be really it may appear Tq^q(J,
or Woo’ which case the doubt amounts to y^th part of
the whole quantity. But the difference is here exceed-
ingly small in comparison to the extreme division of
other instruments, where the nominal effect of its power is.
the same.
“ A micrometer with a divided eye-glass may profess to
measure as far as yoWq of an inch ; but the next division
1S. rgooo. or Wod ’ au^ though the eye may be able 'to
distinguish that the truth lies between the two, it receives
no assistance within one-half part of the larger measure.”1
I he micrometer microscopes used for reading off the
divisions on the graduated limb of astronomical instru¬
ments differ in no respect from the eye-pieces of tele¬
scopes fitted up with micrometers.
Notwithstanding the value of the methods described
above, the want of a simple micrometer for microscopes
of high power is felt by every person who has been prac¬
tically occupied with this class of researches; and we
cannot give a better proof of this than by adducing in
support of our opinion the different measures that have
been given by able and ingenious observers of the size
of the particles of the human blood.
Dr I homas Young l-6060th part of an inch.
™ VraSt0n 1—5000th ditto.
MM. Prevost and Dumas l-4076th ditto.
Captam Kater l-4000th ditto.
M. Fhrenberg2  l-3600th dittn
Messrs Hodgkin and Lister.*;.... l-300o[h ditto
1 Phil. Trans. 1813, p. 119.
2 In measuring the size of the fossil infusorias recently discovered by himself M
1* „5th of a line m diameter, or of an inch, bnt of what Lh is not minted iXTU ftate whfthe™ met
M I C
M I C
27
Micro- Sir David Brewster l-2556th part of an inch.
scope. Dr Jurin1 1-1940th ditto.
Bauer’s best observation l-*2500th ditto.
next best l-2000th ditto.
worst observation.... l-1000th ditto.
The three measures of 1000, 2000, and 2500, have
been recently given by Mr Bauer himself, as the different
steps which he made towards what he conceives the best
measure, viz. l-2500th, which he obtained repeatedly
with an improved achromatic microscope. As Dr Young
obtained his measure eriometrically, namely, by measuring
the diameter of the first red ring produced by looking
through the blood at a luminous object, we cannot con¬
ceive it possible that he could have committed such a mis¬
take as to make the diameter of that ring nearly thrice as
great as it should be, according to Mr Bauer’s results, or
more than thrice as great as the concurring measures ob¬
tained by Jurin and Leewenhoeck. The only explanation
we can give is, that the particles of the blood must have
an organized structure, or consist of portions separated by
lines which have the magnitude assigned by Dr Young.
In order to submit this explanation to the test of experi¬
ment, Sir David Brewster examined the particles of blood
a few minutes after it was drawn, when dried by natural
evaporation on a plate of glass. Each particle he found Micro-
to consist of a dark rim, within which is a bright circle, scope,
then a darkish central spot, which spot in some globules
may be resolved into a dark ring, a bright ring within this,
and then a small central black spot. Here, then, is the
cause of Dr Young’s mistake. The red ring of light which
he measured in the eriometer was not that which was due
to the globule as a whole, but to the parts of the globule.
Being anxious to obtain more complete evidence of this
fact, we placed lycopodium powder beside the globule of
blood, and found that the diameter of the globules was to
that of the lycopodium seed as 5 to 18. We then com¬
pared the diameter of the red ring produced by the seed
with the diameter of the red ring produced by division on
steel, in which there were 1250 to the inch, as executed
for us by the late Sir John Barton, and found the di¬
ameter of the seed to be the 697th of an inch. We com¬
pared it also with the ring produced by divisions of which
there were 625 to the inch, and found its diameter the
717th part of an inch. The mean of these two is the
710th2 part of an inch, which, increased in the ratio of 5 to
18, gives the 2556th part of an inch as the measure of the
diameter of the globules of blood, agreeing almost exactly
with the recent measure of Mr Bauer.
MICROSCOPE.
Microscope, from /i/xgog, a small object, and oxoirw, to
see or examine, is the name of a well-known optical in¬
strument for examining and magnifying minute objects,
or the minute parts of large ones. Dr Goring has, in his
various ingenious works on the microscope, used the word
engiscope, from syyus, near, and oxottew, to see ; but the old
and venerable term is so associated with the history of opti¬
cal discovery, and is so expressive of the application of the
instrument, that we cannot consent to the proposed change.
As the early history of the microscope must form a part
of the general history of Optics, we must refer our read¬
ers to that article for an account of its invention and pro¬
gressive improvements, as well as for an account of the
optical principles on which it depends.
There is probably no branch of practical science which
-has undergone such essential and rapid improvements
as that which relates to the microscope. It has become
quite a new instrument in modern times, and it promises
to be the means of disclosing the structure and laws of mat¬
ter, and of making as important discoveries in the infi¬
nitely minute world, as the telescope has done in that
which is infinitely distant.
CHAP. I. ON SINGLE MICROSCOPES.
On single A single microscope is one in which only one convex
micro- Jens is used for magnifying objects. The object to be
scopes. examined is placed before the lens, in its focus; and the
rays which emerge from the lens after refraction are pa¬
rallel, and therefore give distinct vision of the object to
the eye placed behind it. The simplest form of the single
microscope is when the lens is fitted into a rim of brass
furnished with a handle, and the object being held in the
left hand and the lens in the right, it may be examined
with great correctness. If the convex lens is very mi¬
nute, and has a short focal length, such as from the 10th
to the 100 th of an inch, it cannot be conveniently used
in the hand, and must therefore be placed in a firm mi¬
croscope stand, having a shelf for holding the object, a
screw or a rack and pinion for placing the object in the fo¬
cus of the lens, and a lens or mirror, or both, for throwing
light upon the object. In this form, however complex be
its structure, it is still called a single microscope.
A single microscope, in order to have all the perfection Materials
which art can give, must consist of a substance perfectly f°f single
homogeneous, like a fluid without double refraction, or anymicro"
variation of density. Its^^wre ought to be that of a piano-scol,t's-
convex lens, whose convex surface is part of a hyperbo¬
loid, in order to correct completely the spherical aberration.
Its surface should be perfectly smooth and highly polish¬
ed, so as not to disturb the perfection of vision; and the
substance of which it is made should have the lowest dis¬
persive power. As it is a great object to obtain high mag¬
nifying powers with as little convexity as possible, and a
large aperture, substances with high refractive and low
dispersive ones are the most suitable for single lenses,
such as diamond, garnet, or which have no double refrac¬
tion when well crystallized ; or such as ruby, sapphire, to¬
paz, &c. which have double refraction. As jluor spar has
the lowest dispersive power, it might be used with great
advantage when high powers are not wanted, and when
the diminution of colour is an object.
Of all the substances we have named, fluids have pro¬
perties best suited for single microscopes. They possess
perfect homogeneity, their surfaces when made into lenses
are perfectly smooth, and it is possible to mould minute
drops of them into a form approaching to that of the hy¬
perboloid. Their defect, however, consists in their not
having a high refractive power, in their want of durability,
and the difficulty of forming sufficiently minute lenses for
producing high magnifying powers. These defects, how¬
ever, especially the last, may be overcome by patience and
experience; and in proof of this we may state, that we
sure is taken by himself or not. He reckons the thickness of a human hair at 3gth of a line at its mean thickness, or S57th of an
inch.
1 This result was confirmed by Leewenhoeck, who used the same wire, which was sent to him by Dr Jurin. PhiL Trans. No. 377-
1 Dr Young makes this the 940th of an inch, but he has certainly committed a mistake in his observation.
28
MICROSCOPE.
Single Mi-have succeeded in forming fluid lenses that were fully
croscopes. equal to the best sapphire lenses that have been executed.
^ In the present state of this branch of science, it would
be unprofitable to detail the methods of producing micro¬
scopic globules of glass, given by Dr Hooke, Father di
Torre of Naples, Mr Butterfield, or Mr Sivright; be¬
cause when they are made after their methods, and in the
most perfect manner which the methods will permit, they
are of no value compared with lenses of glass when ground
and polished to the same focal length.1
We shall therefore proceed to describe a single micro¬
scope when fitted up in the best form for observation.
Description of a Single Microscope.
Single mi- The most essential part of this instrument is the lens or
croscope. lenses, upon which the value of the microscope depends.
The lenses are generally made of plate-glass, and should
have focal distances varying from the l-10th to the l-50th
of an inch. In order that the spherical aberration of these
lenses may be the smallest possible, the radii of their two
surfaces should be as 1 to 6; the surface whose radius is
as 1, or the most convex side, must be turned towards the
eye. The lenses, thus made, are then set in the centre of
the lower surface of concave brass caps, a section of one
of which is shown in Plate CCCLIX. fig. 1.
The best mode of fitting up the microscope is that con¬
trived by Mr Pritchard, which is represented in fig. 2, on
a scale about one third of its real size. It is shown in an
inclined position; but it may be used either in a vertical
or a horizontal one, according to the convenience of the
observer. The body of the instrument rests on a pillar b,
supported by three legs, shown at «, and is connected with
it by the clip /, being fixed by the pinching screw f
Within the tube c there slides a tube A, connected by a
screw which passes through it to the triangular tube or
bar i, carrying the arm ij, into which is placed the brass
cap j which carries the lens. This lens is adjusted to the
distinct vision of objects placed on the stage l by sliding
the tube h up or down, and a perfect adjustment is ob¬
tained by turning the milled head k. The stage l, which
carries the objects, is fitted into the triangular box r at
the extremity of the stem, by means of two pins, and can
be removed at pleasure. The spring slider-holder, for
holding the sliders in which the objects are placed, is fixed
by a bayonet-joint into the stage; and it may be used to
hold stops or diaphragms for limiting the field of view.
The tube above / represents an illuminator fixed to the
slider-holder. Upon the tube c, two sockets d, e slide
with sufficient spring and friction to keep them in their
place. The socket d carries the reflector d, and the socket
e carries the condensing lens, which is not inserted in the
figure.
A section of the stem rch is shown in fig. 3, in order to
exhibit the mechanism by which the adjustment is ef¬
fected. Into the box r, screwed into the top of the stem,
is fitted the triangular tube ii', which carries the arm ij.
Ixi the lower end i! of this triangular tube is a small block
with a fine screw working in it, the stem of which turns
along with the milled head k, to which it is fixed. The
upper end of a spiral spring, shown in the figure, bears
against the block i' at the bottom of the triangular tube,
while its lower end acts against a stop fixed within the Single Mi
sliding tube h. The method of managing, illuminating, croscopes.
and examining opaque objects with this microscope is “
the same as that used in the achromatic compound mi¬
croscope, in the drawing of which it will be more dis¬
tinctly seen.
The preceding instrument of Mr Pritchard’s is intended
for general purposes ; but as the dissection of botanical
and other objects is now a leading object with naturalists,
we shall add an account of another microscope, construct¬
ed by Mr A. Ross, with much skill, for Mr W. Valentine
of Nottingham, the parts of which are given in consider¬
able detail.
A perspective view of this microscope is shown in Plate
CCCLIX. fig. 4. It is supported on a closing tripod, aaa,
whose feet can be folded together, and are made of hard
bell-metal, prevented from springing by edge bars, as seen
on the left-hand foot. A firm pillar, which rises from the
tripod, carries the stage x, which is fixed on brackets, to
give a steady support to the hands of the operator. A capi¬
tal, e, fixed to the top of the tube by three screws, has in
its axis a triangular hole, into which is fitted the triangu¬
lar tube/ the lower end of which passes through another
similar triangular tube in the piece gg, fixed to the tube.
This triangular tube is made to slide up and down by a
fixed screw, i, which is wrought by a large milled head, o,
which is most judiciously placed at the base of the pillar.
At the top and bottom of the triangular tube, at g and
near y, are fitted two pieces, with triangular holes through
them for receiving the triangular bell-metal bar ss, which
moves up and down in them. Ihis bar carries the arm
10 with the lenses. It is moved up and down, so as to ad¬
just the lenses to distinct vision of the objects on the fixed
stage, by the rack and pinion t, when a quick adjustment
is required ; but when a slow and nicer adjustment is want¬
ed, it is effected by the milled head o. A slit, uv, is made
in the shaft of the pillar, to allow the neck of the small
milled head t to move up and down; for when the screw
is in action by the large milled head o, the triangular tube
and the bar move together. The triangular bar is per¬
forated at both ends, the upper perforation for receiving a
conical pin, and the lower for admitting the adjusting screw
to preserve the length of the bar. The piece w is removed
from the side of the pillar, to show the behrings of the pinion
<, which are attached to the triangular tube. The bar moves
I g inch, and the tube 11, so that we can command an
elevation of 3 inches. At the ingenious suggestion of Mr
Solly, the screw moved by the milled head o, has fifty
^ an ant^ t^le mi^ed head is graduated into
100 parts, for the purpose of measuring the thickness of
any vessel or other object in the direction of the axis of
vision. For this purpose the upper surface of the body is
brought into distinct vision; the division at which the in¬
dex or pin of the tripod stands is then observed; and the
under surface being in like manner brought into focus by
turning the milled head o, the division is again observed.
I be number of divisions, which are each 5000ths of an
*nc ’ etween these two numbers, will indicate, according
to Mr Valentine, the space through which the lens has pass¬
ed, which is the diameter of a vessel.2
In this microscope, different parts of an object may be
brought into the field, either by moving the stage or the
1 These methods may be found.by the following references i/r- i.
P' J7 ’ Butrer:tiel(k Phil. Trans. 1678 ; Sivright, Edin. Phil, journal, Igof volTn^M Dl T°rre’ Phil* Trans* 1765’ P* 246>
^ this is not the case, as the refraction of the light issuing from the In ’ V?i '
mode is, after having observed the upper surface of an object lying upon Iksf remnvwhfnK- 0r.°bj’eJCt is not consklered. The right
surface of the glass is seen distinctly : the difference will be the true thick-nn^ tu J16 oble^’ a,n(1 observe the divisions when the
instrument on this principle for measuring the thickness of foci of lenses • hut’ 11T1W ^fmuel A is said to have constructed an
surface, his results must have been all erroneous. ’ unless he removed his lens after observing the first
MICROSCOPE.
single Mi-lens, a very important requisite in a microscope used for the
i:roscopes. purposes of discovery. With this view, the large stage x
is formed of three plates, the lowest of which is fixed to
the pillar by the ring 1; and, to make it bear the weight of
the hands, it rests upon the strong brackets 2, 2. The
under side of this plate is shown in fig. 6 ; the middle
plate, fig. 7, contains two pair of dovetail slits, 3, 3 and
4, 4, the widest orifice of each being on opposite sides of
the plate. The dovetail pieces in 4, 4 screw into the up¬
per side of the upper plate, fig. 8, the points of the screws
being shown at 4, 4 in that figure, while the dovetail pieces
in 3, 3 are secured to the upper side of the under plate by
the screws 3, 3, fig. 3. The plates are thus moved dia¬
gonally, and at right angles to one another, by the adjust¬
ing screws 7 and 8. One of the screws, with its ball and
milled head, is shown in fig. 9. In the adjusting screw 7,
the ball is placed in spring couplings, and fastened to the
under side of the upper plate. These screws are judi¬
ciously placed, one on each side of the pillar, that the hand
may reach them easily and not intercept the light. By
turning first one screw, and then the other, or both at
once, any part of the object may be brought into the field.
The arm for holding the lenses is shown at 10, in fig. 1
and fig. 10. A conical pin projects from underneath, and
fits into a hole made down the triangular bar, as shown at 9,
fig. 8. The lens will therefore have a circular movement
in a horizontal plane, and it may be placed at any point
in this plane by the action of the rack and pinion at 10.
Hence the most complete adjustment can be obtained
without any motion of the stage.
The elevated stage for holding the objects is shown at
11 in fig. 4 and 8. A tube, 12, fig. 11, screws into the up¬
per plate, and upon this fits the tube 11, carrying the fin¬
ger spring, shown in fig. 4. Objects of different thickness
are thus kept down upon the plates by the pins sliding in
the small pipes. An elevated stage is shown in fig. 12, for
viewing the sides of objects without disturbing them. A
condensing lens, fig. 13, slides into the sockets 5 or 6 ; and
fig. 14 shows the pincers, to be applied in the same manner.
The large reflector above a, fig. 8, may be removed, and
any other illuminating apparatus substituted. That of Dr
Wollaston is shown in fig. 15, at 19. The handles 18, 18
serve to move the lens up and down in the tube.
The mode of attaching the body of a compound mi¬
croscope is shown in fig. 16. For this purpose the arm
10, fig. 4, is withdrawn, and the conical pin 20 is made to
fit in the same hole in the triangular bar.
Mr Valentine informs us, that with this instrument he
can dissect under a lens ^gth of an inch focus.
As the stand and apparatus now described may be used
along with all single microscopes, and also with what are
called doublets and triplets, we shall now proceed to give
an account of the various improvements which the single
microscope has undergone.
Single Microscopes made of Precious Stones.
ilicro- The low refractive power of glass rendered it neces-
Mopes of sary, when high powers were wanted, to use lenses with
I sms. very short foci, and consequently with very deep curves
and very small diameters, so as to admit only a narrow
pencil of light into the eye.
Sir David Brewster was the first person who pointed
29
out the value of using other materials for the construction Single Mi-
of lenses; and he remarked, that no essential improvement croscopes.
could be expected in the single microscope, unless from v""*"'''
the discovery of some transparent substance, wdiich, like
the diamond, combines a high refractive with a low dis¬
persive power. Having experienced the greatest difficulty
in getting a small diamond cut into a prism in London,
he did not conceive it practicable to grind and polish a
diamond lens,1 and therefore did not put his opinion to the
test of experiment. He got two lenses, however, execut¬
ed in Edinburgh by Mr Peter Hill, an ingenious optician,
the one made of ruby, and the other of garnet; and these
lenses he found to be greatly superior to any lenses that
he had previously used.
Dr Goring, whose zeal and success in the improvement
of microscopes has not been surpassed, directed the atten¬
tion of Mr Pritchard in 1824 to the passages in Sir David
Brewster’s Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, re¬
specting the value of the precious stones for single micro¬
scopes ; and having immediately seen their full force, it
was agreed that they should undertake to grind a diamond
into a magnifier.
Diamond Lenses.
The history of this attempt is so interesting, that we Diamond
must give it in Mr Pritchard’s own words:—“ For thislenses-
purpose,” says he, “ Dr Goring forwarded me a small bril¬
liant diamond to begin upon ; and it was proposed to give
it the curves that in glass would produce a lens of a twen¬
tieth of an inch focus, with the proportion of the radii of
their surfaces as two to five. This stone I ground with
the proper curves, and polished the flatter side, contrary
to the expectations of many whose judgment in these
matters was thought of much weight, who predicted that
the crystalline structure of the diamond would not permit
it to receive a spherical figure. When thus far advanced,
fate decreed that I should lose the stone, and my only con¬
solation was, to discover afterwards, that had it been com¬
pleted, its thickness and enormous refractive power would
probably have caused the focus to fall within the substance
of the stone.
“ Having, however, in this experiment proved the possi¬
bility of working lenses of adamant, I set about another,
and selected a rose-cut diamond, in order to form it into a
plano-convex lens, and thereby save a moiety of the labour.
“ In the progress of working this stone, the heat generat¬
ed by friction, in the course of the abrasion of the diamond,
was perpetually melting the cement (shell-lac) by which
the flat side was affixed to the tool, and compelled me to
seek some means by which it might be prevented. After
several trials, I found, that when a portion of finely powder¬
ed pumice-stone w^as mixed with the shell-lac, the cement
was much stronger, and less liable to melt, than any other
similar substance.
“ On the first of December 18241 had the pleasure of first
looking through a diamond microscope, and it was doubt¬
less the first time this precious gem had been employed in
making manifest the hidden secrets of nature. A few days
after, I had polished it sufficiently to put it into the hands
of Dr Goring, who tried its performance on various objects,
both as a single microscope and as the objective of a com¬
pound. He states in a letter addressed to me, dated 3d
1 Mr Pritchard informs us (see Edinburgh Journal of Science, No. 1, new series, p. 149, July 1829), that Messrs Rundell ami
Bridge of Ludgate Hill had, at the time when Mr Pritchard began his experiments, many Dutch diamond-cutters at work; anu
that the foreman, Mr Levi, with all his men, assured him, that it was impossible to work diamonds into spherical lenses. 1 he same
opinion, he adds, was also expressed by several others, who were considered of standard authority in such matters. v hen iV i
Pritchard had, contrary to the expectation of many, succeeded in finishing his first lens, it was examined by Mr Devi, who ex¬
pressed great astonishment at it, and added, that he was not acquainted with any means by which that figure could have ecu
effected.
30
MICROSCOPE.
Single Mi-January 1825, ‘ that it has shown the most difficult trans-
croseopes. parent objects I have submitted to itand again, ‘ I can
clearly perceive the amazing superiority it will possess
when completely finished.’ I must, however, inform my
readers, that we discovered in this state various flaws in
the stone, in consequence of which we abandoned all
thought of completing it. In this condition the project
remained for about a year, when I determined to resume
my attempts ; and having worked several stones into lenses,
I at last succeeded in obtaining a perfect one. In the
course of these labours, a new though not unexpected de¬
fect appeared in several lenses, which would have subvert¬
ed the whole scheme, had not the first diamond lens been
free from it.
“ These lenses, instead of giving a single image like the
first, gave a double or triple one. This rendered them
utterly useless as magnifiers, and made the defects of soft
and hard parts in the same stone, and the small cavities in
others, of comparatively trifling consequence. The images
exhibited in such lenses overlapped each other, but were
never entirely separated, though the quantity of overlap¬
ping varied in different specimens.
It was now evident that these defects arose from po¬
larisation, though this stone is described as ‘ refracting
single.’ I subsequently learned from Dr Brewster, after
I had overcome these obstacles, that this property of
the diamond had been observed by him, and an account
of it given in the Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions.1
On referring to his paper, it appears Dr Brewster found
that some stones ‘ polarised in particular parts, while other
portions of the same stone ivere quite free from any trace of
polarity, and thus perfectly adapted to our purpose, as had
previously been demonstrated in the first diamond lens.
“ Notwithstanding these difficulties, and the consequent
expense and labour they entailed on me before sufficient¬
ly experienced in working upon this refractory7 material
with certainty, I have now the satisfaction of being able,
by inspection a priori, to decide whether a diamond is fit
for a magnifier or not; and have now executed two plano¬
convex magnifiers of adamant, whose structure is quite
perfect for microscopic purposes. One of these is about
the twentieth of an inch focus, and is now in the posses¬
sion of his Grace the Duke of Buckingham ; the other, in
my hands, is the thirtieth of an inch focus, and has conse¬
quently amplification enough for most practical purposes.”2
As the expense of the diamond, and the labour of work-
ing it, are very great, about fifty or sixty hours being neces¬
sary to complete a diamond lens with double convexity, it
is of the greatest consequence to ascertain beforehand if
the substance of the diamond is homogeneous, that is, free
from difference of density or double refraction, and if it does
not contain any small cavities. The best way is to exa-
rmne the stone, by cutting two flat faces upon it, unless it
is a lashe or table diamond, which always has two flat
faces upon it; but this labour may often be avoided bv
examining it when plunged or held in a glass trough con¬
taining oil of cassia, the fluid which approaches nearest
to it m retractive power. This will diminish all the re¬
fractions at the irregular surface of the diamond, and make
any internal imperfections as easily seen as if its substance
was plate-glass.
Abemtbn By comparing the indices of refraction of diamond and
diamond ^aSS’ ^ ma{ ^eashy shown that the same magnifying
and glass P°Werf raay.be obtained with a diamond lens having its
compared. c'irvature with a radius of 8, as with a glass lens, the radius
of whose curvature is 3; and as the spherical aberration
increases with the depth of curvature or the thickness of
the lens, a lens of diamond will bear a much larger aper- single I
ture than one of glass before indistinctness of vision is croscop
produced. Mr Pritchard has given a very useful ocular
representation of the
relative value of a Fig. 1.
diamond and a glass
lens. In the annex¬
ed figure, G is the
section of a semi-lens
of glass, and D the
section of one of dia¬
mond, so placed that their principal focus F shall be at the
same point. In the diamond semi-lens the marginal rays
will intersect the axis at d, and in the glass semi-lens at g ;
the longitudinal aberration being rfF in the diamond, and
^F in the glass lens.
In order to obtain a numerical increase of these aberra¬
tions, Mr Pritchard computed them from the formula, and
found that of the diamond lens to be fthsof its own thick¬
ness, that of the glass lens being^ths of its thickness ; and
by taking the thickness of the diamond lens to be 255, while
that of the glass is 758, he obtained fths of 255 — 108,
and £ths of 758 = 884, and hence it follows that the actual
aberration of a diamond lens is only about one ninth of the
aberration of a glass lens of the same power and aperture.
If we suppose the diamond lens to be ground on the
same tool with the glass lens, so as to have the same cur-
vatuie, the same thickness, and the same diameter, the
longitudinal aberration of the diamond will be to that of the
glass lens as 43 is to 117, or nearly one third of it; and if
we suppose the focal length of both to be ^th of an inch,
the magnifying power of the diamond lens will be 2133,
while that of the glass one will be only 800. In order that a
lens of glass may have the same magnifying power as that
of the diamond above mentioned, its focal distance would
require to be only the 200th part of an inch.
I he durability of the diamond lens is also another va¬
luable property, which allows it to be burnished into a disc
of metal, and taken out and cleaned without any danger of
being scratched. In treating of microscopic doublets and
achromatic microscopes, we shall have occasion to recur
again to the diamond lens.
Sapphire Lenses.
..JP16 ruby and the sapphire are the same substance, „
o'.:!"1"/0" 7 in <ro!our- , Mr Pritchard has, with his usual
Fig. 2.
success, executed many lenses of sapphire, which, though
inferior to those of diamond, are vastly superior to the
best executed lenses of glass. When a double convex
lens of sapphire and one of plate-glass are ground to the
same ocus, so as to have the same aperture and magnify¬
ing power, their relative curvatures are as 5 to 3, and their
thicknesses as shown in the
annexed figure, where A is
the section of a semi-lens of
sapphire, whose focus is at F,
and B a section of a semi¬
lens of glass, having its focus
at the same point. This fi-
guie points out in the clear¬
est manner another advantage
of using the precious stones
in place of glass. In small
enses of glass, the thickness of the glass is such that there
f , ro°?1 be.tvveen us anterior surface and the object
for the admission of instruments for dissection, and not
Edinburgh Phil. Trans., vol. viii. n. 157 Iff 17 i ,
and Edinburgh Philosophical Magazine,Pvol. vii. n. 245 S als0 Geological Transactions, new series, vol. Hi. p. 455. ,
* Microscopic Cabinet, p. 107-111.
and London
MICROSCOPE.
31
'Jingle Mi-even f°r ^ thinnest plate of glass, so that it is impossible
ncroscopes. to use glass lenses of small foci in viewing objects placed
-v-^ in glass sliders. If the preceding figure represents lenses
with a focus of Jjjth of an inch, the distance of the glass
lens B from F will be little vnore than ^th of an inch,
which is less than the thinnest glass.
In using the Sapphire and ruby, or any precious stone
which refracts doubly, such as zircon, topaz, &c. for lenses,
we are exposed to a very serious defect, arising from the
duplication of minute lines, in consequence of the double
refraction of these crystals. In order to remedy this de¬
fect, the optician endeavours to cut the stone so that the axis
of the lens may coincide with the axis of double refraction.
This, however, is a difficult task; and, even if it were ac¬
complished, wre should not get rid entirely of the duplication
of the images, as in all double convex lenses, as well as in
plane convex lenses with the plane side turned to the object,
the rays cannot pass through the lens in parallel directions,
and therefore must suffer double refraction, however small.
It may be reduced, however, to the smallest possible
amount, and even to nothing, for pencils of rays diverging
from a point in the axis, by making the lens plano-convex,
and turning the plane side to the eye, as in the annexed
figure, where rays issuing
from F, and entering the eye
parallel at E, must pass through A
the lens AB in parallel direc¬
tions, suffering all their refrac- e
tion at the first or curved sur¬
face of the lens. By adopt¬
ing this form and position of the lens, we, however, lose
more than we gain ; for the lens is placed in the position
which gives a maximum spherical aberration. When the
magnifying power is not very high, the residual double re¬
fraction is not injurious ; and in proof of this we may state,
that wTe have in our possession a double convex lens of
sapphire, executed by Mr Pritchard, which exhibits mi¬
nute objects with the greatest beauty and precision. The
only way, therefore, is to employ precious stones, such as
the diamond, the garnet, and the spinelle ruby, which have
no double refraction when their crystallization has been
regularly effected.
iises.
Garnet and Spinelle Ruby Lenses.
wmetand The garnet is superior in its structure to the spinelle
Minelle ruby, and the best and purest which we have seen is that
which is brought from Greenland, and has a slight tinge
of purple. We have used lenses made of this substance
by Mr Hill, Mr Adie, Mr Blackie, and Mr Veitch, all of
which exhibit minute objects with admirable accuracy and
precision ; and we can state with confidence, that we have
never experienced the slightest inconvenience from the
colour of the garnet, which diminishes with its thickness,
and consequently disappears almost wholly in very minute
lenses.
fngle
♦id mi-
«3scopes.
Single Fluid Microscopes.
Mr Stephen Gray long ago proposed to construct single
microscopes with drops of water, which he lifted up with
a pin, and deposited in a small hole made in a piece of
brass. I he drop retained a sort of imperfect sphericity,
and showed objects with some distinctness; but it is ob¬
vious that the very weight of the drop destroyed its sphe¬
rical form, even if it had not been disturbed by minute
irregularities on the circumference of the aperture in which
it was placed.
Sir David Brewster long ago constructed fluid lenses in
a different manner, so as to avoid the irregularities above
mentioned. He placed minute drops of very pure turpen-Single Mi-
tine varnish, and other viscid fluids, on plates of thin and croscopes.
parallel glass. By this means he formed plano-convex lenses
of any focal length ; and by dropping the varnish on both
sides, he formed double convex lenses, with their convexi¬
ties in any required proportion. By freeing the glass
carefully from all grease with a solution of soda, the mar¬
gin of these lenses w^as beautifully circular ; and the only
effect of gravity, which diminishes with the viscidity of
the fluid and with the smallness of the drop, is to elongate
the lower lens and flatten the upper one. These lenses
w^ere found to answer well as the object-glasses of com¬
pound microscopes.
After experiencing*the extreme difficulty of obtaining
precious stones free of double refraction or difference of
density, and from little cavities and imperfections, as well
as the difficulty of giving their surfaces a perfect polish
and a correct figure, Sir David Brewster has, we under¬
stand, recently made an extended series of experiments
on the formation of minute fluid lenses, which should equal
in power and distinctness those made of precious stones.
The primary difficulty which was encountered in this at¬
tempt was that of depositing a sufficiently minute drop of
fluid upon a surface of glass. This arose from two causes,
from the difficulty of taking up on the slenderest fibre a
minute globule of a fluid of any moderate tenacity, and the
still greater difficulty of overcoming its adhesion to the fibre,
and laying a portion of it on glass. The first of these difficul¬
ties he overcame by a suitable mixture of two fluids, and the
second by a mechanical process. Having thus succeeded
in obtaining lenses too small to be recognised distinctly by
the eye, he next endeavoured to make their figure approxi¬
mate to the hyperbolic form when the lenses were not of
the smallest size, and the results w'hich he obtained were
far beyond his expectation. Some of these lenses pre¬
served their perfection for more than a year, and if pro¬
tected from dust might have been kept much longer. If
fluids could be obtained of a high refractive power, and
not of a volatile nature, microscopes of extreme perfection
might thus be readily constructed.
Catadioptric Lenses.
A single lens, by which light is both refracted and re-Catadiop-
flected, seems at first sight to be something paradoxical. tric lenses
Such a lens, howrever, which was proposed and used by Sir
David Brewster, is shown in the annexed figure, where
ABC is a hemispheri¬
cal plano-convex lens, Fig. 4.
which, if we use it in
the common way, will
have a certain magni¬
fying power ; but if we
use it as shown in the
figure, it acts as a dou¬
ble convex lens of the
same radius, and has
consequently twice the
magnifying power. Bi¬
sect the semicircle BAG in A, and join AB, AC. If we
now place an object at mn, and look into the lens BA at F,
we shall see by reflection from the surface BC the object
mn, with the same distinctness and under the same angle
as if we had placed the two lenses A« Bd, Aa Cd, with
their plane sides AB, A C together. Since tfie light is inci¬
dent on the reflecting surface BDC at an angle of 45°,
not a ray of it will be lost, as it suffers total reflection.
The lens thus used has less spherical aberration than when
used as a whole, ABC, and there is no error from imperfect
centring. This lens may be used as the object-glass of
a compound microscope ; and it will be seen in another
Sc2
MICROSCOPE.
Fis;. 5.
Single Mi-section that it possesses other advantages than those which
croscopes. have been mentioned.
The Grooved Sphere.
The groov- This lens derives its name from its having a deep
ed sphere. groove cut round it in the plane of a great circle per¬
pendicular to the axis of vision. Sir David Brewstei
was led to its construction by the doublet of Dr Wol¬
laston, which will be described in another section. It
consists of a spherical lens or sphere, with a deep con¬
cave groove cut round it, so as to cut off the marginal
pencils, and thus give a wider field and a more perfect
image. It is represented in the annexed figure, where
ABCD is a sphere of glass, having
the unshaded parts below AC and
above BD cut away, in order to pre¬
vent rays that fall very obliquely from
reaching the eye. The central thick¬
ness of the lens may be made so small
as to render the spherical and even
the chromatic aberration almost in¬
sensible. As all the pencils pass
through the centre, every part of the
image will be equally distinct; a property possessed by no
other lens whatever.
Mr Coddington,1 who entertains a high opinion of the
value of this lens, observes: “ Besides all this, another ad¬
vantage appears in practice to attend this construction,
which I did not anticipate, and for which I cannot now at
all account. I have stated, that when a pencil of rays is
admitted into'the eye, which, having passed without de¬
viation through a lens, is bent by the eye, the vision is never
free from the coloured fringes produced by eccentrical
dispersion. Now with the sphere I certainly do not
perceive this defect, and I therefore conceive that if it
were possible to make the spherical glass on a very mi¬
nute scale, it would be the most perfect simple microscope,
except, perhaps, Dr Wollaston’s doublet,2 than which I
can hardly imagine any thing more excellent, as far as its
use extends, its only defects being the very small field of
view, and the impracticability of applying it, except to
transparent objects seen by transmitted light. Now the
sphere has this advantage, that whereas it makes a very
good simple microscope, it is more peculiarly fitted for the
object-glass of a compound instrument, since it gives a
perfectly distinct image of any required extent, and that,
when combined with a proper eye-piece, it may without
difficulty be employed for opaque objects.” We do not
rightly apprehend the exact import of these observations.
Mr Coddington distinctly asserts that the grooved sphere
is the most perfect simple microscope, or the most perfect
microscope with one lens ; and yet he says in the next
paragraph that it is only “ a very good simple micro¬
scope,” being “ more peculiarly fitted for a compound in¬
strument.”
With regard to the difficulty of making it on a small
scale, it is by no means great; for if we can grind and
polish its two surfaces, we may readily excavate it round
its margin. We have now before us a grooved sphere
of garnet ^th of an inch radius, executed by Mr Blackie :
The focus is almost close to the lens, which in many kinds
of observation is a great advantage, and its performance is
remarkably fine.
It will be seen in our article on Optics, that when the
refractive indent of a sphere exceeds 2*000, its focus falls
within the sphere. Hence a grooved sphere made of dia¬
mond is useless. When made with garnet, it is invalu¬
able, and its focus is just thrown so near its surface, that Single Mi
the objects may be laid upon its surface, or pressed against croscopes.
it by a concave surface of the same radius.
Crystalline Lenses of Small Fishes.
The crystalline lens of minnows and small fishes may Crystal-
be taken out of the eye in a state of such perfection, that, line lenses
when used as single microscopes, they give a very perfect
image of minute objects. In such lenses which have an"8^8'
increasing density towards their centre, the spherical
aberration is almost wholly corrected. Great care, how¬
ever, must be taken to make the axis of the lens the axis
of vision, to prevent its form from being injdred by pres¬
sure against the aperture which holds it. The best way
is to make a ring at the end of a piece of wire, having its
diameter a little greater than that of the lens. A ring of
viscid fluid is then made to line the ring of wire, and the
lens is suspended in the ring of fluid, some of the fluid en¬
croaching upon its anterior or posterior surface.
Magnifying Power of Single Microscopes.
Having thus described the various kinds of single mi¬
croscopes, we shall now consider the subject of their mag¬
nifying power. When an eye in the prime of life, and
neither long nor short sighted, views the minutest object
which it can recognise, it will generally place it at the dis¬
tance of about five inches. When the same object is
viewed through a single microscope, the distance at which
it is seen is equal to the focal length of the lens; and as
the apparent magnitude of objects is inversely as the dis¬
tances at which they are seen, we have only to divide the
distance five inches by the focal length of the lens, in order
to know its magnifying power, or its apparent magnitude
when seen through the lens.
The following table shows the magnifying power of
lenses of all focal lengths, from 5 inches up to the 100th
of an inch, and is applicable to all lenses, of whatever sub¬
stance they are made.
Focal Length.
Inches.
5
2
II
7
f
f
1
1 0
11
1
72
1
TT
1
T¥
1
7J
Magnifying
Power.
2|
Si
4
5
6§
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
Focal Length.
Inches.
i
nr
rV
1 9
l
1
23
-J_
30
1
35
1
70
1
T7
1
50
1
5 5
1
m
i
65
I
70
73
iro
is
90
is
1
100
Magnifying
Power.
80
85
90
95
100
125
150
175
200
225
250
275
300
325
350
375
400
425
450
475
500
1 Phil. Trans. 1830, part i. p. 69-84.
2 This exception was needless, as the doublet is not a simple microscope, having two lenses placed at a distance.
MICROSCOPE.
33
(ingle Mi- We have already mentioned the advantages which the
■jroscopes. precious stones have over glass ones, in having a much less
-y--—-'' spherical aberration. In order that a glass lens may have
^ th.e the least spherical aberration,, its radii of curvature must
berratfon as one t0 six» tlie ^attest sit^e being turned to the ob-
f lenses, ject; but this is not the case with bodies of a different re¬
fractive power. Mr Coddington, in his valuable Treatise on
the Reflection and Refraction of Light,1 has computed the
ratio of the curves when the aberration is a minimum for
various indices of refraction from T5 up to 2-0, and the
amount of the aberration itself in parts of the thickness of
the lens. This table is very important in a practical point
of view, as will be seen from the observations which follow it.
Table showing the Spherical Aberration of Lenses of Glass
and the Precious Stones, and the proper proportion of their
Radii when the Aberration is a Minimum.
It appears from the preceding table, that when the re¬
fractive index is between T4 and T6 and a little more, but
less than T7, the second surface of the double convex
lens must be convex, in order to have the least spherical
aberration; but that when the index is above 1*6 or a
little more, the second surface must be concave, in order
to make the aberration a minimum, and this concavity,
in the case of zircon and sulphur, is so much as — 5, so
that in diamond it must be nearly — 3 ; so that we must
sacrifice a great deal of magnifying power in order to ob¬
tain this advantage in diamond ; but the sacrifice will be
well bestowed, for such a lens will be almost wholly free
of spherical aberration. It appears from the table, that
when the index of refraction is a little less than T7, a
plano-convex lens, with its plane side turned to the object,
is the best form for a single microscope.
Notwithstanding the difficulty of the task, we would
earnestly direct the attention of artists to the subject of
grinding plano-convex lenses of a hyperbolic form for
Substances.
Fluor spar 1
Cryolite f
Glass plate I
Oil of almonds  !
Castor oil  f
Honey J
Flint glass 'I
Quartz  1
Topaz  j
Oil of cassia J
Glass, lead 1, flint 2.... }
Sulphuret of carbon .... /
Sapphire 
Ruby 
Spinelle ruby 
Garnet 
Glass, lead 2, flint 1^..
Sulphate of lead 
Glass, lead 2^, flint 1.
Zircon 
Calomel 
Sulphur 
Phosphorus 
Glass, lead 3, flint 1..
Index of
Refrac¬
tion.
Ratio of
the Radii
of a Lens
of Mini¬
mum Aber-
ration.
1-4
1-5
1-6
1-7
1-8
1-9
20
1 to SffiG
1 to 6
1 to 14
1 to — 93
1 to—12
1 to — 7
1 to — 5
Longitu¬
dinal Aber¬
ration, the
thickness
being 10.
10-96
10-71
9-33
6-66
3-57
T66
0-62
single microscopes. The smallness of a lens must increase Microsco-
the difficulty ; but in this case the effect may be accidental- Pic P°ub-
ly obtained, as it is often done in giving a parabolic and ,allci
an elliptical form to specula. Mr Potter has given, and ri^e^',
put to the test of experiment, a method of obtaining any
curve derived from revolution, by giving a particular form
to the grinding and polishing tools.2
CHAP. II.—-DESCRIPTION OF MICROSCOPIC DOUBLETS AND
TRIPLETS.
Under this chapter we propose to describe all combina¬
tions of lenses in which two or more are placed in con¬
tact, or at such a distance that no image is formed be¬
tween them.
Wollaston's Periscopic Doublet.
The earliest proposal of a doublet lens was that which Wollas-
Dr Wollaston described in 1812,3 under the name of a peri- ton’s peri¬
scopic microscope. The following is his own description ofscoPic
it: “ The great desideratum,” says he, “ in employing hightloub^et-
magnifiers, is sufficiency of light; and it is accordingly ex¬
pedient to make the aperture of the little lens as large as
is consistent with distinct vision. But if the object to be
viewed is of such magnitude as to appear under an angle
of several degrees on each side of the centre, the requisite
distinctness cannot be given to the whole surface by a
common lens, in consequence of the confusion occasioned
by oblique incidence of the lateral rays, excepting by
means of a very small aperture, and proportionable dimi ¬
nution of light. In order to remedy this inconvenience,
I conceived that the perforated metal which limits the
aperture of the lens might be placed with advantage in its
centre; and accordingly I procured two plano-convex
lenses ground to the same radius, and applying their plane
surface on opposite sides of the same aperture, in a thin
piece of metal (as is represented by a section, fig. 6), I
produced the desired effect, hav¬
ing virtually a double convex lens, Fig. 6.
so contrived that the passage of
oblique pencils was at right angles
with its surface, as well as the
central pencil. With a lens so
constructed, the perforation that
appeared to give thq most perfect
distinctness was about one-fifth
part of the focal length in diame¬
ter ; and when such an aperture
is well centred, the visible field is at least as much as 20°
in diameter. It is true, that a portion of light is lost by
doubling the number of surfaces ; but this is more than
compensated by the greater aperture which, under these
circumstances, is compatible with distinct vision.”
Periscopic Sphere.
In the preceding passage Dr Wollaston describes only Periscopic
a double convex periscopic microscope, consisting of two sphere.^
plano-convex lenses; but he does not take the case where
these two lenses are hemispheres, and, consequently,
where the doubly convex one which they form is a
sphere. When the lenses are not hemispheres, the pencils
are not centrical, and the rays from different parts of the
object do not each suffer the same species of refraction as
they do when passing through a sphere, so that every part
of the field is not equally distinct. It is obvious also that
Dr Wollaston did not think of filling up the central aper-
rrv
1 Page 111, Cambridge, 1829.
s Edinburgh Journal of Science, new series, No. 12.
3 Phil. Trans. 1812, p, '61b.
VOL. XV.
34
MICROSCOPE.
Microsco- ture with a fluid of the same refractive power as the lens,
pic Doub- in order to remove the loss of light from the double num-
lets and ker 0p surfaces which he mentions as a defect in his mi-
1 nplets. ’
v , croscope.
The construction of a periscopic sphere proposed by Sir
David Brewster combines these two properties. The
lenses, whether they are hemispherical or not, must be so
placed that their convex surfaces form part of the same
sphere, as shown in the annexed figures.
scribed under the head of single microscopes, in which the Microsco-i
aperture is contracted by excavating the sphere all round pic Doub
in one of its great circles. w“ ‘”''1
Periscopic Achromatic Spheres.
lets and
Triplets.
If, in the construction shown in fig. 12, in place of mak-Periscopb
ing the fluid op of the same refractive and dispersive power achromati-
Fig. 7.
Fig. 12.
In fig. 7, the plano-convex lenses AB, CD may be ce¬
mented to a piece of plate glass mn, of such a thickness in
one direction as to complete the sphere, and of such a
diameter in the direction mn as to form a suitable contrac¬
tion of the aperture.
In fig. 8, the space between the lenses may be filled up,
as in the figure, by two pieces of plate-glass AmnB, CmnD,
between which is a plate of brass, or of thin black paper,
containing a suitable aperture in the centre of the lenses.
Dere there are six surfaces within the sphere, but, by uniting
them with a proper cement, the whole becomes a single
sphere, in which there is no perceptible loss of light.
In fig. 9, lenses of unequal size and thickness are com¬
bined, either with a plate of glass, or a fluid between them
of the same refractive power as the glass, and the aper¬
tures may be placed on the plane surfaces AB, CD.
In fig. 10, two convex lenses may be combined into a
sphere, the intermediate portion being filled up with a fluid
of the same refractive power. This may be readily done
by cementing each lens on the end of a brass or glass tube
ab, and introducing the fluid by an aperture.
In uniting these lenses, it is obviously necessary that
the convex outer surfaces should be exdctly of the same
curvature, and of the same kind of glass. The best wav
of effecting this is to grind a
thick lens ABC, either great- Fig. 11.
er or less than a hemisphere,
and then to bisect it at AD,
and out of the portions ADB,
ADC to form two plano-con¬
vex or two double convex
lenses AB, CD. The outer
surfaces of these two lenses B
o J.
as the two lenses, we make it such as
to correct the colour of these lenses,
we shall obtain an achromatic sphere,
as proposed by Sir David Brewster;
and the compound lens may be still far¬
ther improved as a microscope, by at¬
taching, either by cement or not to the
back of the first lens AB, a convex
speculum of silver or steel for illumi¬
nating the object, the contracted aper¬
ture being the hole in the centre of
the speculum. The concave fluid lens is shown at op ; and
such a curvature must be given to the convex reflector mn,
that it may reflect parallel or diverging rays upon the ob¬
ject.1
Mr Coddington,2 in his excellent treatise on optics, thus
treats of the preceding contrivance.
“ An achromatic sphere may be constructed by interpos¬
ing between two crossed lenses (double convex ones), in
opposite positions, a concave lens of a medium more highly
dispersive than that of the lenses, adjusting the curvatures
so that the outer surfaces of the crossed lenses shall be
portions of the same sphere, and that the interior surfaces
shall exactly fit into each other.
“ 1° such a system, we may consider the effect to be the
same as that of an entire sphere of the same medium as
the two lenses diminished by that of a concave lens hav¬
ing for its refractive ratio that which exists between the
two media in question.
“Thus, if /a,1 be the ordinary index of refraction for the
convex lenses, ,a2 for the concave one, <r: 1 the ratio of
the dispersive powers, r the radius of the sphere, s, e those
of the internal surfaces, we must have
sphere.
(g-1)G + 7):2
—1
J \s ' aJ ihx r~ ' ’
whence it follow’s, that - -f- -= 2?r. —L i.
s [jj<2 fjjx r
For example, let ^ = 1,5; (i2 - 1,65*; * = ,1,25.
Then, - + I-I.A5. _L
s <s 4 ,,5 r 1,2/
If the first internal surface be plane, ox s — <x, we have
in general ff _ — —2 r ; or, in this particular exam
2 >x fjjl
pie, e = l,2r, or <r: r 6 : 5.
Doublet of no Aberration.
So long ago as 1668, a doublet was described in the Doublet of
will belong accurately to the same sphere. The nerfect
similarity of the inner surfaces is of less consequence as
all refraction by them is removed by the cement
By these different steps Sir David Brewster was led to
the idea of the grooved sphere, or the lens already de-
Philosophical Transactions, in
which a large and flat field was
obtained. This subject, how¬
ever, was never investigated
with care till Sir John Herschel
took upthe subject in 1821. The
doublet, made ofglass, which Sir
John proposes for obtaining per¬
fect distinctness in microscopi-
Fig. 13-
no aberra¬
tion.
KnoSrph™r6riCal ^ ~ on Optical Instruments, in the Library „f t^i
lieatise on the Reflection and Refraction of Light, p. 256.
'Microsco¬
pic Doub
lets and
Triplets.
cal observations is shown in the an¬
nexed figures, 13, 14, the convex
sides being turned to the eye when
_ the doublet is used as a microscope,
and to the sun when it is used as a
burning-glass. The following are the
radii and focal length of these lenses.
Fig. 13. Fig. 14.
Focal length of the first lens + lO'OOO -+■ lOOOO
Radius of its first surface + 5*833 + 5‘833
Radius of its second surface — 35*000 — 35*000
Focal length \k\Q. second Xvns + 17*829 + 5*497
Radius of its first surface + 3*688 + 2*954
Radius of its second surface + 6*291 + 8*128
Focal length combined 6*407 -}- 3*474
“ Whether we ought or ought not,” says Sir John, “ to
aim at the rigorous destruction of rays parallel to the axis,
the use to which the lens is to be applied must decide.
In a burning-glass it is of the highest importance. A
slight consideration will suffice to show, that the differ¬
ence of temperatures produced in the foci of a double con¬
vex lens of equal radii, and one of the same focal length,
but of the best form, must be very considerable. In order
to try whether even the latter might not be improved by
the shortening of the focus, and the superior concentra¬
tion of the exterior rays, by applying a correcting lens of
one of the forms above calculated, in spite of the loss of
heat in passing through a second glass, I procured two
lenses to be figured to the radii assigned in the first co¬
lumn of the foregoing table. They were about three inches
in aperture, and when combined as above described, the
aberration was almost totally destroyed, and probably
would have been so completely had the index of refrac¬
tion proper to the glass been employed instead of that
adopted in our calculation for brevity. Their combined
effect as a burning-lens appeared to me decidedly supe¬
rior to that of the first lens used alone, and there is there¬
fore good reason to presume, that the effect of the other
construction, which, with the same loss of heat, affords a
much greater contraction of the focus, would be still bet¬
ter ; and I regret not having tried it in preference.
“ In eye-glasses and magnifiers, if we would examine
a minute object with much attention, as a small insect, or
(when applied to astronomical purposes) if we would scru¬
tinize the appearance of a planet, a lunar mountain, the
nucleus of a comet, or a close double star, where extent
of field is of less consequence than perfect distinctness in
the central point, too much pains cannot be taken in de¬
stroying the central aberration.”1
Mr Pritchard informs us, that he has executed some of
these doublets for the object-glasses of compound micro¬
scopes, “ for which,” he says, “ they answer remarkably
well, but their angle of aperture is small compared with
combinations of double achromatics.”2
HerscheVs Periscopic Doublet.
terschel’s We owe also to Sir John Herschel the construction of
eriscopic a periscopic doublet with a very large field of moderate
Du et' distinctness. “ In spectacles,” says he, “ reading-glasses,
magnifiers of moderate power, and eye-glasses for certain
astronomical purposes, the correction of the aberration in
the centre of the field may be sacrificed with little incon¬
venience. By far the best periscopic combination I am
acquainted with consists of a double convex lens of the best
form, but placed in its worst position (radii as 6 to 1) for
the lens next the eye, and a plane concave whose focal
MICROSCOPE.
Fig. 14.
35
Fig. 15.
lets and
Triplets.
[7
LA
length is to that of the other as 2*6 to 1, or as 13 to 5, Microsco
placed in contact with its flatter surface, and having its pic Doub
concavity towards the object, as
in the annexed figure, for the
farthest; yet for destroying the
aberration of rays parallel to
the axis nothing can be worse.
In fact our formula gives for the
aberration in this construction
22*02, or about 22 times what
the best single lens of equal power would give; yet, on
accidentally combining two such lenses in this manner, I
was immediately struck with the remarkable extent of ob¬
lique vision, with the absence of fatigue on reading some
lines with a power much beyond that of the natural eye,
and with the freedom from colour at the edges of the field,
arising from the opposition of the prismatic refractions of
the two solids, an advantage which a single meniscus does
not possess.” The focal length of the compound lens
which Sir John tried was 1*84 of an inch. The field of
tolerably distinct vision extended fully 40° from the axis,
and the letters of a book might be read, and the forms of
objects distinguished, with management, as far as the 75th
degree. In using such a combination the lenses should
be very thin, and the eye applied as close as possible.
Plano- Convex Doublet.
A doubletof much simpler construction, and with its sphe- Herschel’s
rical aberration greatly diminished, has also been proposed by plano-con-
Sir John Herschel. It is represented in the annexed figure,^* ^h-
and consists of two con¬
vex lenses of equal focal Fig. 16.
lengths, the convex sides
being placed in contact,
and the eye and object
opposite the plane sides.
In this case the aberration
will be only 0*6028. But
if we make the focal
length of the first to that of the second as 1 to 2*3,
the aberration will be reduced to 0*2481. In order to have
an idea of the value of such a doublet, we shall give the
series of aberrations for single lenses, as investigated by
Sir John Herschel.
Aberration.
Plano-convex, plane side first  4*2
Plano-convex, convex side first   10*81
Double convex  1*567
Best form of a single lens  P00
Doublet of two equal plano-convex lenses  0*6028
Doublet of two plano-convex lenses with their
focal lengths as 1 to 2*3  0*2481
Doublet of garnet, with suitable focal lengths  0*08
As these calculations are made for glass, the advantage
of such a doublet made of garnet or sapphire must be much
greater. In a garnet the minimum aberration takes place
when the form of the lens differs very little from that of
plano-convex; and as it is then to that of glass as 35 to
107, the aberration will be only about 0*08, or next to im¬
perceptible.
Wollaston s Doublet.
The consideration of the Huygenian eye-piece for astro-Wolkis-
nomical telescopes suggested to Dr Wollaston the proba-s doub-
bility that a similar combination should have a similar
1 Phil. Trans. 1821, p. 246-248.
* Microscopic Cabinet, p. 163.
36
MICROSCOPE.
Microsco¬
pic Doub¬
lets and
Triplets.
advantage, of correcting both achromatic and spherical situation of this stop in the various doublets I have exa- Microsco.
aberrations, if employed in an opposite direction as a micro- mined, it will appear that their makers did not know that p|c Doub-
scope.1 With this view, he took two plano-convex lenses, the field of view depended upon the plane of the stop. I rjf''.3?”
the ratio of whose focal lengths was as 3 to 1, and he have found, that when the stop is situated close behind the, P ei3t
placed them as in the annexed figure, so that the distance of anterior lens, no other is required, and the field is enlarged
their plane surfaces was from to 1-^ of the focal length without sensibly augmenting the aberration. On this ac-
*' " count, the lenses of the finest doublet, when used singly
with the same aperture as combined, has so much aberra¬
tion and distortion that distinct vision cannot be obtained,
even with the most rigid adjustment of the focus. From
the difficulty of procuring a flat surface, some makers have
worked the anterior surface of the lens next the object
of the smallest. The plane sides of
the lenses are towards the object.
The advantage of the first lens hav¬
ing its plane side next the object
is, as Dr Wollaston states, that if
it should touch a fluid, the view is
Fig. 17.
Pritchard’
observa¬
tions on
doublets.
not only not impaired, but improved, whereas a double concave: these lenses do not possess any advantage in
convex lens would require to be taken out and cleaned, point of performance, not even to compensate for the loss
The following excellent observations on this doublet are of power from the negative side.’
made bv Pritchard. Mr Pritchard remarks, that when the lens next the ob-
“ Having mounted some plano-convex lenses of the rela- ject is a jewel, the performance of the doublet is improved ;
tive foci named by Dr Wollaston, in such a manner that but that he has not observed any advantage when both
the distances might be varied at pleasure, I was surprised lenses are gems. This must be a mistake ; for lenses of any
to find, that after the doublet was adjusted by trial, so as gem, that are superior to glass ones when acting singly,
to obtain the maximum of distinctness, the distance be- must, if suitably combined, be superior also when united. In
tween the lenses did not accord either with the rule given proof of this, we have a garnet doublet before us, executed
by Huygens, or that of Dr Wollaston. Supposing that I had by Mr Blackie, the performance of which is quite remark-
not got the combination intended by Dr Wollaston, I pro- able. The lenses are made of Elie garnets, and their con-
cured several doublets made by different artists, and to my
astonishment found they agreed with my own, and there¬
fore presumed the doctor was mistaken in the distance by
the thickness of the lenses and the minuteness of the space
between them. The distance which appeared to me essen-
vex sides are placed towards each other. The radius of
the smallest lens near the object is f^th (^one seventieth) of
an inch, and that of the other ^th (one twentieth) of an
inch. Its magnifying power is very high, exceeding great¬
ly that of the semi-jewel doublet made by Mr Pritchard,
tial to obtain the best effect, is the difference of the focal with a sapphire lens g^th (one sixtieth) of an inch focus,
length of the two lenses, making a proper allowance for their
thickness. The proportion of the foci of the two lenses
may be varied ad libitum. All that is requisite in this re¬
spect is, that the difference must be greater than the thick¬
ness of the anterior lens, while it may be observed (in high
powers), that the greater the difference between their two
focal lengths, the more space wall be left in front; and as
combined with a glass lens y{yth (one tenth) of an inch focus.
In the experiments to which we have already referred
on fluid lenses, Sir David Brewster has constructed doub¬
lets, one of the lenses of which is made of glass or a pre¬
cious stone, and the other a fluid one, and he has been
enabled to increase the power of any single lens by the
addition of a fluid one, till the object touches the anterior
this is of great practical importance, they should never be surface of the object-lens. He has also made fluid spheres
less than as 1 to 3. I have made some very good ones, contracted in the middle, and fluid doublets in which the
differing as much as 1 to 6. Another advantage resulting centring is effected by an infallible process,
from attending to this point is, that we do not lose so
much magnifying power in such combinations as when
the difference between the lenses is less.
“ The delicacy and beauty with which these doublets ex¬
hibit the structure of tissues will justify my entering into
some minute details respecting them. The following is
necessary to ensure their goodness.
il First, I he convex surface of each lens must be truly
spherical, it this is not obtained, it will be in vain to pro-
Pritchards Triplet.
Upon the same principle as the doublets, Mr Pritchard Pritchard’i
has constructed triplets, the third or posterior lens having triplet,
a longer focal length than the two others. This combina¬
tion requires much more precision in the adjustment, and
more attention in the centring. Mr Pritchard remarks,
that, “ when perfected, they amply repay the pains be-
• c • -a- slight scratch on such as a large mouse or bat’s hair.1 navm«- ion" maae
latter f°r Z of one of Mr Pritchard’s triplets, tv e can ampl/confirm
theedZofZl hot hle8h ’ f ’ by !’f reJec“on “TIKl the account which hc llas S1™' of the excellence of this
°r S'!,re- combination. Mr Blackie has executed for us a triplet, the
centre lens of which is garnet, the posterior one ot quartz,
Second, I he distance between the lenses is the next point
of importance ; its adjustment is best accomplished by
trial, mounting the lenses in such a manner that their dis¬
tance can be varied at pleasure, and capable of being
turned round, so as to adjust the centring. When this
is obtained, they should be fixed so that their distance and
position cannot be altered. This it is necessary to regard,
as I have sometimes spent whole days in re-adjusting a
doublet that had been separated to examine the lenses
singly. Third, The stop or diaphragm, for limiting the
apu tore in these combinations, should be placed immedi¬
ately behind the anterior lens. From the difference of the
and the anterior one of flat glass. It is a very powerful
combination, and performs admirably.
Sir David Brewster has made triplets in which two of
the lenses are fluids and the third a solid, and some in
which they are all fluids.
Single Achromatic Microscope.
In many of the doublets which we have already describ- Single
ed, the chromatic aberration is partially, and sometimes ac|iromadc
greatly corrected, but still not to such a degree as to en- horo¬
scope.
Mr Coddington has shown that such a correction is impossible. {Treatise on the Eye and Optical Instruments, p. 55.)
MICROSCOPE.
tmipound title them to the name of achromatic. The great improve-
Micro- ment which has taken place in the art of grinding and
scopes, ponding small lenses, has enabled the optician to execute
double and triple achromatic lenses, having a diameter so
small as from |th to y^th of an inch. Mr Pritchard has
made them of the latter size with an angle of aperture
of 65°. These lenses may be advantageously used where
very high powers are not required, or when they cannot
be applied, though it is usual to employ them as the ob¬
ject-glasses of compound microscopes, as we shall after¬
wards see.
Sir David Brewster has executed achromatic lenses both
double and triple, by combining a fluid concave lens with
one or two convex lenses of the precious stones or glass.
When the lenses are double, the fluid lens is of course a
meniscus in which the concavity predominates, as it is
| • impossible to form a fluid lens doubly concave.
Single Rejlectbig Microscopes.
Ingle re- Single reflecting microscopes are not much in use.
cting mi- They consist of a concave metallic speculum of a short focal
ascopes. ]engjjlj so that any minute body placed in its focus will
be seen magnified. The form of the speculum should of
course be parabolic. Such a microscope is principally use¬
ful for looking at one’s own eye, or any part of it not far
from the pupil. In these cases no image is formed, as the
rays enter the eye parallel.
kiid re- The following ingenious contrivance for a fluid reflect-
1 ;tingmi-ing microscope we owe to Mr Stephen Gray.1 Having
inscopes, taken a small globule of quicksilver, and dis¬
solved it in a menstruum of 10 parts of water
and 1 of nitric acid (aquafortis), be dipped the
end of a stick in this solution, and rubbed with
it the inner circle of the ring A, so as to give
it a mercurial tincture. This ring is made of
brass, and is about the 30th of an inch thick,
having its mean diameter not exceeding f-ths
of an inch. When the inner surface of the
ring wetted with the solution has been wiped
dry and laid upon a table, pour a drop of
quicksilver within it, and when this drop is
gently pressed with the ball of the finger, it
will adhere to the ring, and when cleansed with
a hare’s foot will form a convex speculum. If
the ring and speculum are now taken up and
carried horizontally, and laid on the margin of the hollow
cylinder B, the mercury will become a concave reflecting
speculum, in consequence of its upper surface sinking
down by gravity. The cylinder B rests upon a pillar with
a screw on its outside, and supported by the base D. ^ A
stage, ECFG, may be moved up and down, so as to place
the object, which is fixed at G, in the focus of the concave
speculum.
37
three, and Eustachio Divini four; the two next the eye Compound
being plano-convex, and placed in contact, with their con- Micro-
vex sides towards each other, to give a high power and a , sl^Pes-
large and flat field. In 1691 Philip Bonnani2 used a com-
pound microscope with three lenses, and added to it an il¬
luminating apparatus with two lenses/
The reflecting compound microscope was first suggested
by Sir Isaac Newton, and its construction varied and made
more complex by Dr Barker and Dr Smith of Cambridge.
The simple contrivance of Sir Isaac has in modern times
been greatly improved by Amici, Potter, Tulley, Cuthbert,
and Dr Goring, whose labours in improving the micro¬
scope have been indefatigable, and in the highest degree
successful. An account of these improvements will be
given in this chapter.
%
Compound Refracting Microscope.
Fig. 19.
The principle of the compound microscope with two
lenses will be understood from the annexed figure, where
MN is a minute object placed in the focus of the object-
glass AB, or rather a little farther from it than its princi¬
pal focus. An image of this ob¬
ject will be formed atmrc, at some
distance behind AB, the distance
nA increasing as AM diminish¬
es. The size of the image mn will
be to that of the object MN as
wA is to AM, their distances
from the lens AB. If we now
view this magnified image mn through an eye-glass EF, so
placed that mn is in its principal focus, we shall again
magnify it in the inverse proportion of Era to the distance
at which the eye sees minute objects most distinctly, which
is about five inches. The object MN is thus doubly mag¬
nified, so that if «A is six times AM, and the lens EF has
a focal length of half an inch, the magnifying power will
be 6 X 5-^-160. While the lenses are the same, the
magnifying power may be increased to any extent by in¬
creasing the distance between the lenses EF and AB, but
the object becomes indistinct as the magnifying power in¬
creases, so that it is not advisable to make the distance
raA more than five, six, or seven inches; or calling^' the
focal distance of the eye-glass, D = AM, d = Ara, and A
the distance at which we see objects distinctly, then this
d_
D
magnifying power M will be M
x 7‘
In this arrangement of lenses the field of view is small,
and therefore we cannot see the whole of many objects at
one view. In order to remedy this, a large lens, called the
amplifying glass, is placed between the image and the ob¬
ject-glass, as shown in fig. 20, where raw is the image
formed by AB alone;
but in consequence Fig. 20.
of the interposition
of GH, it is contract¬
ed into vp, and this
contracted image is
magnified by the eye¬
glass EF. In order
to widen the field
still farther, and make , „ „
it flat, two plano-convex lenses have been placed at E, b,
having their convex sides in contact. In order to find the
magnifying power when the lens GH is used, we must
mnltinlv the maenilving power, as obtained by the preced-
CHAP. II. ON COMPOUND MICROSCOPES.
(licom- A compound microscope is an instrument in wdiich a
fund mi- distinct and enlarged image of an object is formed by an
©scopes, object-glass or a speculum, and this enlarged image again
magnified by one or more eye-glasses.
There is every reason to believe, that the earliest com¬
pound microscopes, which were used by Jansen and Ga¬
lileo, consisted of a convex lens for an object-glass, and a
concave one for an eye-glass, like the telescope which was
at that time in use.
Fontana in 1646 used two convex lenses; Dr Hooke
1 Phil. Trans. 1697, No. 226, p. 539.
8 Obssrvationes circa viventia, quce
in rebus non viventibus reperiuntur.
38
MICROSCOPE.
C ^Fcro-d ing formula, by the quantity <p representing the focal
scopes.
length of the lens GH and L = ^^ — d —f, & being
the distance between the first and second glasses, and d
the distance between the first and third glasses
Dr Goring prefers the following method of finding the
magnifying power of these microscopes. Measure the
aperture of the object glass and call it a, make AM — f
and having measured with a micrometer scale the diame¬
ter of the usual pencil of rays before they enter the eye,
call it d; then a c?: F, F being the focal length of a
single lens having the same power as the compound micro-
• A
scope. But the magnifying power m of a lens F is ^r.
Hence the magnifying power M of the compound micro-
... . Aa
scope will be M ~ rr~.
fa
Dr Goring s Improvement on the Object- Glass of the Com- Compound
pound Microscope. Micro¬
scopes.
When the compound microscope does not require to
have a high power, a
compound object-glass
of two lenses may be
advantageously employ¬
ed. Dr Goring1 has con¬
trived the combination
shown in the annexed
figure, where A is a pla-
Fig. 21.
-fw
Dr Gor-
ing’s ob¬
ject-glass
no-convex lens with its flat side next the object, having its
focal distance about one half or two thirds that of the piano
or double convex lens B. A stop D is placed in the pos¬
terior focus of the object-glass A. Mr Pritchard remarks,
that when the focal length of A “ is not less than half an
inch, this combination has been employed with considera¬
ble advantage, both as regards distinctness and aperture.”
In accurate investigations with the microscope, the com¬
mon compound refracting instrument above described is of
little use, and has been superseded by better combinations.
As it is, however, very serviceable for common purposes,
we shall describe one of them of the most convenient and
modern construction. This instrument is shown in Plate
CCCLX. fig. 19, where the body of the microscope and
all its parts are seen. They all slide on a triangular bar
S, the sliding pieces having springs on one side. The
three lenses within the body of the microscope are shown
at EF, GH, AB, as in the last figure. The object MN is
placed on a slider attached to the stage PQ. The reflec¬
tor for illuminating the field is at R, being moved by a
Hooke’s universal joint at XX. A condensing lens is
placed at C, for increasing the light reflected from the mir¬
ror R. The body of the instrument is adjusted to distinct
vision of the object MN, by a rack and pinion working a
triangular bar at right angles to the bar S. It is often
thought preferable to move the stage towards the micro¬
scope, rather than the microscope towards the stage ; but
as the motion of the stage often disturbs animalculae, and
may derange the position of inanimate objects, the motion
of the body of the microscope has many advantages. When
the stage, however, is moveable, it is made to consist of
three plates. The upper plate, which carries the slider-
holder, is secured with a screw across the middle plate,
which middle plate is carried across the lower stage-plate
by a similar motion, but in a direction at right angles to
the upper plate. By these movements the object can be
placed in any position with regard to the axis of the fixed
microscope, first by turning the one screw and then the
other.
Some attention is requisite in adjusting the apertures of
the object-glasses employed. The smaller they are, the less
will be the spherical and chromatic aberration of the ob¬
ject-glass, but the less will be the light. When a plano¬
convex lens about half an inch focus is used, its plane side
should be towards the object, and its aperture limited to
^jth of an inch.
A compound microscope is sometimes so constructed
that it can be used as a single microscope. This is done
by screwing the lower end of the body round the object-
glass into a projecting arm at the top of the stand. When
the body is unscrewed and removed, a single lens or a
doublet or triplet may be screwed into the same place,
and the moveable stage, with the slider and object, brought
near the single lens, just as if it had been the object-glass
of a compound microscope.
Mr Coddington s Improvement on the Dye- Glasses of the
Compound Microscope.
The improvement suggested by Mr Coddington on the
eye-pieces of compound microscopes is shown in Plate
CCCLXf fig. 20. The object of the contrivance is to
fulfil the condition proposed by Huygens in his excellent
telescopic eye-piece, namely, to have the refraction of the
pencils divided between the two lenses, and to produce
the greatest possible flattening of the field. Mr Codding¬
ton found that the most
Fig. 22.
D,
proper form of the lenses
was that shown in the
annexed figure, where
the two ^ye-glasses con¬
sist of a meniscus A next
the eye, and a double
equi-convex lens B, while the field-glass is composed of
two mensicuses C, D. Mr Coddington, however, informs
us, that he “ found no sensible error arise from the sub¬
stitution of plano-convex lenses for the meniscus-glasses,
which are difficult and expensive to form.” He remarks
also, that theory indicates “ a farther flattening of^he
field to be made by separating the eye-glasses a little,
which requires the distance of the first eye-glass from
the field-glass to be diminished by about half as much
but he did not perceive any improvement arising from
this alteration in practice, and therefore he does not re¬
commend the change. The object-glass which Mr Cod¬
dington uses in this microscope is shown at o, and is the
grooved sphere proposed by Sir David Brewster.
In his treatise on the eye and optical instruments, Mr
Coddington has proposed a different combination for the
eye-glasses and the field or amplifying-glass. Supposing
the distance between the object-glass and field-glass to be
1 inch, and the focal length of the field and eye-glasses 1
inch each, and the distance between the field-glass and near¬
est eye-glass 1 inch, he finds the distance of the two eye¬
glasses to be j-th of an inch. He finds also, “ that all in¬
distinctness arising from the oblique refractions will be
corrected when the field-glass is convexo-convex, nearly
convexo-plane, the first eye-glass convexo-convex2 (ra¬
dii as 3 : 1), and the second eye-glass a meniscus3 (radii
as 1: 5).”
I aking another case, he supposes the distance of the
object-glass from the field-glass to be 2 inches, and the
eye-glasses to be in contact, as in fig. 22, then “ it ap¬
pears that for the achromatism we must have the distance
between the field-glass and second eye-glass 1 inch.”
1 Quarterly Journal, vol. xvii, p. 202.
The flattest side next the eye.
3 The most convex side next the eye.
MICROSCOPE.
ampoundThen the field-glass must be convexo-plane nearly; the
Micro- first eye-glass equi-convex, and the second eye-glass a me-
scopes. niscus with the radii as 1:5.
Dr Goring, who examined one of the instruments con¬
structed on these principles, states, that both the chromatic
and spherical aberration of the objective part was wholly
untouched, and that the eye-piece, consisting of four glasses,
was achromatic. He adds also, that nothing can surpass
the beauty of the field of this microscope tor extent of
flatness. Now we think that Dr Goring has mistaken Mr
Coddington, who never pretended to correct the spherical
and chromatic aberration of the object-glass.1 He consi¬
ders the chromatic and spherical aberration of the grooved
sphere, which is the object-glass he uses, as reduced to very
small quantities, by leaving only a small channel in its axis
for the passage of the rays. Whatever the residual aber¬
ration may be, Mr Coddington is not answerable for it, as
his object was merely to make the other part of the mi¬
croscope good, which, according to Dr Goring, he has suc¬
ceeded in doing.
Compound Achromatic Microscope.
impound Although the achromatic microscope has only recently
fhromaticcome into use as an effective and superior instrument, yet
: cro* it can scarcely be considered as a new instrument. Every
person knew that an achromatic object-glass was most de¬
sirable in a compound microscope. So early as 1776 Euler
proposed to employ them in compound microscopes; but
so late as 1821 M. Biot considered their introduction as
out of the question, from the impracticability of achroma¬
tizing lenses as small as those which the microscope re¬
quires.
Sel- In 1823 M. Selligues and Dr Goring were both occu-
IJe®- pied with the subject, the former having employed MM.
Chevalier, two excellent opticians in Paris, and the latter
Mr Tulley, to execute small achromatic object-glasses.
It is to M. Selligues, however, in so far as we can
learn, that we are indebted for the new and happy idea
of making the object-glass consist of four achromatic
compound lenses, each consisting of two lenses. This
idea is the actual source of the superiority of the achro¬
matic microscopes; and in proof of this we may state, that
Professor Amici, who had early been following out the
old idea of a single achromatic object-glass, abandoned his
attempts in 1815, but afterwards successfully resumed
them by adopting M. Selligues’ plan of the superposition
of several object-glasses. In M. Selligues’ instrument the
focal length of each object-glass was 18 lines, its diameter
6 lines, and its thickness at the centre 6 lines. In that
of Amici the focal length of each was about 6 lines, and
MM. Chevalier have executed them having only 2 lines in
focal length. More recently, however, Mr Pritchard has
surpassed all these artists by making them of one sixteenth
of an inch in focal length.
From this brief historical detail, we shall proceed to
give a more minute account of the lenses executed by
these different individuals, for which we are indebted to
Mr Jackson Lister, whose able memoir on this subject is,
as we shall see, one of the most valuable contributions to
the science of the microscope that has for a long time ap¬
peared.
The achromatic object-glasses of M. Selligues’ micro¬
scope made by MM. Chevalier, consisted of a plano-concave
lens of flint glass, and a double convex one of crown or
plate glass, with their inner curves cemented together by a
mixture of mastic and turpentine, to remove the reflection
39
of the interior surfaces, and prevent the introduction of Compound
dampness. Four of these lenses, of from 1^ to 1£ of an Micro¬
inch in focal length, were made to screw before each other, scopes,
so as to be used either all together, or any of them indivi- W"Y''W
dually, in the usual manner, like the object-glasses of a
compound microscope. The aberration of colour was thus
corrected in a considerable degree, but the glasses were
fixed in their places, with their convex sides towards the
object, which is their worst position ; and in consequence
of this, the spherical aberration was enormous, and was dis¬
tinctly seen, even with the small aperture to which it was
necessary to reduce them.
Notwithstanding this defect, the grand idea of the com¬
bination was acquired ; and M. Chevalier having observed
the mistake committed by M. Selligues, made them of less
focal length, and more achromatic ; and turning the concave
lens to the object, he produced in 1825 an instrument far
above that of M. Selligues. His deepest glasses were four
tenths of an inch in focal length ; and in his first micro¬
scope two such compound lenses were combined for his
highest powrer.
The date of Fraunhofer’s achromatic microscopes isFraunho-
not know n. Many years ago the writer of this article or-fer.
dered an achromatic object-glass from Fraunhofer for a
large microscope, for the purpose of making a particular
class of observations ; but at that time he seems not to
have made any compound lenses to be combined after the
manner of Selligues. Mr Robert Brown2 has a series
of five such object-glasses, recently obtained from Utz-
schneider, whose focal lengths are from T8 to 04>3 of an
inch.
When Professor Amici visited London in 1827, he Amici,
brought writh him some compound object-glasses, which
performed very well; and Mr Lister has since learned from
him that he has executed a combination of 2*7 lines in
focal length, and 2'7 lines in aperture, which greatly ex¬
cels the former.
Among the most successful improvers of the achromatic Mr Lister,
microscope we must rank Mr Jackson Lister, who has dis¬
covered some curious and valuable properties of these
lenses that have escaped the notice of the most skilful
analysts. Mr Lister has investigated the subject entirely
as a matter of observation, and therefore his results are
more likely to have a higher practical value.
Mr Lister takes as the basis of a microscopic object-
glass two conditions, 1. that the flint glass shall be plano¬
concave ; and, 2. that it shall be joined by some cement to
the convex lens. The first condition obviates the risk of
error in centring the two curves, and the second dimi¬
nishes by nearly a half the loss of light from reflection,
which is very great at the numerous surfaces of a combi¬
nation of compound object-glasses.
Now Mr Lister has found that in every such compound
lens which he has tried, whether the flint glass was Swiss
or English, with a double convex of plate glass, which has
been rendered achromatic by the form given to the outer
curve of plate glass, the ratio between the refractive and
dispersive powers has been such that its figure has been
correct for rays issuing from some point in its axis not far
from the principal focus on its plane side; and these rays
either tend to a conjugate focus within the tube of the
microscope, or emerge nearly parallel.
If AB represents such an object-glass, let us suppose
that it is free from spherical and achromatic aberration
for a ray FDEG radiating from F, then the angle of emer¬
gence GEH will be about three times as great as that
of incidence FDI. If the radiant point is now made
1 Treatise on the Eye and Optical Instruments, p. 58, 59, § 329.
* Phil. Trans. 1830, p. 188.
40
MICROSCOPE.
Fig. 23.
scopes.
Compound to approach the lens, the angles of incidence
Micro- and emergence will approach to equality,
and the spherical aberration produced by the
two will bear a less proportion to the oppos¬
ing error of the single correcting curve ABC,
and hence in this case the rays will be over¬
corrected for such a focus.
As F continues to approach the lens, the
angle of incidence continuing to increase, it
will exceed that of emergence, which has
been in the mean time diminishing, so that
the spherical aberration produced by the two
outer surfaces will recover their original pro¬
portion. When F has reached this point F7
(at which the angle of incidence does not ex¬
ceed that of emergence so much as it had at
first come short of it), the rays will again be
free from spherical aberration. If F" still
comes nearer the lens, or is carried beyond
F in the opposite direction, the angle of inci¬
dence in the former case, or of emergence in
the latter, becomes disproportionately effective, and in
either case the aberration exceeds the correction, or the
rays are under-corrected. Hence Mr Lister gives the fol¬
lowing rule.
That in general an achromatic object-glass, of which
the inner surfaces are in contact, or nearly so, will have on
one side of it two foci in its axis, for the rays proceeding
from which the spherical aberration will be truly corrected at
a moderate aperture ; that for the space between these two
points, its spherical aberration will be over-corrected, and
beyond them either way, under-corrected!’
Mr Lister found also, “ that when the longer aplanatic
focus is used, the marginal rays of a pencil not coincident
with the axis of the glass are distorted, so that a coma is
thrown outwards, while the contrary effect of a coma di¬
rected towards the centre of the field is produced by the
rays from the shorter focus.” These interesting results
obviously furnish the means of destroying both aberra¬
tions in a large focal pencil, and of thus surmounting what
has been hitherto the chief obstacle to the perfection of
the ^microscope. And when it is considered that the
curves of its diminutive object-glasses have required to be
at least as exactly proportioned as those of a large tele¬
scope, to give the image of a bright point equally sharp
and colourless, and that any change made to correct one
aberration was liable to disturb the other, some idea may
be formed of what the amount of that obstacle would have
been. It will, however, be evident, that if any object-
glass is but made achromatic, with its lenses truly worked
and cemented, so that their axes coincide, it may with
certainty be connected with another possessing the same
requisites, and of suitable focus, so that the combination
shall be free from spherical error also in the centre of its
field.
For this the rays have only to be received by the front
glass L, from its shorter aplanatic focus F, and transmitted
in the direction of the larger correct pencil FA of the
other glass A. It is desirable that the latter pencil should
neither converge to a very short focus, nor be more than
very slightly, if at all, divergent; and a little attention at
first to the kind of glass used will keep it within this range,
the denser flint being suited to the glasses of shorter focus
and larger angle of aperture. If the two glasses which
in the diagram are drawn as at some distance apart, are
brought nearer together (if the place of A, for instance, is
carried to the dotted figure), the rays transmitted by B
in the direction of the larger aplanatic pencil of A, will
plainly be derived from some point (Z) more dis- Compou
tantthan F", and lying between the aplanatic foci Fig. 24. Micro "
of B; therefore (according to what has been stated) SC0Pei
this glass, and consequently the combination, will
then be spherically over-corrected. If, on the other
hand, the distance between A and B is increased,
the opposite effects are of course produced
In combining several glasses together, it is often ^
convenient to transmit an under-corrected pencil
from the front glass, and to counteract its error
by over correction in the middle one.
Slight errors in colour may, in the same man¬
ner, be destroyed by opposite ones; and on the
principles described, we not only acquire fine cor¬
rection for the central ray, but by the opposite
effects at the two foci in the transverse pencil, all
coma can be destroyed, and the w hole field rendered beau
tifully fiat and distinct.1
Compound Achromatic Microscopes, with Solid and Fluid
Lenses.
In 1812, a very simple method was employed by SirCombina
David Brewster, for making both single and compound donofso
achromatic microscopes. Almost all objects are seen tofncJ
the greatest advantage when immersed m a fluid, even the
finest test objects, such as the scales of the Podura. Hav¬
ing placed the object on a piece of glass, he put above it
a drop of an oil having a greater dispersive power than
the single lens, or than the concave lens which formed
the object-glass of the microscope. The lens was then
made to touch the fluid, so that the surface of the fluid
was as it were formed into a concave lens. Now if the
radius of the outw'ard surface of this lens was such as to
correct the dispersion, we have here a perfect achromatic
microscope, both simple and compound. The best way is
to over-correct the colour of the plate-glass lens by the
fluid, and then to reduce the dispersion of the fluid by
mixing it with one of a less dispersive powrer. This will
be understood from the annex
ed diagram, where AB is an
unequally convex lens, the flat¬
test side of which is plunged
in the fluid nin, placed in a
watch-glass CD. The object is
placed at mn, and the disper¬
sion of the concave surface of
the fluid compensates that
which is produced by the lens.
Fig. 25.
. j —   All errors of centring
are here removed, and also the loss of light at the touch¬
ing surfaces of solid lenses. If AB is a single microscope,
the object mn will be placed in its principal focus, and
the emergent parallel rays will enter the eye; but if it is
the object-glass of a compound microscope, an image will
be formed a few inches behind AB, by withdrawing AB a
little from mn, or placing the object a little without its prin¬
cipal focus. We have already had occasion to describe
an achromatic grooved sphere, but in the process of ach¬
romatizing it, the sphere loses in a very small degree its
valuable property of refracting in the very same manner
all tiie pencils that enter the eye. This property, how¬
ever, may be preserved in the bird’s-eye sphere by the
acm omatic method which we have now described. Let
■t B be the grooved sphere, and CD the watch-glass con¬
taining the fluid; it is obvious that every ray which passes
tirough the centre of the sphere will enter and quit it
peipenchcularly, without suffering any refraction. The
same mode of achromatizing the sphere AB may be adopt-
1 PhiL Trans. 1830, p. 199.
MICROSCOPE.
41
impound
Micro¬
scopes.
.chroma-
ic grooved
nhere.
iystem of
olid and
uid ach-
omatics.
ed with a solid concentric concave Fig. 26.
lens ABCD of flint-glass or other
substance, or the sphere may be pla¬
ced between two such concentric
lenses. The greater the dispersion
of the flint-glass, the nearer must the
outer surface CD approach to AB.
By these means the grooved sphere
may be rendered perfect, both as a
single microscope and as the object-
glass of a compound one.
The principle above described may be applied to a sys¬
tem of object-glasses like those of Selligues’ microscope.
Let A, B, E be three convex
lenses, so placed at the end
of the tube of a compound
microscope, that the high¬
ly dispersive fluid in the
watch-glass CD will enter
between the glasses A, B,
and E. The concave lenses
of fluid will over-correct the
three lenses A, B, and E;
but if a very deep curvature
on the outside of A is not
sufficient to compensate
this over-correction, it may be effected by a suitable lens
at F. If the three lenses are made of the precious stones,
with a high refractive power and a low dispersive one, the
concave fluid lenses wall not over-correct them.
Description of Mr Pritchard's Compound Achromatic Mi¬
croscope.
ritchard’s This instrument is represented in Plate CCCLX. fig.
jmpound. 21, 22, 23, as fitted up by Mr Pritchard. All its parts
are so distinctly shown in the figures, that they require
no description, especially as the uses of most of the parts
have been described in a former chapter. Fig. 21 is a
perspective view of the instrument in its most convenient
position for examining transparent objects by reflected
light. The stops and condensing illuminator, which are
seen under the stage, should be removed when particular
objects are viewed. When test objects are to be viewed
by direct light, the instrument can be turned round. Fig.
22 shows the position of the instrument for dissecting.
The rest for supporting the hands is shown at a, and the
large moveable stage at h. Fig. 23 shows the proper po¬
sition of the instrument for viewing opaque objects by the
concave reflector c. In front of c, the object is placed upon
a black or white ground, according to its nature ; and
the light of the candle, collected and thrown upon the mir¬
ror c by the condensing lens, is again reflected by the
mirror upon the object. Fig. 22 is an eye-piece ; and fig. 23
represents an apparatus for holding a bottle to show aquatic
plants and animals.
In Mr Pritchard’s instrument the following are the di¬
mensions and powers of the lenses for a complete micro¬
scope.
Sidereal Focal
Length in Parts
of an Inch.
1
1
2
i
R
tV
Angle of
Aperture.
16°
21
42
55
65
Compound Deflecting Microscopes.
Newton’s
reflecting
micro¬
scope.
Compound
Sir Isaac Newton seems to have been the first person scopes,
who described a reflecting microscope. He communicated Y—»~'
his plan to Oldenburg in 1679, as shown in the annexed Sir Isaac
diagram, where AB
is a concave specu- Fig. 28.
lum, O the object,
F the place where    c
an image of it is
formed, and CD an
eye-glass for mag¬
nifying it. In another letter to Oldenburg, dated 11th
July of the same year, he refers to another improvement
on microscopes, which is to “ illuminate the object in a
darkened room, with the light of any convenient colour,
not too much compounded; -for by that means the micro¬
scope will, with distinctness, have a deeper charge and
larger aperture, especially if its construction be such as I
may hereafter describe.” We are not aware that this idea
was ever further developed by its author.1
Mr Potter s Improvement upon it.
Mr Potter2 has recently described “ a new construction ]yfr p0t_
of Sir Isaac Newton’s microscope,” principally with theter’s im-
view of removing the difficulty of illuminating the object, provement
His first construction was for opaque objects ; and in order uPon lt"
Fig. 29.
Jk:
Magnifying Powers in Dia¬
meters by a Standard of
5 Inches.
60 to 100
100 to 360
240 to 500
500 to 1100
900 to 3000
Of these object-glasses, that whose focal length is ^th of
an inch appears to be the most perfect and useful.
to illuminate them, he cut a large circular aperture abc in
the tube, between the object and the speculum ; but the
light which fell on the sides of the tube occasioned a good
deal of indistinctness in the field of view. This defect,
however, was completely removed by lining all the lower
parts of the tube with black velvet. Mr Potter found it
advantageous to concentrate the light on these objects
that required it, by a large lens at d. For transparent
objects he applied a lens, as shown at e. Its convergent
beam is reflected on the object placed at the end of the
wire a, fixed to a handle h, by means of a small diagonal
mirror in the axis of the tube, and inclined to this axis
45°. By this means a very strong light may be thrown
through, and past the object. By means of moveable caps
to cover the opening abc, and the lens e, all interference
of foreign light is prevented ; and without altering the po¬
sition of the object, both methods of illumination may be
successively adopted. Mr Potter attaches his objects to
thin brass pins a stuck into wooden handles h, and these
pins pass through a slit cut into a small piece of cork
attached to the sliding piece g, which at the same time
carries the lens e and the plane mirror, the whole of which
are moved by the small arm connected to the crank, as at
i. The adjustment of the object to the focus of the mir¬
ror is effected by turning a nut attached to the pivot on
which the crank is fixed.
In the microscope used by Mr Potter, he employs a spe¬
culum one inch in diameter, with a focal length of 1-^ inch ;
and he generally employs a distance of from 12 to 14
inches between the object and the image.
This size of the speculum allows him to place an insect
1 Brewster’s Life of Sir Isaac Newton, p. 311.
VOL. xv.
s Edinburgh Journal of Science, Jan. 1832, No. XL p. 61.
p
42
MICROSCOPE.
Compound or other object of £th of an inch square in the tube, with-
Micro- out any perceptible bad effect resulting from it.
scopes. When Mr Potter had adjusted the illuminators in the
manner which we shall afterwards have occasion to de¬
scribe, he “ saw quite easily what are called the diagonal
lines on the scale from the wing of the white cabbage
butterfly, which has been proposed as a difficult test object
by Dr Goring ; and it is such a one as those who have only
seen the stronger longitudinal striae or scales from the
wings of moths and butterflies have little idea of.” Mr
Potter was also able to resolve a delicate blue tissue in the
web of a spider called the clubiona atro'x, into its compo¬
nent fibres.
The great size of speculum used by Mr Potter arises
from his being able to give all his specula a true ellipsoidal
figure, so as to remove all spherical aberration.1 We have in
our possession two of Mr Potter’s instruments, one of them
with a spherical and the other with an ellipsoidal mirror.
The quantity of light and the defining power of the latter
are unusual in such instruments.
Amici’s Reflecting Microscope.
Amici’s re-
croscope.
This instrument is shown in section in the annexed
fleeting mi-ggure^ vv]iere a js a small ellipsoidal speculum about 1
inch in diameter, and 2^ths in focal length. The object
is placed on a stage mn, below the tube of the microscope,
and the rays which issue from it fall upon a small specu¬
lum h inclined 45° to the axis of the ellipsoidal speculum,
in the same manner as if the object had been placed in the
tube as far to the right hand of the small mirror as it is
below it. An image of this object is of course formed in
the.other focus of the ellipsoidal speculum, and may be
viewed by a single or double eye-piece, as in other com¬
pound microscopes. Professor Amici, however, uses a
negative eye-piece, consisting of two plano-convex lenses
A, B.
Fig. 30.
The new and peculiar part of this instrument is the use
of the small speculum, which allows the object to be placed
without the tube, and illuminated with the utmost facility.
Dr Goring, to whom science is indebted for the perfection
of the reflecting microscope, remarks, that “ the instru¬
ment was turned out of Professor Amici’s hands in a rough
and ineffective state, owing to the concave metal being of
too long a focus and too small an angle of aperture, and the
diagonal one (or small mirror 6, which was half an inch in
diameter) of too large a diameter, which caused it to in¬
tercept too large a quantity of light from the other, leav¬
ing only a narrow rim of reflexion to enter the retina,
which occasioned a disagreeable nebulosity in the middle
of the field of view, unless the eye-glass was of great
depth.”2
Dr Goring's Improved Reflecting Microscope.
Goring’s
reflecting
micro¬
scope.
Mr Cuthbert, an ingenious London optician, constructed
one of Amici’s instruments, the speculum having li inch
of aperture, and a focal length of 3 inches, and the body of
the microscope being about 1 foot long. Dr Goring and
he having tried it on the test objects which the doctorCompoun
had newly introduced, found its performance quite unsa- Micro-
tisfactory. Dr Goring, therefore, recommended that the SC0Pes.
speculum should be only half an inch in focal length, and
the body 4 or 5 inches long. Mr Cuthbert accordingly
finished a pair of metals six tenths of an inch in focal length,
and only three tenths in diameter. The excellent perform¬
ance of this instrument induced Dr Goring and Mr Prit¬
chard to turn their attention to its improvement; and, as
Mr Cuthbert3 has been able to execute perfectly ellipsoidal
metals, having an aperture equal to their sidereal focal
length, or 54°, and of so small a diameter as three tenths
of an inch, they have been able to produce an instrument
of a very perfect kind.
This microscope is represented in Plate CCCLXI.fig. 26,
27, where the instrument is seen to rest on a tubular pillar,
its body being held by a split socket. The pillar is screw¬
ed to a solid cruciform stand, to one of the legs of which
an adjusting screw is applied, to produce steadiness. The
body moves round a cradle joint at the top of the pillar,
and may be firmly fixed at any degree of inclination. The
body of the microscope is shown at a, the eye-tube at d,
and the eye-piece, which is a Huygenian one, at e. The
focal lengths of the interior glasses of the eye-pieces, of
which there are usually three, are three fourths, three
eighths, and three sixteenths of an inch. The tube con¬
taining the specula is shown at be. The triangular bar
which carries the illuminating reflector, the stage, and the
apparatus for adjustment, is shown at/, and is soldered to
the neck of the body. The mirror k is plane on one side,
and has a plaster of Paris surface on the other. The stage
/ is a combination of rack and screw work, wrought by two
concentric milled heads at m. The smallest of these
moves the object in the direction of the body, and the
other in an opposite direction. The stage can be lifted out
of the triangular socket q, which carries the adjusting screw
i for obtaining distinct vision, and the clamping screw h.
When the body and stand are used for a compound ach¬
romatic microscope, a tube, shown in fig. 27, and containing
the compound object-glasses below it, increasing in dia¬
meter from the object, is screwed into the body at b, in
place of the tube be. A rectangular prism, shown in
dotted lines, reflects the pencils that pass through the ob¬
ject-glasses along the axis of the tube be to the eye-piece e.
The following sets of metals are made for the reflect¬
ing microscope.
No.
Solar Focus.
Angle of
Aperture.
Distance between
Object and side of
the Tube.
.2 inches.
.1
_(L
•10
4
*1 0
3_
• 1 0
3
•id
13f° i inch.
181 J
27i 
36f 
 10
  2d
41£ almost 0
55
The metals No. 1, 2, and 3 are those most useful for
examining opaque objects. No. 3 is excellent also for all
kinds of transparent objects. No. 5 can scarcely be used
for opaque objects, as it leaves almost no space between
the tube and the object for allowing the latter to be illu¬
minated. No. 6 cannot be used at all for opaque objects,
but is especially intended for the most difficult class of
transparent test objects.
' The process by which he does this is fully described in the Edinburgh Journal of Science, No. 12, new series.
3 Goring and Pritchard’s Micragraphia, p. 23. ’
3 I he process by which Mr Cuthbert is able to accomplish this difficult task is similar to that by which he jrives truly hvnerbolic
figure, to the min ors of small Gregorian telescopes, with three inches of aperture and five inches of focal lengS 7P
MICROSCOPE.
Dr Smith's Reflecting Microscope.
43
Having constructed one of Sir Isaac Newton’s micro¬
scopes in 1738, Dr Smith of Cambridge observed that the
colours of objects were much more beautiful and natural
than in refracting microscopes. He found that objects
were very distinct and sufficiently light when the micro¬
scope had the following dimensions :—
Focal length of the speculum 2^ inches.
Diameter of ditto 1
P’ocal length of the plano-convex eye-glass 2j
llatio of the distance of the object from the fo¬
cus of the speculum to the focal distance of
the speculum 1 to 19.
Finding that, in order to obtain a high magnifying
power, the speculum required to be very concave and
small, he contrived another microscope with two reflecting
spherical surfaces of any size, but so related to each other
that the second reflexion should correct the aberration of
the first. This instrument is shown in fig. 31.
Fig. 31.
Dr Smith’s microscope is shown in fig. 31, where AA is
a concave spherical speculum, having its polished convex jects cannot be illuminated, as stated by Dr Goring
Diameter of the hole in the concave speculum 0T43 Compound
Diameter of the hole in the convex speculum 0*049 Micro-
Magnifying power, the focal length, &c. of the eye scopes.
being 8 inches 300 times.'
ihe dimensions of the instrument in our possession is
very different:
Diameter of the concave speculum 2T7 inches.
Focal length g-17
Diameter of the hole in it ’ 0*376
Diameter of the convex speculum 1*03
Diameter of hole in it 0*10
Diameter of stop 0*13
Distance of stop from hole in convex speculum..0*67
Distance of specula 3*80
Focal length of doubly convex eye-glass 0*17
Sir David DreivsterTs Reflecting Microscope.
Notwithstanding the excellence of Professor Amici’s Sir David
miscroscope, as constructed with Dr Goring’s improve-Brewster’s
ments and with Mr Cuthbert’s specula, we are quite reflecting
convinced that it does not owe these advantages to themicro'
peculiarity in its construction which constitutes it a dif- SC01IC'
ferent instrument from Newton’s. This peculiarity is
in our opinion a disadvantage, and we consider the in¬
strument as recommended solely by its possessing an ellip¬
soidal speculum, with a large angle of aperture. The only
advantage which can be ascribed to Amici’s instrument is
a more convenient mode of illumination, though not much
more so than Mr Potter’s; but this advantage, whatever
be its amount, is purchased at great sacrifices. 1. The
whole instrument is an ajwkward-lodking piece of mecha¬
nism, with its triangular bar and all its appendages dang¬
ling at one end of it. 2. It cannot be used in the vertical
position, which we consider a very great defect. 3. By
the use of the small reflecting speculum, more than one
half of the whole light is lost. 4. With small concave spe¬
cula, such as those j^ths of an inch in diameter, opaque ob-
surface inwards. The rays from an object o placed in the
slider mn will be reflected from the concave speculum
The construction which has been proposed by Sir David
Brewster to remedy most of these defects is shown in the
44 MICRO
Compound either screw upon the outside of this tube, or, what is bet-
Micro- ter, upon a stronger piece of tube forming part of the arm
^ scopes. ^ £)£. a concave illuminating reflector kh, for opaque ob-
^^^"^jects, may screw on the back of the speculum cd, or that
speculum may be made thick, and ground and polished on
both sides, so that while one side magnifies the objects,
the other illuminates them.
It is obvious, that rays proceeding from an object at mn
will be reflected from the plane speculum e, upon the con¬
cave speculum cd, exactly as if the objects were placed at
r, as far above e as mn is below it, and an image of it would
be formed in the other focus of the ellipsoid, r being the
one focus, if the rays wrere not intercepted by the eye-piece
AB, by which the image is farther magnified. By this
mode of construction, the whole of the reflecting micro¬
scope, in place of having a separate stand and separate ap¬
paratus costing a large sum of money, is comprehended
in the little t\xhe abed, and may be considered as a reflect¬
ing object-speculum, forming part of a general microscope,
furnished with single lenses, doublets, and compound ach-
romatics.
By the means now described are removed all the de¬
fects which we enumerated as belonging to Amici’s com¬
bination, except the third, which is one of such import¬
ance that it is of consequence to consider how far it is
capable of being remedied. Sir David. Brewster has
proposed to get rid of this loss of light by placing the ob¬
ject as in Amici’s instrument, outsideof the tube, but in¬
clined to its axis, and refracting its rays upon the specu¬
lum cd, by means of an achromatic prism e, in a manner ana¬
logous to his method of producing a similar effect in the
INewtonian telescope.1 Hie faces of this prism are equally
SCOPE.
Solar am
CHAP. III.—ON SOLAR AND OXYHYDROGEN MICROSCOPES. oxyhvdrd
The solar microscope is a well-known popular instru-gen Mlcro
ment, for exhibiting on a white screen in a dark chamber, scofes^
magnified images of minute objects, illuminated by the
condensed light of the sun. As the sun cannot often be
commanded in our climate, this instrument may be consi¬
dered as having fallen into disuse ; but the discovery of
the lime-ball light by Mr Drummond amply supplies the
place of the great luminary, in so far as the microscope is
concerned. The instrument has accordingly been revived
under the name of the oxyhydrogen microscope, and is
now a favourite public exhibition.
The solar microscope was proposed by Dr Lieberkhun
in 1738; and early in 1739, when he paid a visit to Lon¬
don, he exhibited an instrument of his own construction to
several members of the Royal Society, and to Mr Cuff', Mr
Adams, and other London opticians.
This microscope is nothing more than a convex lens, in Solar mi.
front of which, a little farther from it than its principal croscope.
focus, is placed a microscopic object, the rays of the sun
being reflected in a horizontal line, and condensed by a
lens. This will be understood from the annexed figure,
Fig. 34.
Fig. 33.
inclined to the axis of the microscope and the axis of the
pencil issuing from the point of the object under examina¬
tion. As the prisms of plate and flint glass which compose
e are cemented by a substance of nearly the same refractive
power, there will be no farther loss of light than what is
reflected at the two surfaces. A socket may be placed at
D, for holding an illuminating lens, or the little apparatus
tor opaque objects, shown in Plate CCCLXI. fig. 27. But
m order to avoid the encumbrance and expense of separate
stands and apparatus for this, as u'ell as Amici’s form of the
instrument, we would propose that a strong piece of tube
s lould be inserted in the opening, above mn, to screw into
the upper side of the projecting arm, as shown in the pre-
ceding figure ; or a solid screw attached to the upper side
of the tube, a little to the right hand of C, and above the
opening, might screw into the lower end of the projecting
arm ’- In these cases the object at mn will be placed
on the ordinary stage, and illuminated in the common man-
ner; but it will be necessary to have a counterpoise at D
to balance the weight of the body ABC. 1
Those who are acquainted with the principle of the
Cassegraiman telescope, and of Dr Smith’s compound mi¬
croscope, will readily see that the reflecting microscope
With the perforated speculum, may be converted IntT a
more compound reflector, analogous to Dr Smith’s bv
making the little speculum e, fig. 33, convex, the figures of
d and e being made hyperboloids. °
where CD is the convex lens, E the object placed before
it, and AB the illuminating condenser. An enlarged image
°f E wil1 be formed to the right hand of CD, on a wall or
screen, and the size of the enlarged image will be to that
of the object as the distance of CD from the screen or
wall is to CL, the distance of the object from the lens.
Dr Liebeikhun s solar microscope had no mirror for re¬
flecting the sun s rays into the tube, so that it could only
e used a few hours, w7hen the tube could be convenient-
y pointed to the sun. The improvement of adding a mir¬
ror was made by Mr Cuff, who constructed the instrument
in a very superior manner.2 Dr Lieberkhun subsequently
fitted up the solar microscope to show opaque objects ; but
the method which he employed is not known. Since the
time oi Mi Cuff, the solar microscope has undergone many
improvements. Mr Benjamin Martin added greatly to the
value of this instrument, by fitting it up both for opaque
rv^tT^^rent °bjects> in the manner shown in Plate
XL figs. 28 and 29. In fig. 28 it is shown as fitted up
APnffTf objects. The body ABCDEF has the part
ABCD of a conical, and the part CDEF of a tubular form.
A large convex lens, corresponding with AB, in fig. 34
is placed at AB, at the end of the conical tube ABCD,
which screws into the square plate QR, which is fastened
to a window-shutter opposite a hole of at least the size of
rlV enSiTu by -means of the screw e> (L Upon the square
plate QR there is a moveable circular plate abc. To this
circular plate is attached the silvered glass mirror NOP,
p aced in a brass frame, which moves'round a joint PP,
and which may be placed in any position with regard to
mpe-\S0 a? t0 ^fleCt3 his rays into the tube ABCD by
O mnv°f yrk'W01t an(! pinions at Q and The pinion
i 16 Cir?lar Plate abc (to wbich the mirror NOP
tL nm Rin-a p ane perpendicular to the horizon, while
the nut R gives it a motion in an opposite plane. The
Treatise on Optics, Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopedia, p, 354.
See Baker on the Microscope, vol. i. p. 22.
MICROSCOPE.
45
5olar ami light introduced by this mirror falls upon the lens AB,
|(ixyh_vdro-which throws it in a condensed state upon any object in
j?n Micro-the tube. But before it reaches the opaque object, it is
scopes. recejve(j hy a mirror M, placed in the box HILX, which
~J"^Y reflects the condensed light back upon the face of the ob¬
ject E, fig. 34, next to the lens CD, fig. 34. This mirror
is adjusted to a proper angle by the screw S.
Above the body ABEF is seen the part /VK which
carries the sliders or objects, and the object-glass or lens
CD, fig. 34. The tube K slides within the tube V, and
V again slides into the box HILX. These tubes carry
each a magnifying lens. The inner tube K is sometimes
taken out of the other V, seen within the box, and used alone.
The sliders and objects are introduced into a slit or open¬
ing at H. The brass plate to the left of H is fixed to a
tube A, by means of a spiral wire within the tube, which
presses the plate against the side of the box HILX, so
that the sliders, when placed in the opening, are pressed
against the side of the box.
In using this microscope, the sun s rays are first made
to pass along the tube ABCD, by the nuts Qand It. The
box for opaque objects, HILX, is then slid by its tube G
into the tube EF. The slider containing the object, hav¬
ing its face to be examined turned to the right hand, is
then pushed into the opening at H, till the object is in the
centre of the tubes V, K. The condensed light falling on
the mirror M is then thrown back on the face of the ob¬
ject in the slider, and the door hi shut. Upon a white
paper screen or cloth, from four to eight feet square, and
placed at the distance of from six to ten feet from the
window, the observer, in the room made thoroughly dark,
will see on the screen a magnified representation of the
object, which may be rendered distinct at different distances
of the screen, by pulling out or pushing in the tubes V, K
containing the convex lenses. As the sun is constantly
moving, its rays must be kept in the axis of the tubes by
now and then turning the nuts Q and R.
When the microscope is to be used for transparent ob¬
jects, the box HILX, with its tube G, and other appen¬
dages, is removed, and the apparatus shown in fig. 31 sub¬
stituted for it. This is done by sliding the tube Y of fig.
31 into the tube EF of fig. 30. A slider containing the mag¬
nifying lens is then slipped through the opening at n, and
a second condenser may or may not be inserted in the
opening at h. The slider with the object is then placed
in the opening m, and when its magnified picture falls
upon the screen, it is adjusted to distinctness by turning
the milled nut O.
The picture formed by a solar microscope being in Dr
Robison’s opinion “ generally, so indistinct that it is fit
only for amusing ladies,” he proposed to use as an object-
glass the achromatic eye-piece of four lenses, constructed
by Mr Ramsden for telescopes. Having made the experi¬
ment, he found the image “ perfectly sharp,” and recom¬
mended this application “ to the artists, as a valuable ar¬
ticle of their trade.”
A much simpler method, however, of correcting the de¬
fects of the microscope, is to use compound achromatic
lenses, which were first suggested by Mr Benjamin Martin.
Another mode of improving the instrument was pro¬
posed in 1812 by Sir David Brewster,1 who has de¬
scribed a new solar microscope, which can be rendered
achromatic. The method of doing this is shown in the
diagram, fig. 34, where AB is the condensing lens, and
CD the object-glass, cemented firmly into one end of a Solar and
tube mCDw, which has a tubular opening at E, while the Dxyhydro-
other end of the tube has a circular piece of parallel glass £en, "^lcro"
cemented upon it. The tube »iCD» is then filled with ^ scoPes- ^
water, or any other fluid; and the object, when placedAchroma-
upon a slider, or held in a pair of forceps, is introduced tic solar
at the opening E into the fluid. The mechanism for pro- niicro-
ducing these effects is easily conceived. By the instru- sc0Pe-
ment thus constructed, imperfectly opaque and corrugated
objects, rendered transparent, and extended by the fluid
medium, may be examined in this microscope, though in¬
capable of being used in any other. Objects may be even
dissected in the aqueous tube. Nay, objects preserved
in spirits might be exhibited by immersing the bottle, if it
is small, in the trough or tube mCD/?..2
But the most important purpose effected by this form of
the instrument is, that it can be rendex-ed perfectly achro¬
matic by using a fluid of higher dispersive power than the
glass lens CD, and making the interior curvature of the
side CD, which touches the fluid, of that degree of con¬
vexity which will convert the fluid into a concave lens ca¬
pable of correcting the colour of CD. The lens CD may
be made most advantageously of fluor spar, which, from
its low dispersive power, might form an achromatic com¬
bination with water.
Although, in so far as we know, metallic’specula have Reflecting
never been regularly fitted up as a reflecting solar micro- so'ar mi_
scope for use, yet every person familiar with, and in thecroscoPe'
habit of using, specula and lenses, must have made the ex¬
periment of forming magnified images both in solar and ar¬
tificial light, with small concave specula. The perfection
of these images cannot be doubted ; and it has often ap¬
peared to us surprising that the optician did not avail him¬
self of such a combination for a solar microscope. Neither
the Newtonian nor the Amician form of the instrument of¬
fer facilities for this purpose. Sir David Brewster has there¬
fore proposed to employ his form of the reflecting micro¬
scope for a solar and oxyhydrogen instrument. Its facili¬
ties for this purpose are very great, and there can be little
doubt that it will be practically successful, and will be as
superior to other solar microscopes as the best reflect¬
ing compound microscope is to other compound micro¬
scopes. Dr Goring made an experiment with the Ami¬
cian microscope ; but he obviously considers it as not like¬
ly to succeed, remarking, that “ after all that could be
done, a refractor would be sure to beat it hollow; there¬
fore I shall take my leave of the subject, as I cannot con¬
scientiously recommend such an instrument.”3 It is no
wonder that this experiment failed, because Dr Goring
seems to have used the whole of the Amician microscope,
eye-glasses and all, as the magnifier in the solar micro¬
scope, and therefore it could not be considered as a reflect¬
ing solar microscope, being in fact as much ^refracting one.
The construction to which we have above referred is shown
Fisr. 35.
1 Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, p. 410. . . , . . , .
* See Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, p. 401, for an account of the advantages of examining objects immersed m
3 Dr Goring states, that a friend of his had constructed a solar microscope with metals on the Amician principle, and without a
body or eye-glass, which exhibited a variety of test objects in a highly satisfactory manner.
46
MICROSCOPE.
Solar and jn the annexed figure, where AB is the illuminating lens,
Oxyhydro- throwing the condensed rays of the sun upon a transparent
gen Micro-object mn% The rays from this object falling upon the
- SC0P,eS', - small speculum e, are reflected to the deep concave specu¬
lum cd, so placed, that the image is formed at MN on a
screen at some distance behind it, distinct vision being ob-
Fig. 36.
ing solar microscope in the manner shown in the annexed
figure, where CD is the perforated concave speculum, mn
the object in one of its foci, and MN the magnified image
in its other focus. The object mn, placed on a slider pass¬
ing through an opening in front of the speculum, is illu¬
minated as an opaque object by the lens AB, whose re¬
fracted rays are farther condensed by a lens placed in the
aperture of the speculum. This form of the solar micro¬
scope is therefore singularly adapted for opaque objects ;
and as the whole of the effect of the instrument is pro¬
duced by a single reflection from a single surface, it is the
simplest optical instrument in existence. In order to
throw light upon mn as a transparent object, the rays must
passthrough it in-an opposite direction from the side MN,
and this may be done by the very same method given by
Mr Potter, and represented in fig. 29.
The simplicity and practical value of this instrument will
be immediately recognised by comparing it with the com¬
plex opaque box, which in all solar microscopes is a ne¬
cessary appendage for opaque objects. See Plate CCCLXI.
fig. 28 and 29.
Dr Goring s Solar Camera Microscope.
Dr Goring, whose indefatigable genius has improved al¬
most all our popular instruments, has described in the Mi~
crographia a very complete solar microscope, which has
the property of exhibiting the image on a horizontal curved Solar an
surface, placed in a darkened camera, at which two or more Oxyhydr f
persons can look at the same time. It is in reality a newgen Micr
persons   „ scodm.
instrument, but can also be used like the common solar mi- ‘|P€&
rained either by moving the object or the speculum.
For opaque objects this form of the instrument is pecu¬
liarly adapted. The parallel rays of the sun falling upon the
deep speculum hh, are condensed by it and thrown on the
inner face of the object mn, of which a magnified image
is formed, as before, at MN. A greater condensation of
light may be obtained by using the lens AB, so that the
speculum kh shall receive its convergent beam before the
ra}rs reach their focus and complete their convergency.
In this construction we have the disadvantage of two
reflections, belonging also to the Amician form ; but this
may be considered as compensated by the image being
without the tube, and more under our command. Though
this is true in the compound microscope, yet the advan¬
tage of having the object outside the tube is of less con¬
sequence in a solar microscope. To avoid therefore two
reflections, and two mirrors with their relative adjustments,
Sir David Brewster has proposed to construct the reflect-
croscope in a darkened room.1
This instrument, with ail its parts, is shown in Plate
CCCLXI. figs.30,31,32,and 33; fig. 30being a geometrical
elevation of the instrument one-tenth of the real size, the
various parts being represented as if formed of transparent
matter. A strong framework A of wood rests upon four
less, having a large hole in it, into which the instrument
is "fixed with two screws F, F. The frame is large enough
to protect the observer from the solar rays. A long plane
mirror B is fixed to an arm C, which moves round a pin
fixed to the side of the mirror frame, and also round a
joint attached to a strong round w ire E, which slides back¬
wards and forwards in the tube D, having a spring within,
and a pinching nut to fix it in its place. The inclination
of the mirror is varied by pulling out or pushing in the
mirror, which has also another motion produced by the
action of the milled head G on a rack and pinion. A com¬
mon illuminating lens, five inches in diameter and one foot
in focal length, is placed at H. Dr Goring recommends
an achromatic lens- (which would be a very expensive ap¬
pendage), though he says that he has never used one. The
main body of the microscope is conical, having a bayonet
catch at L to receive the rest of the instrument, viz. the
tube carrying the stage and rackwork. This tube II moves
within the conical one by means of the milled head M and
rack and pinion N. The end of this tube is closed, and an
ordinary slider-holder O is fixed to it. On the inner side
of the stage, near N, is fixed a condensing lens, about one
and a half inch in diameter and two inches in focal
length, which, by means of a sliding wire passed through
a hole in the stage, can be moved from one side of’ the tube
to the other, and also made to approach to or recede from
the stage. A second tube PPP, slit open at the sides, is
screwed into the tube in which the stage moves; and into
this tube the optical part q is made to slide, the object-
glass being placed at K. Dr Goring here remarks, that
“ the focus may of course be roughly adjusted, by sliding
the body backwards and forwards in its containing tube,
before it is attached to the camera, fig. 31 ; but when this
has been done, it must of course remain immoveable. I
look upon it, ' he continues, •• as a principle in the solar
microscope, that the magnifier or object-glass should not be
moved, but always remain at a fixed distance from the illu¬
minator. Perhaps we do not distinctly understand the
import of this passage ; but w e apprehend that the magni¬
fier or object-glass may be, nay, must be moved in any
way that is necessary to produce distinct vision upon the
screen, whatever be its distance ; and that the essential
condition is, that the distance of the illuminator and the
object shall be invariable, the object being, it possible, accu¬
rately situated in the locus, unless where a slight deviation
is necessary to prevent its destruction by the concentrated
heat of the solar rays.
^ The end ot the tube Q is now pushed into another piece
of tube at R, fig. 31, which communicates w ith a conical
tube of brass, “ having a rectangular prism, with its reflect¬
ing side silvered/or a plane metal adjusted at its head S,
1 Dr Goring calls this instrument a Solar Enciscove wIRIp c c ,
in a dark room in the common wav. The introduction of the inTa^e imn °f Ml'rc':c'Pe to the ,ame instrument when used
into an enffiscopc. The word engiscope, however appropriate it mav he J camera becomes thus the reason for changing a microscope
kind of solar microscope. appropriate it may be as a companion to the word telescope, is quite inapplicable to any
See Edinburgh Journal of Science, No. xi. new series n 8V anH mu- tu • • »
“ Dr Goring is surely mistaken in saving that the side’of’the’ prism I1I^minatlon of-^Bcroscopic Objects,
for glass, and takes place at all greater angles of incidence the Imht inobw* 1 tor ai; .tota! rfflert'on commences at 41° 4^
^ „f U* ccca, ^ shouM
Www
MICROSCOPE.
47
j lar and
( vhydro
•ou j, Micro
copes.
CJi, hydro-
g*< micro-
scloe.
so as to throw down the image to the bottom of the box
•or camera, where it is to be received on paper (at T), or
on a surface of plaster of Paris duly curved to suit its
shape.” The camera WWXX is constructed with win¬
dows V, V, to permit two persons to view the picture on
the table T. Two pieces of wood WW carved out to fill
the slope of the upper part of the face, are placed as in
the figure (one of them is shown separately in a plan at fig.
33). Dr Goring adds, that “ he has found it necessary to
exclude the breath from entering the camera, as it dims
the eye-glass of the engiscope, and thus spoils the image
but he does not mention whether this is the object of the
pieces of carved wood, or whether they are used to keep
extraneous light from the eye,1 which, in so far as the
figure indicates, does not appear to be the case.
The sides U, U of the camera may be removed at
pleasure, to allow the observer to draw the picture on the
table, the light being excluded by some black drapery,
while the hand passes through a suitable opening in it.
Dr Goring recommends that the whole of the exterior (in¬
terior ?) of the conical brass tube and camera should be
well blacked, or lined with black silk velvet.2
In applying this instrument to opaque objects, the
opaque box, shown in fig. 32, is applied to the conical tube
in fig. 26 by means of the bayonet catch at L. A plane
mirror R, adjusted by the screw S, throws the light of the
illuminator to the object O placed in the conjugate focus
of the eye-glass K, by means of the milled nut M and
screw T, which causes the stage and the object to approach
to or recede from the lens K.3 The stage is formed by a
piece of cork covered with black velvet. PP is the tube
into which the body q of the microscope is inserted, as in
fig. 26.
This instrument may be converted into a common so¬
lar microscope by unscrewing and removing the tube PP,
and placing a simple object-glass in an appropriate mount¬
ing at M. The whole apparatus is then removed from the
frame A, and screwed to a window shutter in the usual
way.
On the Oxyhydrogen Microscope.
The great popularity of the public exhibition made with
this instrument has turned the attention of opticians and
amateurs to its improvement. Mr Pritchard has written
a long and interesting chapter of nearly fifty pages on the
subject of solar and oxyhydrogen gas microscopes, in the
Micrographia already referred to, and has given a most po¬
pular and minute account of all the details of the instru¬
ment. These details, to which we must refer our readers,
do not belong to an article like the present; and we shall
content ourselves with explaining what an oxyhydrogen
microscope is, and how the optical apparatus of a solar
microscope may be readily converted into that of an oxy¬
hydrogen one, and vice versa.
An oxyhydrogen gas microscope differs from a solar one
chiefly in this, that a brilliant light obtained by igniting a
ball of lime the’size of a pea (hence called the pea or lime
light, or more appropriately the Drummond light, from its
inventor Mr Drummond) with oxyhydrogen gas, is substi¬
tuted in place of the solar rays. This enables us to en¬
joy the amusement of the solar microscope apparatus in all
weathers and at all hours of the day.
As the lime-ball light, however, is at our elbow, it sends Illumina-
forth diverging rays ; whereas the rays of the sun are pa-tion of Mi¬
rabel. A very beautiful principle, already referred to in cros_coP'c
our article Micrometer, enables us to give the simplest °bjects'
direction for this purpose. Let AB be the illuminating
lens of the common solar microscope, throwing the parallel
rays e f of the sun upon the object mn, and let the whole
Fig. 37.
instrument be in perfect adjustment; then, without mov¬
ing or changing any part of it, we may convert it into an
oxyhydrogen microscope, where the light diverges from
the lime ball L, simply by placing in front of AB another
lens CD, whose focal length is equal to the distance of the
lime-ball light L from the lens AB. The oxyhydrogen
microscope will then have its objects at mn illuminated in
precisely the same way as they were by the sun’s rays.
The two lenses CD, AB, should be in contact, the space
being left to show the parallel rays ef. Now, as L is the
focus of the lens CD, the converging rays ef will be paral¬
lel, and consequently will be refracted by AB, exactly as
if they had been the rays of the sun.
If the instrument had been made originally as an oxy¬
hydrogen microscope, with a large and deep lens at AB,
which would be required to refract rays diverging from L
to mn, then we might convert the instrument into a solar
microscope by simply placing a concave lens in front of
AB, whose focal distance is equal to the distance of L from
AB. This concave lens will give such a divergency to the
parallel rays of the sun that they will have their focus at
mn.
Our readers will find the most ample details respecting
the gas apparatus, and the method of managing and using
the instrument, in Mr Pritchard’s Essay in the Microgra¬
phia already cited.
CHAP. V. OX THE ILLUMINATION OF MICROSCOPIC OB¬
JECTS.
The methods of illuminating microscopic objects that On the
have been long in use have been described in the preced- illumina-
injr chapters. They consist in throwing- light upon the ob-tlon ot .D;1*
ject, either by means of a mirror or a lens, or both combin-• ct^
ed ; but the nature of the light employed, the magnitude '
of the pencil, its condition with regard to parallelism, di¬
vergency or convergency, and the diameter of the pencil
employed, or the direction in which it falls upon the object,
have never been discussed as matters of science, and upon
which the performance of the finest instrument essentially
depends.
light of silvered reflection, and the other part the double light of total reflection, which would never answer. M e would prefer a
plane metallic speculum to the prism, even if sufficiently homogeneous not to affect the accuracy of the picture.
1 In using this, and all other optical instruments where perfect vision is either agreeable or essential, we would recommend the
use of the Greenland snow spectacles, cut to suit the individual from a plaster of Paris cast of the eyes, nose, and brow.
2 Mr Potter found black velvet to be superior to any other blacking for the interior of his reflecting microscope. Edin. Journ.
of Science, No. xi. p. 62, new series.
2 The illumination is here far too oblique. The mirror should be nearer P, and the screw MT should be made to move the ob¬
ject-glass K, in order that the focus of the illuminator may always fall on the object O.
48
MICROSCOPE.
pic
Illumina- In so far as we know, the most important of these to-
t.ionofMi-pics was pressed upon the notice of the scientific reader
croscopic by gir David Brewster, in the year 1820; and in order
Objects. tbat tbe pr0gress of improvement in this essential branch of
the art of making discoveries with the microscope may be
understood, we shall quote his observations on the subject.
New me- “ The art of illuminating microscopic objects is not of
thod ofil- less importance than that of preparing them for observa-
luminatingltion. No general rules can be given for adjusting the in-
microsco- tensity Gf the illumination to the nature and character of
objects. t|je 0bject t0 be examined; and it is only by a little prac¬
tice that this art can be acquired. In general, however,
it will be found that very transparent objects require a less
degree of light than those that are less so; and that ob¬
jects which reflect white light, or which throw it off from
a number of lucid points, require a less degree of illumina¬
tion than those whose surfaces have a feeble reflective force.
“ Most opticians have remarked, that microscopic objects
are commonly seen better in candle-light than in day-light;
a fact which is particularly apparent when very high mag¬
nifying powers are employed; and we have often found
that very minute objects, which could scarcely be seen at
all. in day-light, appeared with tolerable distinctness in
candle-light. So far as we know, the cause of this has
not been investigated ; and as it leads to general views re¬
specting the illumination of microscopic objects, we shall
consider it with some attention.
“ Let LL, fig. 38, be a single microscope placed before
Fig. 38.
. Delicate microscopical observations should not be Illumin!|
when the fluid which lubricates the cornea of the ob- t‘on °f^
the eye at E, and let y’be a microscopic object placed in
its anterior focus, and illuminated by two candles at A and
B. As the rays Afa and Bfb cross at f, the focus of pa¬
rallel rays, and as the two shadows of the microscopic
object will be formed at a and b, as it were, by rays di¬
verging from/ the images of these two shadows formed
upon the retina will coincide and make only one image,
so that the object/will appear perfectly distinct. If die
object, however, is placed either within or without the
focus / its shadows being formed, as it were, by rays di¬
verging from a point either within or without the prin¬
cipal focus / will not coincide on the retina, but appear
to form two images, either overlapping each other, or
completely separated. If, instead of two candles, A, B,
we have 4, 5, or 6, we shall have 4, 5,-or 6 overlapping or
separated images. Now, as it is impossible to place the
different parts of a microscopic object exactly in the focus
/ and as every lens has different foci for the differently
coloured rays, and even for homogeneous light, in conse¬
quence of its spherical aberration, it necessarily follows,
that when microscopic objects are illuminated by light pro¬
ceeding from several points, the image upon the retina
must consist of a number of images not accurately coinci¬
dent ; and hence it becomes of the greatest importance that
the object be illuminated only from one point, and not from
a large surface of light, such as the sky, which is equivalent
to an infinite number of radiant points.
“ The following rules may therefore be laid down respect-
ing the illumination of microscopic objects, and the method
of viewing them.
“ 1. The eye should be protected from all extraneous
light, and should not receive any of the light which pro-
ceeds from the illuminating centre, excepting that portion
of it which is transmitted through or reflected from the
object.
“ 2
made       
server’s eye happens to be in a viscid state, which is fre¬
quently the case. See Brande’s Journal, vol. ii. p. 127. •
“3. The figure of the cornea will be least injured by the
lubricating fluid, either by collecting over any part of the
cornea, or moving over it, when the observer is lying on
his back, or standing vertically. When he is looking down¬
wards, as into the compound vertical microscope, the fluid
has a tendency to flow towards the pupil, and injure the
distinctness of the vision.
“ 4. If the microscopic object is longitudinal, like a fine
hair, or consists of longitudinal stripes, the direction of the
lines or stripes should be towards the observer’s body, in
order that their form may be least injured by the descent
of the lubricating fluid over the cornea.
“ 5. The field of view should be contracted, so as to ex¬
clude every part of the object, excepting that which is un¬
der immediate examination.
“ 6. The light which is employed for the purpose of illu¬
minating the object, should have as small a diameter as pos¬
sible. In the day time it should be a single hole in the
window-shutter of a darkened room, and at night it should
be an aperture placed before an argand lamp.
“ 7. In all cases, and particularly when very high powers
are requisite, the natural diameter of the light employed
should be diminished, and its intensity increased by opti¬
cal contrivances.
“ 8. When a strong light can be obtained, and indeed in
almost every case, homogeneous light should be thrown
upon the object. This may be done either by decomposing
the light with a prism, or by transmitting it through a
coloured glass, which has the property of admitting only
homogeneous rays.”
In the same article Sir David Brewster has described “ a
new method of illuminating objects in the solar and the lu-
cernal microscopes.” “ The great defects,” says he, “ which
still attach to the solar and lucernal microscopes, arise
from the imperfect method of illuminating the objects. The
method suggested byfEpinus, and employed almost univer¬
sally by opticians, of reflecting the light concentrated by a
lens upon the objects, by means of a plane mirror, is good
enough so far as it goes ; but in consequence of the light
arriving from one direction only, the surface of the illumi¬
nated (>bject is covered with deep shadows, and the inten-
sity of illumination is by no means sufficient when the power
of the instrument is considerable. We propose, therefore,
that in the solar microscope the sun’s light should be re¬
flected by a very large mirror through four apertures, A, B,
C, D (surrounding the tube T), each of which is furnished
with an illuminating lens. The four
cones, if condensed, are then re¬
ceived, before they reach their
focus, each by an inclined mirror,
which reflects them upon the ob¬
ject ; the distance of the lens from
the mirror, added to the distance of
the mirror from the object, being
always less than the focal length of
the illuminating lens. In the lu¬
cernal microscope it would be de¬
sirable to place an argand lamp
opposite each of the apertures
A, B, C, D. By these means the
light would/*// upon the surface of the object in four differ¬
ent directions; a high degree of illumination would be ob-
-f ,01 v ery ^tU k objects ; and by shutting up one or more
of the four lenses, or parts of them, we shall be enabled to find
the particular direction of the light which is best suited for
developing the structure which it is the object of the observer
o tscover. Although the focus of the illuminating rav»
croscopi
ObjecU j
Fia 39.
MICROSCOPE.
Ulumina- should always fall upon the object, for the reasons already
on of Mi- assigned, yet in the preceding method, applied to the solar
in-oseopie mjcr0SC0pe, a deviation from this rule becomes necessary,
joe s. ^ reasons : Because, if the focus of the illuminat¬
ing lens fall exactly upon the object, it might burn it, or
destroy it by corrugation ; and, 'Zdly, In the ordinary illumi¬
nating lenses, the diameter of the focal spot, or image of the
sun, is not sufficient to cover the whole object, or to give a
sufficient luminous field around it. For these reasons it is
recommended in the preceding extract to place the object
a little way within the focus of the illuminator, that is, be¬
tween the illuminator and its focus. But if the object is
such that it cannot be injured by the solar heat, or if the
illuminator is sufficiently large to give a focal spot capable
of filling the field of the microscope, then the object should
be placed in the solar focus of the illuminator,
ir Wol- After a lapse of nearly ten years, the subject of micro-
ston’s scopic illumination was discussed by Dr Wollaston, in his
ethod of paper on the microscopic doublet, published in the Phil,
iuraina- 'prangi for 1829. This eminent philosopher, whose inge¬
nuity never failed in executing in the best manner what¬
ever he attempted, was then on his death-bed ; and this,
among other papers, was published without that complete
revision which its author would otherwise have given it.
“ The state of my health,” says Dr Wollaston, “ in¬
duces me to commit to writing rather more hastily than I
have been accustomed to do, some observations on micro¬
scopes ; and I trust that, in laying them before the Royal
Society, they will meet with that indulgence which has
been extended to all my former communications.
“ In the illumination of microscopic objects, whatever
light is collected and brought to the
eye beyond that which is fully com- Fig. 40.
manded by the object-glasses, tends
rather to impede than to assist dis¬
tinct vision.
“ My endeavour has been to col¬
lect as much of the admitted light as
can be done by simple means, to a fo¬
cus in the same plane as the object
to be examined. For this purpose I
have used with success a plane mirror
to direct the light, and a plano-con¬
vex lens to collect it; the plane side
of the lens being towards the object
to be illuminated.”
These two principles of illumina¬
tion, the first of which is the same as
the first and fifth of the rules already
given, though not so fully develop¬
ed, and the second founded upon a
mistaken principle, have been carried
into effect by Dr Wollaston in the fol¬
lowing manner:
“ T, U, B, E represents a tube
about six inches long, and of such a
diameter as to preclude any reflec¬
tion of false light from its sides ; and
the better to insure this, the inside
of the tube should be blackened. At
the top of the tube, or within it at a
small distance from the top, is placed
either a plano-convex lens ET, or one
properly curved, so as to have the
east aberration, about |ths of an
nch focus, having its plane side next the object to be
viewed; and at the bottom is a circular perforation A,
49
of about y|ths of an inch diameter, for limiting the light Illumina-
reflected from the plane mirror R, and which is to be bon of Mi-
brought to a focus at a, giving a neat image of the per- croscopic
foration A, at the distance of about y^ths of an inch from
the lens ET, and in the same plane as the object which is
to be examined. The length of the tube, and the distance
of the convex lens from the perforation, may be somewhat
varied. The length here given, six inches, being that
which it was thought would be most convenient for the
height of the eye above the table, the diameter of the
image of the perforation A must not, excepting with lower
powers than are here meant to be considered, exceed one
twentieth of an inch.
“ The intensity of illumination will depend upon the
diameter of the illuminating lens and the proportion of
the image to the perforation, and may be regulated ac¬
cording to the wish of the observer. # * *
“ The lens ET, or the perforation A, should have an
adjustment by which the distance between them may be
varied, and the image of the perforation be thus brought
up to the same plane as the object to be examined. * *
“ For the perfect performance of this microscope, it is
necessary that the axis of the lenses, and the centre of the
perforation A, should be on the same right line. This may
be known by the image of the perforation being illumi¬
nated throughout its whole extent, and having its whole
circumference equally well defined. For illumination at
night, a common hull's-eye lanthorn may he used with great
advantage. * * %
“ Supposing the plano-convex lens to be placed at its
proper distance from the stage, the image of the perfora¬
tion may be readily brought into the same plane with the
object, by fixing temporarily a small wire across the per¬
foration with a bit of wax, viewing any object placed upon
a piece of glass upon the stage of the microscope, and va¬
rying the distance of the perforation from the lens by
screwing its tube until the image of the ivire is seen dis¬
tinctly at the same time with the object upon the piece of glass.'’
In the preceding passages we have extracted every one
of Dr Wollaston’s observations in reference to his method
of illuminating microscopic objects, so that the reader will
be enabled thoroughly to understand it.
This method of illumination was highly commended by
optical writers. Dr Goring1 considered it as most effec¬
tive, and enumerates it among the inventions which found¬
ed a new era in the history of the microscope ; and he
elsewhere states, that “ there is no modification of day¬
light illumination superior to that invented by Dr Wollas¬
ton.”2
The marked difference between the methods of illumi¬
nation proposed by Dr Wollaston and Sir David Brewster,
induced the latter to publish, in 1831, a paper “ On the
Principle of Illumination of Microscopic Objects.”3 In
this paper the mistake committed by Dr Wollaston is clear¬
ly pointed out. The rays which Dr Wollaston throws
upon the object, in place of being rays actually converged
to a focusy as they ought to be, are rays which diverge from
a focus situated between the object and the lens. He makes
the focal point of the circular margin of the perforation fall
upon the object, without considering that the rays which
pass through that perforation do not diverge from it, and
therefore cannot be collected in the conjugate focus cor¬
responding to the perforation. In Dr Wollaston’s diagram
(Phil. Trans. 1829, plate ii. fig. 1), the rays which are
incident on the mirror R are actually drawn as parallel
rays ; and it is quite clear that he meant them to be paral¬
lel rays issuing from the bull’s-eye lanthorn which he re-
1 Microscopic Illustrations, Exord. p. I, Lend. 1830. 2 Microscopic Cabinet, p. 181, Lond. 1832.
3 Edinburgh Journal of Science, new series, No. XI. p. 83.
VOL. XV.
G
50
MICROSCOPE.
Illumina- commends. But if we suppose that a common flame is
tion of Mi-yggcl^ the error is just of the same nature. It is a distinct
CQ0bs.c°Plc image of the f ame that should be thrown upon the object;
v '^( s_~ yand hence the perforation A should be placed close to the
flame,—the source of light and the illuminated object form¬
ing the conjugate foci of the lens. After explaining this
principle, Sir D. Brewster adds in the same paper:—“ I
have no hesitation in saying, that the apparatus for illumi¬
nation requires to be as perfect as the apparatus for vision ;
and on this account I would recommend that the illuminat¬
ing lens should be perfectly free of chromatic and spherical
aberration, and that the greatest care be taken to exclude all
extraneous light, both from the object and from the eye of the
observer”
At the meeting of the British Association at York in
1831, the preceding methods were communicated to Mr
Potter, who was then engaged in inquiries with the re¬
flecting microscope, and who had used only the common
method of illuminating his objects. The effect which he
obtained by it is thus described.1 “ I am indebted to
Dr Brewster for information on the necessity of having
the focus of the illuminating lens for transparent objects
to fall exactly upon the object, when great nicety of vision
is required. Having adjusted my microscope carefully on
this point (see our figure, p. 41, where the object is seen in
the focus of the illuminating rays), I saw quite easily what
are called the diagonal lines on the scale from the wing of
the white-cabbage butterfly, which has been proposed as
a difficult test object by Dr Goring; and it is such a one
as those who have only seen the stronger longitudinal
striae on scales from the wings of moths and butterflies have
little idea of.” By the same means Mr Potter’s instru¬
ment “ showed him easily not only the stria; on the scales
of the wung of the small house-moth, but also the diagonal
lines.” Mr Potter afterwards applied his microscope, and
the new method of illumination, to “a much more difficult
object than those just referred to.” This object is the
broad bluish band first noticed in the web of the spider,
the Clubiona atrox? “ There can be no doubt,” says Mr
Potter, “ that this blue band consists of lines produced by
the spider, and woven into the delicate tissue. To demon¬
strate these fibres, however, is a work for an expert micro-
scopist, provided with a first-rate instrument. So critical
a defining power is required, at the same time with a large
quantity of light, that I doubt much whether any compound
refracting microscope, even the best achromatic, will ever
show the construction of this web on a transparent object.
When viewed in this manner through good common com¬
pound microscopes, the blue band can scarcely be per¬
ceived at all with a moderately high power. It is better seen
as an opaque object by the light of the sun, and it was on
this method that I discovered it, when highly illuminated
and highly magnified, to be covered very regularly and
closely with white spots. This was sufficient information
that it was of an uniform texture ; but as there is always
in such a light a strong display of irradiations and prisma¬
tic colours, it was impossible to trace the fibres. I had dis¬
covered something of the texture with small globules of
glass, used after the manner prescribed by Leewenhoeck ;
but with very high powers the distinct field of view is so
small, that I dared hardly to pronounce decidedly upon
the general structure ; and it ivas only after adjusting the
illuminating lens of my microscope very carefully, that I saw
ivith it the complete structure of a regularly woven net”*
41.
1 Edinburgh Journal of Science, new series, No. XI. p. 64.
I It isJ0111ld 111 the ?re™es of,°rld £alIs’ and may be recognised by its irregular fleecy-looking web.
a Mr Pritchard received from Mr Potter a specimen of this web; but though he detected the blue bands, yet as the specimen was
p. e“) 0"e’ W“ PerCe‘Ve C0“’P 5tmcture of a res“larlj' "'orcn (Lht »/2ooo ojJS
and IS 01 With °W‘^> - W this speculum altogether.
After this strong testimony to the practical utility of Sir Illumins
David Brewster’s method of illumination, and the unques- tion of M
tionable optical principles on which it is founded, we were c‘F08c°pi>
surprised to observe that Dr Goring and Mr Pritchard Jh]ect^
should, in the Microscopic Cabinet, published in 1832,
still recommend and use a method so decidedly erroneous
in theory, and founded on no optical principles whatever.
Dr Goring has even contrived what he calls an impi'oved
illuminator, which is just Dr Wollaston’s, with a stop in
the focus of the lens.
As the progress of discovery with the microscope must
depend upon the scientific illumination of the objects un¬
der examination, we shall proceed to describe, in detail,
the method of illumination used by Sir David Brewster.
Let be the plane surface
on which the object rests
accurately perpendicular to
the axis of the lens, lenses,1*
or mirrors, which consti¬
tute the microscope. Let
PQ.RST be a tube from
one and a half to two
inches long, and wholly
lined with black velvet.
This tube has an opening
at ST, and must be so at¬
tached by an universal
joint, or any analogous con¬
trivance, to the slider-hold-R
er, that the axis FL of the tube can be inclined at any
angle to the surface ?nn from 90°, its general position, to
60° or less, as circumstances may require. It should also
have a circular motion about its axis, in order that the
inclination may be made in any azimuth. A doublet
AB, CD, of no aberration, and having a focal length of
from half an inch to an inch, is then placed in the tube,
with a rack and pinion, or any other adjustment, to bring
its focus for parallel rays F, or its conjugate focus for di¬
verging rays, accurately to a point in the plane mn, and
upon the object lying in that plane, for examination. A
short way below it is placed a metallic speculum (not a
silvered glass one), which receives parallel or diverging
rays, entering the tube at ST, and reflects them upon the
doublet ABCD. This speculum should be of pure virgin
silver, notwithstanding its liability to tarnish, and should
be wrought with the same care as the plane speculum of
a New tonian telescope ; or it might be a rectangular prism
of good homogeneous glass, acting by total reflection.
This part of the illuminator forms part of the microscope.3
The other part of the illuminator, which is detached, is
no less essential. It consists of the flame S, which should
be as bright and small as will give the necessary quan¬
tity of light after condensation. As close to it as possi¬
ble is placed a stand for holding a screen, with different
circular apertures, and a variable rectilineal aperture. If a
stronger light is required than can be obtained from the
plane S, its light must be condensed into a parallel beam
SL, by another doublet of no aberration, A'B'C'D', the
flame S being in its anterior focus.
ihe illuminator, as now described, is adapted to homo¬
geneous light, either as obtained from a monochromatic
lamp, or by means of coloured glasses, or from the pris¬
matic spectrum ; but if we employ common light, the
doublets ABCD, A'B'C'D' must be achromatic. We have
MICRO
jillumina- mentioned above a variable rectilineal aperture. This is
SCo. mi (rfMi-a most essential accompaniment for giving perfection to
ijects -rj>scoPic the vision of lined objects. The aperture should be made
to form every possible angle with a vertical line, and
should be opened and shut by means of a screw, till as
much light is introduced as is necessary to obtain a per¬
fect view of the object. The image of the slit, which is
close to the flame, must be thrown upon mn, so as to be
parallel with the lines of the object. When the objects
are circular, circular apertures are preferable to any other.
We have already stated that no light should reach the
eye, either from the field of the microscope, or any other
source. For this reason it would be desirable to have cir¬
cular and rectilineal apertures of different sizes, to be placed
immediately beneath mn, so as to allow no part of the field
to he seen, excepting that which is occupied by the object
or part of it under examination.
The above apparatus being provided, let us suppose that
the observer is called to examine some structure very dif¬
ficult to be resolved, such as the blue band of the Clubiona
ntrox, or the structure and nature of the lines on test ob¬
jects. We omit at present the consideration of the prepa¬
ration of the object and the eye of the observer, and also the
nature of the light which he is to use, as these will be se¬
parately considered ; and confine ourselves to the use of
the illuminator. The object is first placed on a piece of
thin colourless parallel glass, or film of topaz or sulphate
of lime, near its middle, and the microscope is directed to
it, so that it can be seen distinctly in the ordinary way.
Put the illuminator in its place, and set the proper aper¬
ture close to the small plane. Adjust the doublet ABCD
by its screw or pinion till a distinct image of the aperture
GH is seen in the field; and, by means of the apertures
below mn, any strong or \mnecessary light may be still
more completely excluded. If the structure is not ren¬
dered sufficiently distinct by this process, it will be proper
to try the effects of oblique illumination, by inclining the
axis FL of the illuminator to the plate mn, and observing
carefully the effects which it produces in different azi¬
muths. If all these means are insufficient, we must have
recourse to new auxiliaries,—to monochromatic light if
the microscope is not achromatic, or to monochromatic il¬
lumination if it is achromatic ; and we must prepare both
the eye and the object, the one for exhibiting and the
other by viewing to the best advantage the structure which
we are anxious to develope. These important topics we
shall treat in their order, with as much brevity as possible.
CHAP. V. ON THE MONOCHROMATIC ILLUMINATION OF
MICROSCOPIC OBJECTS.
If a simple and easily applied system of monochromatic
illumination, that is, of illuminating objects with homoge¬
neous light, which a prism, and consequently a lens, is not
capable of dispersing or refracting in different directions,
could be contrived, we should neveragain hearof compound
achromatic microscopes. We believe it will be admitted,
that in Sir John Herschefs doublet of no aberration, the
spherical aberration is more completely corrected than in
any double or even triple achromatic object-glass. Hence
, it follows, that in homogeneous light such a doublet would
be a better microscope than the compound lens. But in
the best system of achromatic compensation that can be
executed, the secondary spectrum still remains without a
remedy ; and hence the doublet of no aberration, in which
SCOPE.
51
there can be no secondary colour in homogeneous light, Illumina-
must be a superior instrument to the compound achroma- °f Mi-
tic lens. Now, in telescopes it is impossible, except in cpsyopic
viewing the sun’s disc,1 to work with homogeneous light ^,
but in microscopes, where the quantity of light is in our
power, it is perfectly practicable to make that quantity so
great that all the yellow or red rays which it contains may
give sufficient light for microscopical observations. This
insulation of homogeneous light may be effected in two
ways ; \st, by a monochromatic lamp, as proposed and con¬
structed by Sir David Brewster ; 2dly, by the absorption
of coloured media; and, Sdly, by the prism.
The monochromatic lamp is shown in the annexed fi- Monochro-
gure, where AB is a matic
lamp having its globe Fiff. 42. lamp.
A filled with diluted
alcohol, which de¬
scends gradually
through the tube C,
into a thin platina or
metallic cup, in which
it burns. A strong
heat is kept up by a
spirit lamp L enclosed
in a dark lanthorn,
and when the diluted
alcohol is inflamed, it
will burn with a fierce
and powerful yellow
flame. If the flame
should not be perfect¬
ly yellow, or rather of
a nankeen colour, ow¬
ing to an excess of al¬
cohol, a small proportion of salt thrown into the cup D
will have the same effect as a farther dilution of the alco¬
hol. Sometimes a little blue light will be found mixed with
the yellow, but this may be easily absorbed by a piece of
yellow glass placed on any part of the microscope through
which the rays pass. Although this light is feeble com¬
pared with that of white flames, yet, by using larger lenses
for condensing it, it is quite easy to obtain a pencil suffi¬
ciently powerful for all microscopic observations.2
A stronger flame may be produced by using a gas Monochro-
Fig. 43.
lamp, or, what is still better,
a portable gas one contain¬
ing compressed gas. This
gas, when rushing out in
a full stream, explodes when
burned with atmospheric air,
emitting much heat, and a
faint bluish and reddish light.
As the force of the issuing
gas is sufficient to blow out
the flame, a contrivance for
sustaining it becomes neces¬
sary. The method which we
contrived for this purpose is
shown in the annexed figure,
where PQ is the main body
of the lamp, MN the principal
burner, and A the screw which
opens the main cock. A small
gas tube abc, communicating
with the main burner, terminates above the burner, and
has a short tube de moveable up and down within it, but so
matic gas
lamp.
1 A solar telescope should never be an achromatic one, but should consist of a compound lens of no aberration, all the colours ot
the spectrum being corrected by the dark glass.
2 Edinburgh Transactions, vol. ix. p. 435.
52
MICROSCOPE.
Illumina- as to be gas light. This tube de> closed at d, communi-
tion of Mi-cates wJth the hollow ring fg, in which four apertures are
croseojne perforate(j so as to throw their jets of gas to the apex of
cone whose base is^. When the gas is made to issue
from the burner M, it rushes also into the tube abcdg, and
issues in four small flames at the apertures in the ring fg;
and the height of these flames is regulated by the stop¬
cock at b. The explosive mixture of air and gas which
rushes up through the ring is sustained in combustion by
these small flames, through which it passes. A broad col¬
lar, made of coarse cotton-wick, and thoroughly soaked in
a saturated solution of common salt, is fixed on a ring h ;
and when the bluish flame of the explosive mixture rises
above h, it will be converted by the salted collar into a
strong mass of homogeneous yellow light. A hollow cy¬
linder of sponge, with numerous projecting tufts, may be
substituted for the cotton collar, or a collar of asbestos
cloth might be used, and supplied from a capillary foun¬
tain containing a saturated solution of salt.1
When the few blue rays which sometimes mingle them¬
selves with this yellow light are absorbed, every part of
the light will be found to have a definite refrangibility
greater than any other artificial light that can be produ¬
ced. The minutest objects, and the smallest type, will
appear perfectly distinct in this light when seen or read
through the largest possible angle of the greatest dispersive
prism, an irrefragable proof of the perfect homogeneity of
the light.
Absorp- 2. The second method of producing homogeneous light,
tk>u- and by far the simplest and most easily applicable to mi¬
croscopes, is that of absorption ; and the best rays to leave
unabsorbed or insulated are the red. It requires some
experience and scientific knowledge of the action of differ¬
ent absorbing media to select those which will leave the
narrowest andbrightestband of the rai space in thespectrum.
We have now under our microscope (a grooved sphere of
garnet executed by Mr Blackie2), two scales of a moth ly¬
ing in sulphuric acid, and covering each other. With
solar light the spaces between the lines glitter with all the
hues of the rainbow; but when a thickish plate of red mi¬
ca is combined with another plate of red glass, and placed
beneath the object, all these colours instantly disappear,
and a perfection of vision is obtained, which can be dis¬
turbed only by the very small portion of spherical aberra¬
tion which must exist in the sphere, and which an increas¬
ed depth of the groove would render almost insensible.
Blue glasses, and green and yellow, as well as coloured
fluids, may be successfully used in narrowing the range of
^ refrangibility of the red space.
^ rnetkod, or that of prismatic refraction, is
. rdmon. perhaps the surest and the best method.of obtaining ho¬
mogeneous light with the smallest extent of refrangibility.
A certain effect may be produced by small prisms ; but in
order to have a perfect apparatus, the microscope should
form part of the apparatus for examining the lines of the
solar spectrum; that is, it should screw into the eye¬
piece of the telescope, in front of the object-glass of which
is placed a fine large prism, for forming the spectrum within
the telescope. By this method, which we have put to the
test of experiment, microscopical observations can be carried
on with an accuracy and satisfaction which nothing can ex¬
ceed. We enjoy the luxury of perfectly monochromatic
vision, which the most perfect achromatic compensation
cannot give; and while we have the spherical aberration
corrected, we have no secondary colours, and none of
the imperfections of vision which must arise in trans- Ulumina-
mitting light through six or eight lenses of plate and flinttion of Mf
glass. . 2°sc°Pic
Although we hope that the scientific reader will admits ^^
that the preceding views are [demonstrably correct, yet
Dr Goring has pronounced a most unfavourable opinion of
the system of monochromatic illumination.3 We have al¬
ready endeavoured to convert him from this heresy, and
hoped that we had succeeded ;4 but in the Micrographia,
just published, he has devoted a whole chapter to the re¬
production and support of his former views.5 * We shall
therefore again examine his objections in their order, as
they obstruct the progress of improvement among those
who justly admire Dr Goring’s ingenuity and knowledge
in every thing which relates to the microscope.
1. Dr Goring’s first objection to monochromatic il¬
lumination is, that it is too weak, and must be about one
seventh of the whole beam of light. This we are not dis¬
posed to dispute ; but Dr Goring is too well acquainted
with the resources of optical science, to forget that this
monochromatic seventh of a beam of light may be made
seven times more intense than the whole beam. The ob¬
jection, however, does not apply to the solar spectrum,
for one seventh of the sun’s light is too intense for any
eye to bear.
2. The second objection of our author is, that the co¬
lours of the spectrum, vyhen separated by the prism, are
actually separated into different colours when they are re¬
fracted in oblique pencils by a microscope. If this obser¬
vation is correct, then we must denounce the prism that
produced such a spectrum as utterly useless. Dr Goring,
however, conceives his observation and his prism to be
good, and endeavours to explain the result by referring to
Sir David Brewster’s analysis of the spectrum, in which it
is shown that white light exists at every point of it; but
this white light, which has been rendered visible by ab¬
sorption, cannot be decomposed by refraction of any kind,
as it consists of red, yellow, and blue rays, of the same
refrangibility. Such white light is the light that is wanted
for the microscope ; and there can be little doubt that ab¬
sorptive media will yet be discovered to effect its insula¬
tion in sufficient quantity for practical purposes.
3. Another objection to monochromatic light is, that it
will not show the real colours of microscopic bodies.
I his is true ; but the object of the microscope is not to find
out colours, but structures. A common glass lens, with
common light, will let the observer have all that he wants
of the colours of objects ; and when he has learned this, he
will then gladly avail himself of coloured light for more
important purposes. We can truly say, that though we
have wrought with the microscope for thirty years, we do
not at present recollect a single case where we required
to know any thing of the precise colours of minute bodies.
Notwithstanding this discussion, Dr Goring concludes his
chapter with the following observation, in which we en¬
tirely concur. “ A monochromatic light, therefore, being
once obtained in a sufficient state of intensity for practical
purposes, bids fair to conduct us to the highest perfection
of which aplanatic object-glasses and magnifiers are sus¬
ceptible.” It may be proper to add, that the best system
of compound achromatic object-glasses now in use would
be freed of all their secondary colours, by using monochro¬
matic light; and they may be also greatly improved by
employing suitable coloured media to absorb what are
called the outstanding rays in an achromatic combination.
1 Edinburgh Journal of Science, new series, No. I. p. 108.
2 t his sphere, which we have already mentioned, is made of the rmrp<u o.avr,Qf ...-.a i . i ■ ,
though we cannot say that we see any defect in it vet if tbp ,rrnfJ St £a™“t, and is executed in the most admirable manner ; and
would be diminished. 7 ’ ’V 1 11 the Sroove were stl11 deePer, both its spherical and achromatic aberration
Edinburgh Journal of Science, new series, No. IX. n, 5'\ 4
’ P ~ Ihd- P- G3. * page 73.
MICROSCOPE.
53
:repara- CHAP. VI. ON THE PREPARATION OF THE OBJECT AND
ill of the XHE EYE FOR MICROSCOPICAL OBSERVATIONS,
ject and
r In using lenses of short focus, either singly or in doub-
^7 lets and triplets, the object is so near the lens, and its thick-
i n of the ness, even when very small, foi,ms1'such a considerable part
i iect. of its distance from the nearest refracting surface, that any
bend or want of flatness in the object completely inter¬
feres with the distinct vision of its parts. When the ob¬
ject will bear pressure, the best way is to lay above it a
thin transparent film, with perfectly parallel and polished
surfaces, such as a splinter of New Holland topaz, a
thin plate of sulphate of lime, or a film of mica. If these
plates are a little less thick than the distance between the
lens and the object, a little bees-wax should be interposed
between the" brass setting of the lens and the plate, so
that the lens in the act of adjustment would press the wrax
against the plate, and the plate against the object, till dis¬
tinct vision is obtained. The object should be placed up¬
on a deeply curved concave surface.
The proper flattening of the object, when it is tender,
may be effected by pressing a thick balsam above it, and
allowing the lens to dip into the balsam. If the surface of
the lens is flat, its magnifying power will suffer no dimi¬
nution.
When grooved spheres are used, such as the garnet
one above mentioned, the object requires to be very near
its surface. It should therefore be placed in a concave
lens of glass, of a little greater radius than the sphere,
and pressed into the concave form by interposing a nar¬
row strip of a thin film of mica, and, if necessary, pieces
of wax or India-rubber, as before ; the pieces filling up the
space between the lens and the mica, so as not to inter¬
fere with the part of the object under examination.
If a diminution of the magnifying power can be permit¬
ted^ fluid maybe placed between the concave object-plates
and the grooved sphere, and the chromatic aberration greatly
reduced. By the interposition of a fluid a grooved dia¬
mond sphere may be used; for though its focus for pa¬
rallel rays falls within the sphere when the refractions are
made from air and into air, yet when the first refraction
is made from a suitable fluid, the focus will fall without
the sphere.
Wlien the object is put into the best possible condition
for observation, and the illuminator applied in the best
possible manner, the observer will have every advantage
in his researches; but still the structure which he seeks
to develope may escape his eager research. Under these
circumstances, he must perform his part of the observa¬
tion in the best possible manner.
pl'paif- Unless particular arrangements are made by the ob-
tir : of the server for his own comfort, there is no bodily fatigue to
e.j, be compared with that of the use of the microscope. The
eye, the mind, and the whole frame, are on the stretch.
The observer must therefore first try if his own eye is in
a right state for observation. The fluid which lubricates
the cornea, which must be considered as a lens, and as
part of the microscope, is sometimes in such a viscid state,
that when the eyelids roll over the cornea by that beauti¬
ful provision of nature by which it is kept smooth and
clean, the lubricating fluid, which is pushed into a ridge
between the eyelids, does not quickly recover a convex sur¬
face. This state of the cornea is incompatible with deli¬
cate microscopic observations, and its existence may be as¬
certained by viewing the expanded image of a luminous
point held close to the eye, and, after shutting the eyelids
and again opening them slowly, observing if the luminous
disc recovers its uniform luminosity quickly or slowly. If On Test
the luminous line produced by the fluid accumulated be- Objects,
tween the eyelids continues to be visible, and the gene¬
ral surface mottled and spotted, the lubricating secre¬
tion should be excited by exposing the eye to the va¬
pour of hartshorn, raised by pouring a few drops on the
surface ot boiling water. The secretion will now flow co¬
piously, the cornea will be swept clean by the purer and
less viscid fluid, and the vision of the observer greatly im¬
proved. But this moveable fluid surface of the cornea
generates another imperfection of vision, which has al¬
ready been referred to. This fluid, when undisturbed by
the eyelids, descends by the influence of gravity in verti¬
cal lines, and the minute ridges thus formed obliterate and
render indistinct all horizontal lines seen by the eye, but
have a tendency rather to improve the vision of vertical
lines. In proof of this, we may state the unquestionable
fact, that if we take a striped pattern of any fabric, and
bend part of it into a horizontal direction, while the rest
remains vertical, or vice versa, the vertical part will always
appear the most distinct. Hence, in viewing lined objects,
when the position of the observer’s head is either vertical
or oblique, the lines of the lined object should be always
placed parallel to the direction of the descending fluid. If
the axis of the lenses is vertical, and the eye looks down¬
wards, the lubricating fluid will collect irregularly at the
apex of the cornea, and injure vision. If the axis of the
lenses is horizontal, and the observer’s head in its natural
position, the fluid will descend in vertical lines ; but if the
observer lies on his back and looks into the microscope up¬
wards, a position, we admit, not favourable for research,
the fluid will flow equally in all directions from the apex
to the margin of the cornea, and leave a clear centre well fit¬
ted for distinct vision. We may here notice the beautiful
contrivance, not mentioned by natural theologians, that the
effect of vertical descent of the lubricating fluid is counter¬
acted by the eyelids opening horizontally, and consequently
effacing the tendency of the fluid to form vertical currents.
Had the eyelids opened vertically, the vertical ridges would
have been increased, and vision greatly impaired.
When every thing has been done to fit the cornea (the
only part of the eye over which we have any direct com¬
mand) for accurate vision, the general state of the health,
or any casual irregularity of diet, will be sometimes found
to affect the state of the organ, and unfit it for nice obser¬
vation. To remedy this defect of vision, we must refer the
patient to the simplest prescriptions of his physician.
When these precautions have been taken, the observer
must protect his eye from all extraneous light; and the
most effectual way of doing this is to use the snow spec¬
tacles of the Greenlanders, which are cut out of wood so
as to exclude all light whatever, except what enters through
a circular aperture the size of the pupil, and directly in
front of it.1 A cast should be taken in plaster of Paris
from the part of the face to which they are to be applied,
to enable the artist to cut them of a proper shape; and
when finished they should be lined with black velvet.
The last requisite for accurate microscopical observa¬
tion is steadiness in the microscope, and a steady and com¬
fortable position for the observer. The first is easily at¬
tained. The second may be accomplished by the observer
resting his doubled arms upon a stool or frame nearly the
height of the eye-glass of the microscope, but unconnected
with it, while his chin rests either upon his arms or upon
his breast.
When all these means and precautions fail in unravel¬
ling a mysterious structure, we have often derived advan-
1 In the snow spectacles a long narrow slit is used to enable the wearer to look on each side of him. An interesting account of the
great value of these spectacles, by the celebrated Professor Blumenbach, will be found in the Edinburgh Phil. Journal, vol. viii. p. 261.
54
MICROSCOPE.
On Test tage, in the case of lined objects, by looking through cy-
Objects. Hndrical lenses or good prisms ; the length of the cylinder,
or the refracting edge of the prism, being at right angles
to the lines. Narrow slits may also be used with advantage
next the eye ; but in all these cases, while we improve and
give a finer definition to the lines and the spaces between
them, we deteriorate vision for other parts of the struc¬
ture.
Sect. III. Difficult. 1. Pieris or Pontia Brassica, or cab- On T&
bage butterfly, feathers from Objectei
the, fig. 4, 4a, 4c. v J"_ ^
2. Podura Plumbea, scales from the,
fig. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.
II.
Test ob¬
jects.
CHAP. VII.-
-ON TEST OR PROOF OBJECTS FOR TRYING THE
PERFORMANCE OF MICROSCOPES.
This class of objects, and their application to the mi¬
croscope, we owe to Dr Goring; and to their introduc¬
tion we must ascribe much of the rapid improvement which
this instrument has undergone. The finest test-objects
are the scales of butterflies and moths, which were sug¬
gested to Dr Goring by the following passage in Leewen-
hoeck. “ If we examine the wings of this creature (the
silk-worm moth) by the microscope, we shall find them
covered with an incredible number of feathers (scales), of
such various forms, that if an hundred or more of them
were to be seen lying together, each would appear of a
different shape. To show more clearly this wonderful ob¬
ject, I caused eight feathers to be delineated, for I do not
remember that I ever saw them of so curious a make in
any flying insect.
“ Although the microscope, by which these feathers
were drawn, represented objects very distinctly, the limner
could not through it see the ribs or streaks in each feather
until I. pointed them out to him; therefore, I put into his
hands a microscope which magnified objects almost as
much as that by which the silk worm’s thread was drawn,
desiring him to give the figure of that feather which through
it he could see the most distinct.”1
From this passage, Dr Goring naturally inferred, that
there were some peculiar properties in the lines on the fea¬
thers and scales of insects, which rendered them more diffi¬
cult to be discovered than other microscopic objects; and
hence he discovered their properties as test or proof objects
for trying the penetrating powers of microscopes. Mr Prit¬
chard regards the penetrating power of a microscope as de¬
pendent on its angle of aperture, and its defining power as
in the inverse ratio of the quantity of chromatic and spheri¬
cal aberration. When the angle of aperture was less than
a certain quantity, he found that the lined structure of the
scales could not be rendered visible, however perfect the
instrument was. The following is his list of test objects,
arranged in relation to penetrating and defining power.
Several of these are represented in Plate CCCLXII.
I—Penetrating Power.
Sect. I. Easy.
Sect. II. Standard. 1
Petrobius Maritimus, scales of,
fig. 1.
2. Lepisma Saccharina, scales of.
Morpho Menelaus, feathers of,
fig. 2.
2. Alacita Pentadactyla, feathers of
the.
3. Alacita Hexadactyla, feathers
from the body of it.
4. Lycaenae Argus, feathers of the.
5. Tenea Vestianella, or clothes
moth, feathers from under ends
of the wing, fig. 3.
-Defining Power.
1. Hair of the common mouse, fig.
12-15.
2. Flair of the bat genus, fig. 16, 17. ,
3. Leaf of the moss Hypnum, spe¬
cies unknown.
4. Spotted scales of the Lyccence
Argus, fig. 24.
Besides these test objects, which are copied from Mr
Pritchard’s drawings in the Microscopic Cabinet, we have
added from the same source the following interesting ob¬
jects :
1. A hair from the larva of the common Dermestes, fig.
18.
2. A white hair from a young cat, fig. 19.
3. The hair of a Siberian fox, fig. 20.
4- The hair of a common caterpillar, fig. 21.
5. A scale from the under side of the wing of the blue
butterfly, the Lycaenae argUs, fig. 22.
In some of the preceding figures of the lined proof ob- Oblique
jects the reader will perceive diagonal or oblique lines, as^la”onal
in fig. 9, 10, different from the longitudinal ones seen inj^8^11
fig. 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. These lines are reckoned more diffi- jects "'
cult to be seen than the longitudinal ones ; and Dr Goring'
has mentioned those on the scales of the white-cabbage
butterfly as a difficult test object. Mr Potter, who has "
seen these diagonal lines, mentions also his having ob¬
served them on the scales of the wing of the small house-
moth. As the nature of these oblique lines is far from
being understood, and as their real existence is in our opi¬
nion questionable, we shall lay before our readers Mr
Pritchard’s observations on those observed in the scales
of the Podura plumbea and Pieris brassica.
“ In the foregoing account,” says he, “ of the different
scales from the wings and bodies of insects, the design
has been to give their appearances under microscopes or
engiscopes without in the least determining their actual
structure. Wflien it is considered that these lines are less
than the twenty thousandth of an inch distant, it must
be allowed there is some difficulty in accurately determin¬
ing their construction. The Morpho menelaus and Lepis¬
ma saccharina are of sufficient size to distinctly perceive
they are composed of two delicate tissues with longitudi¬
nal cords (probably tabular) disposed between them ; but
in the two delicate ones, the subject of these remarks, we
perceive other systems of lines disposed obliquely; and as
they are extremely delicate, it becomes a question whether
they actually exist, or whether they are appearances pro¬
duced under certain modifications of the illumination. As
there is only one set shown at a time, and I have never
been able to see them in the decided way of the longitu¬
dinal lines, I have been induced to consider them as ap- ’
pearances only, and not real lines. To determine this
point, it became necessary to ascertain the cause that
would produce such an effect; and it immediately occurred
to me that these oblique lines were occasioned by the dis¬
position and pressure of the superambient scales, in the
same manner as the watering or wavy appearance com¬
municated to- corded silks and moreens by the pressure of
two pieces passed between rollers.2 In examining the
1 Select Works, p. 63.
on'its scales.81"106 eXamined the Pttrol'm* Maritimus as an opaque object, which confirms this view of the nature of the oblique lines
MICROSCOPE. ' 55
T« ijOn Test SCales of the Pieris brassica under a deep power and some misgivings on the subject. In speahing of the lined On Test
eci: injects. ]arge angle of aperture, I found them broad in some parts tests, he says, “ There is an inexplicable mystery about them, Objects,
and almost invisible in others ; and the same appearance for if their lines are in reality p> oduced on the same princi-
presented itself in the curved lines on the scale of the pie as those of micrometers, why are they not as easily seen ?
Podura plumbea, some idea of which may be obtained by No penetrating power or large angular aperture is requi-
! examining figs. 9 and 10 of Plate CCCLXII. site to bring out the lines on a micrometer, though divid-
“ The motive that has induced me to offer the above ed nearly as finely as ordinary tests, to the extent perhaps
remark is, that it may lead to a complete investigation of of 10,000 in an inch.” These observations are just and phi-
the subject. What is here given is merely the crude idea losophical, and we would add only a single observation in
that presented itself in the course of their examination as support of them, that Dr Wollaston made platina wires the
proof-objects.”1 2 18,000th of an inch in diameter, and saw them distinctly ;
Dr Goring has published, in the Journal of the Royal In- and we venture to say, that in no instrument whatever
stitution, vol. xxii. and also in the Micrographia? many in- would such lines appear either dotted or ragged,
teresting observations on lined objects, of which it is ne- Such was the state of this subject when these lined ob-
cessary to give some account. In order to explain the jects were examined by Sir David Brewster, both in re¬
effects of aperture on lined objects, he has represented in ference to their action upon light when examined by the
the seven circles shown in fig. 23, Plate CCCLXII. the naked eye, and when placed under the microscope as test
different appearances of a portion of the scale of the Mor- objects. Having been occupied for several years in a se-
pho menelaus, shown in fig. 1, produced by increasing the ries of analogous observations on the lines which apparent-
aperture. He used a triple achromatic object-glass nine ly separate the component fibres of the crystalline lenses
tenths of an inch focus, and half an inch in aperture, with of animals, he was familiar with the class of optical illu-
a negative eye-piece of one fourth of an inch. sions which interfere with the accurate development of
No. 1. shows the appearance of the scale when the such structures,
aperture was one tenth of an inch, not a vestige of lines Upon exposing the finest lined objects to a bright light,
being visible. and excluding as much as possible all other extraneous
•jj : No. 2. Aperture three twentieths ; Dr Goring fancied he rays, he saw distinctly the fringes of colour produced by
d saw indications of lines or scratches. interference ; and on measuring the angular distances of the
,oi No. 3. Aperture one fifth ; traces of irregular scratches first red fringe from the light, he found that the distance
ol)' seen. of the lines, or rather the diameter of one black line and
No. 4. Aperture three tenths ; nascent lines recognised half the bright space between the lines, varied from the
by a practised eye, like an aggregation of dots, but inter- 10,000th to the 22,000th of an inch. Hence, if we take
Irupted and broken. the black lines and their intervals to be equal, the dia-
No.5. Aperture four tenths; the lines resolved, but not meter of each will vary from about the 13,000th to the
fairly. They are very faint, and seem rugged, as if still 29,000th of an inch.
composed of dots and points. Although these apparent lines give colours by inter-
No. 6. Aperture five tenths ; the full aperture of the lens, ference, exactly like the analogous lines in the laminae
The lines appear in their true character, as if drawn by a of the crystalline lens, yet neither of them are real lines,
pen with some blue pigment on light-violet coloured paper, as decided upon by Dr Goring. With small apertures the
No. 7. Same aperture. When the object is turned one lines in the crystalline lens appear dotty, interrupted, uneven,
fourth round, the cross striae become perceptible. and ragged, and exhibit, in short, all the general pheno-
Our limits will not permit us to give Dr Goring’s excel- mena of the lines on proof objects; but with a good mi-
lent observations on the lines of the Pontia brassica, as croscope and a large aperture, we discover the true se-
seen also with apertures of different sizes in a reflecting cret of all these appearances. They are not lines, but a
microscope. With a well-figured metal, three tenths of succession of teeth arranged in lines; and from the great
an inch focus, and an angle of 551° aperture, the lines and number of lines forming the sides of the teeth, they appear
cross striae he found never to be resolved into dots and dark. Lach fibre, in short, has teeth on each side ot it,
points, but to appear in what he supposes to be their proper and the teeth of one fibre lock into the spaces between
character. “ The two sets of diagonal lines,” he remarks, the teeth of the adjacent fibres. When we trace these fibres
“will be shown with a force and effect which will leave no towards the pole to which they converge, they become
doubt of their existence in the mind of a candid obser- smaller and smaller, the teeth diminishing in the same
ver; the various lines, the longitudinal, the cross striae, proportion, so that they become as difficult, and finally
and the two sets of diagonals, being all observable succes- more difficult to resolve than the lines in the proof objects.
sivelyby a slight change of illumination, though we can After a laborious examination of the lined tests, and Structure
scarcely see tvvo of the systems well at the same instant.”3 the use of every optical resource which he could com-oj the fom
Dr Goring elsewhere observes,4 that the reflecting mi- mand, Sir David Brewster has found that the mysterious
croscope invariably shows the diagonal lines on the brassica lines on these test objects are only apparent lines, being
as distinct as the eye sees the ruled lines on a copy-book; composed of a succession of interlocking teeth, by which
that in some “ pet scales” one of the systems of oblique lines the fibres to which they are attached form that delicate
may be seen by looking into the instrument directly, and film which composes the scale of a moth. W e now see
the other by looking into it obliquely, without any altera- the source of all the perplexities which have beset this
tion in the illumination f and that if one instrument shows class of observations. We understand why such lines are
the lines dotty, broken, interrupted, or ragged, while not seen so distinctly as the real lines on micrometers,
another shows them clearly made out as veritable lines or and the dots and the raggedness are all explained. In
stripes drawn with a pen and ink, the latter is the best.6 the lenses of quadrupeds the teeth of the fibres are not
Notwithstanding these repeated decisions of Dr Goring, round like those of fishes, but are often sharp pointed
he seems, in an earlier part of his volume,7 to have had and extremely short, like a jagged line, or a line with
1 Microscopic Cabinet, p. 160, 161.
2 Hall, 159, &c.
•* Micrographia, p. 163.
4 Micrographia, p. 130 and 144.
5 Ibid. p. 102, note.
6 Ibid. p. 104.
7 Micrographia, p. 44.
8 See Phil. Trans. 1830.
56
MICROSCOPE.
Diagonal
lines ex¬
plained.
On Test points projecting from it. In like manner, the separation
Objects, of the teeth is much more distinct in some of the lined
objects than in others. See fig. 24, in which we have
given a rude representation of the lines.
With regard to the diagonal or oblique lines, which have
been such a source of perplexity to microscopical observ¬
ers, we have little hesitation in pronouncing those which
we have seen to be optical illusions from the accidental
alignement of the sides of the teeth in different grooves,
when similarly illuminated by oblique rays. When the
scales are immersed in diluted sulphuric acid, we have
never seen the diagonal lines. When the sulphuric acid
is too strong, the scales curl up, and often in this state ex¬
hibit the lines very beautifully. We have observed dia¬
gonal lines singularly developed in the laminae of the crys¬
talline, and clearly arising from the interference of the rays
acted upon by the lines on one side of the lamina, with the
rays acted upon by the lines on the other side, and there¬
fore we have been the more confirmed in our opinion. As
we have not had the advantage, however, of using any of
the fine reflecting microscopes with which Dr Goring ob¬
served the oblique lines so distinctly brought out, it is still
with considerable diffidence that we place our conclusions
in opposition to so direct and distinct an observation, made
by such skilful and experienced observers as he and Mr
Pritchard.1
With the view of arriving at a just decision respecting
the nature of the lines, Sir David Brewster endeavoured to
ascertain the disposition of the colouring matter on the
scales. Owing to the great brightness of the lines on the
black scales, especially near their root, he was at first dis¬
posed to infer that, at least in these scales, the colouring
matter was arranged along the black lines, the particles
being more readily detained in their places by the edges
of the teeth. He has found, however, that in other scales
the colouring matter lies also along the bright lines ; and
it is only when this colouring matter is removed, or its ef¬
fect masqued, by removing the refraction at its surface by
immersion in a fluid, that the lines of proof objects are de¬
veloped with perfect distinctness.
Sir David Brewster has made an attempt to count the
numbei of scales and teeth in the wing of a brown moth, or
m one superficial inch, the area of the two surfaces of each
wing. He supposes, of course, all the scales to be the
same in size and structure, and he finds that there are
?ca,es 158,400
leeth 19,800,000,000
or nineteen thousand eight hundred million.
CHAP. VIII.—ON MICROSCOPIC OBJECTS.
TIkrosco. In the preceding chapter we have already described
pic objects, some of the most interesting objects for microscopical ob¬
servation. Every department of nature is full of obiects,
10m tne examination of which the most important disco¬
veries may be expected ; but though the zealous observer
can never be at any loss for subjects of research, it is de¬
sirable to know what has been done by our predecessors,
and what trams of inquiry are most likely to prove of -el
nera interest. There are subjects of microscopic inquiry
wnich are closely connected with the most interesting parts
of physiology ; and even geology itself, conversant with the On Mi.
grandest subjects of research, has recently been illustrated croscopk
by the aid of the microscope. Objects,
M. Ehrenberg, to whom we are indebted for so manyp^p"
important discoveries respecting the organisation of infu- fusoria!”
sorial animalcules, has lately made the most remarkable
discovery of infusorial organic remains. These remains
are the siliceous shells of animalcules belonging to the di¬
vision Bacillaria, and form strata of Tripoli, or poli-schiefer
(polishing-slate), at Franzenbad, in Bohemia.2 M. Ehren¬
berg has still more recently discovered them in the semi¬
opal found along with the polishing-slate in the tertiary
strata of Bilin, in the chalk flints, and even in the semi¬
opal or noble opal of the porphyritic rocks.3 The size of
a single individual of these animals is about ^^th of a
line, or ^jj-th of an inch. In the polishing-slate from
Bilin, in which there appear to be no vacuities, a cubic lint
contains, in round numbers, 23 millions of these animals,
and a cubic inch contains 41,000 millions of them !
The weight of a cubic inch of the polishing-slate is 270
grains. There are, therefore, 187 millions of these ani¬
mals in a single grain, or the siliceous coat of one of these
animals weighs the 187 millionth part of a grain !
In Plate CCCLXII. figs. 24 and 25, we have given re¬
presentations of these singular microscopic objects, as
seen by Ehrenberg.
Another example of the value of microscopical observa- Fibres of
tions may be drawn from the discovery of the teeth of the teeth in
fibres, which compose the crystalline lenses of almost all thecr.vst;>1-
animals. The crystalline lens is composed of innumerableline Jens-
fibres of nearly the same length, each of which tapers from
its middle to its two extremities, where it comes to the
sharpest point. The sides of each of these fibres are fur¬
nished with teeth like those of a watch-wheel, and the
teeth of the one lock into those of the adjacent ones, as
shown in fig. 28, Plate CCCLXII. When the power
is small, or the microscope not good, or the laminae too
thick and not nicely detached, each row of interlocking
teeth appears as a dark line, sometimes as sharp as a black
line drawn upon paper with a pen. Sometimes the lines
appear rough and ragged, and as the fibres become less
and less in approaching the poles, the black lines are as
difficult to resolve into teeth as the lines on test-objects
already described. The following measures, taken by Sir
David Brewster, will shoiv what a wonderful structure in
the eye has been thus disclosed to us by the microscope,
ihe calculations refer to the lens*of a cod, four tenths of
an inch in diameter.
Number of fibres in each lamina or spherical coat....2,500
Number of teeth in each fibre 12,500
Number of teeth in each spherical coat 31,250,000
Number of fibres in the whole lens 5,000,000
Number of teeth in the lens 62,500,000,000
or the lens of a cod contains five millions of fibres, and
sixty-two thousand five hundred millions of teeth; and if
we reckon the curved end of the tooth as one surface, each
tooth will have six surfaces,4 which come into contact with
the corresponding surfaces of the adjacent tooth, so that
the number of touching surfaces will be three hundred and
seventy-five thousand millions f “ and yet this little sphere
of tender jelly is as transparent as a drop of the purest
water, and allows a beam of light to pass across these al-
Mr Pritchard informs us that the diagonal lines or cross siW^JT^ ^ m " ~   
hmniacx, and in the blue scales from theFWu, Pari,, where thev^ Jv , the scales from the of the Euplcta
-00 times.” In speaking of the ordinary lines, Mr Pritchard rpmnrK ^ easily devel°ped under a power of from 100 to
appear detached like short hairs or spines covering the delicate tissu^f i-f . e,e 0.r “ markings,” with his best instruments,
portions of the lines which hare escaped the pressure of those of the sm-™ l(\.scae' 1 1?tter appearance is correct, the prominent
the lines. This opinion of the structure of the lines! publiKd i^ SCafle® .be^ “ « P^ne above the other portions of
Dr Goring decides that they are real lines. See List of 2000 MkroscoDlr "ot rel)eat^d 111 the Micrographia, published in 1837, where
- PoggendorfPs Annalen der Physik, 1836, No. V. p. 225 ^ 0hlecU' ?• J°- . Lond. 1835.
Ihis includes the concave surface between two adjacent teeth. - P*
  . „ p. 464.
Philosophical Transactions, 1833, p. 329.
MICROSCOPE.
57
j sems.
icrosco- most innumerable joints without obstructing or reflecting
H | oc Ob- a single ray!”
^ jects. There is another class of objects of extreme interest,
which Mr Pritchard has omitted to notice, and the de-
• ■ cavTfles vel°Pment which called forth all the resources of opti¬
cal knowledge and practical experience with the micro¬
scope. These objects are the microscopic cavities in mine¬
rals, containing two fluids unknown to the chemist, groups
of crystals, floating balls, and exhibiting actual chemical
operations going on in these minute laboratories when ex¬
posed to changes of temperature. These various pheno¬
mena have been described and represented in drawings, in
two papers by Sir David Brewster, published in the Trans¬
actions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. In some of the
precious stones, particularly in diamond, garnet, &c. these
cavities are perfect spheres ; but, owing to the great refrac¬
tive power of the gem, they appear completely black and
opaque, though the microscope descries a small spot of light
in their centre, which is the pencil of light which they re¬
fract. These spherical cavities, and this central spot, are
the finest objects for examining the aberration of lenses
and specula, and are infinitely preferable to the reflected
patches of light from small spherules of quicksilver. Dr
Goring has observed spherical cavities or air-bubbles in
fluids, and, with his usual ingenuity, recognised their uti¬
lity for indicating the effects of aberration. Those which
we have used in the gems are, however, permanent instru¬
ments of much greater utility, not only from our being
able to use the same bright spof with all instruments and
on all occasions, but from the dark ring round the bright
spot being incomparably greater in the gems than in fluids.1
Representations of some of the cavities in fluids are given
in Plate CCCLXII. fig. 29, 30, 31. Fig. 29 shows the
cavities containing the two new fluids, which will not mix,
though in the same cavity. The little circle is the bubble
either of gas or of vacuity. The fluid round it is a highly
evaporable fluid, and the fluid in the angles and ends of
long cavities is a thick and unevaporable fluid, which in¬
durates when exposed to the air. Figs. 29 and 30 are beau¬
tifully formed cavities in topaz.
Our limits will not permit us to pursue this subject far¬
ther, and we shall conclude the article with a very brief
selection of microscopic objects from Mr Pritchard’s ad¬
mirable little pamphlet, entitled a List of 2000 Microscopic
Objects.
1. Insects,—Eggs, wings, tongues, antennm, and scales
of.
Eyes of, Agrion, 12,000 eyes; Bombyx Mer,
6236 eyes; Phalama cossus, 11,300; Sca-
rabaeus, 3180; Hawk-moth, 20,000; Li-
bellula, 12,544; Melalontha, 8820; Mor-
della, 25,088 ; Papilio, 17,000.
2. Hairs of Animals. Hair of an infant, Ornitboryn-
chus, mouse, bat, bee, Acilius canaliculatus, Melecta
punctatus, Siberian fox, spider, wing of Tipalis, stag-
beetle, white cat, dormouse, dermestes, caterpillar,
badger, ant-eater, civet cat.
3. Scales of Insects. Podura plumbea, Pontia brassica,
Pierisbrassica, Parnassus Apollo, Atlas moth, diamond-
beetle, Euplcea limniace, house-moth, Lepisma sac-
charina, 10-plumed moth, 20-plumed moth, Morpho
Menelaus, Papilio Apollo, Papilio Paris, Urania lei-
lus, privet moth.
4. Circulation in Plants, or Cyclosis. Nitella hyalina* Microsco-
Nitella translucens, Chara vulgaris, Caulinia frigalis, pic Ob-
Hydrocharis or frog-bit in the stipulae of the leaves jects*
and the ends of the roots, Tradescantia virginica or
spiderwort in the filaments around the stamina, Sene-
cio vulgaris or groundsel in the hairs surrounding the
stalks and flowers.
5. Circulation in Animals. In the arachnoida or spi¬
der tribe at the joints of the legs, Peria viridis and
Semblis bilineata on the antennae and wings when
they have just emerged from the chrysalis, larva of
the Ephemera, larvd of Hydrophilus, small Dysticus,
Agrion puella, Libellula, round Lynceus, fresh-water
shrimp, water-hog (Oniscus), Ligia, water-flea
(Daphnia pulex). (See Pritchard’s Microscopic Illus¬
trations, and Microscopic Cabinet.)
6. Circulation in Zoophytes. Mr Lister has discover¬
ed a circulation resembling that in plants in some of
the polypiferous zoophytes, as the Tabularia indivisa,
Sertulariae, Campanulariae, Plumulariae, &c.
7. Crystals. For an account of various interesting mi¬
croscopic phenomena observed by H. F. Talbot, Esq.
of Lacock Abbey, we must refer the reader to a se¬
ries of interesting papers in the recent numbers of
the London and Edinburgh Philosophical Magazine.
The oxalate of chromium and potash dissolved in wa¬
ter and rapidly crystallised is a fine object. In po¬
larised light the most splendid object is the Faro
Apophyllite when the prisms are complete, as repre¬
sented by Sir D. Brewster in a coloured drawing in
the Edinburgh Transactions, vol. ix. p. 317, plate
xxi. fig. 1.
Size.
8. Animalcules. Monas Termo, 18,000th of an inch.
Monas atom us, 4000th of an inch.
Monas volvox, 3456th to 1728th of an
inch.
Volvox globator, found in stagnant
water, 30th of an inch.
Vibrio, bipunctatus, 200th of an inch.
Vibrio spirillum, like a screw, 2000th
to 1000th of an inch.
Vibrio glutinis.2
Kolpoda cucullus, 28th of an inch.
Cercaria podura.
Cercaria viridis.
Cercaria hirta.
Leucophrys fluida, 400th of an inch.
Trichoda vulgaris, 1200th to 240th of
an inch.
Trichoda longicauda.
Vorticella polymorpha.
Vorticella convallaria.
Vorticella senta, 100th of an inch.
Vorticella rotatoria.3
The reader will find beautiful drawings and full descrip¬
tions of these and many other animalcules in Mr Prit¬
chard’s interesting work entitled The Natural History of
Animalcules, London, 1834. In the Microscopical Illus¬
trations of Mr Pritchard and Dr Goring, and in the Mi¬
croscopic Cabinet by the same authors, he will find every
thing that he desires respecting microscopic objects.
(n. n. n.)
1 The ratio between the diameter of the dark sphere and of the small luminous spot gives a measure of the refractive power of the
solid or fluid.
2 Figured by Dr Goring in the Microscopic Cabinet.
3 The Rotifer vulgaris. See Microscopic Cabinet, chap. vi.
VOL. XV.
H
58 MID
Midas MIDAS, in fabulous history, a famous king of Phrygia.
.11 Bacchus, having been received by him with great magni-
Middle ficence> offered, out of gratitude, to grant him whatever
s^ou^ as^* Midas desired that every thing which he
touched should be changed into gold. Bacchus consented ;
and Midas, with extreme pleasure, found everywhere the
effects of his touch. But he had soon reason to repent of
his folly; for, when he wanted to eat and to drink, the ali¬
ments no sooner entered his mouth than they were chan¬
ged into gold. This obliged him to have recourse to
Bacchus again, to beseech him to restore him to his for¬
mer state ; upon which the god ordered him to bathe in the
river Pactolus, which thenceforward had sands of gold.
Some time afterwards, being chosen judge between Pan
and Apollo, he gave another instance of his folly and bad
taste, in preferring Pan’s music to Apollo’s; upon which
the latter, being enraged, provided him with a pair of ass’s
ears. This Midas attempted to conceal from the know¬
ledge of his subjects; but one of his servants having seen the
length of his ears, and being unable to keep the secret,
yet afraid to reveal it from apprehension of the king’s re¬
sentment, opened a hole in the earth, and after he had
whispered there that Midas had the ears of an ass, he co¬
vered the place as before, as if he had buried his words in
the ground. On that place, however, as the poets mention,
there grew a number of reeds, which, when agitated by
the wind, uttered the same sound which had been buried
beneath, and published to the world that Midas had the
ears of an ass. Some explain the fable of the ears of Mi¬
das, by the supposition that he kept a number of inform¬
ers and spies, who were continually employed in gather¬
ing and retailing every seditious word which might drop
from the mouthsof his subjects. Midas, according to Strabo,
died of drinking bull’s blood hot, a potion which he is said
to have taken in order to free himself from the numerous
evil dreams which continually tormented him. According
to some, this personage was son of Cybele, and built a town,
which he called Ancyrce.
MIDDELBURG, a circle of the province of Zealand,
in the Netherlands, consisting of the island of that name,
which is separated by the Eloe water from South Beve-
land ; it is divided into six cantons, and contains 30,000 in¬
habitants. The capital is the city of the same name, near¬
ly in the centre of the island; it was once fortified, but is
now with its walls converted into pleasing promenades.
It is well built, and has twelve churches, one of which, the
New Church, has a lofty tower, serving as a useful sea¬
mark. In 1830 it contained 14,700 inhabitants, viz. 6469
males and 8231 females. The city has manufactories of
linen and woollen cloth, and is celebrated for its chocolate.
It is connected by water with the West Scheldt, but its
shipping operations have been on the decline, and but
slightly revived since the return of peace. This city
was the birth-place of the celebrated jurist Bynkershoeck.
Long. 3. 32. 10. E. Lat. 51. 30. 6. N.
MIDDELTON, a market-town of the county of Lan¬
caster, in the hundred of Salford, 190 miles from London
and seven from Manchester, on the road to Rochdale. The
inhabitants are chiefly employed in the different branches
of the cotton manufacture. It is a parish of itself, and
has a market, which is held on Saturday. The inhabitants
of the town were, in 1801,3265 ; in 1811, 4422; in 1821,
5809 ; and in 1831, 6903 ; but at the last census the whole
parish, which comprises also seven other chapelries or
townships, contained 14,370 inhabitants.
MID-HEAVEN, the culminating point of the ecliptic,
or that in which it cuts the meridian.
MIDDLE Island lies off the south coast of New Hol¬
land, in longitude 123. 10. east, and latitude 34. 7. south.
There is another small island of this name in the strait
between the islands of Billiton and Banca, which it divides
M I D
into two, namely, on the west, Caspar’s Strait, and on the Middle. j[jd
east, Clement’s Strait. It is also the name of a small island burg ^
in the narrowest part of the Straits ot Sunda, opposite |
to Hog’s Point, in Sumatra, called also Thwart the Way. v ^
Long. 105. 43. E. Lat. 5. 55. S.
MIDDLEBURG, one of the Friendly Islands, in the
South Sea. See Polynesia.
MIDDLEBURGH, a small island, about ten miles in
circumference, situated off' the north-western extremity
of Ceylon.
MIDDLEHAM, a market-town of the north riding of
the county of York, in the wapentake of Hang West, 232
miles from London. It has the remains of an ancient
royal castle, where King Richard III. was born, and Ed¬
ward IV. died. The church is large, and was formerly
collegiate. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 728, in
1811 to 714, in 1821 to 880, and in 1831 to 914. A mar¬
ket is held here on Monday.
MIDDLESEX, an English county, and, though in ex¬
tent one of the least, yet, as containing within it the me¬
tropolis of the British empire, with its numerous popula¬
tion, its extensive wealth, and its repositories of art and
science, and being the theatre of the most interesting his¬
torical and political transactions, naturally attracts to it
the attention of all who are connected with the united
kingdoms.
This county is bounded on the north by Hertfordshire;
on the west by Buckinghamshire ; on the south by Surrey,
and at the eastern point by a small portion of Kent; and
on the east by Essex. Its general figure is quadrangular,
but rendered very irregular by the course of the rivers
Thames, Coin, and Lea, which bound it on three sides,
and by a considerable projection into Hertfordshire on
the north. Its greatest length is twenty-three and its
greatest breadth seventeen miles. Its square contents are
estimated at 285 miles, or 182,400 statute acres.
According to the census of 1831, the whole number of
inhabitants was 1,358,330, of whom 631,410 were males
and 726,920 were females. These composed 314,039 fa¬
milies, of whom 9882 were chiefly occupied in agriculture ;
173,822 were chiefly occupied in trade, manufactures, and
handicraft; and the remainder, 130,335, were not compre¬
hended in either of these two classes.
A more minute classification is as follows :—
Males under twenty years of age 358,521
Occupiers of land, employing labourers  1,050
Occupiers of land, not employing labourers  490
Labourers employed in agriculture  11,376
Employed in manufacture, or in making manufac¬
turing machinery    11,064
Employed in retail trade, or in handicraft, as mas¬
ters or workmen...  163,220
Capitalists, bankers, professional and other educat¬
ed men  49,457
Labourers employed in labour other than agricul¬
tural  79,735
Other males, twenty years of age, not servants.... 22,549
Male servants, twenty years of age...   19,578
Male servants under twenty years of age  5,923
Female servants  87,554
The baptisms of 1830 were, males 167,444, of females
165,683 ; the burials in the same were, of males 148,390,
and of females 141,529. The marriages were 13,295.
Ihe illegitimate children born in the same year were, of
males 526, of females 380.
Ihe proportion of burials to the whole population, which
in 1801 was one in thirty-one, was in 1830 one in forty-
tuo. Ihe amount expended for the relief of the poor
^varied but little during the ten years from 1820 to
1830. In the first of these years it amounted to L.625,665,
and in the last to L.681,567.
MIDDLESEX.
Iddlesex. The annual value of the real property of the county, as
assessed in the year 1815, was L.5,595.337. The increase
of the population is shown by the several decennial enu¬
merations to have been as follows, viz. in 1801, 818,129; in
1811, 953,276, being an increase of seventeen per cent.;
in 1821, 1,144,531, being an increase of twenty per cent.;
and in 1831, 1,358,200, being an increase of nineteen per
cent. The whole increase in the thirty years has been
59
sixty-five per cent. If the same rate of increase should Middlesex,
continue till 1841, which there seems no reason to doubt,
the county will then have doubled its inhabitants in about
the period of forty or forty-one years.
The county is divided into six hundreds, and the three
cities of London within the,, walls, London without the
walls, and Westminster. The most populous of the hun¬
dreds, that of Ossulstone, is formed into four divisions.
Cities or Hundreds.
Families.
Males.
Females.
Total.
Edmonton hundred  
Elthorne ditto 
Gore ditto 
Isleworth ditto 
Ossulstone.
Finsbury division 
Holborn ditto 
Kensington ditto 
Tower ditto 
Spelthorne hundred 
London within the walls...
London without the walls
Westminster city 
Militia under training 
4,801
4,224
2,049
2,871
34,569
83,467
20,179
84,282
3,175
11,719
15,884
46,004
314,039
12,969
9,998
5,697
6,515
70,641
154,743
39,217
168,146
7,325
27,327
33,413
95,219
200
631,410
13,961
10,093
5,618
7,053
80,768
191,512
48,744
191,718
7,887
28,451
34,492
106,623
726,920
26,930
20,091
11,315
13,568
151,409
346,255
87,961
359,864
15,212
55,778
67,905
201,842
200
1,358,330
The places of most note in this county, besides the cities
of London and Westminster, aretowms which have sprung
up from their contiguity or vicinity to the metropolis, and
which, in many instances, though forming only suburbs, are
to all appearance, and to all practical purposes, parts of the
great city. In giving the population, those places in con¬
tact with London must be first noticed.
Mary-le-bone parish 122,206
Pancras, with its hamlets 103.548
Paddington  14,540
Bethnal Green  62,018
Chelsea  32,371
Kensington, with its hamlets  20,902
Shad well  9,544
Stepney parish, including Poplar, Black-
wall, Limehouse, Mile-end, Old and
NewTown, and Ratcliffe  67,872
Bromley    4,846
The other populous places not in contact with the me¬
tropolis are,
Hackney, with its hamlets  31,047
Islington  37,316
Fulham, with Hammersmith  17,539
Hampsteed  8,588
Ealing, including Old Brentford  7,783
Tottenham  6,937
Enfield  8,812
Cheswick  4,994
Twickenham  4,571
Hornsey, with part of Highgate  4,857
Hampton, including the court and Hamp¬
ton Wick  3,992
Hendon  3,110
Uxbridge, with Hillingdon  6,885
Heston, with a part of Hounslow  3,407
Stoke-Newington   3,480
Staines  2,486
Edmonton  8,192
Harrow a  3,861
Isleworth  5,590
The face of this county may be described as a gently
sloping tract rising from the banks of the Thames, its
southern boundary, to the hills on the north, none of which
rises more than 350 feet above the level of that river, and
few attain even that height. In receding from the banks
of the stream, the surface is gently undulated, with suffi¬
cient slope to secure the necessary drainage. The pros¬
pects in the southern division of the county, from the level
nature of its surface, are not distinguished by extent or
variety; and the eye is only relieved from the fatigue of
uniformity, by the numerous buildings, plantations, gar¬
dens, and the rich verdure of productive grass fields.
Even in the more hilly parts of the county the prospects
are far less impressive than those upon the opposite banks
of the Thames, or those which are to be seen upon the
borders of that river before it enters Middlesex. The best
prospects of a rural kind are from the range of hills
stretching from Pinner, Stanmore, Elstree, Totteridge,
and Barnet, to the forest scenery of Enfield Chace. The
Hill of Harrow, a projection from this ridge, is one of the
highest points ; and the whole of the richly-cultivated valley
of Middlesex is comprehended in the view from it.
The original soil on the southern side of the county is
of a most sterile kind of gravel; but the vast quantities of
manure which have been furnished to it from the exten¬
sive cities in its vicinity, have been so spread over the sur¬
face, that a most luxuriantly-productive soil of garden
mould has been created ; and from the same cause it is re¬
newed as rapidly as it becomes exhausted by the crops
grown upon it. The northern part of the county generally
consists of a soil of clayey loam, which, though rather dif¬
ficult to plough, is, when properly pulverised, very well
adapted for the cultivation of wheat, and has been long
celebrated for the excellent quality of that grain which is
produced upon it. The table of Queen Elizabeth was re¬
gularly furnished with white bread from the wheat grown
in the vicinity of Hounslow. In several parts of the county
the loamy clay, converted by the addition of cinders, tech¬
nically called breeze, into bricks, becomes the most profit¬
able application of the soil. This is peculiarly the case
where such soil is found in the immediate vicinity of the
metropolis, or upon the banks of the rivers or canals that
communicate with it. “ Round the one-mile stone on the
Kingsland Road,” says Mr Middleton, “ the surface is
f)0
MIDDLESEX.
Middlesex, lowered from four to ten feet, by the earth having been
dug up and manufactured into bricks, over an extent ot
more than 1000 acres ; and it has been levelled, ploughed
up, and laid down to grass. It is sufficiently dry, and by
the help of town manure is restored again to excellent
grass land; though it had previously yielded to the com¬
munity, through the medium of the brickmakers, upwards
of L.4000 per acre on an average of the whole level;
but there are a few acres of choice marl earth, which have
produced through the same medium L.20,000 per acre.”
The greater portion of the land in the county is appro¬
priated to the cultivation of grass, which is converted into
hay for the supply of the numerous horses kept in the me¬
tropolis. These upland meadows have been gradually ex¬
tending as the metropolis has increased, so that at present
not more than 20,000 acres are under cultivation by the
plough. The meadows, however, even those which have
been longest laid down in herbage, discover the marks of
their having been formerly ploughed. The great consump¬
tion of hay in the London markets has induced the most
skill to be applied to that particular branch of rural econo¬
mics which, under the term haymaking, is usually deemed
the simplest of all agricultural operations, but which is here
managed in so superior a way as to bring to the stack hay
of a quality far better than is preserved in the more dis¬
tant counties. The corn grown in this county is inconsi¬
derable. Upon an average of years, about 10,000 acres are
sown with wheat, about 4000 with barley, about 3000 with
beans, and about 2000 with pease ; some rye is grown, but
principally for green food, and scarcely any oats are culti¬
vated. There are fewer sheep and cows kept in Middle¬
sex than in any other county; but of the latter some thou¬
sands are maintained solely for the purpose of supplying
milk for the consumption of the metropolis. Many pigs
are fattened from the offal produced in the vast breweries
and malt distilleries of London and its vicinity.
The horticulture of Middlesex, although it does not ex¬
tend over quite so great a surface as its arable culture,
produces a far greater annual return. Exclusively of the
gardens attached to the houses of the nobility and gentry,
the extent of land appropriated to the growth of fruit is
reckoned by Mr Middleton to be 3000 acres, of that de¬
voted to culinary vegetables 10,000, and of that used as
nursery grounds and plantations 1500. The same writer
estimated the annual value of the productions of horticul¬
ture at somewhat more than one million sterling. The
gardeners of Middlesex practise a wonderful economy in
the raising of crops. The fruit gardeners have what they
call an upper and an under crop growing on the same
ground at the same time. First, the ground is stocked
with apples, pears, cherries, plums, walnuts, &c. like a com¬
plete orchard, and called the upper crop. It is secondly
fully planted with raspberries, gooseberries, currants,
strawberries, and all such fruits, shrubs, and herbs as are
known to sustain the shade and drippings from the trees
above them without the least injury ; this they term the
under crop. Some of these gardens have walls which are
completely clothed with fruit-trees, such as peaches, nec¬
tarines, apricots, plums, and various others, all adapted to
the aspect of the wall. In order to increase the quantity
of warmth and shelter in autumn, they raise earthen banks
of about three feet in height, laid to a slope of forty-five
degrees to the sun. On these slopes they plant endive in
the month of September; and near the bottoms of them
they drill pease from October to Christmas; by this means
the endive is preserved from rotting, and, as well as the
pease, reaches maturity at an early period. The common
routine ot the best kitchen gardeners is the following:
Soon after Christmas, when the weather is open, they be¬
gin by sowing the borders, and then the quarters, with ra¬
dishes, spinach, onions, and all the other seed crops. As
soon afterwards as the season will permit, which is gene-Middlesei ^
rally in February, the same ground is planted with cauli-
flowers from the frames, as thick as if no other crop had
then possession of the ground. The radishes, &c. are soon
sent to market; and when the cauliflowers are so far ad¬
vanced as to be earthed up, sugar-loaf cabbages are plant¬
ed from the before-mentioned seed crops ; and daily as
these crops are sent to market, the same ground is cropped
with celery for winter use. The foregoing rotation is the
common practice, but there are many deviations, according
to the judgment of the cultivators, the state of the wea¬
ther, and the demands of the market. Such a system, how¬
ever, can be pursued only in the vicinity of great cities, the
abundant manure of which gives the means of raising vege¬
table productions in defiance of the inclemency of our north¬
ern winters. A species of cultivation of a nondescript kind,
partaking of the nature of agriculture and horticulture, is
extensively pursued in this county. The ground is plough¬
ed in January and February, and cropped with early pease,
which are gathered green in June. The land is then
sowed with turnips, which are sold in autumn, when the
kind of cabbages called collards are planted, and these
three crops are annually raised from the same soil.
Manufactures of every kind may be ascribed to this coun¬
ty, in so far as the best workmen of every description are
employed in London for combining, fitting, and finishing
all the commodities requisite for the consumption of the
metropolis, which is at the same time the seat of govern¬
ment, the temporary residence of the wealthiest subjects
of Great Britain, and the greatest sea-port of the empire,
but workmen of this kind, forming more than 400 classes,
cannot be here so appropriately described as under the ar¬
ticle London, to which the reader is referred.
In the more appropriate application of the word manu¬
facture, none of importance can be attributed to Middle¬
sex, other than that of silk, which subsists in Spittalfields,
and which employs upwards of 5000 males above twenty
years of age. In St Mary’s parish, Whitechapel, 440 men
of that age are employed in sugar-refining. Ship-building,
and the various auxiliaries of that art, such as rope-making,
sail-making, block-making, anchor-making, and the fabri¬
cation of copper sheathing and bolts for ships, with nu¬
merous smaller articles, employ a great number of persons.
Ihere are manufactories of chemical preparations at Bow,
mustard-mills at Staines, copper-works at Harefield, and
mills for throwing silk in many places.
I he rivers of Middlesex are, the Thames, the Coin, the
Brent, and the Lea. The former of these is navigable for
barges, along almost its whole extent, to Leachlade in Glou¬
cestershire, within a few miles of its source. The tide is
felt as high as Teddington, above which the navigation is
performed by penning the \yater at various locks till a suf¬
ficient body is collected, which, by making w hat is locally
called & flash, permits the passage of the barges over the
obstructions and shoals, which, a few hours after, become
again impassable. The picturesque beauties on the banks
of this stream are too well known to need a description in
this place. The Coin is not navigable. It enters Middle¬
sex from Hertfordshire at the north-western extremity of
the county, and falls into the Thames in various channels
at considerable distances from each other, having in its
course been applied to the working of numerous mills for
paper, corn, and other purposes. The Brent, also not navi¬
gable, enters the county from Hertfordshire, and joins the
Ihames at Brentford, i'he Lea is navigable for barges
along its whole course through this county. It enters from
Hertfordshire, forms the eastern boundary of Middlesex,
and joins the ihames at Limehouse, below London. Be¬
sides these natural streams, the artificial one called the
ew Iliver belongs to this county. The artificial channel
m which this stream flows towards London has a very de-
M I D
llddlesex. vious course, in order to keep the waters at a due level.
IT—' It is ultimately received into a spacious reservoir near
Islington, whence, by means of pipes, its water is conveyed
through the streets of the metropolis to the houses of indi¬
viduals.
Amongst the public works of this county, the canals de¬
serve notice. These are, the Grand Junction, the Padding¬
ton, and the Regent’s Canal. The first forms a connection
with the whole interior of the kingdom, and the second is
connected with it. Through them, internal navigation is
conducted to the manufacturing counties, and to the dis¬
tant ports of Liverpool, Bristol, and Hull, and to the pot¬
teries, iron-founderies, and collieries of Staffordshire and
Warwickshire. The Regent’s Canal surrounds the whole
of the northern side of the metropolis, around which it de¬
scribes a semicircle, commencing at the dock of the Pad¬
dington Canal, and terminating at the river Thames at
Limehouse. Its principal utility is supposed to be derived
from forming the means of conveying coals and other heavy
commodities from the river to the more distant parts of the
capital without expensive land-carriage. We may here no¬
tice two works actually in operation, which may become
of vast importance. These are, the railroad from London
to Birmingham, which has been considerably advanced,
and a similar one to Southampton, already commenced.
For another to Bristol an act of parliament has been ob¬
tained.
The docks constructed of late years for the facilities of
commerce are most extensive and magnificent works, and
the warehouses which surround them are wonderful exhibi¬
tions of the commercial opulence of this country, having
been all completed from the capitals of individuals. The
West India Docks contain about sixty acres of water, in
which the largest vessels can float. The London or Wap-
ping Docks are of nearly the same extent. The St Ca¬
therine’s Docks, finished in 1828, can accommodate an¬
nually 1400 vessels ; and, being near the centre of the trad¬
ing establishments, are found of vast benefit. The East In¬
dia Docks are more than thirty acres; and near them is a
dock belonging to private individuals (Messrs Wigram and
Green), of nearly twenty acres, where the business of ship¬
building is carried on upon a scale which exceeds that of
most of the establishments of the governments of Europe.
The most remarkable edifices of this county are more
properly described under the articles London and West¬
minster in this work. Beyond the limits of these cities
may be noticed the- palaces of Hampton Court and Ken¬
sington ; the Hospital of Chelsea, for invalid soldiers ; the
Royal Military Asylum ; the bridges of Staines, Vauxhall,
and Waterloo ; Middlesex Hospital; St George’s Hospital;
Jews’ Hospital; and Harrow School. The number of other
erections, of a second and third order, are too numerous for
recapitulation.
The changes of property have been so rapid in this
county, and the taste for substituting fashionable novelty
in the room of venerable antiquity has been so prevalent,
that very few first-rate seats are to be found, but a vast
number of second and third-rate houses, which, if removed
from the vicinity of the metropolis, would attract consider¬
able notice. The most remarkable residences are, Bendy
Priory, Marquis of Abercorn; Bushy Park, the residence
of his present majesty when Duke of Clarence ; Caenwood,
Earl of Mansfield ; Chiswick House, Duke of Devonshire;
Fulham Palace, Bishop of London ; Holland House, Lord
Holland ; Littleton, Thomas Wood, Esq.; Osterley House,
Earl of Jersey; Sion House, Duke of Northumberland ;
Strawberry Hill, Countess of Waldegrave ; Wrotham Park,
George Bvng, Esq.; Harrow, Lord North wick ; and Sion
Hill, Duke of Marlborough.
(See Middleton’s View of the Agriculture of Middlesex;
and Brayley’s Beaidies of England and Wales.)
MID 61
Middlesex is also the name of four different counties Middlesex
in the United States of America, one of which is in Mas- 11
sachusetts, another in Connecticut, a third in New Jersey, Middle-
and the fourth in Virginia. * v >
MIDDLETON, Dr Conyers, a celebrated English
divine, was the son of a clergyman in Yorkshire, and born
at Richmond in 1683. He distinguished himself, whilst
fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, by his controversy
with his master Dr Bentley, relative to some mercenary
conduct of the latter in that station. He had afterwards
a controversy with the whole body of physicians upon the
dignity of the medical profession, concerning which he
published JJe medicorum apud veteres Romanos degentium,
conditione Dissertatio; qua, contra viros celeberrimos Jaco-
bum Sponium et Richardum Meadium, servilem atque igno-
bilem earn fuisse ostenditur. In the course of this dispute
much resentment was manifested, and many pamphlets ap¬
peared. Hitherto he had stood well with his clerical bre¬
thren ; but in 1729 he drew upon himself the resentment
of the church, by writing a Letter from Rome, showing an
exact conformity between Popery and Paganism ; as this
letter, although politely written, yet attacked Catholic mi¬
racles with a gaiety which appeared dangerous to the
cause of miracles in general. Nor were his Objections to
Dr Waterland’s manner of vindicating Scripture against
Tindal’s Christianity qs old as the Creation, looked upon
in a more favourable point of view. In 1741 appeared his
great work, entitled History of the Life of M. Tullius Ci¬
cero, in two vols. 4to, which is indeed a fine performance,
and will probably be read as long as taste and polite lite¬
rature subsist amongst us. In 17’48 he published a Free
Inquiry into the Miraculous Powers which are supposed
to have subsisted in the Christian Church from the earliest
ages, through several successive centuries. He was now-
attacked from all quarters ; but before he took any notice
of his antagonists, he supplied them with another subject,
in an Examination of the Lord Bishop of London’s Dis¬
courses concerning the Use and Extent of Prophecy. Thus
Dr Middleton continued to display talents and learning,
which are highly esteemed by men of a free turn of mind,
but by no means in a method calculated to invite promo¬
tion in the clerical profession. In 1723 he was chosen prin¬
cipal librarian of the public library at Cambridge ; and if he
rose not to a high station in the church, he was at least in
easy circumstances, which permitted him to assert a dig¬
nity of mind that is often forgotten in the career of pre¬
ferment. He was one of the best writers of his age; and
he displays a degree of skill and beauty in the structure of
his long sentences, which has but rarely been equalled.
He died in 1750, at Hildersham, in Cambridgeshire, an
estate which he had purchased; and in 1752, all his works,
except the life of Cicero, were collected in four vols.
4to. A second edition, in five vols. 8vo, was published in
1755.
Middleton, Sir Charles, Island, one of the Fejee Islands,
in the South Pacific Ocean. It is fertile, and situated in
long. 181. W. lat. 17. 2. S.
Middleton Cheyney, a town of the county of Nor¬
thampton, in the hundred of King’s Sutton, seventy miles
from London. It is situated in a fertile district on the
borders of Oxfordshire, and contained a population in
1801 of 1153, in 1811 of 1172, in 1821 of 1398, and in
1831 of 1415 persons.
MIDDLEWICH, a town of the county of Chester, in
the hundred of Northwich, 166 miles from London. It is
situated between the rivers Wheeloch and Dane, which
unite below the town and fall into the Wever; and it has also
a canal communication with the Mersey at Runcorn. It
has celebrated brine springs of great strength, from which
abundance of culinary salt is made, and conveyed with fa¬
cility to Liverpool. Of late years a branch of the cotton
62 M I D
Midhurst manufacture has been established here. The market is held
II on Tuesday. The population of the town amounted in 1801
Midwifery. t0 1190j in ]8U t0 1232, in 1821 to 1212, and in 1831 to
1325; but the whole parish, at the last census, contained
4782 inhabitants.
MIDHURST, a town of the county of Sussex, in the
hundred of Westbourne and rape of Chichester, fifty-one
miles from London. It is situated on the river Arun, and
adjoining to it is the magnificent park of the Lords Mon¬
tague, and the remains of the fine mansion, Cowany House.
It is an ancient borough, and returned two members to
parliament; but one has been taken from it by the reform
act. The population amounted in 1801 to 1073, in 1811
to 1256, in 1821 to 1335, and in 1831 to 1478. There is
a market on Thursday.
MIDIAN, or Madian, in Ancient Geography, a town
on the south side of Arabia Petraea, which was so called
from one of the sons of Abraham by Keturah.
MIDNAPOOR, a district of Bengal, in the province of
Orissa, containing an area of 6102 square Iniles, and about
a million and a half of inhabitants. The bulk of the people
are Hindus, but there is a greater proportion of Mahom-
medans than in most other parts of India. Two thirds of
this extensive district consists of a jungle swarming with
noxious animals, and exceedingly unhealthy, although the
land is rich and fertile. This district was formerly ceded
to the East India Company in 1761. Having been long
the scene of warfare between the Afghans, Moguls, and
Mahrattas, it contains a great number of small forts, which
serve as a refuge for robbers, from which they frequently
annoy the inhabitants. The country produces abundance
of grain, sugar, tobacco, cotton, and indigo. Its principal
towns are Midnapore, Jellasore, Piply, and Narraingur.
Midnapore, the capital, formerly possessed a fort, which
has been converted into a criminal prison. It is seventy
miles west by south from Calcutta. Long. 87. 25. E. Lat.
22. 25. N.
MIDSHIP-Frame, a name given to that timber, or
combination of pieces formed into one timber, which de¬
termines the extreme breadth of the ship, as well as the
figure and dimensions of all the inferior timbers.
MIDSHIPMAN, a sort of naval cadet, appointed to se¬
cond the orders of the superior officers, and to assist in the
necessary business of the vessel, either on board or on
shore.
MIDWIFERY, the art of assisting women in parturi¬
tion. In a more extended sense, it is understood to com¬
prehend also the treatment ot the diseases of women and
children. It is obvious that the obstetrical art must have
been almost coeval with mankind; but in Europe it conti¬
nued in a very rude state till the seventeenth century ; and
even after physic and surgery had become distinct profes¬
sions, it remained almost totally uncultivated.
It is a curious fact, that in China the very reverse of this
has taken place. In that empire, both physic and surgery
are still in a state of degradation ; but for some hundreds of
years, the art of midwifery has, it is said, been practised
by a set of men destined to the purpose by order of
government. These persons, who hold in society the same
rank which lithotomists formerly did in this country, are
called in whenever a woman has been above a specified
number of hours in labour, and employ a mechanical con¬
trivance for completing the delivery without injury to the
infant. A proportional number of such individuals is al¬
lotted to each district containing a certain population. It is
said, that the Chinese government was led to make this
provision for alleviating the sufferings of women in child¬
birth, in consequence of a representation, that annually
many women died undelivered ; and that in the majority of
cases the cause of obstruction might have been removed
by very simple mechanical expedients.
M I D
Both Sir George Staunton and Mr Barrow were igno- Midwifer
rant of this fact; and the latter in particular expressly II
mentions that there are no men-midwives in China; but Mieza.
we have learned the facts above stated from a gentleman
who resided upwards of twenty years as surgeon to the
British factory at Canton, and who had both the ability
and the inclination to make himself acquainted, during the
course of so long a residence, with all the customs and pre¬
judices of the natives relating to the preservation of human
life and health.
Towards the end of the seventeenth century, the same
causes which had so long before led to the cultivation of
midwifery in China produced the same effect in Europe.
The dangers to which women are sometimes exposed dur¬
ing labour excited the compassion of the benevolent; and
hence a considerable part of the first hospital which was esta¬
blished for the reception of the indigent sick, the Hotel
Dieu of Paris, was appropriated to lying-in women. The
opportunities of practice which that hospital afforded, di¬
rected the attention of medical men to the numerous acci¬
dents which happen during labour, and to the various dis¬
eases which occur after delivery. Public teaching follow¬
ed, and soon afterwards began the custom of employing
men in the practice of midwifery. From this period the
art rapidly improved ; and it is now in many parts of Eu¬
rope, particularly in Great Britain, in as great a state of
perfection as physic or surgery. There can be no doubt
that the improvement of the art of midwifery chiefly arose
from medical men directing their attention to the subject;
but the propriety of men being employed in such a profes¬
sion has been much questioned by many individuals of
considerable respectability. It appears, indeed, that this
question may be brought within a very narrow compass. It
may be assumed as a fact established beyond the reach of
controversy, that sometimes dangers and difficulties occur
during labour, which can be lessened or removed by those
only who have an intimate knowledge of the structure of
the human body and of the practice of physic. On such
occasions, it must be admitted, that medical men alone may
be useful. But as such labours occur only in the proportion
of two or three in the hundred, the general practice might
be confided to midwives, if they could be taught to manage
ordinary cases, and to foresee and distinguish difficulties
or dangers, so as to procure in sufficient time additional as¬
sistance. It is on this point that the decision of the ques¬
tion must depend, and there can be no doubt that women
may be taught all this. But there are many who allege,
that, a little knowledge being a dangerous thing, midwives ac¬
quire a sell-sufficiency which renders them averse to calling
in superior assistance; and that, in consequence, they often
occasion the most deplorable accidents both to the mother
and the child. In England this is the popular opinion,
and hence women are there almost entirely excluded from
the practice of midwifery. A similar prejudice against
midwives has, it is believed, begun in some parts of Scot¬
land ; but it is presumed this will gradually cease, when it
is considered that, in general, the Scotch midwives are re¬
gularly instructed, and are at the same time both virtuous
and industrious. It they attend strictly to their duty, and
invariably prefer the safety of their patients to their own
eehngs or supposed interest, they will deservedly retain
tue public confidence. But if in cases of difficulty or dan¬
ger they trust to their own exertions, or from interested
motives decline the assistance of able practitioners, and if
trey interfere in the treatment of the diseases of women
and children, they will in a few years be entirely excluded
trom practice. For details connected with the practice of
mi wi ery, we refer to the professional works which treat
°. J'le su and which are too well known to require spe¬
cification. ’ r
MIEZA, in Ancient Geography, a town of Macedonia,
M I L
1
M I L
IliVlieza situated near Stagira, and in the olden time called Stry-
II monium. Plutarch informs us, that in this place were
Milan, the stone seats and shady walks of Aristotle.
MIGDOL, or Magdol, in Ancient Geography, a place
in Lower Egypt, between Pihahiroth and the Red Sea.
The term denotes a tower or fortress. It is probably, the
Magdolum of Herodotus; at least the Septuagint render
it by the same name.
MIGRATION, the passage or removal of a thing out
of one place into another. For the migration of birds, See
Ornithology.
MIGUEL, St, or St Michael, one of the Azore Islands,
situated in long. 25. 45. W. lat. 38. 10. N. See Azores.
MIHEL, a town of the department of the Meuse, and
arrondissement of Bar-le-Duc, in France, on the right bank
of the Meuse, containing 5250 inhabitants, who produce
very good wine.
MIKH AILOW, a circle of the Russian province of Ria-
san, extending from east longitude 38. 24. to 39. 4. and from
north latitude 53. 52. to 54. 29. It is very productive in
corn, hemp, flax, and cattle. The capital is the city of the
same name situated on the river Prona, and containing 408
houses and 2300 inhabitants. Long. 38. 42. E. Lat. 54.
12. N.
MILAN, called by the Italians Milano, and by the Ger¬
mans Mailand or Mayland, is one of the governments into
which the Austrian kingdom of Lombardy is divided. It
was known as the duchy of Milan, till it came under the
dominion of the imperial family of Austria. In the article
Italy of this work, the history of the ancient realm of the
Longobards, with its kings of the iron crown, is noticed, as
well as the other remarkable events respecting this country;
and here we need only state the dates of the principal oc¬
currences under the independent dukedoms.
The first duke was Galleafco Visconti, who was install¬
ed in that dignity by the Emperor Wenzel in the year
1395; and it continued in his family till the male line be¬
came extinct in 1447. Erance made some urgent efforts
to obtain the authority, but these were of no avail, as Fran¬
cisco Sforza, who had married an illegitimate daughter of
the last Visconti, succeeded in gaining possession of the
supreme power in this beautiful country, and transmitted
it to his successors, who ruled till 1499. At that period
Louis XII. king of France, and Francis I. emperor of
Germany, laid claim to it. It was long the subject of con¬
tention between these two great powers, sometimes possess¬
ed by one, sometimes by the other, till after the decisive
battle of Pavia in 1525, by which the emperor became
master of Milan ; and, Ry the treaty of Madrid in 1556,
the possession of it was confirmed, when Francis granted
it to Maximilian Sforza, to be held as a fief of the Holy
Roman empire. The house of Sforza became extinct in
1535, upon which the Emperor Charles V. granted the
duchy to his son Philip the Second, king of Spain. It re¬
mained under the power of the heirs of that crown till the
war of the succession in 1706, when the events of that con¬
test placed it in the hands of the house of Austria; but,
by the treaty of Vienna in 1735, and by that of Worms in
1745, several portions of the country were delivered over
to the king of Sardinia. The French revolution occasion¬
ed a successful invasion and much fighting, which in 1796
produced the ephemeral Cisalpine republic, which was an¬
nihilated by the Austrians and Russians in 1799 ; but the
decisive battle of Marengo in 1801 gave the whole coun¬
try to Bonaparte, who soon erected his kingdom of Italy,
with the city of Milan as its capital and the residence of
his viceroy. The peace of Paris in 1814 restored it again
to the Austrian dominions, under which it has continued
to the present day.
Milan is at present divided into the following nine dele¬
gations.
63
Delegations.
Extent in
Square Miles.
Milan 
Brescia 
Cremona 
Mantua 
Bergamo 
Como 
Pavia 
Lodi, with Crema...
Sondrio 
1034
1254
484
594
1452
1450
528
748
1364
8906
Population.
483,103
335,157
182,559
255,307
205,042
356.015
153,242
204,042
86,947
2,261,414
Milan.
By a late return, it appears that the males under seven¬
teen years of age were 390,634, those between seventeen
and twenty-four 88,993, those betw-een twenty-four and
thirty-four 105,780, those between thirty-four and forty-
six 230,405, and those above forty-six were not classed, as
the account was taken for military purposes, from which
persons above that age are exempt.
The chief occupation of this body of inhabitants consists
in the cultivation of the soil. As that subject has been
discussed in what appears its most appropriate place in this
work under the head of Lombardy, our readers are re¬
ferred to that article. This government contains 462,700
families, who inhabit 279,160 houses, in fifteen cities,
ninety-seven market-towns, and 3217 villages. It is
bounded on the east by the government of Venice, on the
north by the Swiss cantons, on the west by the territory
of Sardinia, and on the south by Parma, Modena, and
Sardinia. The northern part is mountainous and sterile,
comprehending a portion of the Alps and extensive lakes ;
but the southern and much the larger part is level and
highly fertile, being watered by numerous streams issu¬
ing from the lakes, all of which, with their various tributary
rivulets, are finally emptied into the Po. There are abun¬
dance of canals connected with the rivers and with each
other, which are made use of both for the purposes of irri¬
gation and for the conveyance of goods ; but on these high¬
ly interesting topics we must refer the reader, as before,
to the general article Lombardy.
Milan, a city, the capital of the Austrian kingdom of
Lombardy, as well as of the delegation in which it stands.
Although it has suffered much by war, and by the politi¬
cal events of the last fifty y^ears, it is still the richest, and,
except Naples, the most populous city of Italy. It stands
on the river Olona, and, by means of the canal called Na-
viglio Grande, is connected with the river Ticino, and, by
the Martesana, with the river Adda, From this water in¬
tercourse, and from the excellence of the roads in all di¬
rections round the city, the markets are supplied with every
necessary in the most convenient and easy manner.
The city is nearly of a circular figure; it is walled, but
scarcely defensible against a decided attack; and it is pro¬
tected by a citadel containing six bastions. The whole
compass of the wall is 5900 fathoms, or nearly seven Eng¬
lish miles. The longest part, from the Porta Romana to
the Porta Sempione, is 1800 fathoms; and the broadest part,
from the Porta Ticenese to the Porta Orientale, is 1600 fa¬
thoms. The wall is furnished with eleven gates, some of
which are the most striking objects of the city, and merit
special notice. The most remarkable ol these is that at
the gate leading to 'licino, which resembles the entrance
to a Roman temple. It is built of granite, and consists of
colossal pillars of the Ionic order, with an appropriate pe¬
ristyle ; and in connection with it is the fine bridge over the
Naviglio Grande. The Area della Pace, or del Sempione,
Bonaparte had formed the design of erecting as a trium-
64 M I L
Milan, phal arch to celebrate his conquest and dominion over
Italy. It was not finished at the fall of Napoleon in 1813,
but was completed by the Emperor of Austria in 1816, and a
name given to it intended to commemorate the return of
peace. The pillars, of six feet in circumference and forty
feet in height, formed out of a single block of marble, are
its most distinguishing ornaments. The arch resting on
them, of a breadth nearly equal to that of Constantine, is
ornamented with a car of bronze, to which six horses are
harnessed, and in which the goddess of victory is seated.
The whole building is of white marble, with the various
figures and bas-reliefs of bronze.
The streets of this city are generally narrow and crook¬
ed, and rather gloomy from the height of the buildings.
One of the streets, the Corso, or High Street, is an ex¬
ception ; it runs through the whole city, is nearly two miles
and a half in length, is of great breadth, and on both sides
has magnificent and lofty houses. In the whole city the
pavement is far better than is usually seen in towns on the
Continent. It is composed of small pieces of marble or of
granite, and in the middle, where the carriages pass, there
are in the narrow streets two, and in the broad streets four,
rows of flat granite laid dowm, on which the wheels run ; and
for foot passengers there is a similar pavement close to the
houses. The streets are kept clean, which is owing to a
branch of industry exercised by the poorest people, who
collect in baskets whatever filth can be converted into ma¬
nure, and carry it out of the gates, where it alwrays finds
ready purchasers.
There are in Milan few piazzas or squares, and none
either large, fine, or even regular. The Piazza di Duomo is
long, but narrow and disfigured by the booth-like shops and
buildings that surround it. The Piazza di Mercante has
in its centre a portico where the traders assemble, but it
is small. The Piazza Fontana has a fine fountain, with two
excellent figures in marble. The Piazza d’Armi, formerly
the Foro Bonaparte, is the best promenade in Milan. It is
used as an exercising place for the garrison, stands near
the citadel, and on Sundays and holidays is much frequent¬
ed by the more fashionable part of the inhabitants. It is
planted with tx-ees, and is about 600 yards long and 540
broad.
Amongst the public buildings in Milan, the churches are
the most remarkable; the first of which, the Duomo or ca¬
thedral, is the most remarkable. Next to St Peter’s at
Rome, it is the largest church in Italy. It is 480 feet in
length, 285 feet in breadth ; the height of the cupola is
240 feet, and of the highest pinnacle 352 feet. This vast
edifice, dedicated to St Charles, was commenced so long
ago as the year 1386. The various turns of fate that have
attended the city have had their influence in retarding or
furthering the progress of the work. Under Napoleon,
large sums were drawn from the public revenue and ap¬
plied to this structure; and since the restoration of the
Austrian government, the Emperor of Austria has direct¬
ed 12,000 francs, or about L.500, to be paid monthly till
the completion of the edifice. It is now finished, except
the placing of a number of statues, for which vacant places
are left, and some few ornaments which wait the finishing
touch of the artists. The outside of the church, which is
wholly of white marble, and which in several places, from
the weather, had become black, has been well rubbed, and
now appears quite as white as the newer parts.
It is to be regi-etted that there is no place from which
a good point of view of this cathedral can be obtained. On
three sides it is built up by narrow streets, and only the
majestic front with its five colossal entrances can be seen
from the Piazza di Duomo.
The whole building is in the Gothic style, but it has been
frequently departed from, which is considered by the cri¬
tics as its greatest,, or, indeed, its only fault. A vast col-
M I L
lection of figures from the hands of the most eminent sta¬
tuaries, to the number of more than 5000, are placed upon
the walls, upon the Gothic turrets, and upon the pinnacles.
They are images of various saints, all as large as life. Rich¬
ly-ornamented galleries, with finely-carved volutes and
roses, extend from one tower to the other. The roof is a
surprising work, which is reached by a winding staircase of
two hundred steps, from which the labyrinth of pillars sur¬
rounding the spectator haS a most singular effect. In the
centre of the roof rises the majestic dome, on which is
placed a bronze statue of the Virgin Mary.
The church has five entrances, which lead to that num¬
ber of divisions, pointed out by fifty-two octagonal marble
pillars, eighty-six feet in height, which are bound together
at the top by Gothic arches. The altars are numerous and
richly ornamented, and on the floor a meridian line was in¬
serted in 1786. The floor is composed of pieces of marble
of different colours, by which various ornamental figures
are formed. The first entrance to this edifice is most im¬
posing and exciting. The panorama from the top is very
gratifying, exhibiting near to it the whole circuit of the
city; the verdant fields in contact with it on the south side;
the rich plain of Lombardy, extending to the river Po, and
terminating with the Apennines, studded with towns, vil¬
lages, and hamlets, intermingled with vineyards and woods
of mulberry trees; whilst on the north the same kind of pros¬
pect is bounded by the Alps, having Monte Rosa in front,
with ranges of mountains rising one above the other, the
most distant rearing their tops into the region of eternal
snow. I he other ecclesiastical edifices are numerous,
being stated to be no less than seventy-nine, most of them
of great interest; but our space will admit of noticing but
a few of the most remarkable. The imperial collegiate
church of St Ambrosio is distinguished by its antiquity; and
the most costly ornaments, and numerous objects of art, are
to be seen within it. It is a kind of museum for the his-
toi'y of the arts, and is also the church iix which the kings
of Lombardy of the iron crown were consecrated. The
church of St Alessandro contains valuable treasux-es in
paintings chiefly in fresco, and sumptuous statuary; whilst
the capitals of the pillars that support it are of bi*onze. The
churcn of St Nazax*o is one of the finest and largest in the
city, and is adorned with some of those best paintings, both
in oil and in fresco, which have immortalised the master’s
of the Italian school. St Sebastian’s is worthy of notice
from its architectui’e in the rotunda form. It was formerly
a Roman temple, and still displays many specimens of its
antiquity. It is said to have been one of the three churches
which Barbarossa spared from Ifis general devastation.
Ihe church of St Fidele unites simplicity with great ex¬
tent, but its facade is yet unfinishid. The St Maria Mag-
giore contains many vei’y fine ancient paintings, and the
monument of St Bernhardin. The celebrated fresco paint¬
ing of the Last Supper, by Leonai’do da Vinci, remains in
what was formerly the refectory of the Dominican con¬
vent, but is now used as a magazine for hay and straw. It
has been much neglected, and the saltpetre, which has ex¬
tended itself over the wall on which it is painted, has de¬
stroyed the glow of the colours, and in many places the
paint has peeled off, whilst in others it is covered with
mould. Sevei'al amongst the civil buildings are deserving
of notice. Ihe x’oyal palace, though its exterior makes but
little impression, is the residence of the vicei’oy. It is called
the Villa, and contains a magnificent apartment, in which
stands .the tin-one. It contains many curiosities, and
amongst the rest the fresco paintings of Appiani. The pa¬
lace of the archbishop is a fine piece of architecture, and
contains an admii’able collection of paintings The Palace
Marini, now used as an office for the public accounts, is con¬
sidered as the most perfect, as it is one of the largest, build¬
ings in Milan. Besides these edifices, the mint, in which
M I L
iMilan. is a fine statue of Philip II. of Spain, the Villa Belgioso,
the palaces of the families of Serbelloni, of Cicogna, of
Litta, of Melzi, of Andreani, of Borromeo, and of numer¬
ous others, are of great extent, as well as of various kinds
of architecture, and produce much interest amid the ge¬
neral aspect of the city.
Of modern buildings, the barracks, erected under the
viceroyship of Eugene Beauharnois, are the largest, the
most handsome, and the most convenient, of any pile of the
kind in Europe.
The establishments and the erections devoted to the
sciences, to literature, and to the fine arts, are the most
distinguishing objects on which the Milanese can pride
themselves. Above all others is the Brera, formerly the col¬
lege of the Jesuits, and before them of a bi'otherhood called
Umiliati; at present it is connected with the university
of Pavia. The interior square of the building is surround¬
ed with colonnades, on the ground floor composed of Doric,
and on the upper floor with Ionic pillars, forming open
halls. The tower of this edifice is employed as an astrono¬
mical observatory, and the garden is made use of for the
purpose of botany. The ground floor is adapted for lecture-
rooms, and the upper floor contains a library of more than
100,000 volumes and numerous valuable manuscripts. Ad¬
joining to it is the picture-gallery, containing many excellent
productions, especially some most valuable fresco paintings,
which have been preserved and removed from the churches
and monasteries in and around the city. On the upper
story are apartments, wherein is a collection of numerous
casts of ancient and modern sculpture in plaster of Paris,
and also one of coins and medals.
The next in celebrity of the libraries in Milan is the
Ambrosian, founded by Cardinal Borromeo. It consists of
60,000 volumes of books, and 15,000 of manuscripts, now
bound so as to form only 6000 volumes. With this, in
some other apartments, are connected collections of pic¬
tures and of statuary, both of great merit. Besides these
public establishments, there are many collections of old
and valuable works in the libraries Fagnani, Melzi, Reina,
Litta, Archinto, and Trivulzi.
In this large city, where the destitute, the aged, and the
infirm, are very numerous, the institutions for their relief
are upon a commensurate scale. The Ospitale Moggiore
is a prodigious range of building, with a beautiful front,
entered by magnificent portals of 450 feet in length. The
usual number of patients contained in it is from 3700 to
4000. With this is connected the foundling hospital, in
which 1100 children are maintained within the walls, and
about 2900 are sent to board in the villages around the
city. There is also a large lying-in-hospital; a lunatic
asylum, in which are kept generally 420 insane persons ;
the lazaretto, containing many small houses without the
gates, as a precaution against the plague ; the Trivulzi,
which contains 480 poor of both sexes, above seventy years
of age, who are maintained by property bequeathed to it
by the noble family of that name ; an orphan-house, which
supports 350 young persons, and several smaller institu¬
tions. Besides these, the monks and the nuns of the order
of mercy have each their benevolent establishments.
Ihe places of amusement are not numerous, though upon
a large scale. The opera-house, Della Scala, is one of the
most extensive theatres of Europe. It was built in 1776,
on the site of an ancient church of that name. It contains
240 boxes in six tiers, one above the other, and has seats
for 800 persons in the pit, besides standing room in the
centre and both sides of it, so that it is calculated to con¬
tain 7000 spectators. The performers, both in music and
dancing, are of the very first class during the fashionable
season. There is also another, the imperial theatre, or
Canobbianca, and four or five small private theatres.
The city, including the suburbs and the garrison, con-
vol. xv.
MIL 65
tains 163,000 inhabitants. The chief wholesale trade con- Milazzo
sists in silk, either raw or spun, and in cheese; for the J{
particulars of which see the article Lombardy in thisv lieto'.
work. The retail trade is much divided, and consists
in that usually carried on in large cities, which it dispen¬
ses to the towns and the villages around it for domes¬
tic use. As Milan is a kind of metropolis to the north of
Italy, and resorted to in the winter by the rich, at that time
of the year the tradesmen are in full occupation ; but at
other seasons they have little occupation, except what
arises from the foreign visitors.
The city, by observation taken at the cathedral, is in
long. 9. 5. 45. E. and lat. 45. 27. 35. N.
MILAZZO, a parliamentary city of the island of Si¬
cily, in the kingdom of Naples, on the sea-shore, near the
termination of Cape Blanco. It is fortified, and though
the situation is rather unhealthy, it contains a population
of 8000 persons, who are chiefly occupied in the tunny
fishery, and in the export of wine and oil.
MILBOURN-PORT, a town of the county of Somer¬
set, in the hundred of Horethorne, 117 miles from Lon¬
don. It stands on a branch of the river Parret, and is a
poor and scattered place, with small houses, chiefly built
for election purposes. It formerly returned two members
to the House of Commons, but has been disfranchised.
It has no market. The population amounted in 1801 to
953, in 1811 to 1000, in 1821 to 1440, and in 1831 to 2072.
MILDENHALL, a town of the county of Suffolk, in
the hundred of Lachford, seventy-one miles from London.
It is situated on a branch of the river Ouse, which is navi¬
gable for barges up to it, and is a source of its trade.
There is a well-supplied market, which is held on Friday’.
The population amounted in 1801 to 2283, in 1811 to
2493, in 1821 to 2974, and in 1831 to 3267.
MILDEW is said to be a kind of thick, clammy, sweet
juice, exhaled from, or falling upon, the leaves and blos¬
soms of plants. By its thickness and clamminess it pre¬
vents perspiration, and hinders the growth of the plant.
It sometimes rests upon the leaves of trees in the form of
a fatty juice, and sometimes upon the ears of corn. It is
naturally tough and viscous, and becomes still more so
by the sun’s heat exhaling its more fluid parts; by which
means the young ears of corn are so daubed over that
they never arrive at their full growth. Bearded wheat is
less subject to the mildew than the common sort; and it
is observed that newly-manured lands are more liable to
mildew than others. The best remedy is a smart shower
of rain, and immediately afterwards a brisk wind. If the
mildew be observed before the sun has attained power, it
has been recommended to send tw’o men into the field
with a long cord, each holding one end ; and drawing this
along the field over the ears, the dew will be dislodged
from them before the heat of the sun has been able to dry
it to the viscous state in which it does the mischief, or ra¬
ther, perhaps, to occasion that rapid evaporation which
produces a degree of cold sufficient to nip and chill the
ears, or, in other words, to affect them with mildew. Some
are of opinion that lands which have for many years been
subject to mildews have been cured of it. by sowing soot
along with the corn, or immediately after it is sown.
MILE, a measure of length or distance, containing eight
furlongs. The English statute mile is eighty chains, or
1760 yards, or 5280 feet. See Weights and Measures.
MILETO, a city, the Miletus of antiquity, of the king¬
dom of Naples, in the province of Calabria Ulteriore. It
stands on elevated ground, but is watered by three small
streams. It is the seat of a bishop. Lyr the earthquake
in 1783, the castle, the cathedral, a parish church, two
monasteries, and many dwellings, were thrown down, and
1700 lives were lost. It has been in some degree rebuilt
since.
i
66
M I L
•<£
M I L
Miletus
II
Milillo.
MILETUS, in Ancient Geography, a town of Crete,
mentioned by Homer, but the situation of which has not
been ascertained. It is said to have been the mother
town of Miletus in Caria, whither a colony was led by
Sarpedon, brother of Minos.
Miletus, in Ancient Geography, a celebrated town of
Asia Minor, situated on the confines of Ionia and Caria. It
was the capital city of Ionia, famous both for the arts of war
and peace, and situated about ten stadia south of the mouth
of the river Mseander, near to the sea coast. It was found¬
ed by a Cretan colony under Miletus the companion of
Bacchus, or by Neleus the son of Codrus, or by Sarpedon
a son of Jupiter. It has been successively called Lelegeis,
Pithyusa, and Anactoria. The inhabitants, called Milesii,
were very powerful, and long maintained an obstinate war
against the kings of Lydia. They early applied themselves
to navigation, and planted no less than eighty colonies, or,
according to Seneca, three hundred and eighty, in ditfer-
ent parts of the world. This was the only town which made
head against Alexander, and which was with much difficulty
taken. It gave birth to Thales, one of the seven wise men,
and the first who applied himself to the study of physical
science. It wras also the country of Anaximander, the
scholar and successor of Thales, the inventor of the gno¬
mon, and the first who published a geographical map; of
Anaximenes, thescholarand successorof Anaximander; and
also of other illustrious men. It was noted for its excel¬
lent wool, and was also celebrated for a temple and oracle
of Apollo Didymseus. It is called by the Turks Melas,
and not far distant from it flows the river Maeander. St
Paul proceeding from Corinth to Jerusalem passed by Mi¬
letus, and as he went by sea, and could not take Ephesus
in his way, he caused the bishops and priests of the church
of Ephesus to come to Miletus, which was about twelve
leagues distant.
MILFORD, a town of North America, in Sussex coun¬
ty, in the Delaware state, is situated at the source of a
small river, fifteen miles from Delaware Bay, and 150
southward of Philadelphia. This town, which contains
about eighty houses, has been built, excepting one house,
since the revolution. It is laid out with much taste, and
is by no means disagreeable. The inhabitants are Epis¬
copalians, Quakers, and Methodists.
Milford Haven, a township of Pembrokeshire, in South
Wales, in the parish of Harbrandstone, 257 miles from
London. The town is of recent origin, having been created
by the excellence of the haven, or rather bay, which, both
m regard to extent and security, is perhaps one of the
est in the south of the island. It has several creeks and
bays, is calculated to receive a thousand sail of vessels,
and is well fortified. It was the first place which com¬
menced the southern whale-fishery; and many ships of
wai have been built there, as well as smaller vessels. It
is the principal point of communication between the south
of England and of Ireland, by vessels
Waterford. The nearest town to the
ton.
daily departing for
Haven is Habers-
MILHAU, an arrondissement of the department of
Aveiron, in trance, 806 miles in extent. It consists of
nine cantons, divided into seventy-nine communes, and
contains ol,o00 inhabitants. The capital is the city of
the same name situated on the right bank of the Tarn
where the Dourbie falls into that stream. The surround¬
ing country abounds with fruit, especially almonds and
grapes. It contains 1230 houses, with 5750 inhabitants
who make gloves, hats, various kinds of leather, and some
porcelain. Long. 17. 1. E. Lat. 44. 10. N.
MiULLO, a city of the island of Sicily, in the king¬
dom of Naples, and province of No to, 140 miles from Pa¬
lermo. It stands on a mountain near the river Cantara,
and is a healthy place, with 4000 inhabitants.
MILITARY, something belonging to or connected with Militan,
the profession of a soldier. II
Military Discipline, the training of soldiers, and the ^ltarJ'
due enforcement of the laws and regulations instituted by i ate'
authority for securing obedience and repressing all disor¬
derly habits or tendencies. Next to the forming of troops,
military discipline is an object of the first importance. It
is the soul of all armies ; and, unless it be established with
great prudence, supported with unshaken resolution, and
enforced with rigour tempered by judgment, an army is
no better than an armed mob, and is more formidable to
the state that maintains it than dangerous to its declared
enemies.
Military Execution, the ravaging or destroying of a
country or town which refuses to pay the contributions im¬
posed upon them, or which has incurred that penalty from
any transgression of the usages of war.
Military State, in British polity, is one of the three
divisions of the laity. This state includes the whole of
the soldiery, or such persons as are peculiarly appointed
for the safeguard and defence of the realm.
In the time of the Anglo-Saxons, the military force of
England was in the hands of the dukes or heretochs, who
were constituted throughout every province and county in
the kingdom, being taken from the principal nobility, and
such as were most remarkable for being sapientes, Jideles,
et animosi. Their duty was to conduct and regulate the
English armies with unlimited power, pront eis visum fuerit,
ad honorem cor once et ad utditatem regia. And because of
this great power, they were elected by the people in full as¬
sembly, that is, by folkmote, in the same manner as sheriffs
were elected ; according to the fundamental maxim of the
Saxon constitution, that where any officer was to be intrust¬
ed with such power as, if abused, might tend to the oppres¬
sion of the people, that power should be delegated to him by
the vote of the people themselves. The ancient Germans,
the ancestors of our Saxon forefathers, had also their
dukes, as well as kings; with an independent power over
the military, as the kings had over the civil state. The
dukes were elective, the kings hereditary ; reges ex nohili-
tate, duces ex virtute summit. In constituting their kings,
the family or blood royal was regarded; in choosing their
dukes or leaders, they had respect to warlike merit alone.
Caesar relates of their ancestors in his time, that whenever
they went to war, either offensively or defensively, they
elected leaders to command them. This large share of
power, thus conferred by the people, though intended to
preserve the liberty of the subject, was perhaps unreason¬
ably detrimental to the prerogative of the crown. Accord-
ingly we find that, in the reign of King Edmund Ironside,
a very bad use was made of it by Edric, duke of Mercia,
who, by his office of duke or heretoch, was entitled to a
large command in the king’s army, and by his repeated
treachery at last transferred the crown to Canute the Dane.
It seems to be universally agreed by all historians, that
Alfred first settled a national militia in this kingdom, and
by his prudent discipline made all the subjects of his do¬
minions soldiers. But wTe are unfortunately left in the
dark as to the particulars of this celebrated regulation ; al¬
though, from what has been observed, the dukes seem to
have been left in possession of a power so large and inde¬
pendent that, on the death of Edward the Confessor, it en¬
abled Duke Harold, though a stranger to the blood royal,
to ascend the throne of this kingdom, in prejudice of Edgar
Etheling, the rightful heir.
Upon the Norman conquest, the feudal law, in all its
ngour, was introduced into this country, the whole of
t lat system being built on a military plan. Hence all
t ie lands in the kingdom were divided into what were
called knights fees, in number above sixty thousand ; and
or every knight s fee, a knight or soldier, miles, was bound
I’f
MIL
iilitary to attend the king in his wars for forty days annually ; in
iLaw. which time, before war was reduced to a science, the cam-
•'-y'""*'' paign was generally finished, and a kingdom either con¬
quered or victorious. By this means the king had, with¬
out any expense, an army of sixty thousand men always
ready at his command. Accordingly we find one amongst
the laws of William the Conqueror, which commands and
enjoins the personal attendance of all knights and others,
quod habeant et teneant se semper in armis et equis, ut decet
et oportet; et quod semper sint prompti et parati ad servitium
swum integrum nobis explendum et peragendwn, cum opus
adfuerit, secundum quod debent de feodis et tenementis suis
de jure nobis facere. This personal service in process of
time degenerated into pecuniary commutations or aids ;
and at last the military part of the feudal system was at
the Restoration abolished, by statute 12 Car. II. c. 24.
Military or Martial Laav, is that branch of the
laws of war which respects military discipline, or the go¬
vernment and control of persons employed in the opera¬
tions or for the purposes of war. Military law is not exclu¬
sive of the common law ; for a man, by becoming*a soldier,
does not cease to be a citizen or a member of the com¬
monwealth. He is a citizen still, capable of performing the
duties of a subject, and answerable in the ordinary course
of law for his conduct in that capacity. Martial law is,
therefore, a system of rule superadded to the common
law, for regulating the citizen in his additional character
of soldier; a temporary character assumed for a special
end, and to be laid aside when that end has been attained,
and when the disturbance which gave occasion to it has
subsided. For, as the law knows nothing of a mere sol¬
dier, or one bred up to no other profession than that of
arms, so a perpetual standing army is against the princi¬
ples of the constitution, and, if without consent of parlia¬
ment, is clearly against law.
Throughout all Europe, in the feudal times, property
was commonly held upon condition of military service ;
and the possessors of land were, by virtue of their right,
at once its cultivators in peace and its defenders in war.
But the fetters of land under the feudal system were in¬
compatible with a state of commerce, and the arbitrary
power of lords over their vassals was adverse to civil liber¬
ty ; its strictness declined; the services of tenants were
commuted for money, and with money were purchased the
services of mercenaries, who were ready to make war a
trade. The disorders incident to the disbanding of these
troops, the changes which had taken place in the mode
of warfare, and the necessity of attending to the balance
of power in Europe, all concurred to suggest the idea of
a disciplined standing army, which was formed first in
France, and then in the other states of Europe. The
military despotism, however, which ensued on the Conti¬
nent was in this country happily prevented by the spirit
of a free people ; and at the Revolution it was asserted
and declared, that the raising or keeping up a standing army
within the kingdom, in time of peace, without consent of
parliament, is contrary to law. The expediency of a stand¬
ing army is admitted, and at the same time the liberties
of the people are maintained. A standing army therefore
exists, but primarily for the benefit, because only with the
consent, of the people.
In early times the king’s justiciar was caput legis et mi-
litice ; at the head not only of the law, but also of the mi¬
litary force of the kingdom. But in England, on the di¬
vision of the aula regis, the constable and marischal pre¬
sided over a court of chivalry for the determination of mat¬
ters of honour and arms. From time to time, however,
other tribunals were subsequently instituted for the admi¬
nistration of martial law; and at length, after the Revolu¬
tion, when, in addition to the militia and other local troops
of the kingdom, a regular standing army was judged ne-
MIL . 67
cessary for the safety of the realm, the defence of the pos- Militello
sessions of the crown, and the preservation of the balance II
of power in Europe, acts were passed for the maintenance Militia,
of military order and discipline. Scotland differed from1^ v
England in this respect, that there was here no distribu¬
tion of the powers of the lord justiciar, such as took place
in England, nor was there ever any court of chivalry. In
other respects the two countries were, in as far as concerns
martial law, very much alike.
I he first of the military acts which passed after the Re¬
volution was occasioned by a mutiny in a body of English
and Scotch troops (amongst whom were the regiment of"
dragoons now called the Scotch Greys, and the royal Scotch
regiment of foot), on being ordered to Flolland to replace
some of the troops of that country which King William
had brought over with him. The circumstance was com¬
municated to parliament, and on the 3d April 1689 an act
was passed for punishing mutiny, desertion, &c. It autho¬
rized the king to grant commissions to certain officers to
hold courts martial, for the trial of crimes committed by
officers and soldiers ; and this act, which has been renewed
from time to time, has since the Union been extended to
Scotland.
An act of the same nature w'as passed in the parliament
of England, 13 Cha. II. stat. i. c. 9, authorizing the lord
high admiral to grant commission to inferior vice-admirals,
&c. to assemble courts-martial for the trial of offences com¬
mitted at sea by officers, marines, or others in the king’s
naval service. But this statute was in many points altered
by subsequent enactments, till at last all the laws relating
to courts-martial for the sea service were reduced into
one act, applying equally to the whole united kingdom,
namely, 22 Geo. II. c. 33, explained and amended by 19
Geo. III. c. 17.
The more recent statutes for the government of the
forces, naval and military, are 1 Will. IV. c. 14, 15 ; 2 and
3 Will. IV. c. 23, 28; 3 and 4 Will. IV. c. 5, 6 ; 4 and 5
Will. IV. c. 4, 5, &c. To detail the provisions of these
acts would extend this article beyond the limits allowed to
it; and it is not necessary to do so, as the acts themselves,
which are very full and explicit, must be in the possession
of those interested in them. We shall only observe, that
the judgments of courts-martial, like those of other courts,
are liable to be taken cognizance of in the superior courts
of common law, and the members punished for illegal pro¬
ceedings, and for all wilful and corrupt abuse of authority
against the known, obvious, and common principles of
justice.
(See Tytler on Courts-Martial; Adye on Courts-Mar¬
tial; and M‘Arthur on Courts-Martial.) u. u. u.
Military Tenures. See Feojdal System, and Knight.
MILITELLO, a city of the island of Sicily, in the king¬
dom of Naples and province of Noto, 120 miles from Pa¬
lermo. It is moderately healthy, being situated on a rocky
mountain, and contains 8000 inhabitants. Near to it are
some valuable salt lagunes.
MILITIA, from the Latin miles, a soldier, in its original
signification, means warfare, the qualification of soldier¬
ship, or the military body. In this last signification it be¬
came incorporated with the English language. It is now
used to distinguish, from the regular forces, the body of
citizens who may be annually called out for a limited time,
and embodied on occasions of emergency. As the system
out of which the present militia has arisen existed previ¬
ously to the establishment of a mercenary army, and fre¬
quently constituted the sole military organization of its
time, a historical sketch of the institution will involve to
a certain extent a general view of the military state of
Britain during the earlier periods of our history.
Any account of the military system of the Saxons, es¬
pecially when we approach the era of the Norman conquest,
68
MILITIA.
Militia.
becomes involved in the great question as to the extent to
^ which feudal practices had been adopted in England pre¬
vious to that event. It has, however, been distinctly ascer¬
tained, that land, amongst the Anglo-Saxons, became not
only the reward of military services performed, but the
stipulated wages of their continuation. Thus there came
to be a connection between the performance of services to
a chief and the holding land under him, the soldier or thane
possessing the land on the condition of performing military
duties, but not, as by the mature usages of the feudal sys¬
tem, rendering the service as an incident of the tenure of
the land. The grants so made were generally for a con¬
tingent period, and were revocable from a vassal unfit to
perform his military engagements ; and we find amongst
them a species of transaction so complicated as grants to
churchmen, on the condition of their making provision for
the performance of the military duties they were person¬
ally disqualified from undertaking.1 The oath of the vas¬
sal was personal and conditional, and had no reference to
the land as a bond of union.2 It was the duty of the su¬
perior to protect his follower, and when he ceased to do so,
the vassal was relieved from obedience ; but desertion was
viewed as a crime of great magnitude. Those freemen
who had not undertaken to perform military service in re¬
turn for lands were entitled, like the clients of the Romans,
to select their own “ Hlafords” or patrons but this class of
followers seems to have gradually decreased towards the
era of the conquest, when it would appear from Domesday-
book that all land was, or was presumed to be, held of a su¬
perior. It was perhaps for the furtherance of such a prin¬
ciple, without the invasion of existing free rights in pro¬
perty, that an exception sometimes appears in favour of the
tenant: “ Et poterat ire cum ea (terra) ad quem vellet Do-
minum intimating that he might hold his land of whatso¬
ever lord he chose.
_ Whatever right the patron may have had to the exclu¬
sive military services of his dependent, it undoubtedly
yielded to the claim of the state to the assistance of every
freeman in cases of invasion or rebellion. It is probable
that when the national force, denominated the ftyrd, was
brought into existence, the right of patronage gave the
superior no further power than that of leading his depend¬
ents when they joined the general host. The approach to
any decision on this point is impeded by many difficulties,
arising from the incongruities in the practice of different
periods and of different parts of the country, and the ab¬
sence of any contemporary treatise explanatory of the ge¬
neral rules and the reason of the apparent exceptions. It
is thus that on some occasions the right of the Hlaford to
command his followers is spoken of without any reference
to the paramount claims of the public, whilst elsewhere we
find the community arrayed by command of the sovereign,
without reference to the circumstance that two distinct
classes are to appear in the field, in the respective posi¬
tion of patrons and vassals. “ From the earliest period ”
says Six Iiancis I algrave, “ to which our documents can
reach, we find the Fyrd appearing as a general armament
of the people, comprehending every rank, though under
different obhgations and penalties. If the Sithcund-man,
being a landholder, remained at home, he forfeited all his
land; sixty shillings was his fine ; whilst thirty shillings
was the Fyrdunte of the churl, and to the last it continued
a levy of all the population of the countrv.”3 Sir William
Blacks tone and others include the national militia amongst
the improvements attributed to the inventive genius of the
great Alfred. The Fyrd, however, is of earlier origin. In
the laws attributed to Edward the Confessor, the authenti¬
city of which is justly doubted, though they are certainly the
work of some one well acquainted with the Anglo-Saxon
constitution, there are regulations for the organization and
discipline of the Fyrd, probably embodying those improve¬
ments of Alfred which procured him the credit of having
planned the system. These regulations adapt the arms to
be provided by each freeman to a scale of wealth ; forbid
their being sold or pledged under penalties; provide for their
descending to heirs; and appoint annual exhibitions, which,
in order to baffle attempts to display the same weapons in
different districts, were to take place simultaneously all
over the country.4 The command w?as given to district-
leaders called “ Heretochs,” who, it is stated, w ere, like the
vice-comites or sheriffs, elected by their respective districts
in full folkmote. Sir William Blackstone observes, that
the power thus vested in the people proved dangerous to
the community, by erecting a rival to the royal preroga¬
tive ; and he refers to this source of influence the treachery
of Eric Streone, and the usurpation of Harold. Whatever
the theory of the Anglo-Saxon constitution may have ad¬
mitted, how ever, it does not appear, from the history of the
period, that the voice of the people regularly influenced
the command of the natural force ; and undoubtedly, in the
instances cited, the power unduly used had been otherwise
obtained.
The Norman conquest did not produce so much effect,
by altering the system so established, as by bringing the
new engine of feudalism to act in concert with it. The
king was then the commander of two separate forces.
His feudal army was furnished by the tenants of his
knights’ fees, for each of which he could demand the ser¬
vice of one knight or of two esquires for forty days. These
were his personal followers during their period of service,
and were liable to be employed either at home or abroad.
But the absolute demand on his services was inconvenient
to the vassal, and the limitation of the period was often no
less so to the king. Hence those who were partial to the
occupation of war frequently remained with the army be¬
yond their assigned period for a stipulated remuneration,
whilst others got their services commuted into a money-
payment, which afterwards merged into the oppressive ex¬
action ol scutage. Whilst this new species offeree came
into operation, the Fyrd of the Saxons still remained in
existence. It afterwards w^as the source whence arose two
distinct institutions; the posse comitatus, liable to be called
out by the sheriff to keep the king’s peace ; and the militia
force of the present day.
In the celebrated “ assize of arms” of 1181, we find the
Fyrd of the Anglo-Saxons in its original purity. All free¬
men are appointed to have arms in their possession, ac¬
cording to a scale of ranks, which consists, first, of the
holders of a knights fee; secondly, of the possessors of
chattels or ren ts to the extent of sixteen merks ; thirdly, of
ihe holders of similar property to the value of ten merks;
and, lastly, of all other burgesses and freemen.5 The Fyrd,
with its periodical exhibitions of arms, was recognised as
late as the year 1285, when, by the statute of Winches¬
ter (13 Ed. I. st. 2, c. 6), the scale of arms assigned to
the respective ranks was revised. The part of the act
which enforces the keeping of arms was adjusted to the
progress of the art of war in 1558 (4 and 5 Ph. and M. c.
2), and finally abolished in 1604 (1 Jac. I. c. 25, sect. 46).
Meanwhile practices commenced which gave rise to much
subsequent dispute respecting the question, how far the
light of the monarch to demand the military assistance of
3 £ller' 011 Growth oftlufltoyal' Prerogative, aT 5 P4ro°fs an!, lUustrations,
- I*roofs and Illustrations, ul supra, ccclxviii. a ’ I ■ ^^wardi, apud
r ’ 5 Wilkins, 296.
eexx.
Wilkins, sect. 35.
MILITIA. 69
Idilitia. his subjects in such wars as he chose to prosecute, was re- like the last cited statute, an act of grace, having been pass- Militia.
•^v^^stricted. Many apparent anomalies in the constitution of ed for the protection of the persons nominated as com-'v-^y-^
this early period may be explained by reflecting that the An- missioners, who, according to the preamble, were liable to
glo-Saxon people continued to cherish certain privileges and many penalties and forfeitures in the performance of their
customs which the Norman monarchs were often unable assigned duties. It is worthy of note, as bearing on the
openly to abolish, whilst they were frequently powerful extent of the authority intended to be conferred by this
enough to infringe them. The annual array was an institu- act, that during the previous year (by 4 Hen. IV. c. 13)
tion with which they naturally tampered, finding it their in- the enactments above referred to, checking the encroach-
terest to amalgamate it with their feudal prerogatives. On ments of the royal authority, were all jealously confirmed ;
the other hand, there were no definite limits to the prero- the holders of lands in Wales find of military fiefs, and
gative, which insinuated itself wherever it was not prac- persons who had bound themselves by contract to per-
tically checked. Accordingly we find parliament avoid- form military services, being specially excepted. During
ing for some time any distinct recognition of the prero- the Tudor dynasty, the declaratory limitations attempted
gative of the crown, or the privileges of the subject, and by the old statutes were undoubtedly little respected by
acting on the defensive against the former. Thus, by the crown, and forced levies were made on many occa-
statute 1 Ed. III. c. 5, “ The king wills, that no man from sions, when the necessities contemplated by the acts could
henceforth shall be charged to arm himself, otherwise than be brought forward as a nominal justification, without
he was wont in the times of his progenitors kings of Eng- being minutely questioned. A statute of the year 1558
land; and that no man be compelled to go out of his shire (4 and 5 Phil, and M. c. 3) appears at first sight to give
but where necessity requireth, and sudden coming of full sanction to the right of impressment; but an observa-
strange enemies into the realm; and that it shall be done tion of the circumstances in which the act was to be en-
as hath been used in times past for the defence of the forced, and reference to a previous act which it professed
realm.” The seventh chapter of the same statute gives to amend, show that it was intended for the discipline of
redress on complaints that commissioners appointed to raise those who had become soldiers, and to prevent their de¬
soldiers had been chargeable to the shires; and by the in- sertion. During the long parliament, by an act granting
structions to the sheriffs in the 10th Ed. III. stat. ii. money the temporary power of impressing as many men as the
so exacted is directed to be returned. More decided at- king and both houses of parliament might appoint (16 Car.
tempts to amalgamate the assize of arms with the feudal I. c. 28), the limitations were again confirmed ; and it was
force appear to have been opposed in 1351, when by 25 declared, that by the law of the realm the subject ought
Ed. III. stat. v. c. 8, it was enacted that “ no man shall be not to be impressed or compelled to go beyond his county,
constrained to find men of arms, hobelers nor archers, &c. in the same terms as the statute of the first of Ed-
other than those who shall hold by such services, if it be ward III.
not by common assent and grant made in parliament.” Such was the state of matters when, in the celebrated
At an early period, the crown gradually enlarged its dispute between Charles I. and the parliament regarding
military authority, by issuing commissions of array. These the right to command the militia, it was maintained on
writs, which were at first probably mere authorities to In- the one hand that the preservation of the peace of the
dividuals to use the royal name and influence in collecting country, and its protection from foreign invaders, were
troops, came from practice to be viewed as emanating from the unalienable privileges of the crown, and involved the
the prerogative. In that anxiety to avoid collision with right to command all armies, and to demand on all occa-
the crown, which distinguishes many of the old acts of sions the military service of the lieges ; and, on the other,
parliament, they are frequently alluded to without being that such privileges existed in no individual without the
either sanctioned or condemned. A singular instance of consent of both houses of parliament; whilst it was urged,
apparently intentional ambiguity occurs in 1 Ed. III. stat. first in the form of an ordinance, and next in that of a bill,
ii. c. 15, which was avowedly passed for the relief of indi- that the king should consent to the militia being placed
viduals, who, at the suggestion of false and evil counsel- in the hands of commissioners named by parliament. Al-
lors,” had been prevailed on by “ duress” to come under though the statutes above referred to show that in mo-
burdensome obligatiorls to perform military duties. The ments of danger the king was so far the guardian of the
contracts are cancelled with a sort of oracular qualification, peace, that he was entitled to put himself at the head of
evidently inserted as the nominal price of a real conces- the persons bound to keep themselves in readiness for such
sion: “Considering that such writings were made to the occasions, and the practice had been undoubtedly still
king’s dishonour, sithens that every man is bound to do more favourable to the prerogative, neither an act of the
to the king as his liege lord all that pertaineth to him, legislature, nor any uninterrupted train of precedents, had
without any manner of writing.” In the fifth year of given the monarch the unlimited military command which
Henry IV. a statute was passed limiting the form and au- he arrogated. At an unfortunate time for the adjustment
thority of commissions of array. It involves the anticipa- of such a question, it had to be settled between the con-
tion of foreign invasion, empowers the commissioners in flicting branches of the legislature ; and Whitelocke at
such circumstances to array and train all men-at-arms, least approached the truth, when he said he apprehended
to cause all able-bodied men to arm themselves accord- “ that the power of the militia is neither in the king only,
ing to their substance, to amerce those unable to bear nor in the parliament; and if the law hath placed it any
arms in a similarly adjusted ratio, and to require the ser- where, it is both in the king and parliament, when they
vices of persons so armed on the sea-shore, or elsewhere, join togetherthough the state of matters equivocally fl¬
at the moment of danger. It is singular that this statute, lustrated his remark, in continuation that “ it is a wise
which forms the only legislative authority to which institution of our law not to settle this power any where, but
Charles I. finally appealed in the celebrated struggle for rather to leave it in dubio, or in nubibus, that the people
the command of the militia, has never been conceived of might be kept in ignorance thereof, as a thing not fit to be
sufficient importance to be printed in any collection of the known nor to be pried into.’’ Arguments founded on pre¬
statutes, and seems to have been accidentally discovered in cedent and the nature of the constitution were at that junc-
manuscript by some of the crown officers.1 It was indeed, ture, however, merely like the diplomatic manoeuvres pre-
Vide Rush. Hut. Col. part iii. vol. i. G61-9.
70
MILITIA.
Militia.
ceding an international war. Each party was calculating its
' strength for the approaching conflict; and if their respective
rights were so earnestly insisted on by either side, with any
other view than that of colouring the real grounds of the
rupture, it was that of securing the wavering by a show of
adherence to constitutional principles. In a short time each
party mustered its own forces in its own way.
In the parliament which was summoned after the Re¬
storation, effectual means were taken by two statutes (13
Car. II. c. 6, and 13 and 14 Car. II. c. 3), which probably
would not have been passed by the convention parlia¬
ment, to put an end to any doubts as to the prerogative
on this point. It was declared, that “ the sole supreme
government, command, and disposition of the militia, and
of all forces by sea and land, and of all forts and places of
strength, is, and by the laws of England ever was, the un¬
doubted right of his majesty and his royal predecessors
and lieutenants and their deputies were empowered to
charge their counties to provide horse and foot soldiers,
according to a fixed scale of property. The system
thus constructed was slightly amended in the years 1699,
1714, and 1743.
In 1756, when the large standing force, which the po¬
sition of Britain rendered it expedient to keep up, was
made more unpopular by the introduction of the Hanove¬
rian mercenaries, a bill to reconstruct the militia passed
through the House of Commons under the auspices of
Mr Charles Townshend and his friends, but was rejected
in the House of Lords by 59 to 23. With some difficulty
the measure was carried in 1757 ; but, though approved
of by a large party, its practical enforcement frequently
produced discontent and local disturbance. In 1762 the
system was improved, and several acts were afterwards
passed amending particular departments. In 1802, the
militia laws of England and Scotland were consolidated
by 42 Geo. III. c. 90 and 91; and these statutes, with that
of 49 Geo. III. c. 120, applicable to Ireland, contain, with
some partial amendments made by later acts, the law ap¬
plicable to the militia of the united kingdom. Before giv¬
ing such a brief selection from the many minute regula¬
tions prescribed by these statutes, as a work of general re¬
ference is expected to contain, we may be permitted to
glance at the origin of the militias of Scotland and Ireland.
In Scotland there seems never to have been, except in
burghs, a national force for the defence of the citizens,
like the Fyrd of the Saxons. The earliest acts of parlia¬
ment, however, enforce practice in the bow, of which the
efficiency had been so dearly learned in the English wars;
whilst periodical “ wapenshawings” are directed to be held,
in which each individual should be armed upon a scale
vaguely proportioned to his property.1 *. In time of war or
rebellion, proclamations were issued, charging all sheriffs
and magistrates of burghs, to direct the attendants of the
respective wapenshawings to join the king’s host ;z and the
criminal records contain many prosecutions for “ abiding
from” the various “ raids,” which are generally settled by
composition with the lord treasurer. During the civil
wars of the seventeenth century, the army which had been
brought into existence by the enthusiasm of the cove¬
nanters, was supported by levies and assessments appor¬
tioned by district committees of war appointed by parlia¬
ment, whose duties and powers were modelled on those of
the commissioners of array in England. In 1662 (1 Car.
II. 3, 27), the parliament made offer of20,000 foot and 2000
horse to be at his majesty’s sole disposal, and to be marched
to any part of Scotland, England, or Ireland. This body
constituted a regular standing army, the organization of
1 Acts, 1424, c. 18 and 44 ; 1425, c. 60 ; 1457, c. 64; 1491, c. 31 ; and 1540 c 85-91 ,
3 See Irish State PaPers’ Punished by authority of government, ii. 477, &c.
1482, c. 90.
which underwent some alterations in the years 1669, 1672, Militia,
1693, and 1695. From this last period, no legislative im¬
provements were made in the militia of Scotland until the
year 1797, when the system established in England was
partially extended to that part of the empire, though not
without considerable local disturbance.
In Ireland the predatory army of gallowglasses, which,
even in times of comparative tranquillity, it was found
necessary to keep constantly armed for the preservation
or the enlargement of the pale, was supported to a small
extent by supplies from England ; but it chiefly depended
on exactions from the Anglo-Irish, made by a dexterous
application of the many fines and petty tributes originally
exigible by the native chiefs. To these the English add¬
ed the formidable exactions of coign and livery, wdrich
embracing free quarters, and all that is generally taken
under the sanction of that licence, were the frequent sub¬
ject of bitter complaint, though not much heeded by a
government which expected that the conquest would at
least support itself.3 In 1715, on occasion of the rebel¬
lion in Scotland, an act was passed by the Irish parlia¬
ment (2 Geo. I. c. 9) for raising a militia to consist of Pro¬
testants. Roman Catholics were subject to double rates;
and all serviceable horses belonging to them might be
seized and made use of, provided that within ten days the
sum of L.5 (deducting the expense of seizure and keep-
ing) was tendered to the owner of each as full payment.
After several partial alterations, the militia laws were con¬
solidated by the Irish parliament in 1793 (33 Geo. III. c.
22) and 1795 (35 Geo. 111. c. 8), and accommodated to those
of England in 1809.
By the present constitution of the militia in the united
kingdom, his majesty appoints lords-lieutenant in England,
and governors in Ireland, to each county or province, with
power to call out and train the militia annually, and to ap¬
point twenty or more deputy-lieutenants or governors, or
other officers, subject to the royal approval. A deputy in
England or Ireland requires, as his qualification, to be pro¬
prietor of real property worth L.200 a year, or heir appa¬
rent to an estate of twice that value. In Scotland he must
possess, or be heir-apparent to, landed property to the ex¬
tent of L.400 Scotch of valued rent. In England a colonel
must hold an estate of L.1000 a year, or be heir-apparent
to one of L.2000; in Scotland he must hold or be heir-
apparent to one of L.800 of valued rent; and in Ireland
he must hold an estate of L.2000 a year, or be heir-appa¬
rent to one of L.3000. A lieutenant-colonel’s qualifica¬
tion is, in England, an annual estate of L.600, or an ap¬
parency of L.1200 ; in Scotland a valued rent of L.600 ;
and in Ireland an estate of L.1200, or an apparency of
L.1800. i he qualifications of the lower ranks are upon a
corresponding scale, personal property being taken into
consideration in those of lieutenants and ensigns. There
are distinct qualifications, generally of a lower grade, for
Wales, the Isle of Ely, Huntingdon, Monmouth, West-
moreland, Rutland, Edinbui’gh, Dublin, Cork, Limerick,
and those towns which are counties within themselves,
and by ancient usage trained a separate militia. The mi¬
litias of London and the Tower Hamlets are regulated by
separate acts (viz. 36 Geo. III. c. 92,37 Geo. III. c. 25 and
i5, and 39 Geo. III. c. 92) ; and those of the Cinque Ports
and their members are, in pursuance of ancient custom,
eft to the administration of the warden.
I he business of balloting for and calling out the mili-
ia commences with the annual general meeting of the
leutenancy of each county, when the next subdivision
meeting is appointed, to which chief constables, or other
M I L
l%iUtia. officers, are required to direct constables or schoolmasters
to return lists of all males between the ages of eighteen
and forty-five in their respective parishes. Within four¬
teen days after requisition, the constable or schoolmaster
leaves a schedule in each dwelling-house, to be filled up
within fourteen days, with the names and designations
of persons within the ages, and their claims of exemp¬
tion, if there be any, under a penalty of L.5. Within
a month after serving the notices, the constables or school¬
masters make up and affix, to the church-doors, lists, men¬
tioning exemptions and incapacities, and notifying the
times and places for the discussion of appeals. These are
decided by two or more deputies at the subdivision meet¬
ings, and their decisions are final. The clerks of general
meetings then transmit lists to the privy council, distin¬
guishing those liable to serve from those exempt. The
men to be enrolled are chosen by ballot from each parish ;
all who are not above four feet and five inches in height,
or are not approved of on examination by a surgeon, being
discharged, and others balloted for in their room. Those
who do not personally appear, or send an approved sub¬
stitute to take the oath, are liable in a penalty of L.10.
There are arrangements by which, with the consent of the
inhabitants, volunteers, remunerated by parish assessments,
may be substituted for balloted men.
The persons exempted are, peers; commissioned officers
of the other forces, whether on full or half-pay ; non-com¬
missioned officers and private men in the other forces ;
persons serving, or who have served for four years, as
commissioned officers in the militia; persons serving in
the yeomanry or volunteers ; persons serving, or who have
served at any time within a year past, in the local militia;
resident members of the several universities ; clergymen
of the establishments, and registered dissenting clergy¬
men ; parish schoolmasters ; articled clerks ; apprentices ;
seafaring men; persons employed in his majesty’s docks,
the Tower, Woolwich Warren, the gun-wharfs of Ports¬
mouth, and the stores under the direction of the Board of
Ordnance; persons free of the company of watermen of
the Thames ; any poor man with more than one child born
in wedlock, in England; any man with more than two
lawful children, and not possessing property to the value
of L.50, in Scotland; and in Ireland, any poor man not
wrorth L.IO, or who does not pay L 5 a year of rent, and
has more than three lawful children under the age of
fourteen.
The number of private men apportioned amongst the
different countries is, for England and Wales 40,963, for
Scotland 7950, and for Ireland 21,616, making a total of
70,529 ; but this number has been increased by temporary
acts. The privy council may, at the end of every period
of ten years, alter the proportional numbers assigned to
the respective counties; but this arrangement has been
subject to alteration by temporary acts. The annual train¬
ing is, for such a period, not exceeding twenty-eight days,
as his majesty may direct; and the calling out of the
whole, or of any part, may be suspended by an order in
council. The mutiny act and the articles of war apply to
the militia so called out, with the ordinary constitutional
limitation, that no punishment can extend to life or limb.
I here are separate provisions for recovering deserters,
&c. In the case of anticipated invasion or rebellion, his
majesty may direct each lord-lieutenant, or, in the case of
the death or absence of a lord-lieutenant, any three of his
deputies to embody the militia with all convenient speed,
the occasion being first notified in parliament, if it is as¬
sembled ; and if not, declared in council, and published
by proclamation. By a similar proceeding, a supplement¬
ary militia may be raised, to the extent of one half of the
fixed number. The regiments are liable to be marched
to any part of the united kingdom; but no Irish regiment
MIL 71
can be compelled to serve in Britain, or British regiment Milk,
in Ii eland, longer than two years at one time ; nor must-v-~-
above a fourth part of the British militia be employed in
Ireland, or a third of the Irish militia in Britain. These
restrictions, adopted in 1811, when the militias of the two
islands were united under the title of the Militia of the
United Kingdom, were partially suspended in 1813 ; and
during the time of actual invasion or rebellion they may
be disregarded. Hie old principle, that the militia cannot
be compelled to serve out of the kingdom, is still adhered
to, although in 1813 (54 Geo. III. c. 1) provision was made
for accepting the service of militiamen and officers, to be
formed into provisional regiments, and to co-operate with
the regular forces. At previous periods, considerable num¬
bers of militiamen had been drafted into the line, the losses
of the militia regiments being made up by temporary acts,
which slightly increased their original quotas.
By 48Geo. III. c. Ill and 150, the celebrated local mi¬
litia was, in 1808, appointed in England and Scotland, being
limited in each county to “ six times the original quota
or proportion of the original quota of militia.” In 1812,
two new acts were passed (52 Geo. III. c. 38 and 68), which
apportioned the numbers of men to the respective shires
in England and Scotland, but contained regulating provi¬
sions which tended to make the local militia and volun¬
teers together amount to six times the number of the ori¬
ginal militia contingents. When these forces were added to
the two hundred thousand men allowed to be trained by
Mr W indham s act (46 Geo. III. c. 90), the citizen army,
at the disposal of government in Great Britain, amount¬
ed, independently of the militia, &c. of Ireland, and of
temporary augmentations, to very nearly five hundred
thousand men. In 1811, the effective strength of the re¬
gular militia was 77,424 private men, whilst that of the
local militia was 213,609. In 1819, the disembodied mili¬
tia of Britain and Ireland, calculated from the estimates of'
the year, amounted in round numbers to 71,200; and in
1829, it amounted to 70,082, private men and drummers.
The balloting, enrolling, and exercising of the militia
now only takes place at occasional periods, an act being
generally passed during each session, suspending their an¬
nual recurrence. By 10 Geo. IV. c. 10, the staff of the dis¬
embodied militia was reduced; and, according to a recent
return, amounted, after the reduction, to 127 adjutants,
127 serjeant-majors, 1692 serjeants, 82 drum-majors, and
669 drummers. A further reduction was authorized by
5 and 6 WiL IV. c. 37, and made by an order in council of
the 10th October 1835. It appears from a return to the
House of Commons of the 7th July 1836, that the staff of
the militia of the united kingdom at present receiving
pay amounts to 119 adjutants, 123 serjeant-majors, and
845 serjeants. The cost of the militia of the united king¬
dom, including the half-pay of officers and non-commission¬
ed officers, during each of the last three quarters of the
year ending 31st March 1836, was, for the quarter ending
30th September 1835, L.25,985. 8s. 5|-d; for that ending
31st December 1835, L.37,139.8s. 4d.; and for that ending
31st March 1836, L.32,219. 16s. lOd. According to the
estimates for 1836—37, the number of private men is, in
Great Britain, 50,888 ; in Ireland 18,525, (m. m. m. m.)
MILK, a well-known fluid, prepared by nature in the
breasts of women, and the udders of other animals, for the
nourishment of their young.
According to Dr Cullen, milk is a connecting and inter¬
mediate substance between animals and vegetables. It
seems to be immediately secreted from the chyle, both
being a white liquor of the same consistence ; it is most co¬
piously secreted after meals, and is of an acescent nature.
In most animals which live on vegetables the milk is aces¬
cent ; and it is uncertain whether it is not so likewise in
carnivorous animals. But, whatever there be in this, it is
72
M I L K.
M ilk. certain that the milk of all animals which live on vegetables
“~v^“^is acescent. Milk being derived from the chyle, we thence
infer its vegetable nature ; for in those who live on both
promiscuously, a greater quantity ol milk is obtained, and
more quickly, from the vegetable than from the animal food.
Milk, however, is not purely vegetable, though we have a
vegetable liquor which resembles it in taste, consistence,
colour, acescency, and the separability of the oily part, viz.
an emulsion of the nuces oleosce and farinaceous substances.
But these want the coagulable part of milk, which seems
to be of an animal nature, approaching to that of the co¬
agulable lymph of the blood. Milk, then, appears to be of
an intermediate nature between chyle taken up from the
intestines and the fully elaborated animal fluid.
Its contents are of three kinds. First, there is an oily
part, which, whatever may be said concerning the origin
of other oils in the body, is certainly immediately derived
from the oil of the vegetables taken into the stomach ;
for with these it agrees very exactly in its nature, and
would do so entirely, if we could separate it fully from the
coagulable part. Another mark of their agreement is the
separability, which proves that the mixture has been lately
attempted, but not fully performed. Secondly, besides this
oily, there is a proper coagulable part. And, thirdly, much
water accompanies both, in which there is dissolved a sa-
lino-saccharine substance. These three can be got sepa¬
rate in cheese, butter, and whey; but never perfectly so,
a part of each being always blended with every other part.
Nothing is more common, from what has been said of its
immediate nature, than to suppose that it requires no assi¬
milation ; and hence has been deduced the reason of its
exhibition in the most weakly state of the human body.
But wherever we can examine milk, we always find that it
coagulates, suffers a decomposition, and becomes acescent.
Again, infants, who feed entirely on milk, are always trou¬
bled with eructations, which every body observes are not
of the same quality with the food taken ; and therefore it
appears, that, like all other food, milk turns naturally aces¬
cent in the stomach, and only enters the chyle and blood
in consequence of a new recomposition. It approaches
then to the nature of vegetable aliment, but is not capable
of its noxious vinous fermentation, and therefore has an ad¬
vantage over it. Neither, from this quality, is it like ani¬
mal food, heating in the stomach, and productive of fever,
though at the same time, from its quantity of coagulable
matter, it is more nourishing than vegetables.
Milk is the food most universally suited to all ages and
states of the body; but it seems chiefly designed by na¬
ture as the food of infants. When animals are" in the foetal
state, their solids are a perfect jelly, incapable of an assi-
milatory power. In such state nature has perfectly assimi¬
lated food, as the albumen ovi in the oviparous, and in the
viviparous animals certainly somewhat of the same kind, as
it was necessary that the vessels should be filed with such
a fluid as would make way for an after assimilation. When
the infant has attained a considerable degree of firmness,
as when it is separated from the mother, such a degree of
weakness still remains as makes somewhat of the same in¬
dication necessary; it behoves the infant to have an alka¬
lescent food ready prepared, and, at the same time, its
noxious tendency to be avoided. Milk then is given, which
is alkalescent, and, at the same time, has a sufficient quan¬
tity of acidity to correct the alkalescent quality. As the
body advances in growth, and the alkalescent tendency is
greater, the animal, to obviate that tendency, is led to
take vegetable food, as more suited to its strength of assi¬
milation.
Dr Cullen observes, that milk is suited to almost all tem¬
peraments ; and it is so to stomachs disposed to aces-
cency, more than tnose substances which have undergone
the vinous fermentation ; nay, it even cures the heartburn,
checks vinous fermentation, and precipitates the lees, when,
by renewal of fermentation, the wine happens to be fouled.
It, therefore, very properly accompanies a great deal of
vegetable aliment; although sometimes its acescency is
troublesome, either from the large portion taken in, or
from the degree of it; for, according to certain unaccount¬
able circumstances, different acids are formed in the sto¬
mach in different states of the body, as in a health}' body
a mild one, and in the hypochondriac disease one of a very
acrid quality. When the acidity of milk is carried to a
great degree, it may prove remarkably refrigerant, and oc¬
casion cold crudities, and the recurrence of intermittent
fevers. To take the common notion of its passing un¬
changed into the blood, it can undergo no solution. But
if we admit its coagulum in the stomach, then it may be
reckoned amongst soluble or insoluble foods, according as
that coagulum is more or less tenacious. Formerly ren¬
net, which is employed to coagulate milk, was thought an
acid ; but, from late observations, it appears, that, if it be
an acid, it is very different from other acids, and that its
coagulom is stronger than that produced by acids. It has
been imagined that a rennet, which causes coagulation of
milk, is to be found in the stomachs of all animals ; but
according to Dr Cullen, the coagulation of milk seems to
be owing to a weak acid in the stomach, the relics of vege¬
table food, inducing, in healthy persons, a weak and solu¬
ble coagulum; but in different stomachs this may be very
different, in some becoming heavy and less soluble food,
and may even be evacuated in a coagulated undissolved
state both by stomach and stool.
As milk is acescent, it may be rendered purgative by
mixture with the bile. Some examples of this have been
remarked. But it is more commonly reckoned amongst
those foods which occasion costiveness.
Hoffman, in his experiments upon milk, ascertained that
all kinds of it contained much water; and when this was
dissipated, he found the residuums very different in their
solubility. But we must not thence conclude, that the
same insolubility takes place in the stomach; for extracts
made from vegetables with water are often very insoluble
substances, and hardly diffusible through water itself. In
Hoffman’s extracts of milk, therefore, somewhat of the
same kind might have appeared; and these substances,
which in their natural state were not so, might appear very
insoluble. However, we may allow that milk is always
somehow insoluble in the intestines, as it is of a drying
nature, and as cheese is very costive. And this effect
shows that milk is always coagulated in the stomach; for
if it remained fluid, no fa?ces would be produced, whereas
sometimes very hard ones are observed. In the blood-ves¬
sels it may, from its animal nature, be considered as nutri¬
tious ; but when we consider its vegetable contents, and
acescency in the prirncc vice, we find that, like animal food,
it does not excite that degree of fever in the time of di¬
gestion, and that from its acescency it will resist putrefac¬
tion. Hence its use in hectic fevers, which, whatever be
their cause, appear only to be exacerbations of natural
feverish paroxysms, which occur twice every day, com¬
monly after meals, and at night. To obviate these, there¬
fore, we give such an aliment as produces the least exa¬
cerbation of these fevers ; and of this nature is milk, on
account of its acescent vegetable nature.
I here also appears something peculiar to milk, which
requires only a small exertion of the animal powders in or¬
der to its assimilation ; and besides, in hectic complaints,
there is wanted an oily, bland food, approaching to the
animal nature; so that upon all these accounts milk is a
diet peculiarly adapted to them, and, in general, to most
convalescents, and to those of inflammatory temperaments.
I he milks of women, mares, and asses, in a great mea-
sme agree in their qualities, being very dilute, having little
Milk.
MILK.
73
Milk, solid contents, and these, when evaporated to dryness, be-
■'ing very soluble, and containing much saccharine matter
of a very ready acescency, and their coagulum being ten¬
der and easily broken down. From this view they have less
oil, and seem to have less coagulable matter than the rest.
The milks of cows, sheep, and goats, agree in possess¬
ing qualities opposite to those just mentioned ; but here
there is somewhat more of gradation. Cow’s milk comes
nearest to the former. Goat’s milk is less fluid, less sweet,
less flatulent, and has the largest proportion of insoluble
part after coagulation, and indeed the largest proportion
of coagulable part; its oily and coagulable parts are not
spontaneously separable, and it never throws out a cream,
or admits of butter to be readily extracted from it. Hence
the virtues of these milks are obvious, being more nourish¬
ing, though at the same time less easily soluble in weak
stomachs, than the three kinds above mentioned, less aces¬
cent, and more rarely laxative, and peculiarly fitted for
the diet of convalescents without fever. The other kinds
again are less nourishing, more soluble, more laxative, (rom
being more acescent, and adapted to convalescents with
fever.
These qualities in particular milks are considerably di¬
versified by different circumstances. First, different ani¬
mals living on the same diet give a considerably different
milk ; for there seems to be something in the constitution,
abstracting from the aliment, which constitutes a consi¬
derable diversity of milk, not only in the same species of
animals, but also in the same animal, at different ages, and
at different intervals after delivery. This also applies to
the choice of nurses. Secondly, milk follows the nature of
the aliment more than any other juice in the human body,
being more or less fluid and dilute, and more or less solid
and nourishing, in proportion as these qualities are more
or less in the aliment. The nature of the aliment differs
according to its time of growth, old grass being always
found more nourishing than young. Aliment, too, is al¬
ways varied according to the season, as that is warm or
dry, moist or cloudy.
The milk of each particular kind of animal is fitter for
particular purposes, when fed on proper food. Thus the
cow delights in the succulent herbage of the valley; if the
sheep be fed there he certainly rots, but on the higher
and more dry side of the mountain he feeds pleasantly and
healthily; whilst the goat never stops near the bottom, but
ascends to the craggy summit. The milks of these ani¬
mals, therefore, are always best upon their proper soil; and
that of goats is best in a mountainous country. In a dis¬
sertation of Linnaeus, we find many observations concern¬
ing the diversity of plants on which each animal chuses to
feed. All the Swedish plants which could be collected to¬
gether were presented alternately to domestic animals, and
then it appeared that the goat lived on the greatest va¬
riety, and even on many which were poisonous to the rest;
and that the cow chose the first succulent shoots of the
plant, and neglected the fructification, which was prefer¬
red by the goat. Hence may be deduced rules concern¬
ing the pasturage of different animals. Thus farmers find,
that, in a pasture which was only fit to feed a certain num¬
ber of sheep, an equal number of goats may be introduced,
whilst the sheep are no less nourished than before.
It is not easy to assign the difference between milk fresh
drawn and that detained in the open air for some time ;
but certainly there is some material one, otherwise nature
would not have directed infants universally to sucking;
and indeed it seems better fitted for digestion and nou¬
rishment than the other. Physicians have supposed that
this depended on the evaporation of some spirit; but Lin¬
naeus cannot conceive any thing except common water here;
and besides, these volatile parts can hardly be nutritious.
A more plausible account seems deducible from mixture.
VOL. xv.
Milk newly drawn and recently mixed is exposed to sponta- Milk,
neons separation, a circumstance hurtful to digestion; none
of the parts being, by themselves, so easily assimilated as
when they are all taken together. Hence milk newly drawn
is more intimately blended, and therefore is most proper
to weak persons and to infants.
Another difference in the use of milk exposed for some
time to the air, is taking it boiled or unboiled. Physicians
have generally recommended the former; but the reason
is not easily assigned. Perhaps it may be that milk kept
for some time exposed to the air has gone so far towards
a spontaneous separation ; whereas the heat thoroughly
blends the whole, and hence its resolution is not so easy
in the stomach; and thus boiled milk is more costive than
raw', and gives more faeces. Again, when milk is boiled,
a considerable quantity of air is detached, as appears from
the froth on the surface; and air is the chief instrument
of fermentation in bodies ; so that after this process it is
not liable to acescency. For these reasons it is proper for
the robust and vigorous.
Another difference of milk is, according as it is fluid or
coagulated. The coagulated is of two kinds ; either as in¬
duced by rennet, or occasioned by the natural acescency
of the milk. The former preparation makes the firmer and
less easily soluble coagulum ; but, when taken with the
whey unseparated, it is less difficult of solution, though
more so than any other coagulum in the same case. Many
nations use the latter form, which is more easily soluble,
but very acescent, and therefore, in point of solution, should
be confined to the vigorous, or to those who live on alka¬
lescent food; in fact, the Laplanders use it as their chief
acescent condiment. From the same considerations it is
more cooling, and in its other effects it is similar to all other
acescent vegetables.
Milk by evaporation yields a sweet saline matter, of
which Dr Lewis gives the following proportions :
Twelve
Ounces of
Cow’s milk...
Goat’s milk...
Human milk.
Ass’s milk....
Left of Dry
Matter.
13 drachms.
121
8
8
From which Water extracted
a Sweet Saline Substance
amounting to
1| drachm.
L
6
6
The saline substance extracted from ass’s milk was
white, and as sweet as sugar ; that of the others was brown
or yellow, and considerably less sweet; that from cow’s
milk had the least sweetness of any.
On distilling twelve quarts of milk in balneo marice, at
least nine quarts of pure phlegm were obtained. The
liquor which afterwards arose was acidulous, and by de¬
grees grew sensibly more and more acid as the distillation
was continued. After this came over a little spirit, and
at last the empyreumatic oil. The remaining solid matter
adhered to the bottom of the retort, in the form of ele¬
gant shining black flowers, which being calcined and elix-
ated, yielded a portion of fixed alkaline salt.
Milk set in a warm place throws up to the surface an
unctuous cream, from which, by agitation, the butter is
easily separated. The addition of alkaline salts prevents
this separation, not, as some have supposed, by absorbing
an acid from the milk, but by virtue of their property of
intimately uniting oily bodies with watery substances.
Sugar, another intermedium between oils and water, has
this effect in a greater degree, though that concrete is by
no means alkaline, nor an absorbent of acids.
The sweet saccharine part of the milk remains dissolved
in the whey after the separation of the curd or fromagi-
nous matter, and may be collected from it in a white crys-
K
74
M I L K.
Milk. talline form, by boiling the whey till all remains of the
curdled substance have fallen to the bottom; then filter¬
ing, evaporating it to a due consistence, setting it to shoot,
and purifying the crystals by solution in water and a se¬
cond crystallization. Much has been said of the medici¬
nal virtues of this sugar of milk, but it does not seem to
have any that are considerable. It is from cow’s milk that
it has been generally prepared ; and the crystals obtained
from this kind have but little sweetness.
When milk is suffered to coagulate spontaneously, the
whey proves acid, and on standing grows more and more
so until the putrefactive state commences. Sour whey is
used as an acid, preferable to the directly vegetable or the
mineral acids, in some of the chemical arts, as for dissolv¬
ing iron in order to stain linen and leather. In the bleach¬
ing of linen this acid was commonly made use of for dis¬
solving and extracting the earthy particles left in the cloth
by the alkaline salts and lime employed for cleansing and
whitening it. Butter milk is preferred to plain sour milk
or sour whey, being supposed to give the cloth a yellow
colour. Dr Home, in his treatise on this subject, recom¬
mends water acidulated with sulphuric acid, in the propor¬
tion of about half an ounce, or at most three quarters of
an ounce, to a gallon, as preferable in many respects to the
acid of milk, or that of any directly vegetable substance.
He observes, that the latter are often difficult to be pro¬
cured, abound with oleaginous particles, and hasten to
corruption, whilst the vitriolic acid is cheap and pure,
without any tendency to putrify; that milk takes five days
to perform its office, whilst the vitriolic acid does it in as
many hours, perhaps in as many minutes ; and that this acid
contributes also to whiten the cloth, and does not make it
weaker though the cloth be kept in it for months. He
states, that acids, as well as alkalies, extract an oily mat¬
ter from the cloth, and lose their acidity and alkalinity.
Since this treatise appeared, the use of sour milk has been
entirely superseded by sulphuric acid.
It is observable, that ass’s milk has a great tendency,
on standing for a little time, to become thick and ropy.
In the Breslau collection for the year 1720, there is a re¬
markable account of milk which had grown so thick and
tenacious as to be drawn out into long strings.
New cow’s milk, suffered to stand for some days on the
leaves of butterwort or sun-dew, becomes uniformly thick,
slippery, and coherent, and of an agreeable sweet taste,
without any separation of its parts. Fresh milk added to
this is thickened in the same manner, and this successive-
ly. In some parts of Sweden, milk is thus prepared for food.
New milk has a certain glutinous quality, in consequence
of which it is used for joining broken stone ware. There
is a far greater tenacity in cheese properly prepared.
Milk, when examined by a microscope, appears com¬
posed of numerous globules swimming in a transparent
fluid. It boils in nearly the same degree of heat with
common water ; some sorts rather sooner, and others a lit¬
tle later. After boiling it has less tendency to become sour
than in its natural state. It is coagulated by acids both
mineral and vegetable, and by alkalies both fixed and vola¬
tile. The coagulum produced by acids falls to the bottom
of the serum ; that made by alkalies swims on the surface,
commonly forming a thick coriaceous skin, especially with
volatile alkalies. The serum, with alkalies, proves green
or sanious ; with acids, it differs little in appearance from
the whey which separates spontaneously. The coagulum
formed by acids is dissolved by alkalies, and that formed
by alkalies is redissolved by acids ; but the milk does not
in either case resume its original properties. It is coagu¬
lated by most of the middle salts, the basis of which is an
earth or a metallic body, as solution of alum, fixed sal-am¬
moniac, sugar of lead, green and blue vitriol; but not by
the chalybeate or purging mineral waters, nor by the bit¬
ter salt extracted from the purging waters. Amongst the
neutral salts which have been tried, there is not one that
produces any coagulation. They all dilute the milk, and
make it less disposed to coagulate with acids or alkalies.
Nitre seems to have this effect in a greater degree than
the other neutral salts. It is instantly coagulated by high¬
ly rectified spirit of wine, but scarcely by a phlegmatic
spirit. It does not mingle with expressed oils. All the
coagula are dissolved by gall.
It has generally been supposed by medical authors, that
the milk of animals is of the same nature with chyle, and
that the human milk always coagulates in the stomach of
infants ; but in a dissertation upon the subject published by
Mr Clarke, member of the Royal Irish Academy, we find
both these positions controverted. According to him,
women’s milk, in a healthy state, contains no coagulable,
mucilaginous, or fromaginous principle, in its composition,
or it contains so little, that it cannot admit of any sensible
proof. Dr Rutty states, that it does not afford even a
sixth part of the curd which is yielded by cow’s milk; and
Dr Young denies that it is at all coagulable either by ren¬
nets or acids. This is confirmed by Dr Ferris, who, in the
year 1782, gained the Harveian prize medal by a dissertation
upon milk. Mr Clarke informs us, that he made a great
number of experiments upon women’s milk, with a view to
determine this point. He made use of ardent spirits, all
the different acids, infusions of infants’ stomachs, and px-o-
cured the milk of a great many different women; but in
no instance,-excepting one or two, did he perceive any
thing like curd. This took place in consequence of a spon¬
taneous acescency ; and only a small quantity of soft flaky
matter was formed, which floated in the serum. This he
looked upon as a morbid appearance.
The general opinion that women’s milk is coagulable
has arisen from the single circumstance that infants fre¬
quently vomit the milk which they suck in a state of appa¬
rent coagulation. This greatly perplexed Dr Young, who,
after having tried in vain to coagulate human milk artifi¬
cially, concluded that the process took place spontaneous¬
ly in the stomach; and that it would always do so if the
milk were allowed to remain in a degree of heat equal to
about 96° of Fahrenheit. Mr Clarke took equal quantities
of three different kinds of milk, and put them into bottles
slightly corked, and these bottles into water, the tempera¬
ture of which was kept up by a spirit of wine lamp as near
as possible to 96° of Fahrenheit; but after frequently ex¬
amining each bottle during the course of the experiment,
at the expiration of several hours there was not the small¬
est tendency towards coagulation to be perceived in any of
them. I he cream was only thrown to the surface in a thick
and adhesive form, and entirely separated from the fluid
below, which had something of a grey and wheyish ap¬
pearance. As the matter vomited by infants is sometimes
more adhesive than we can suppose cream to be, Mr
Clarke supposed that the curd might be so entangled with
tlie cream as to be with difficulty separated from it; but
having collected a quantity of rich cream from the milk of
different women, he repeated the experiment with precise¬
ly the same result, not being able in any one instance to
produce the smallest quantity of curd. To determine,
xowever, what effects might be produced upon milk by the
stomach of an infant, Mr Clarke made the following expe-
nment. Having taken out the stomach of a foetus which
,.a j .en, deprived of life by the use of instruments, he in-
tused it in a small quantity of hot water, so as to make a
s rong infusion. He added a tea-spoonful of this infusion to
equaf quantities of cow’s and human milk, the consequence
o w nc i was, that the cow’s milk was firmly coagulated in a
saoi t time, but tiie human milk was not altered in the least;
neither was the least coagulation produced by adding a
second and a third spoonful to the human milk. “ Upon
Milk
MILK
Milk, the whole, then,” says he “ I am persuaded it will be found
'that human milk, in a healthy state, contains little or no
curd, and that the general opinion of its nature and pro¬
perties is founded upon fallacious analogy and superficial
observations made on the matter vomited by infants. We
may presume, that the cream of women’s milk, by its in¬
ferior specific gravity, will swim on the surface of the con¬
tents of the stomach ; and being of an oily nature, that it
will be of more difficult digestion than any other consti¬
tuent part of milk. When an infant, then, sucks very
plentifully, so as to over-distend the stomach, or labours
under any weakness in the powers of digestion, it can¬
not appear unreasonable to suppose that the cream shall
be first rejected by vomiting. Analogous to this, we know
that adults affected with dyspepsia often bring up greasy
fluids from the stomach by eructation, and this especially
after eating fat meat. We have, in some instances, known
this to blaze, when thrown into the fire, like spirit of wdne
or oil.” Of this opinion he derives a confirmation from the
observation, that curds vomited by infants of a few days
old are yellow, whilst in the course of a fortnight or three
weeks they become white. This he accounts for from the
yellow colour of the cream thrown up by the milk of women
during the first four or five days after delivery.
Mr Clarke likewise controverts the common opinion,
that human milk is so prone to acidity that a great number
of the diseases of children are to be accounted for from
that cause. “ Whoever,” says he, “ takes the trouble of
attentively comparing human milk with that of ruminant
animals, will soon find it to be much less prone to run into
the acescent or acid process. I have very often exposed
equal quantities of human and cow’s milk in degrees of tem¬
perature varying from the common summer heat, or 65°, to
100° ; and I have constantly found that cow’s milk acquires
a greater degree of acidity in thirty-six hours than the
human did in many days. Cow’s milk becomes offensive¬
ly putrid in four or five days ; a change which healthy hu¬
man milk, exposed in the same manner, will not undergo
in many weeks, nay, sometimes in many months. I once
kept a few ounces of a nurse’s milk, delivered about six or
seven days, for more than two years in a bottle moderate¬
ly corked. It stood on the chimney-piece, and was fre¬
quently opened to be examined. At the end of this pe¬
riod, it showed evident.marks of moderate acidity, whe¬
ther examined by the taste, smell, or paper stained with
vegetable blues or purples ; the latter it changed to a flo¬
rid red colour ; whereas cow’s milk kept a few days chang¬
ed the colour of the same paper to a green, thereby clear¬
ly showing its putrescent tendency.”
He next proceeds to consider the probability there is
of milk becoming so frequently and strongly acid as to oc¬
casion most of the diseases of infants. He begins with an
attempt to show that the phenomena commonly regarded
as indications of acrimony are by no means certain. Cur¬
dled milk has already been shown to be no sign of acidi¬
ty ; and the other appearance, which has commonly been
thought to be so certain, namely, green faeces, is, in the
opinion of Mr Clarke, equally fallacious. In support of
this he quotes a letter from Dr Sydenham to Dr Cole, in
which the former says, that the green matter vomited by
hysterical women is not any proof of acrid humours being
the cause of that disease, for sea-sick people do the same.
The opinion that green faeces are an effect of acidity,
proceeds upon the supposition that a mixture of bile with
an acid produces a green colour ; but it is found that the
vegetable acid, which only can exist in the human body,
is unable to produce this change of colour, though it can
be effected by the strong mineral acids. As nothing equi
valent to any of these acids can be supposed to exist in
the bowels of infants, we must therefore adopt some other
method of accounting for the green faeces frequently eva¬
cuated by them. “ Why should sour milk, granting its Milk,
existence, give rise to them in infants, and not in adults ?
Have butter-milk, summer fruits of the most acescent
kind, lemon or orange juice, always this effect in adults
by their admixture with bile? This is a question which,
I believe, cannot be answered in the affirmative.”
Upon the whole, Mr Clarke considers the disease of aci¬
dity in the bowels, though so frequently mentioned, as by
no means common. He owns, indeed, that it may some¬
times occur in infancy as well as in adult age, from weak¬
ness of the stomach, costiveness, or improper food ; and an
indubitable evidence is afforded by faeces which stain the
blue or purple colour of vegetables to a red, though nothing
can be inferred with certainty from the colour or smell.
He then proceeds to state several reasons for his opi¬
nion, that the greater number of infantile diseases are not
owing to acidity. First, women’s milk, in a healthy state,
contains little or no coagulable matter or curd. Secondly, it
shows less tendency out of the body to become acescent than
many other kinds of milk. Thirdly, the appearances which
have been generally supposed to characterize its acidity
do not afford satisfactory evidence of such a morbid cause.
Fourthly, granting this to be the case, we have plenty of
mild absorbents, capable of destroying all the acid which
can be supposed to be generated in the bowels of an in¬
fant ; yet many children are observed to die in consequence
of these diseases, which are supposed to arise from acidity.
Fifthly, though the milk of all ruminant animals is of a much
more acescent nature than that of the human species, yet the
young of these animals never suffer any thing like the dis¬
eases attributed to acidity in infants. Sixthly, history in¬
forms us that whole nations use sour curdled milk as a
considerable part of their food, without feeling any incon¬
venience ; which, however, must have been the case if aci¬
dity in the stomach were productive of such deleterious
effect as has been supposed. This reasoning appears to
be very plausible, and nothing has as yet been offered to
contradict it.
In a memoir by MM. Parmentier and Deyeux, members
of the Royal College of Pharmacy in Paris, we have an ac¬
count of a great number of experiments on the milk of asses,
cows, goats, sheep, and mares, as well as women. The expe¬
riments on cow’s milk were made with a view to determine
whether any change was produced in the milk by the dif¬
ferent kinds of food eaten by the animal. For this pur¬
pose some were fed with the leaves of maize, others with
cabbage, others with small potatoes, and others with com¬
mon grass. The milk of those fed with the maize was ex¬
tremely sweet; that from the potatoes and common grass
was much more serous and insipid; and that from the
cabbages proved the most disagreeable of all. By distil¬
lation only eight ounces of a colourless fluid were obtain¬
ed from as many pounds of each of these milks; that ob¬
tained from those which fed upon grass had an aromatic fla¬
vour ; whilst a disagreeable one resulted from cabbage, and
none at all from the potatoes and maize. This liquid be¬
came fetid in the space of a month, whatever substance
the animal had been fed with, acquiring at the same time
a viscidity, and becoming tui'bid ; that from cabbage gene¬
rally, but not always, becoming first putrid. All of them
separated a filamentous matter, and became clear on being
exposed to the heat of 25° of Reaumur’s thermometer. In
the residuum of distillation no difference whatever could
be perceived. As the only difference therefore existing
in cow’s milk consists in the volatile part, our authors con¬
clude that it is improper to boil milk either for common
or medicinal purposes. They observed also that any sud¬
den change of food, even from a w;orse to a better kind,
was attended by a very remarkable diminution in the quan¬
tity of milk. The residuum of the distillation yielded, in
a strong fire, a yellow oil and acid, a thick and black em-
76 MIL
Milk, pyreumatic oil, a volatile alkali, and towards the end a
quantity of inflammable air, and at last a coal remained
containing some fixed alkali with muriatic acid.
On agitating in long bottles the cream from the milk of
cows fed with different substances, all of them were form¬
ed into a kind of half-made butter, of which that formed
from the milk of maize was white, firm, and insipid, that
from potatoes was softer and more pinguedinous, and that
from common grass was the best of all. Cabbage, as in
other cases, gave a strong taste.
In the course of these experiments, an endeavour was
made to determine whether butter is actually contained in
the cream, or whether it be a chemical production of the
operation of churning. They could not find any reason
absolutely satisfactory on either side, but incline to the lat¬
ter opinion; because when cream hasbeen allowed to remain
amongst the milk, and the whole curdled promiscuously,
fat cheese, without any butter, is produced. The oily parts
cannot be separated into butter either by acids or any other
means than churning; even the artificial mixture of oil with
the cream is insufficient for the purpose.
The serum of milk was reduced by filtration to a clear
and pellucid liquor; and, by mixture with fixed alkali, it
deposited a portion of fromaginous matter which had been
dissolved in the whey. The sugar of milk was also found
in this liquor.
In these experiments upon the milk of various animals,
it was found that that of asses yielded by distillation an
insipid liquor, and deposited a liquor similar to the lymph
of cow’s milk. This kind is coagulated by all the acids,
but not into an uniform mass, exhibiting only the appear¬
ance of distinct flocculi. It affords but little cream, which
is with difficulty converted into a soft butter, that soon
becomes rancid. It has but a small quantity of saccharine
particles, and these are often mixed with muriatic selenite
and common salt. Goat’s milk has a thick cream, which
is agreeable to the taste; and the milk itself may be pre¬
served longer in a sound state than any other species, the
scum on its surface being naturally convertible into palat¬
able cheese. It is easily made into firm butter, which
does not soon become rancid, and has a good flavour. The
butter-milk contains a large quantity of fromaginous mat¬
ter, which readily coagulates; but it has still less saccha¬
rine matter than that of asses. Sheep’s milk can scarcely
be distinguished from that of a cow, and easily parts with
its cream by standing. It is of a yellow colour, of an
agreeable flavour, and yields a great proportion of butter;
but this is not solid, and soon becomes rancid. Mare’s milk
is the most insipid and least nutritious of any, notwithstand¬
ing which it has been much recommended for weak and
consumptive patients. It is probable that, in such cases,
it proves efficacious by being more consonant than any
other to the debilitated powers of digestion. It boils with
a smaller fire than any other kind of milk, is easily coagu¬
lated, and the distilled water does not so soon change its
nature. It has but a small quantity of fromaginous matter,
and very few oily particles. The cream cannot be made
into butter; and the whey contains about as much su«ar
as cow’s or goat’s milk.
It has also been remarked, that in order to augment the
quantity, as well as to improve the quality, of the milk of
animals, they should be well fed, their stalls kept clean,
and their litter frequently renewed. They should be
milked at stated hours, but not drained; and great atten¬
tion should be paid to the breed, because inferior cattle
are maintained at as great expense as the most valuable
kinds. No change ought to be made in the food; although,
if the milk be employed for medicinal purposes, it may^be
improved by a proper mixture of herbs.
In their experiments on women’s milk, MM. Parmen-
tier and Deyeux differ somewhat from Mr Clarke. They
M I L
first tried the milk of a woman who had been delivered four Milk
months before, and observed that, after the cream had been ||
separated, the other part appeared of a more perfect white, Finl¬
and that it could not be coagulated either by vinegar or
mineral acids, a circumstance which they attributed to a
superabundance of serum. But they found that in pro¬
portion to the age of the milk it was more easily coagu-
lable ; and this was confirmed by experiments made upon
the milk of twenty nurses. Its coagulability was not in¬
creased by heat. The cream, by agitation, formed a vis¬
cid unctuous matter, which, how’ever, could not be changed
into perfect butter; but they found it extremely difficult
to determine the proportions of the various component
parts of human milk, as it differs remarkably, not only in
different subjects, but in the same subject at different
times. In a nurse aged about thirty-two years, who was
extremely subject to nervous affections, the milk was one
day found almost quite colourless and transparent; in two
hours afterwards, a second quantity drawn from the breast
was viscid like the white of an egg; and in a short time it
became whiter, but did not recover its natural colour until
the evening. It was afterwards found that these changes
were occasioned by the woman having in the mean time
had some violent hysterical fits.
Milk of Vegetables. For the same reason that the milk
of animals may be considered as a true animal emulsient,
the liquors of vegetables may be termed vegetable milks.
Accordingly emulsions made with almonds are commonly
called milk of almonds. But besides this vegetable milk,
which is in some measure artificial, many plants and trees
contain naturally a large quantity of emulsive or milky
juices. Of this kind are lettuce, spurge, fig-tree, and the
tree which furnishes the elastic American resin. The
milky juices obtained from all these vegetables derive
their whiteness from an oily matter, mixed and undissolved
in a watery or mucilaginous liquor. Most resinous gums
are originally such milky juices, which afterwards be¬
come solid by the evaporation of their more fluid and vo¬
latile parts.
MILKY WAY, or Via Lactea. See Astronomy.
MILL, a machine for grinding corn and other kinds of
grain. There are various kinds of mills, according to the
different methods of applying the moving power, as water¬
mills, wind-mills, mills worked by horses, and others. See
Mechanics.
I he first obvious method of reducing corn into flour for
bread would be by the simple expedient of pounding ; and
for ages this was the only one practised by the various de¬
scendants of Adam. The same method continued in use
amongst the Romans until after the reign of Vespasian.
But the process was very early improved by the applica¬
tion of a grinding power, and the introduction of mill¬
stones. This, like most of the common refinements in do¬
mestic life, was probably the invention of the antediluvian
world ; it certainly was practised in some of the earliest
ages after the Deluge ; and, like most of them, it was equal¬
ly known in the East and the West. Hence the Gauls and
Britons appear to have been familiarly acquainted with
the use of hand-mills before the time of their submis¬
sion to the Romans ; the Britons particularly distinguish¬
ed them, as the Highlanders do at present, by the simple
appellations of querns, carnes, or stones. To these the Ro¬
mans added the very useful invention of water-mills.
Fot this discovery the world is indebted to the genius of
Italy; and, at the conquest of Lancashire, the machine
was not uncommon in the country. This the Romans in¬
troduced along with their other refinements. The British
appeUation of a water-mill suggests this of itself; the meUn
of the Welsh and Cornish ; the mull, meill, and meb* of the
Armoncans; and the Irish muilean and muilind, being all
evidently derived from the Roman mola and molendinum
M I L
M I L
77
The subject Britons universally adopted the Roman name,
'but applied it, as their successors did, only to the Roman
mill; and one of these was probably erected at every sta¬
tion or city in the kingdom. There was one at Manches¬
ter, which served equally the purposes of the town and
the accommodation of the garrison. This water-mill was
fixed immediately below the Castlefield and the town, on
the channel of the Medlock. There, a little above the an¬
cient ford, the sluice of it was accidentally discovered about
half a century ago.
During the first five or six centuries of Rome, there were
no public bread-bakers in the imperial city. They were
first introduced from the East, at the conclusion of the
war with Perseus, about the year 167 before Christ; and,
towards the close of the first century, the Roman families
were supplied by them every morning with fresh loaves
for breakfast. But the same custom, which prevailed ori¬
ginally amongst the Romans and many other nations, con¬
tinued long afterwards amongst the Mancunians. The
providing of bread for every family was left entirely to the
attention of the women ; and it was baked upon stones,
which the Welsh denominate greidiols, and we gredles. It
appears, however, from the kiln-burned pottery which has
been discovered in the British sepulchres, and from the
British appellation of an odyn or ove7i remaining amongst
us at present, that furnaces for baking were generally
known amongst the aboriginal Britons. An odyn would,
therefore, be erected in the mansion of each British baron,
for the use of himself and his retainers; and when he and
they removed into the vicinity of a Roman station, the
oven would be rebuilt with the mansion. One bakehouse
would be constructed, as we have previously shown one
mill to have been set up, for the public service of all the
Mancunian families. It appears that one oven and one
mill were established in the town, and that the inhabi¬
tants were immemorially accustomed to bake at the one
and grind at the other. Both, therefore, were in all pro¬
bability constructed at the first introduction of water mills
and ovens into the country. The great similarity of the
appointments refers directly to one and the same origin ;
indeed, the general nature of all such institutions points
immediately to the first and actual introduction of both.
And, as the same establishments prevailed equally in other
parts of the north, and pretty certainly obtained over the
whole extent of Roman Britain, the same erections were as
certainly made at every stationary town in the kingdom.
MILL, James, author of the History of British India,
and various other valuable works, was born on the 6th of
April 1773, in the parish of Logie Pert, in the county of
Forfar, at a place situated about seven miles from Mon¬
trose. His father united the occupations of shoemaker and
small farmer. He received the first part of his education
at the parochial school of Logie Pert, and afterwards at the
grammar school of Montrose.
Some pious ladies, amongst whom was Lady Jane Stuart,
wife of Sir John Stuart, Bart, of Fettercairn, a place situate
a few miles distant from that of his birth, having estab¬
lished a fund for educating one or two young men for the
Church, Lady Jane1 applied to the Rev. Mr Foote, minis¬
ter of Fettercairn, to recommend one for that profession.
Mr Foote in his turn applied to the Rev. Mr Peters, minis¬
ter of Logie Pert, who recommended James Mill, both on
account of his own abilities, and the known good character
of his parents. He was accordingly sent to the university
of Edinburgh, where he went through the course of study
necessary for admission into the Church of Scotland, and
was, in due time, licensed as a Preacher in the usual form. Mill.
He did not obtain any living in the church, and never,
perhaps, had any particular liking for the profession, into
which he was thrown more by accident than choice. The
study which chiefly delighted him, and exercised his
thoughts, during the period of his academical course, was
that ol Metaphysical and Ethical Philosophy. The class
of Moral Philosophy, which, in the arrangements of the uni¬
versity of Edinburgh, embraces tbe whole field of the philo¬
sophy of mind, was then taught by Mr Dugald Stewart, to
whose noble eloquence, and animated exhortations to men¬
tal study, Mr Mill always listened with profound attention,
and rapturous admiration. In a letter to one of his friends,
written long after this period, namely, in 1821, when he had
himself become greatly distinguished, he thus expresses
his obligations to the lectures of that illustrious Professor:—
“ All the years I remained about Edinburgh, I used, as
often as I possibly could, to steal into Mr Stewart’s class
to hear a lecture, which always was a high treat. I have
heard Pitt and Fox deliver some of their most admired
speeches ; but I never heard any thing nearly so eloquent
as some of the lectures of Professor Stewart. The taste
for the studies which have formed my favourite pursuits, and
which will be so to the end of my life, I owe to him'.’ This
acknowledgment was the more creditable to Mr Mill, that
he had by this time widely separated from that metaphy¬
sical school of which Mr Stewart was the greatest orna¬
ment.
Mr Mill removed to London soon after the commence¬
ment of the present century ; but before doing so, he
seems to have officiated for a considerable time as a pri¬
vate tutor in the families of one or two gentlemen of for¬
tune and consideration ; and he appears also to have formed
friendships with some young men, who afterwards dis¬
tinguished themselves in science and literature. From
the period of his arrival in the metropolis, till the year ^
1819, when he received, much to the honour of the do¬
nors, a valuable appointment in the India House, he sup¬
ported himself and his growing family (for he married in
1805) entirely by his pen. We scarcely know any similar
instance of a mere literary adventurer, without any profes¬
sion or calling of any sort, maintaining himself and a large
family for such a length of time, and preserving, as he un¬
questionably did, a character of the highest respectability,
and lofty independence of thinking and writing. He not
only supported his family without ever asking a favour,, or
incurring a debt, but contrived, in the midst of his toils and
cares, to educate them thoroughly ; and, in fact, they never
had any other teacher. Much of his time was employed
in writing for periodical publications. For several years
he was an occasional contributor to the Edinburgh Review,
which is indebted to his pen for some very able articles.
He also wrote in many other periodical publications, among
which were the British, the Eclectic, and Monthly Re¬
views. One of the works to which he was a large contri¬
butor was tbe Philanthropist, a periodical journal esta¬
blished by the Quakers and other benevolent promoters of
education, the reform of the criminal code, prison dis¬
cipline, &c. With these excellent persons Mr Mill active¬
ly co-operated in the exertions to which the Lancasterian
schools, and Infant schools, owed their origin ; and, at a
later period, he was one of the founders of the London Uni¬
versity.
His principal work, the History of British India, had
been commenced as far back as the year 1806. His ven¬
turing even to think of so great an undertaking, whilst
1 We ought here to add, that Sir John Stuart continued till his death (about 1820), to correspond with Mr Mill, and to take the most
friendly interest in him, and was the only person of station from whom, in his arduous struggles, he ever received the smallest help
or encouragement.
78 i' * MI
Mill, writing for his daily bread, and burdened with the main-
' tenance and domestic education of a numerous family,
furnishes one of the noblest proofs of intellectual ardour,
and confidence in the resources of industry, that can be
found in the whole history of literature. Nor were his
labours confined to this work, and the other daily calls we
have mentioned ; for he found time, besides, to write more
than one pamphlet upon subjects of interest at the mo¬
ment ; particularly a very conclusive answer to Mr Spence’s
celebrated tract, entitled Britain independent of Com¬
merce. The answer was published in 1808. His steady
industry brought him at last in sight of the goal of which
he never lost sight, though sometimes almost sinking un¬
der the toils which the pursuit had imposed upon him, we
mean, the completion of his History. In a letter writ¬
ten in October 1816, he thus expresses himself:—“ Thank
God, after nearly ten years since its commencement, I am
now revising it for the press. Whatever else it may con¬
tain, it will at least contain the fruits of a quantity of la¬
bour, of which nobody who shall not go over the same
ground, and go over it without the assistance of my work,
can form an adequate conception. Had I foreseen that it
would have been one half, or one third, of what it has
been, never should I have been the author of a History
of India.” It was at last published in five volumes octavo,
in the winter of 1817-18. It is the smallest merit of this
book, that it was, and still is, the only single work cal¬
culated to convey to the general reader any intelligible
notion whatever of India, or Indian affairs as a wdiole, and
which is therefore indispensable to all Englishmen who
would possess even the most general knowledge of one
great department of their country’s interest. This is much;
but it achieved far more. We are only saying what will be
confirmed by the most eminent of those who have ad¬
ministered Indian affairs for the last ten years, when we
say, that Mr Mill’s work was the beginning of sound think¬
ing on the subject of India. It gave a new turn to the
thoughts of all the most thinking men amongst those who
filled the most important posts in the local administration
of India; and the measures of government in that coun¬
try have for many years borne, and are every year bearing,
more and more the impress of his views.
Although he had very freely censured the conduct of the
East India Company, yet the powers of mind and know¬
ledge of the subject which he displayed induced the Court
of Directors, in the spring of 1819, when they were desi¬
rous of strengthening their home establishment, to intro¬
duce him into it (though personally unknown to most of
them, and having little or no interest), and to intrust to
him the chief conduct of their correspondence with In-1
dia, in the revenue branch of administration. This is one
of the most remarkable, as well as honourable instances of
success in life, ever achieved by any literary man. Mr
Mill had the rare fortune of being not only the first per¬
son who showed how India ought to be governed, but of
being called upon to be a leading instrument in execut¬
ing his own views. And not only in that situation, but
in the higher one to which he rose'in the course of promo¬
tion, viz. head ot the department of correspondence with
India in the India House, or, in other words, chief mini¬
ster for Indian affairs to the East India Company, he lived
to see almost all the great principles which he had advo¬
cated not merely recognised, but a commencement made
in carrying them into practice in the government of India.
Mr Mill’s official duties mig^t weli have furnished him
with an excuse for relinquishing his pen as an author.
But his mind was not of a cast to stop short in the career
of inquiry, or to allow the calls of business to suppress
the fruits of his reflections. It was observed of Lord
Brougham, by the late Sir Samuel Romilly, that he could
find time for every thing. So was it with Mr Mill. Never
L L.
behind in his official duties, and mixing largely in the so- Mill,
ciety of intelligent men, he was all the while engaged, just'—-“v-'
as if his daily bread yet depended on the employment of
his pen, in literary labour. To this noble ardour the pre¬
sent work is much indebted. He became a contributor to
the Supplement to its former editions, about three years
before his appointment to the India House ; but his con¬
tributions were continued nearly till the completion of that
work in the year 1824; and he never sought an excuse, in
his official labours, for any refusal to write what he thought
might be useful. The extensive circulation of the work
made it, in his eyes, a precious instrument for the diffusion
of knowledge ; and on this, and other accounts, he always
took a strong interest in its character and success. With¬
out enumerating the whole, we may mention the articles
on Colonies, Education, Government, Jurisprudence, Law
of Nations, Liberty of the Press, and Prison Discipline, as
the most remarkable. These essays, all of wdiich are in¬
corporated in the present edition, were so wddely dissemi¬
nated by means of the work in which they appeared, and
by separate republications of them, at a very cheap rate,
as to make them by much the best known of his produc¬
tions ; and, we believe we may add, the most effective
in stirring the thoughts of his contemporaries.
In 1821-22 he published his Elements of Political Eco¬
nomy, a treatise in which the science, as remodelled by
Ricardo, was for the first time brought into a systematic
and logically arranged form. In some of the criticisms on
this work it seems to have been forgotten, that here Mr
Mill made no pretensions to originality; that he “ pro¬
fessed,” to borrow his own words, “ to have made no dis¬
covery his object having been simply “ to compose a
school-book of political economy.”
Mr Mill’s ingenuity as a very acute and original me¬
taphysician was abundantly displayed in his Analysis of
the Phenomena of the Human Mind, published in 1829.
In this work he evinced analytical powers rarely, if ever,
surpassed ; and which have placed him high in the .list of
those subtile inquirers who have attempted to resolve all
the powers of the mind into a very small number of simple
elements. Mr Mill fook up this analysis where Hartley had
left it, and applied the same method to the more complex
phenomena, which the latter did not attempt to explain,
from the general neglect of metaphysical studies in the
present age, this work, which, at some periods of our his-
tory, would have placed its author on a level, in point of
reputation, with the highest names in the republic of let¬
ters, has been less read and appreciated than any of his
other writings.
Mr Mill’s last work was the Fragment on Mackintosh,
published anonymously in 1835, but of the authorship of
which he made no secret. This is a criticism of a very
severe kind, upon the Dissertation on the History of
Ethical I hilosophy, contributed by Sir James Mackintosh
to the present publication. Most even of those who agree
in the general opinions expressed by Mr Mill, have admit¬
ted, that the degree of bitterness which he manifested to¬
wards this eminent and singularly candid writer was alto-
gether uncalled for. With all our strong respect for his
abilities and character, we confess that we never could look
into this publication without feelings of wonder and mor¬
tification, that Philosophy sometimes can leave her vota-
nes so bereft of sentiments which, in their cool moments,
t ley never fail to inculcate as constituting the primary
conditions of all true, manly, and useful inquiry. But no
one can doubt Mr Mill’s sincerity, nor question the atten-
tioii due to any thing which proceeded from his pen on the
subjects adverted to in the Fragment.
Mi Mill wrote several of the principal articles in the
early numbers of the Westminster Review, and resumed
the pen, after an interval of some years, to write the cele-
brated article on the Ballot. After the junction of the
Westminster with the London Review, he wrote some
other articles for that journal, which, though rougher, are
perhaps more racy and characteristic than his earlier con¬
tributions. The last of them, entitled Aristocracy, was
the last of his literary labours. It was written during the
illness of which he died.
Before taking leave of the writings of this remarkable
man, we ought perhaps to mention, as descriptive of his
mental character and pursuits, that he had at one time
resolved, after finishing his History of India, to write a
History of English Law. He speaks as follows of this pro¬
ject, in a letter written in 1818 :—“ You do not know, per¬
haps, what is my presumption on the subject of law. The
next work (after the History) which I meditate, is a His¬
tory of English Law, in which I propose to trace, as far
as possible, the expedients of the several ages to the state
of the human mind, and the circumstances of society in
those ages, and to show their concord or discord with the
standard of perfection ; and I am not without hopes of
producing a book readable by all, and if so, a book capable
of teaching law to all.” We do not know whether he ever
made any progress in the execution of this design, or by
what circumstances he was induced to abandon it. His
intimacy with Mr Ricardo, and his strong bias towards
metaphysical speculations, probably induced him to en¬
deavour, in preference, to systematize the science of poli¬
tical economy, and to prosecute the inquiries which led to
the publication of his Analysis of the Phenomena of the
Mind.
Mr Mill, from an early age, was subject to gout; a dis¬
ease which not unfrequently in old age affects the chest.
For some winters previously to his death he had an obsti¬
nate cough, which, however, went off as the summer ad¬
vanced. But in the summer of 1835 it did not go off, and
the symptoms of pulmonary consumption by degrees ma¬
nifested themselves. He declined slowly, and died on the
23d of June 1836. His remains were buried in Kensing¬
ton Church, having lived at Kensington during the last five
years of his life.
If we were called upon to state what, beyond all others,
was the distinguishing characteristic of Mr Mill’s mind,
we should answer, his power of generalization. To have
this power in a high degree, three qualities of mind, each
of them rarely to be met with in a high degree sepa¬
rately, still more rarely together, are requisite—the observ¬
ing faculty, the analytical faculty, and the ratiocinative
faculty. Thus, in Aristotle the observing and ratiocinative
powers, and in Bentham the ratiocinative, existed in con¬
siderable force, whilst the former had but little, and the
latter still less, of the analytical. They made enumera¬
tions and catalogues with wonderful minuteness, which,
however, from want of analysis, were often inaccurate or
imperfect; rendering, moreover, the question treated un¬
necessarily complicated, in proportion to that imperfec¬
tion. The very complication in which a patient but un-
analytical mind is sure to involve any large subject, fre¬
quently obtains for such men the character of possessing
and displaying a vast knowledge of and command over de¬
tails, when in truth the display and enumeration of end¬
less details arises from their inability to penetrate into the
heart of their subject,—to take it to pieces, and then se¬
parate from it what is extrinsic, bringing out the real core
of the question into naked and broad light. He who can
do this will generalize accurately. But to do this is given
to few; whilst, on the other hand, to generalize inaccu¬
rately, requires neither labour in collecting facts, nor pe¬
netration in analysing them, nor logic in treating the re¬
sults of the analysis; and is unfortunately one of the com¬
monest of the qualities that belong to men. And, as the
mass of mankind seldom give themselves the trouble to
seize distinctions, they are in the habit of applying to ge¬
neralization, in the true sense of the word, and as Mr Mill
possessed it, the censure deserved only by such slovenly
generalizations as those which commonly pass under the
name. Or the three faculties necessary for correct gene¬
ralization, Mr Mill had the observing faculty in a smaller
proportion than the other two ; but it would be difficult
to name any writer who possessed a larger share of all the
three together.
Mr Mill was wont to attribute a considerable share of in¬
fluence in the formation of his intellectual character to his
reading the works of Plato. And, no doubt, to read with
understanding the writings of Plato, must produce extraor¬
dinary effects upon the mind of any man. In the style,
however, in which Mr Mill developed and embodied his
speculations, he bears more resemblance to Aristotle than
to Plato. At. the same time, this was rather in the form
than the matter ; for he had little of Aristotle’s vast power
of observation, and he had much of Plato’s dialectical and
analytical powers, though altogether wanting the poetical
qualities of his mind. Of modern philosophers, he whom
Mr Mill most resembles is Hobbes. There is in both the
same clearness, the same condensation, the same simplicity
of style, the same utter abjuration of all rhetorical ornament,
or any thing else that might lead either the mind of the
writer or of the reader away, even for a moment, from the
point under discussion. There is often, however, a quiet
dry humour lurking in Hobbes’s sentences, which is not to
be found in Mr Mill’s. Hobbes’s language, too, is more
idiomatic. In the boldness and originality of the tone of
thought the resemblance is striking.
It has been usual with certain persons to consider Mi-
Mill as a disciple of Bentham. It seems worth while to
say a few words on this point. Mr Mill, in his Fragment
on Mackintosh, having occasion to state that no man ever
derived his opinions from the conversation of Mr Ben¬
tham, inasmuch as, with him, conversation was relaxa¬
tion purely, adds, “ It is also a matter of fact, that till
within a few years of the death of Mr Bentham, the men
of any pretension to letters who shared his intimacy, and
saw enough of him to have the opportunity of learning
much from his life, were in number two. These men were
familiar with the writings of Mr Bentham ; one of them,
at least (Mr Mill himself), before he was acquainted with
his person. And they were neither of them men who took
any body for a master, though they were drawn to Mr
Bentham by the sympathy of common opinions, and by
the respect due to a man who had done more than any
body else to illustrate and recommend doctrines which they
deemed of first-rate importance to the happiness of man¬
kind.” So far, and no farther, was Mr Mill a disciple of Mr
Bentham.
A trait of Mr Mill’s character which well deserves to be
commemorated, was the warm interest he always took in
the intellectual progress of any young man known to him
as possessing some capacity and inclination to improve
himself. His enlarged and philosophical view of the sub¬
ject of education leading him to regard nearly the whole
of man’s life as a course of education, he endeavoured, with
great earnestness and energy, to impress upon the minds of
such young men the importance of educating themselves
after a different standard from the vulgar one of their age;
and of rendering even those studies which their various
professions or modes of life obliged them to pursue, as
much as possible the means of invigorating and improving
their intellectual and moral nature. In enforcing his pre¬
cepts, Mr Mill was aided by the extraordinary nerve and
clearness with which he expressed himself in conversation.
Fie was, indeed, one of the best discoursers, on grave sub¬
jects, that we ever met with ; and he spoke with an ame¬
nity and ease, and even with a degree of point and anima-
80 M I L
Millar, tion, that could not have been anticipated from acquaint-
ance merely with the dry and emotionless character of his
written productions.
In a word, the tendency of all Mr Mill’s writings was to
lead men to trust for their opinions neither to the autho¬
rity of a name, however renowned, nor to the dogmatical as¬
sertions of a man or a body of men, however powerful; but
to the evidence of their senses and their reason. To do
this he deemed of first-rate importance to produce good
morals, good legislation, good government, in a word, hu¬
man happiness; and he enforced his precepts with an ear¬
nestness proportionate to so momentous an end. In like
manner, he regarded all attempts to corrupt the springs of go¬
vernment, and thereby to “ strike at the well-being” to use
his own words, “of all the myriads of whom the great body
of the community is composed, from generation to gene¬
ration,” with a severity of indignation that might be ex¬
pected from his earnest and energetic character. His com¬
prehensive mind, long habituated to large views, and to
dealing with classes rather than individuals, sympathized
as keenly with the bulk of mankind as an ordinary mind
does with the hero or heroine of a well-told tale. Such
ought to be, but how seldom has it been, the character of
the legislator and the statesman :
patriae impendere vitam,
Non sibi, sed toti genitum se credere mundo.
Mill, John, a very learned divine, was born at Shap in
Westmoreland, about the year 1645, and became a servi¬
tor of Queen’s College, Oxford. Upon his entering into
orders he became an eminent preacher, and was made pre¬
bendary of Exeter. In 1681 he was created doctor of di¬
vinity ; about the same time he was made chaplain in or¬
dinary to King Charles II. ; and in 1685 he was elected
principal to St Edmund’s Hall in Oxford. His edition of
the Greek Testament, which will render his name ever
memorable, was published about a fortnightbefore his death,
which happened in June 1707. Dr Mill was during thirty
years employed in preparing this edition.
MILLAR, James, M.D., whose name is well entitled to
notice here, on account of his connection with this work, was
born in the town of Ayr, on the 4th of February 1762. He
received the early part of his education in the Academy
at Ayr, where he acquired considerable knowledge of the
learned languages. He afterwards passed through the or¬
dinary curriculum of the literary, philosophical, and theolo¬
gical classes in the university of Glasgow, in order to qua¬
lify himself to enter the church of Scotland ; and, as is usual
for young men destined to that profession, employed part
of his time in the business of private teaching. Havino-
been induced by his friend Dr Porteous to go out to Ja”
maica as tutor in a gentleman’s family,'he remained in that
island for four years ; and upon returning home, he was li¬
censed to preach by the presbytery of Irvine. He after¬
wards for a considerable time officiated as chaplain to the
university of Glasgow. His success in this vocation did
not, however, correspond with his expectations; and, be¬
ing naturally possessed of an acute and aspiring mind, he
turned his thoughts to the study of medicine. He accor¬
dingly removed to Edinburgh, and completed his medical
course in this university, where he received his deo-ree.
He then proceeded to Paisley, and continued to exercise
the duties of his profession for some years in that place;
but as he had always been distinguished by an ardent love'
of science, he was induced to return to Edinburgh, as
likely to furnish occupation more congenial to his taste and
views. He was at first engaged in writing for, or in su¬
perintending, one or other of the periodical miscellanies
then published in this city; but a more extensive and im¬
portant field was at length opened to his abilities and in-
dustiy, by the proprietors of this Encyclopaedia, with whom
he entered into an agreement to superintend a new and
M I L
improved edition of it, being the fourth. The third edition MiU:|
consisted of eighteen volumes, to which was appended av"—"V1
Supplement in two; but it was resolved, from the first,
to extend the fourth to twenty volumes, and Dr Millar
had the satisfaction of conducting this great undertaking
from first to last, and of being instrumental in introducing
into the work, notwithstanding the limited means at his
disposal, a variety of new treatises, besides other improve¬
ments, not less required though not so prominent, and
many corrections. Having abandoned all other occupa¬
tions, in order to devote himself exclusively to this work,
he took possession of the editorial house, connected with
the printing establishment belonging to the proprietors,
and there he continued to reside till the completion of the
undertaking. This was the happiest as well as the most
useful period of his life. The house he occupied was small
but comfortable ; and it contained a very useful collection
of books of reference and general literature, to which the
proprietors continued to add from time to time ; so that he
was not only enabled to furnish his contributors with the
materials of their labours, but to carry on his own, with¬
out stirring abroad in quest of the necessary books. As
chemistry and natural history were the sciences which he
chiefly studied, and to which, indeed, he was enthusiasti¬
cally devoted, the new articles which he himself contribu¬
ted to the work have been mostly superseded, and replaced
by others more in unison with the rapid progress of know¬
ledge in these departments; but it is due to his memory
to mention the following, as affording proofs both of his
industry and the range of his acquirements: Cetology,
Chemistry, Conchology, Crystallization, Dyeing, Dynamics,
Erpetology, Furnace, Galvanism, Mineralogy, Ores, and
the analysis of Stones. Some of these treatises were after¬
wards republished, we believe, in separate forms. About
the same period that he completed his labours upon the
Encyclopaedia, namely, in 1810, he gave to the world anew
and greatly improved edition of Williams’s Mineral King¬
dom, in two volumes octavo. Although entirely a work
of practical experience, the result of a confined occupation
in the coal and mining districts of the country, Dr Millar
so enlarged and expanded it, as to render it a not unaccep¬
table present to the scientific reader. In an appendix,
he gave an extended view of the sciences of mineralogy
and geology, which was necessarily precluded by the li¬
mited knowledge and experience of Mr Williams. Al¬
though geology since that period has made singular and
unexpected advances, this part of the publication deserves
to be noticed, as including a more copious detail of geo¬
logical facts than had at that time been presented to the
public.
The only other literary undertaking in which Dr Millar
engaged was the Encyclopaedia Edinensis, the ostensible
design of which was to present to the public, in a few
volumes, a succinct and accessible epitome of general
knowledge, suited to the great mass of the community.
But in consequence of the embarrassed affairs of the pro¬
prietors, the undertaking was for a time suspended, and
he did not live to complete it. From this period Dr Millar
relinquished all connection with literary undertakings, and
officiated for several years as physician to the Edinburgh
Dispensary, the duties of which situation he discharged
with a zeal and philanthropy beyond all praise. By those
who knew him well Dr Millar was greatly esteemed. He
was an agreeable and intelligent companion, whose con-
veisation was acceptable as well to men of the world as
to men of science. I hough he lived a life of labour, his
rewards were but small; and this, joined to the failure of
some of his attempts to establish himself as a lecturer on
chemistry and mineralogy, contributed somewhat, in the
later period of his life, to sour his temper ; but he al¬
ways manifested a liberal and independent spirit, and took
M I L
lillstone a warm interest in the progress of knowledge, as well as
II in the welfare of its cultivators. He died at Edinburg-h
Itillener^Qn tjie 0£ ju]y 1827, leaving a widow and several
>"”v children.
MILLSTONE, the stone by which corn is ground.
The millstones which we find preserved from ancient
times are all small, and very different from those which
are now in use. Thoresby mentions two or three such
found in England, amongst other Roman antiquities, which
were but twenty inches broad ; and there is reason to be¬
lieve that the Romans, as well as the Egyptians and Jews,
did not employ horses, or wind, or water, as we do, to
turn their mills, but made their slaves and captives of war
do this laborious work. Sampson, when a prisoner to the
Philistines, was treated no better, but condemned to turn
the millstone in his prison. The runner or loose millstone,
in this sort of grinding, was usually heavy for its size, be¬
ing as thick as it was broad. This is the" millstone which
is expressly prohibited in Scripture to take in pledge, be¬
cause, lying loose, it was more easily removed. The Tal¬
mudists relate, that the Chaldeans made the youno- men
of the captivity carry millstones with them to Babylon ;
and hence, probably, their paraphrase renders the text
“ have borne the mills or millstones,” which might thus be
true in a literal sense. I hey have also a proverbial ex¬
pression of a man with a millstone about his neck ; which
they use to express a man under the severest weight of
affliction. This also plainly refers to the same small kind
of stones.
MILLLNARIANS, or Chiliasts, a name given to
those in the primitive ages, who believed that the saints
will reign with Christ on earth for a thousand years. See
Millennium.
MILLENER, or Milliner, one who sells ribands and
dresses, particularly head-dresses for women, and who
makes up those dresses. Of this word different etymolo¬
gies have been given. It is not derived from the French,
who cannot express the notion of milliner otherwise than
by the circumlocution marchande or marchande des modes.
Neither is it derived from the low Dutch, the great but
neglected magazine of the Anglo-Saxon. For Sewel, in
his English and Dutch Dictionary, published in 1708, de-
sciibes millener as a “ pedlar who sells ribands and other
trimmings or ornaments, a French pedlar.” Littleton, in
his English and Latin Dictionary, published 1677, defines
millener, “ a jack of all trades,” millenarius, or mille mer-
cium venditor ; that is, “ one who sells a thousand different
sorts of things.” from this etymology, which seems fan-
ciful, we must hold, that it then implied what is now term-
ed a haberdasher of small wares.” Before Littleton’s
time, however, a somewhat nicer characteristic than seems
compatible with this notion, appears to have belonged to
them ; for Shakspeare, in his Henry IV. makes Hotspur,
when complaining of the daintiness of a courtier, say, “ he
perfumed Yxke a milliner.” The fact seems to be, that
tiere were milleners of several kinds ; as, horse milleners,
w io make ornaments of coloured wmrsted for horses; ha¬
berdashers of small wares, the milleners of Littleton ; and
milleners such as those now peculiarly knowm by that name,
w lether male or female, to whom Shakspeare’s allusion
seems most appropriate. Lastly, Dr Johnson, in his dic-
, ives the w°rd from milaner, an inhabitant of
i an, whence first came people of this profession, as a
Lombard is a banker.
M * I L
81
MILLE Passus, or Millia Passuum, a very common
expression amongst the ancient Romans for a measure of
distance, commonly called a mile. Milliarium, rarely used.
A Roman mile Hesychius made to consist of seven stadia;
Plutarch, little short of eight; many others, as Strabo and
Polybius, eight stadia and no more. The reason of this
difference seems to be, that the former had a regard to the
Grecian foot, which is greater than the Roman or Italic.
Ibis distance is oftentimes called lapis, from the stone by
which it was marked or indicated.
MILLENNIUM, a period of a thousand years; gene¬
rally used with reference to the thousand years during
which, according to the statement of the Apostle John in
the 4th verse of the twentieth chapter of the Apocalypse,
Christ is to reign with his saints upon earth.
As almost all nations are possessed of some traditionary
information respecting the existence of a happy and a holy
age at the commencement of the world’s history, so among
most of them do we find traces, more or less distinct, of
an expectation that a period of still greater excellence
will immediately precede its close. In several of the
oriental religious systems this expectation occupies a pro¬
minent place p nor will the classical reader need to be re¬
minded of the well-known Eclogue of Virgil, in which he
describes the glories of “ the last age,” and the return of
the Saturnian reign, in strains which so strikingly accord
w ith those of the Jewish Scriptures, that this poem seems
to have been commonly regarded by the early church as
prophetic of the birth and reign of Christ.2 A still more
remarkable, because more explicit, allusion to a millennium,
occurs in the writings of Plato, in the statement which
he repeatedly makes, that a period of a thousand years
(’fcihtirris nooua, yChiooTw irog, iregiodog yjkiiTr[g) must inter¬
vene betw een death and our “ arrival at the inheritance
and possession of the second life.”3
Among the Jews this expectation assumed a more defi¬
nite form, and was expressed in less hesitating language.
Their prophets distinctly revealed to them the certainty
of a period of future felicity under the reign of the Mes¬
siah ;4 and they had, from a comparatively early age, the
tradition, that that period would extend through a thou¬
sand years. This tradition seems to have had its rise in
the notion, that as the work of creation was divided
among six ordinary days, so the world would have to pass
through six divine days of toil and suffering (each of which
days they imagined to be a millennium, from a misinter¬
pretation of Ps. xc. 4) ; and that as God rested on the
seventh day, so should the seventh millennium be a period
of universal rest and quiet under the reign of the Mes¬
siah. In the rabbinical waitings, frequent allusions to this
opinion are to be found, the most important of which have
been collected by Wetstein, in his notes on Apoc. xx. Of
these allusions, the following maybe taken as a specimen :
“ There is a tradition in the house of Elias, that the
righteous whom the holy blessed God shall raise from the
dead, shall not return again to the dust, but for the space
of a thousand years, in which the holy blessed God shall
renew the world, they shall have wings like the wings of
eagles, and shall fly above the waters.”5
From the Jews, this notion of a personal reign of the
Messiah with his saints on earth, was adopted by seve¬
ral in the early church, by whom the passage in the
Apocalypse above referred to was confidently quoted in
support of the opinion. By some of these the blessings
Mille
Passus
% ^ee ' }utarc^. et Osir. c. 47 ; Hj'de De llelig. Vet. Pen. p. 832.
Ceet. cVUgUStine’ lnchoat- Expos, in Ep. ad, Romanos; Lactantius, Instit. vii. 24; Eusebius, Constantini Orat. ad Sanctorum
^ nnanis, p. 1054, E.; see also Phaed. p. 1223, D. ; and De Rep. lib. x. n. 761, E.
bee, among other passages, Is. ii. 1-4, ix. xi. xxv. ; Zech. xiv.
sanhedrin, fol. 92, quoted in Dr Ad. Clarke’s Comment, in loc.
VOL. XV.
L
MILLENNIUM.
82
Millen- anticipated during the millennium were regarded as en-
nium. tirely of a temporal and sensual kind, while others looked
v jr— Y ' forward to that period as a season of spiritual enjoyment
and religious harmony. In neither of these forms, how¬
ever, does the opinion ever seem to have become general
in the church. Indeed we are expressly informed by
Origen, that it was confined to those “ of the simpler sort,”
and to such as, “ refusing the labour of intelligence, fol¬
lowed the superficial mode of literal interpretation.”1 Great
obscurity, however, attends the history of this dogma in
the early church, as the documents we possess are too
few, and too partial in their information, to justify our ex¬
pressing any definite opinion on the subject. from the
testimony of Eusebius, we learn that the first who taught
it in the church was Papias, a bishop of Phrygia, in the
earlier part of the second century, who professed to have
received a traditional revelation on the subject from the
apostles. Influenced by a regard to the piety and anti¬
quity of the man (rr^ d.pyjJ-tdr^ra ruvdgog ‘Tgo3if3Xrilaivoi),
several ecclesiastics, and among the rest Irenaeus and Jus¬
tin Martyr, adopted his opinion. Adherents were also
found in the Latin church, especially from among the
Montanist party. It is justly remarked, however, by Pro¬
fessor Neander, that the defensive attitude which the ad¬
vocates of the doctrine perpetually assume in regard to it,
affords a strong presumption that it was not the doctrine
of the church in general.2 3
In the third century it was vehemently assailed by Ori¬
gen, and as eagerly defended by Nepos, a bishop of the
district of Arsinoe, in Egypt. The latter, however, was
but a feeble antagonist for so redoubtable a controversial¬
ist as Origen, whom his scholars delighted to style the
Adamantine; and consequently his interference served only
to quicken the downfall of the cause he had espoused.
The assault of Origen was followed by that of Dionysius,
bishop of Alexandria, and one of Origen’s most able scho¬
lars, which seems, in the Eastern church at least, complete¬
ly to have driven the opinion into obseurity.J From this
time forward we find no traces of it in ecclesiastical history,
until we arrive at the tenth century, when it was revived,
though in a very altered form, and used for the purpose
of terrifying the ignorant populace into larger concessions
to the ambition and avarice of the papal power. They
were taught that the millennium, during which Satan was
to be bound, was to be calculated from the birth of Christ,
and consequently was then rapidly drawing to a close ;
that at its termination Satan would be again set free, and
the reign of Anti-Christ would commence ; and that, after
a short season of triumph to the enemies of the church,
the last judgment would take place, and the world be
consumed by the final conflagration. So powerful was the
effect produced by the teaching of this doctrine, that mul¬
titudes, as the eventful year that was to close the last cen¬
tury of the millennium approached, forsook their homes,
“ and hastened to the shores of Palestine, with the pious
persuasion that Mount Sion would be the throne of
Christ when he should descend to judge the world ; and
these, in order to secure a more partial sentence from
the God of mercy and charity, usually made over their
property before they departed, to some adjacent church
or monastery.”4 The much-dreaded year, however, hav¬
ing passed away, without any of the expected convulsions,
the minds of the people recovered their equilibrium. Millen. E\
Those who had fled returned to their homes, and resumed nium. ,
their wonted occupations ; “ and the only, lasting effect of
this stupendous panic was the augmentation of the tem¬
poral prosperity of the church.”5
Since the reformation, the opinion of the early Millen-
narians has been revived in the church; and the doctrine
of a personal reign of Christ on earth with his saints has
been maintained by many excellent persons, as one of the
truths clearly revealed in the Scriptures. The tenets of
those who avow this opinion are chiefly the following :—
That Jerusalem is to be rebuilt, the temple restored, and
sacrifice a(rain offered on the altar ; that this city is to
form the residence of Christ, who is to reign there in glory
with all his saints for a thousand years; that for this pur¬
pose there shall be a resurrection of all the pious dead,
that none of the Saviour s followers may be absent during
his triumph ; that at the close of the thousand years, they
shall all return to heaven, and the world be left to Satan
and his followers for a season ; and that then the gene¬
ral resurrection and last judgment shall taxe place, and
the history of the world be brought to a close. In sup¬
port of these tenets, they appeal to numerous passages in
the prophetical writings of the Old Testament, to some
sayings of Christ himself recorded in the Evangelists,
to one or two detached passages in the writings of the
apostles, and principally to the declarations of St John in
the Apocalypse. The passages in the Prophecies on which
most stress is laid by them, are those in which the latter-
day glory seems to be described in connection with the
return of the Lord of Hosts unto Zion, the establishment
of his sanctuary with men for ever, and the coming of the
nations to Jerusalem to receive instruction, and offer their
homage to him.6 * The declarations of our Lord referred to
are those in which he speaks of the destruction of Jeru¬
salem in connection with his second advent L from which
it is inferred that Jerusalem shall remain in its present
state, and that seasons of tribulation and sorrow shall be¬
fall the church, until Christ come to restore the one to its
former glory, and to exalt the other over all its enemies.8
The passages quoted from the apostles are chiefly two : the
one the address of St Peter to the Jews,—“ Repent and be
converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the
times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the
Lord ; when he shall send Jesus Christ, which before was
preached unto you ;”9 which is held to prove that Christ
shall come again, and that this event shall be attended
with times of refreshing to the Jews; the other the de¬
claration of St Paul to the Thessalonians,10 that “ the dead
in Christ shall rise first;” from which it is inferred that
there will be a resurrection of the just antecedent to the
general resurrection. The main prop of the doctrine,
however, is the passage in the twentieth chapter of the
Apocalypse, already referred to, and which is as follows :
“ And I saw thrones, and they sat on them, and judgment
was given unto them ; and I saw the souls of them that
were beheaded for the witness of Jesus, and for the word
of God, and which had not worshipped the beast, neither
his image, neither had received his mark upon their fore¬
heads or in their hands; and they lived and reigned with
Christ a thousand years. But the rest of the dead lived
not again till the thousand years were finished. This is
1 Proleg. in Cant. cant. 69, B.; de Princip. ii. 11, sect. 2.
2 Kirchengcschichte, bd. i. abt. 3, p. 728; see also Waddington’s Church History, ch. iii.; Whitby’s Treatise on the Millennium,
appended to his Commentary, &c.
3 Euseb. Hist. Eccl. vii. 24, 25. 4 Waddington’s Church History, chap. xv. 5 Ibid.
6 See Begg’s Connected View of some of the Scriptural Evidence of the Redeemer’s Speedy Personal Return, &c. pp. 85-118.
7 Matt. xxiv.; Mark, xiii.; Luke, xxi.
8 Begg’s Letters on our Saviour’s Predictions, See. passim.
9 Acts, iii. 19, 20. 0 1 Ep. iv. 16.
MILLENNIUM.
83
the first resurrection.” Verses 4, 5. Here it is contended
that we have a distinct testimony in favour of a millennial
reign of Christ and his people, and of a resurrection of
those who had been faithful to him, as well as of those
who had suffered for his sake, antecedent to that of the rest
of the dead, and hence called “ the first resurrection.”
By those who oppose this system, it is generally admit¬
ted that the expectation of a long season of uninterrupted
triumph to the cause of Christ, is one which is fully au¬
thorized by the declarations of Scripture. It is denied,
however, that these declarations, when properly interpret¬
ed, support the notion of a personal reign, and a twofold
resurrection. With regard to the passages from the Old
Testament prophecies, it is maintained, that many of those
adduced by Millennarians, as favouring their system, have
been already fulfilled in the temporal history of the Jew¬
ish nation, and that in others which seem to have a still
future reference, Jerusalem is used as typically represen¬
tative of the Christian church in its triumphant state ; the
temple is spoken of in reference to the ministrations of
the Gospel; and the coming of the people to Jerusalem is
set forth as indicative of the universal prevalence of the
Christian faith. The inference deduced by Millennarians
from the words of our Lord above referred to, is regarded
by their opponents as at best very obscure and far-fetched,
while, on the other hand, it is contended, that the ob¬
vious comparison which our Lord draws between the de¬
struction of Jerusalem and his second coming, as well as
the circumstances of appalling and unexpected suddenness
with which his appearance will be made, seem much bet¬
ter to accord with the notion, that the coming spoken of
is his coming to judgment, than with the opinion that it is
an advent for which his church shall be longing, and the
world prepared. In the statement of St Peter to the
Jews, it is admitted that there are some expressions which
would seem at first sight to favour the millennarian scheme ;
but it is argued that every such inference is precluded by
the words which follow, and in which the apostle declares,
that the heavens must retain Christ “ until the restitu¬
tion (or accomplishment) of all things, which God hath
spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the
world began.” As, therefore, by the showing of Millenna¬
rians themselves, the glories of the millennium form part of
the “ all things” that are revealed in inspired prophecy,
and which must be fulfilled before Christ shall re-appear
on earth, it is plainly impossible that he can come to our
world in person at the commencement of that period ; and
consequently the times of refreshing spoken of by St Pe¬
ter must be interpreted of other blessings than those which
would flow from the personal reign of Christ at Jerusalem.
As to the statement of St Paul, that “ the dead in Christ
shall rise first,” it is affirmed that a single glance at the
context is sufficient to convince us that the apostle is not
establishing a difference between the righteous and the
wicked as to the time of their respective resurrections ;
but is simply showing that those believers who are alive
at the season of Christ’s second advent shall not enjoy any
advantage over those who are dead, for the latter shall be
raised first, i. e. previous to the common ascent of the
whole to meet the Lord in the air. In reference to the
passage from the Apocalypse, it is contended, ls£, That
the expression “ first resurrection” no more necessitates
a twofold corporeal resurrection, than the phrases “ first
and second death,” so frequentljr employed by the same
writer, necessitate the supposition of a tw'ofold corporeal
dissolution ; but that in both cases we have an instance of
the same intermingling of the spiritual with the material,
as in our Lord’s declaration, “ Let the dead bury their
dead,” where, as is generally admitted, the first adjective
is used in a spiritual or metaphorical, the second in a
literal and corporeal sense: 2dly, That the phrase, “ the
rest of the dead,” refers to “ the remnant” spoken of in the Millen-
21st verse of the 19th chapter (the words in the original nium
are the same in both verses, 6/ Xoikoi), by whose resurrec-
tion is intended the temporary restoration of the reign of
evil after the millennium : 3dly, That it is not a legitimate
interpretation to regard the expression, “ I saw the souls
of them that were beheaded,” &c. as intimating their cor¬
poreal resuscitation ; for though we may properly enough
speak of a soul when we mean a person, yet it wmuld out¬
rage all propriety of language for any one to say that he
saw the souls of certain individuals, when he meant that
he saw these individuals themselves : £thly, That by the
return to the earth of the souls of the martyrs and con¬
fessors, nothing more is intimated than the universal pre¬
valence of that holy and determined spirit by which they
were distinguished ; in the same way as the ancient pro¬
phecy, that Elias should return to earth before the appear¬
ance of the Messiah, is allowed to have received its accom¬
plishment when John the Baptist came “ in the spirit and
power of Elias:” 5th/y, That it is as contrary to sound
principles of interpretation to expound a book professedly
symbolical literally, as it would be to expound a professed
narrative symbolically : Gthly, That it is imperative on
those who insist on the literal interpretation of this pas¬
sage to be consistent, and interpret literally the whole
book, in which case we should have literal vials, and trum¬
pets, and mill-stones, and chains, and burning lakes, &c.;
an extent of literality for which few will be hardy enough
to contend : and, lastly, That by interpreting the whole
passage symbolically, and understanding by it a predic¬
tion of a season of joyful triumph to the church, during
which the whole world shall be under the religion of
Christ, and the zeal and piety of its holiest members in
its purest days shall be universally diffused, no violence
is done to any part of it, while a meaning is elicited in en¬
tire accordance with the general tenor of Scripture.
It is further objected by those who are opposed to Mil-
lennarianism, in the first place, that the hypothesis is in it¬
self exceedingly improbable ; for since Scripture assures us
that the departed saints are already with Christ in heaven,
in the enjoyment of unspeakable felicity, it is hardly con¬
ceivable that they would leave such a state to dwell for a
thousand years on earth, in a state which at best must be
one of imperfect enjoyment, and then return to heaven to
permit their enemies for a season to reign in their stead :
2dly, That the millennarian notion of a resurrection of the
righteous, antecedent to that of the wicked, is directly
opposed to the testimony of Scripture, which represents
the two as simultaneous; see, e. g. John v. 28-29, &c.:
Qdly, That the idea of a long interval elapsing between
the advent of Christ and the last judgment, is inconsistent
with those passages which represent the one as imme¬
diately consequent upon the other; such as, 2 Thess. i.
7-10; 2 Tim. iv. 1, &c.: \ttldy. That, on the millennarian
hypothesis, there can be no judgment of the righteous
whatever, for they having been once admitted to reign
with Christ, can never after that be placed for trial at his
bar,—a hypothesis clearly at variance with innumerable
passages of Scripture, such, e. g. as Horn. xiv. 10-12;
Math. xxv. 31-46, &c.: btlily, That to represent the mil¬
lennium as a state of immortality on earth, is to confound
it with the New Jerusalem, though the two are distinctly
revealed as separate states, the one previous and the other
subsequent to the final judgment: and, lastly, rIhat the
theory of millennarianism is in two points at least self-
contradictory ; for it not only represents Christ as reign¬
ing until the last enemy has been destroyed, and yet sup¬
poses the existence of a w hole host of enemies, who, at the
close of that reign, are to be gathered together; but also
represents them as contending with the saints, until they
are consumed by fire from God (Rev. xx. 7-10), though,
84
M I L
M illot.
Milliarium according to another part of their hypothesis, the saints
Aurem. siiail before this have returned with Christ to heaven.
For these reasons, among others of Jess weiglit, this hy¬
pothesis of a personal reign of Christ on eartli has been
rejected by the majority of divines, and the period of the
millennium regarded as a season of great spiritual blessed¬
ness, consequent on the complete triumph of Christianity
throughout the earth. (n. n. n. n.)
MILLIARE, or Milliarium. See Mille Passes.
MILLIARIUM Aureum, was a gilded pillar in the
orum of Rome, at which all the highways of Italy met, as
one common centre. From this pillar the miles were count¬
ed, and at the end of every mile a stone was put down.
The military column was erected by Augustus Caesar, and,
as we are informed by travellers, is still to be seen.
MILLOT, Claude-Fran^ois-Xavier, a distinguished
historian, was born in 1726 at Ornans, a small town of
Franche-Comte, being descended from an old family con¬
nected with the profession of the law. When his studies
were completed, he was admitted amongst the Jesuits;
and after having taught classical learning in several towns,
he was appointed professor of rhetoric in the College of
Lyons, one of the most celebrated institutions of the so¬
ciety in France. In a discourse, crowned by the academy
of Dijon, he ventured to pronounce an eulogium on Mon¬
tesquieu, an act of boldness which offended his superiors,
and, from the disagreements that ensued, led to his return
to the world. The Abbe Millot, who was often success¬
ful in academical competitions, fancied that his talents
fitted him to excel in the pulpit; but after having preach¬
ed, without success, an advent at Versailles, and a lent at
Luneville, he abandoned a career for which he was disqua¬
lified by the weakness of his voice and the timidity and
embarrassment of his manner. The desire of being use¬
ful to young people had induced him to undertake trans¬
lations ; and it was with this view that he composed
abridgements of the history of France and of England,
two works which had great success. About this time the
Marquis of Felino, minister of Parma, having established
in that city a college for the education of the young nobi¬
lity, appointed the Abbe Millot to the chair of history, on
the recommendation of the Duke of Nivernais. He was
stranger to the intrigues which agitated the court, and,
foi the benefit of his pupils, formed the plan of an abridge¬
ment of general history. Whilst he was occupied w ith this
work, Felino was marked out by his enemies as an object
of popular hatred, insulted in the streets of Parma, and
menaced even at*the gates of his own palace. From this
moment the Abbe Millot refused to quit his patron. In
vain was it represented to him that the alfection he evin¬
ced for the unfortunate minister would cause him to lose
is place. “ My place,” said he, “ is with a virtuous man,
my benefactor, who is persecuted ; I shall not lose that at
fuf: the retirement of the Marquis of Felino, the
Abbe Millot returned to France, where his courageous
conduct was known, and had procured him many friends.
The court of Versailles, in name of that of Parma, orant-
ed him a pension of four thousand francs; and, in^lTTS
he was appointed preceptor to the Duke d’Enghien, a si¬
tuation for which he was indebted to the high opinion en-
teitained of his character. He was about to reap the re¬
ward of his labour and pains, when he was seized with an
illness, which soon carried him off in the fifty-ninth year
of his age. He died on the 21st of March 1785, the same
day on which, nine years afterwards, his august pupil was
shot in the fosse of Vincennes. The Abbe Millot had been
received into the French Academy in 1777, in the room of
Cresset. His election, managed by the house of Noailles,
was a transaction or compromise between the parties which
then divided the academy. There was one of the mem¬
bers who qualified his suffrage by declaring that he grant-
M I L
ed it only upon the condition that the recipiendary should
write a little better ; and D’Alembert, to tranquillize the "
philosophers, who hesitated to support an abbe, said to
them, “ I assure you he has nothing of a priest but the
habit.” The Abbe Millot was a man of a cold and serious
character; he had no love for society, seldom spoke in
company, and avoided that egotism which is so tyrannical
in conversation. Attentive to the discussions which were
continually arising about him, he rarely took part in them ;
and contradiction never ruffled his temper. Grimm, who
saw him often in the society of Paris, describes his appear¬
ance as melancholy and dejected. “ Nevertheless,” adds
the baron, “ he is one of the happiest beings I know, be¬
cause lie is moderate, content with his lot, and attached to
his particular kind of life and labour.” D’Alembert used
to cite him as the man in whom he had found the fewest
prejudices and the least pretensions. The following is a
complete list of his works, viz. 1. Deux Discours, one to
prove that true happiness consists in making men happy,
and the other, that hope is a good of which we do not suf¬
ficiently estimate the value, Lyons, 1750, in 8vo ; 2. Dis¬
cours Academiques, ibid. 1760, in 12mo; 3. Discours sur
le Patriotisme Fran gats, ibid. 1762, in 8vo ; 4. Discours
de Reception, Paris, 1768 and 1778, in 4to; 5. Essai sur
l'Homme, translated from Pope with notes, and a discourse
on English philosophy, Lyons, 1761, in small 12mo; 6.
Harangues dCEschine et de Demosthene, translated into
French, Lyons, 1764, in 12rno ; 7. Harangues choisies des
Historiens Latins, ibid. 1764, in two volumes 12mo ; 8.
Elemens de VHistoire de la France, Paris, 1769, in three
volumes 12mo ; 9. Elements de PHistoire d’Angleterre,
Paris, 1769, in three volumes 12mo ; 10. Elements d"His¬
toire Generate Ancienne et Moderne, ibid. 1783, in nine vo¬
lumes 12mo, a work which has been translated into the
German, Danish, Dutch, English, Swedish, Italian, Spa¬
nish, and Portuguese languages ; 11. Histoire Litteraire des
Troubadours, Paris, 1774, in three volumes 12mo; 12.
Memoires Politiques et Militaires pour servir d l’Histoire de
Louis XIV. et de Louis XV. ibid. 1777, in six volumes
12mo; 13. Extraits de PHistoire Ancienne, de PHistoire
JRomaine, et de l Histoire de France, Paris, 1796, in 4to ;
14. Dialogues, et Vie du Due de Bourgogne, pere de Louis
XV. Besancon, 1816, in 8vo. Other works have been as¬
cribed to Millot, but these are now known not to have been
his. He was a member of the academies of Lyons, Nancy,
and Chalons-sur-Marne; but that of Besancon neglected
to adopt a man who did so much honour to the province,
an omission which was repaired in 1814, by proposing as
the subject of a prize an eloge on Millot.
MILO, T. Annius, a native of Lanuvium, who attempt¬
ed to obtain the consulship at Rome by means of intrigue
and seditious tumults. Clodius the tribune opposed his
views; yet Milo would have succeeded but for an event
which has given a collateral celebrity to his name. As he
was going into the country, attended by his wife and a nu¬
merous retinue of gladiators and servants, he met on the
Appian road his enemy Clodius, who was returning to
Rome with three of his friends and some domestics com-
pletely armed. A quarrel arose between the servants;
Milo supported his attendants, and the dispute became ge¬
neral ; Clodius received many severe wounds, and was ob¬
liged to retire to a neighbouring cottage. Milo pursued
his enemy in his retreat, and ordered his servants to de¬
spatch him. Ihe body of the murdered tribune was car¬
ried to Rome, and exposed to public view. The enemies
of Milo inveighed bitterly against the violence and barba-
nty with which the sacred person of a tribune had been
treated. Cicero undertook the defence of Milo ; but the
continual clamours of the friends of Clodius, and the sight
o an armed soldiery, which surrounded the judgment seat,
so tenified the orator, that he forgot the greater part of
Milo,,
M I L
Milo his arguments, and the defence he made was weak and in-
P judicious. Milo was condemned, and banished to Massilia.
iltiades. Cicero soon afterwards sent his exiled friend a copy of the
oration which he had prepared for his defence, in the form
in which it now appears ; and Milo, after having read it,
exclaimed, “ O Cicero, hadst thou spoken before my ac¬
cusers in these terms, Milo would not now be eating figs
at Marseilles.” The friendship and cordiality of Cicero
and Milo were the fruits of long intimacy and familiar in¬
tercourse. It was by the successful exertions of Milo that
the orator was recalled from banishment, and restored to
his friends.
MILO, or Melos, an island of European Turkey, in the
Archipelago. It is about sixty-six square miles in extent.
It is mountainous and volcanic, and though in ancient times
reported to have been populous, is now so unhealthy, that
the population of less than 700 persons can only be kept
up by annual emigrations from the Morea. The chief
town of the same name is on the south part of the island,
and is said once to have had 200 houses, but now has not
so many inhabitants. Long. 24. 8. E. Lat. 36. 40.
MILTIADES, son of Cypselus, an Athenian captain,
who obtained a victory in a chariot race at the Olympic
games. He led a colony of Athenians to the Chersonesus.
The causes of this appointment are striking and singular.
The Thracian Dolonci, harassed by a long war with the
Absynthians, were directed by the oracle of Delphi to take
for their king the first man they met in their return home,
who should invite them to come under his roof and partake
of his entertainments. This was Miltiades, who was very
much struck at the appearance of the Dolonci, and with
their strange arms and garments. He invited them to his
house, and was made acquainted with the commands of the
oracle. He obeyed ; and when the oracle of Delphi had a
second time approved the choice of the Dolonci, he de¬
parted for the Chersonesus, and was invested by the inha¬
bitants with sovereign power. The first measures he took
were to stop the further incursions of the Absynthians, by
building a strong wall across the isthmus. When he had
established himself at home, and fortified his dominions
against foreign invasion, he turned his arms against Lamp-
sacus. But his expedition proved unsuccessful; he was
taken in an ambuscade, and made prisoner. His friend
Croesus, king of Lydia, informed of his captivity, procured
his release. He lived a few years after he had recovered
his liberty. As he had no issue, he left his kingdom anti
possessions to Stefagoras the son of Cimon, who was his
brother by the same mother. The memory of Miltiades
was greatly honoured by the Dolonci, who regularly cele¬
brated festivals and exhibited showrs in commemoration
of a man to whom they owed their greatness and preser¬
vation.
Miltiades, the son of Cimon, and brother of Stefago¬
ras mentioned in the preceding article, was, some time after
the death of the latter, who died without issue, sent by the
Athenians with one ship to take possession of the Cherso¬
nesus. On his arrival Miltiades appeared mournful, as if
lamenting the recent death of his brother. The principal
inhabitants of the country visited the new governor to
condole with him ; but their confidence in his sincerity
proved fatal to them. Miltiades seized their persons, and
made himselfabsolute in Chersonesus. To strengthen him¬
self, he married Hegesipyla, the daughter of Olorus, the
king of the Thracians. But his triumph was short-lived.
In the third year of his government, his dominions were
threatened by an invasion of the Scythian Nomades,
whom Darius had some time before irritated by entering
their country. Miltiades fled before them ; but as their
M I L 85
hostilities were of short duration, he was soon restored to Milton,
his kingdom. Three years afterwards he left Chersonesus, ^
and set sail for Athens, wdiere he was received with great
applause. He was present at the celebrated battle of Ma¬
rathon, in which all the chief officers ceded the power to
him, and left the event of the battle to depend upon his
superior abilities. He obtained an important victory over
the numberless forces of his adversaries. Some time after¬
wards Miltiades was intrusted with a fleet of seventy ships,
and ordered to punish those islands which had revolted to
the Persians. He was successful at first, but a sudden re¬
port that the Persian fleet was coming to attack him,
changed his operations as he was besieging Paros. He
raised the siege, and returned to Athens. He was ac¬
cused of treason, and particularly of holding correspond¬
ence with the enemy. The falsehood of these accusations
might have appeared, if Miltiades had been able to come
into the assembly. But a wound which he had received
before Paros detained him at home ; and his enemies, tak¬
ing advantage of his absence, became more eager in their
accusations, and louder in their clamours. He was con¬
demned to death ; but the rigour of his sentence was mi¬
tigated on the recollection of his great services to the
Athenians, and he was imprisoned till he should pay a fine
of fifty talents to the state. His inability to discharge so
great a sum detained him in confinement; and his wounds
having become incurable, he died a prisoner about 489
years before the Christian era. His bodj1' was ransomed
by his son Cimon, who was obliged to borrow and pay the
fifty talents, in order to give his father a decent burial.
The accusations against Miltiades were probably the more
readily believed by his countrymen, when they remem¬
bered how he had made himself absolute in Chersonesus.
In condemning the barbarity of the Athenians towards a
general who was the source of their military prosperity,
we must also remember the jealousy which ever reigns
amongst a free and independent people, and how watchful
they are in defence of the natural rights which they see
wrested from others by violence. Cornelius Nepos has
written the life of Miltiades the son of Cimon ; but his his¬
tory is incongruous and unintelligible, from his confound¬
ing the actions of the son of Cimon with those of the son
of Cypselus. Greater reliance is to be placed on the narra¬
tive of Herodotus, who was indisputably better informed
and more capable of giving an account of the life and ex¬
ploits of men who flourished in his age, and of which he
could see the living monuments. Herodotus was born
about six years after the battle of Marathon; and Corne¬
lius Nepos, as a writer of the Augustan age, flourished
about 450 years after the age of the father of history.
MILTON, a town of the county of Kent, in the hundred
of Toltintrough and lathe of Aylesford, twenty-three
miles from London. It stands on the bank of the Thames,
and forms the eastern part of the town of Gravesend. It
is a thriving place, partly owing to being visited for bath¬
ing, as the river salts with the flood tide. It has some for¬
tifications constructed to defend the passage of the river.
The population amounted in 1801 to 2056, in 1811 to 2470,
in 1821 to 2769, and in 1831 to 4348.
Milton, or Milton-Royal, a town of the county of Kent,
in the hundred of Milton and lathe of Scray, forty miles
from London. It stands at the head of a navigable creek,
in a swampy situation between Seltingbourne and the river
Thames. It has a corporation governed by a portreeve ;
has a market on Saturday, and is principally known for the
excellence of the oysters bred there. The population
amounted in 1801 to 1622, in 1811 to 1746, in 1821 to
2012, and in 1831 to 2223.
86
MILTON.
Milton. John Milton, the immortal author of Paradise Lost,
and, excepting Shakspeare, the greatest of the English
poets, was born at his father’s house in Bread Street, Lon¬
don, on the 9th, and baptized on the 20th of December
1608. Milton was by birth a gentleman, being descended
from the proprietors of Milton, near Thame, in Oxford¬
shire, one of whom forfeited his estate in the times of York
and Lancaster. The grandfather of the poet was under¬
ranger of the forest of Shotover, near Halton, and, being
a zealous Catholic, disinherited his son because he had for¬
saken the faith of his ancestors. The father was educated
as a gentleman, and became a member of Christ Church
College, Oxford, where he probably imbibed those opinions
which led him to change his religion, and thereby to incur
disinherison. Being thus deprived of his patrimony, the
father of the poet had recourse for his support to the pro¬
fession of scrivener, in the practice of which he proved so
successful, that he was enabled to give his children the
advantages of a liberal education, and at length to retire
with comfort into the country. He appears to have been
an accomplished scholar, a man of refined taste, and a
great proficient in music, a circumstance to which allusion
is made by his son in his beautiful poem Ad Patrem.1 He
married a gentlewoman of the name of Caston, of a Welsh
family, by whom he had two sons and a daughter. Chris¬
topher, the second son, was educated for the bar, and ad¬
hered to the royal cause, which at one time brought him
into trouble; but soon after the accession of James II. he
was rewarded with a knighthood, and appointed one of the
barons of Exchequer. Anne, the only daughter, married
a gentleman of the name of Philips, who rose to be secon-
dary in the crown-office, and had by him two sons, John
and Edward, who were educated by the poet.
It is to be lamented that so little information has reach¬
ed us respecting the early life of our immortal poet. We
know not for what profession his father had destined him,
though it is certain that it was not the law; and we are
equally in the dark regarding other matters connected
with his early years. His education, however, was liberal,
and the care with which it was conducted evinces the dis¬
cernment and solicitude of his father. He had the bene¬
fit both of private and public tuition. His first instructor
was Thomas Young, a puritan minister of Essex, who ap¬
pears to have gained the affections of his pupil, and to have
deserved the testimony which the latter has borne to his
merits in an elegy and two Latin epistles. At what period
this connection began or ended has not been ascertained.
It seems probable that loung continued in his office until
the time when, on account of his religious opinions, he with¬
drew to the continent, and became chaplain to the British
merchants resident at Hamburg. Milton was then sent to
&t Paul s school, at that time under the direction of Dr
1 The lines above referred to are the following, which strike us as being exceedingly beautiful
£ec tu perge, precor, sacras contemnere Musas ;
Aec vanas mopesque puta, quarum ipse peritus
Munere, mille sonos numeros componis ad aptos ;
Minibus et vocem modulis variare canoram
Doctus Arionii merito sis nominis hares.
• fire.
Nor you affect to scorn the Aonian choir,
Blessed by their smiles, and glowing with their f
A ou . who by them inspired, with art profound,
Can wield the magic of proportioned sound:
through thousand tones can teach the voice to stray,
And wind to harmony its mazy wav —
Arion’s tuneful heir.
Gill, and remained some time at that seminary, distinguish¬
ing himself by almost incredible progress, and giving nu- v
merous indications of that gigantic intellect, the energies of
which afterwards more fully developed themselves. Being
thus initiated in several languages, and having already
tasted the sweets of philosophy, he was, in the beginning
of his sixteenth year, removed to Christ’s College, Cam¬
bridge, where he entered as a pensioner, on the 12th of
February 1624. He was committed to the tuition of Mr
Chappell, the reputed author of The Whole Duty of Man,
and afterwards successively provost of Trinity College, Dub¬
lin, dean of Cashel, and bishop of Cork and Ross.
At the time when he entered the university he was
eminently skilled in the Latin language, and, by annexing
dates to his first compositions, he has afforded us the means
of estimating his early proficiency. At fifteen he translated
or versified two Psalms (the 114th and 136th), which he
thought worthy of publication, and in which may be dis¬
cerned the dawning of real genius. This is still more ap¬
parent in his poem On the Death of a Fair Infant, which
displays equal vigour and sensibility. Many of his elegies
appearj to have been written in his eighteenth year; and
from them it is evident that he had then read the Roman
authors with critical discernment. Indeed, Milton was
the first Englishman who, after the revival of letters, wrote
Latin verses with classical elegance. If any exceptions can
be made, they are few in number. Haddon and Ascham,
the pride of Elizabeth’s reign, however they succeeded in
prose, no sooner attempt verses than they provoke deri¬
sion. Not many persons will, therefore, be inclined to agree
with Johnson, that “ the products of his vernal fertility
have been surpassed by many, and particularly by his con¬
temporary Cowley.” Milton is not only the most learned of
modern poets, but his writings show him to have been a man
even from his very childhood; and hence Politian, Tasso,
Cowley, Voltaire, Pope, and others, who have written
poetical pieces of merit at an early age, must all bow to
him as to a superior spirit. He also attracted particular
notice by his academical exercises, some of which were
published by him in his more mature years, as well as by
several poems, both Latin and English, upon occasional sub¬
jects. Although his chief object seems to have been the
cultivation of his poetical talents, he neglected no depart¬
ment of literature, and, by his persevering application, be¬
came “ inured and seasoned betimes with the best and
elegantest authors of the learned tongues.”
He continued seven years at Cambridge, where he took
both the usual degrees ; that of bachelor in 1628, and that
of master of arts in 1632. Of his conduct, and the treat¬
ment which he experienced in his college, much has been
asserted, and but little proved. That “ he left the university
with no kindness for its institution,” may be admitted even
M I L
J'ilton. on the suspicious authority of Johnson. But if such a feeling
existed in his mind, it must, from Johnson’s own statement,
have been produced “ by the injudicious severity of his
governors,” and not the result of his “ own captious per¬
verseness,” as the surly biographer has uncharitably insi¬
nuated. That Milton “ obtained no fellowship, is,” he
tells us, “ certain; but the unkindness with which he was
treated was not merely negative. I am ashamed to relate,”
he adds, “ what I fear is true, that Milton was one of the
last students in either university that suffered the public
indignity of corporal correction.” Surely, injustice on the
one hand, and personal outrage on the other, were not the
most likely or natural means to beget “ kindness” for the
institution where such wrongs had been suffered. In the
violence of controversial hostility, it was also objected to
Milton that he had been expelled, or, to use the words of
his original accuser, “ vomited, after an inordinate and
riotous youth, out of the university.” But even Johnson
admits that the charge “ was apparently not true,” and
it is now quite certain that it was altogether false. Some
time after taking his degree in arts, he left the university,
and returned to his father’s house at Horton, near Cole-
brook, in Berkshire. During his residence at Horton, he
frequently visited London; and this circumstance, added
to a reflection on the university, contained in the first of
his elegies to Charles Diodati, written about the same
time, was afterwards made the occasion of charging him
with having been expelled from Cambridge for some mis¬
demeanour, or with having left it in discontent because
he could not obtain preferment; relinquishing his academi¬
cal studies that he might spend his time in London, fre¬
quenting the playhouses, or keeping company with lewd
women. Some lines in the same composition have often
been cited or referred to as giving countenance to, if not
altogether proving, this imputation.1
Milton answered this calumny in his Second Defence, and
his enemies had not the hardihood to repeat it. “ Here,”
T O N.
87
says he, speaking of the university, “ I passed seven years Milton,
in the usual course of instruction and study, with the ap-y——
probation of the good, and without any stain upon my cha¬
racter, till I took the degree of master of arts. After this,
I did not, as this miscreant feigns, run away into Italy,
but of my own accord returned to my father’s house, whi¬
ther I was accompanied by the regrets of most of the fel¬
lows of the college, who showed me no common marks of
friendship and esteem. On my father’s estate, where he
had determined to pass the remainder of his days, I en¬
joyed an interval of uninterrupted leisure, which I devoted
entirely to the perusal of the Greek and Roman classics;
though I occasionally visited the metropolis, either for the
sake of purchasing books, or of learning something new in
mathematics, or in music, in which I, at that time, found
a source of pleasure and amusement. In this manner I
spent five years,^ till my mother’s death. I then became
anxious to visit foreign parts, particularly Italy.” Such is
his own clear and distinct statement, which has never been
contradicted, or at least refuted. In regard to the lines in
the epistle addressed to Diodati, it must be obvious that
they would never have been published if they had been
conceived to contain any allusion to transactions dishonour¬
able to the writer ; and Milton himself, speaking of his ca¬
lumniator, says, “ He flings out stray crimes at a venture,
which he could never, though he be a serpent, such from
ony thing that I have writteti.” The fact seems to be, that
he had too strong and settled a distaste for episcopacy to
think of entering the church as a profession ; and that his
lofty intellect and haughty spirit disdained to submit to
the petty formalities and the pedantic discipline of the col¬
lege, after he had made sufficient advances in learning to
be able to pursue it himself, agreeably to the dictates of
his own taste and genius.2 He conceived, indeed, “ that
he who would take orders, must subscribe himself slave,
and take an oath withal, which, unless he took with a con¬
science that could not retch, he must either strain, per-
1 The whole support of the accusation preferred against Milton’s college life is rested upon the following passage of the elegv
addressed to Diodati:
Jam nec arundiferum mild cura revisere Camum ;
Nec dudum vetiti me laris angit amor:
Nuda nec arva placent, umbrasque negantia molles
Q,uam male Phoebieolis convenit ille locus !
Nec duri libet usque minas perferre maglstri
Caeteraque ingenio non subeunda meo.
Si sit hoc exilium patrios adiisse penates,
Et vacuum curis otia grata sequi;
Non ego vel profugi nomen sortemve recust,
Laetus et exilii conditione fruor.
From these lines both Johnson and Warton infer that he had incurred rustication, or a temporary removal from Cambridge, with
perhaps the loss of a term. The words vetiti laris, and afterwards exilium, which is twice used in reference to himself, scarcely ad¬
mit of any other interpretation. But the supposition of any immoral irregularity is excluded by many considerations. Had he
been conscious of having justly incurred censure and punishment, he would never have said “ Laetus et exilii conditione fruor.” Be¬
sides, the same poem which mentions his exile, proves that it was not perpetual; for it concludes with a resolution of returning to
Cambridge. His declaration that he is weary of enduring “ the threats of a rigorous master, and something else which a temper
like his can ill brook,” seems to suggest the true explanation of the difficulty. Though not chargeable with immoral irregularities,
he might, upon other accounts, have become obnoxious to the governors of his college. He might have offended their prejudices by
the bold avowal of his puritan opinions; or he might have wounded their pride by exposing their negligent or injudicious discharge
of duty ; or he might have excited their displeasure by a haughty inattention to their rules, by refusing to exchange the pleasure
of banqueting on the works of Plato or of Homer, for the barren fatigue of translating a sermon, or loading his memory with cum¬
brous pages of scholastic theology. A mere technical breach of discipline is all that can be legitimately inferred or supposed ; and,
from the frankness with which he has perpetuated the fact of his exile, we may be well assured that its cauce was such as gave him
no shame.
' In the Apology for Smectymnuus, Milton, speaking of the universities, has afforded us the means of ascertaining his thoughts and
feelings respecting these institutions. Having described many individuals of the parliament as descended from the ancient and high
nobility, he adds: “ Yet had they a greater danger to cope with ; for being trained up in the knowledge of learning, and sent
to those places which were intended to be the seed-plots of piety and the liberal arts, but were become the nurseries of superstition and
empty speculation, as they were prosperous against those vices which grow upon youth out of idleness and superfluity, so were they
happy in working off the harms of their absurd studies and labours ; correcting by the clearness of their own judgment the errors of their
misinstruction; and were, as David was, wiser than their teachers. And, although their lot fell into such times, and to be bred in such
places, where if they chanced to be taught any thing good, or of their own accord had learnt it, they might see that presently untaught
them by the ill example of their elders." If Milton, when at Cambridge, was in the habit of speaking such plain truths as are contained
in this passage, that “ nursery of superstition and empty speculation” must have withal dealt gently by the young heretic, in in¬
flicting on him no higher punishment than that of “ rustication.”
88
M I L T O N.
Milton, force, or split his faith wherefore he “ thought it bet¬
ter to prefer a blameless silence before the office of speak¬
ing, bought anti begun with servitude and forswearing.”
During the five years which Milton spent under his father’s
roof at Horton, and which may justly be regarded as the
happiest of his life, he produced some of the finest speci¬
mens of his genius; as extraordinary for their copiousness
and command of early fable and history, as for the har¬
mony of their numbers, and the sublimity and purity of
their conceptions. The Comm in 1634, and the Lycidas
in 1637, were unquestionably written at Horton ; and there
is strong internal evidence to prove that the Arcades, L'Al¬
legro, and IIPenseroso, were also composed in the same rural
retreat, during this season of propitious leisure. The Mask
of Comus was acted before the Earl of Bridgewater, presi¬
dent of Wales, at Ludlow Castle, in 1634 ; upon which oc¬
casion the character of the lady and her two brothers were
represented by Lady Alice Egerton, then about thirteen
years of age, and her two brothers, Lord Brackley and the
honourable Thomas Egerton, who were still younger. The
story of the piece is said to have been suggested by the
circumstance of Lady Alice having been separated from
her company in the night, and having wandered for some
time by herself in the forest of Haywood, as she was re¬
turning from a distant visit to meet her father, tipon ins
taking possession of his presidency.
Comus,1 or revelry, had already been personified in a
sublime passage of the Agamemnon of TEschylus ; and
the jolly god had been introduced upon the English stage
in a written Mask by Ben Jonson. But it was reserved
for Milton to develope his form and character, to give
him a lineage and an empire, and to make him the hero
of one of the most exquisite dramatic poems which the
genius of man has ever produced. The Comus is framed
upon the model of the Italian Masque, and is certainly
the noblest production of the kind which exists in any
language. It is dramatic only in semblance. The finest
passages are those which are lyrical in form as well as in
spirit. 14 I should much commend the tragical part,” says
Sir Henry Wotton, “ if the lyrical did not ravish me with
a certain dorique delicacy in the songs and odes, where-
unto I must plainly confess, that I have seen yet nothing
parallel in our language.” It is when Milton escapes from
the shackles of dialogue, and feels himself at liberty to in¬
dulge his choral raptures without reserve, that he rises
above himself, and expatiates in celestial freedom and
beauty. Then, to use the impassioned expressions of an
eloquent writer,he seems to skim the earth, to soar
above the clouds, to bathe in the Elysian dew of the rain-
bovy, and to inhale the balmy odours of nard and cassia,
which the musky wings of the zephyr-scatter through the
cedared valleys of the Hesperides.2
The Lycidas was written to commemorate the death of
Mr Edward King, the son of Sir John King, secretary for
Ireland in the reigns of Elizabeth, James, and Charles.
Young King was a great favourite at Cambridge, where
his learning, piety, and talents had secured universal re¬
spect, and his untimely fate was deplored as a public loss.
He perished by shipwreck in his passage from Chester to
Ireland, the vessel on board of which he was having foun¬
dered in a calm sea at no great distance from land. In
a collection of poems, published in 1638, Lycidas occupies
the last, and (as it was no doubt intended to be) the most
honourable place ; but we may reasonably wonder how a
production, breathing such hostility to the clergy of the
Church of England, and even menacing their leader with
the axe, should have been permitted to issue from the uni- Milta,
versity press. The guardians of the church must surely
have been slumbering at their posts; or, perhaps, this poem
being only part of a collection, it was not scrutinized before
it went to press. The most objectionable part of the com¬
position is the speech assigned to St Peter, “ the pilot of
the Galilean lake,” and it is also inferior in poetical merit
to what precedes and follows it. But, taking the monody
as a whole, it is indubitably instinct with high genius, and an
effusion of the purest and most exalted poetry. Arcades
is evidently nothing more than the poetical part of an en¬
tertainment, the bulk of which consisted of prose dialogue
and machinery; yet, whatever proportion it constituted of
the piece, it must have imparted a value to the whole, dis¬
playing, as it does, a kindred though inferior lustre to that
which irradiates the dramatic poem of Comus. LAllegro
and II Penseroso first appeared in a collection of Milton’s
poems published in 1645 ; but the precise time of their
production has not been ascertained. There is reason to
believe, however, that they were written at Horton, in
the interval between the composition of Comus and that
of Lycidas ; though it is not easy to adjust the precedency
between these victorious efforts of the descriptive muse.
They were certainly composed in the happiest mood of
the poet’s mind, when his fancy disported in glorious sun¬
shine, and no cloud or star interposed to obstruct or darken
her perceptions.
Milton, having lost his mother in 16:27, when he was
about twenty-nine years of age, now felt himself at liberty
to carry into effect a project which he had long meditated ;
and having obtained his father’s concurrence, he resolved to
visit foreign parts, and particularly Italy. His reason for
wishing to travel in -foreign countries was, as Toland
quaintly expresses it, a persuasion “ that he could not bet¬
ter discern the pre-eminence and defects of his own coun¬
try than by observing the customs and institutions of others ;
and that the study of never so many books, without the
advantages of conversation, serves either to render a man
a stupid fool or a pedant.”3 He left England in 1638, and
proceeded to Paris, whence, after a short stay, he has¬
tened to Italy, the grand object of his curiosity ; and, after
an absence of a year and three months, the greater part of
which was spent in that classic region, he returned home
through France. The only account of his ti'avels is that
furnished by himself, in his brief autobiography; and, as
no one can describe Milton so well as himself, we shall
give it in his own words, rather than attempt to paraphrase
it, after the absurd fashion of his biographers.
“ I became anxious to visit foreign parts, and particu¬
larly Italy. My father gave me his permission, and I left
home with one servant. On my departure, the celebrated
Llenry W otton, who had long been King James’s ambas¬
sador at Venice, gave me a signal proof of his regard, in
an elegant letter which he wrote, breathing not only the
warmest friendship, but containing some maxims of con¬
duct which I found very useful in my travels.4 The no¬
ble I homas Scudamore, King Charles’s ambassador, to
whom I carried letters of recommendation, received me
most courteously at Paris. His lordship gave me a card
oi introduction to the learned Hugo Grotius, at that time
ambassador from the Queen of Sweden to the French
court; whose acquaintance I anxiously desired, and to
whose house I was accompanied by some of his lordship’s
friends. A few days after, when I set out for Italy, he
gave me letters to the English merchants on my route, that
they might show me any civilities in their power.
' . , 2 Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. p. 315. 3 Life of Milton, n. 9.
nia.xims 1f, th.a,t.? lk;1l)l\ian oracle” of prudence which Wotton himself had been taught by his friend Alberto
bcipioni. fgnor annco mio, said the old Roman courtier, “ i pemicri stntti, cd il vuo sciollo," will go safely over the world, with¬
out offence of others, or of your own conscience. ’
M I L
lilton. “ Taking ship at Nice, I arrived at Genoa; and after-
“-v—-'wards visited Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence. In the latter
city, which I have always particularly esteemed for the
elegance of its dialect, its genius, and its taste, I stopped
about two months; when I contracted an intimacy with
many persons of rank and learning, and was a constant at¬
tendant at their literary parties; a practice which prevails
there, and tends so much to the diffusion of knowledge
and die preservation of friendship. No time will ever
abolish the agreeable recollections which I cherish of Ja¬
cob Gaddi,1 Carolo Dati,2 Frescobaldo, Cultellero, Bono-
mathai, Clementillo, Francisco, and many others. From
Florence I went to Sienna, thence to Rome ; where, after
I had spent about twm months in viewing the antiquities
of that renowned city, where I experienced the most
friendly attentions from Lucas Holstein,3 and other learn¬
ed and ingenious men, I continued my route to Naples.
There I was introduced, by a certain recluse with whom
I had travelled from Rome, to John Baptista Manso, mar¬
quis of Villa, a nobleman of distinguished rank and autho¬
rity, to whom Torquato Tasso, the illustrious poet, in¬
scribed his book on Friendship.4 During my stay, he gave
me singular proofs of his regard ; he himself conducted
me round the city, and to the palace of the viceroy ; and
more than once paid me a visit at my lodgings. On my
departure, he gravely apologised for not having shown me
more civility, which he said he had been restrained from
doing, because I had spoken with so little reserve on mat¬
ters of religion.
“ When I was preparing to pass over into Sicily and
Greece, the melancholy intelligence which I received of
the civil commotions in England, made me alter my pur¬
pose ; for I thought it base to be travelling for amusement
abroad, while my fellow-citizens were fighting for liberty
at home. While I was on my way back to Rome, some mer¬
chants informed me that the English Jesuits had formed
a plot against me, if I returned to Rome, because I had
spoken too freely of religion ; for it was a rule which I laid
down to myself in those places, never to be the first to be¬
gin any conversation on religion ; but if any questions were
put to me concerning my faith, to declare it without any
reserve or fear. I nevertheless returned to Rome. I
took no steps to conceal either my person or my charac¬
ter ; and for about the space of two months I again open¬
ly defended, as I had done before, the reformed religion,
in the very metropolis of Popery.
“ By the favour of God I got back to Florence, where
I was received with as much affection as if I had returned
to my native country; thei’e I stopped as many months as
I had done before, except that I made an excursion of a
few days to Lucca, and crossing the Apennines, passed
through Bologna and Ferrara to Venice. After I had
spent a month in surveying the curiosities of this city, and
had put on board a ship the books which I had collected
TON. 8!
in Italy, I proceeded through Verona and Milan, and along Milton,
the Leman Lake to Geneva. '"““'“v-—”
“ I he mention of this city brings to my recollection
the slandering More,5 and makes me again call the Deity
to witness, that in all those places where vice meets with
so little discouragement, and is practised with so little
shame, I never once deviated from the paths of integrity
and virtue ; and perpetually reflected, that, although my
conduct might escape the notice of men, it would not
elude the inspection of God. At Geneva I held daily
conferences with John Diodati, the learned professor of
theology.
“ Then, pursuing my former route through France, I
returned to my native country, after an absence of about
one year and three months, at the time when Charles,
having broken the peace, was renewing what is called the
Episcopal war with the Scots ; in which the royalists be¬
ing routed in the first encounter, and the English being
universally and justly disaffected, the necessity of his
aftairs at last obliged him to convene a parliament.”6
Upon his return to England, Milton, it seems, could dis¬
cover no way in which he might directly serve the cause of
the people. He was not formed for participating in the
rough and fierce encounters of the field; he wanted both
the means and the connections necessary to enable him to
take any share in the management of public affairs; and
the time had not yet arrived, in the development of the
drama, when the part which alone he was eminently quali¬
fied to sustain could be brought upon the stage. He
therefore hired a house in St Bride’s Church-yard, and re¬
newed his literary pursuits, calmly awaiting the issue of the
contest, which he trusted “ to the wise conduct of Provi¬
dence, and to the courage of the people.” Here he con¬
sented to receive as pupils his two nephews, John and Ed¬
ward Philips ; and subsequently, yielding to the importu¬
nities of some intimate friends, he added to their number.
Finding his apartments too small, he now took a house in
Aldersgate Street, where he received more boys, and in¬
structed them in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, with its dia¬
lects, as well as in mathematics, cosmography, history, and
some modern languages, particularly French and Italian.
“ This,” says Dr Johnson, “ is the period of his life from
which all his biographers seem to shrink. They are un¬
willing that Milton should be degraded to a schoolmaster;
but since it cannot be denied that he taught boys, one finds
out that he taught for nothing, and another that his mo¬
tive was only zeal for the propagation of learning and vir¬
tue ; and all tell what they do not know to be true, only to
excuse an act which no wise man will consider as in itself
disgraceful. His father was alive ; his allowance was not
ample ; and he supplied its deficiencies by an honest and
useful employment.”7 Milton, in his little'circle of scho¬
lars, was usefully if not splendidly employed ; and no man
of sense can suppose that, whilst he was occupied in pro-
•* The historical painter.
- A Florentine nobleman, author of an Essay on the Discoveries of Galileo, and of Lives of the Ancient Fathers.]
3 The librarian of the Vatican.
4 this nobleman composed a Latin distich, which he addressed to Milton :
LTt mens forma, decor, facies mos ; si pietas sic,
5 Non Anglus, verum, hercle, Angelus ipse fores.
The Clamor Regii Sanguinis ad Ceelum to which the Defensio Secunda pro Copula Anglicano (whence the above passage is extracted)
was the answer, is now known to have been written by Peter du Moulin ; but having been published by Alexander Morus or More,
it was at first supposed to have been the production of that individual.
® Prose Works, edited by Fletcher, pp. 993, 996.
7 The strong good sense of these observations contrasts forcibly with the unwieldy £‘ merriment” of Johnson “ on great promises
and small performance ; on the man who hastens home, because his countrymen are contending for their liberty, and, when he reaches
the scene of action, vapours away his patriotism in a private boarding-school.''’ The sneer contained in these words is characteristic only of
the writer by whom they are employed, and whose bad feeling towards the author of Paradise Lost shows itself on so many occasions.
Milton’s “ patriotism,” as we shall soon find, wras not so volatile as to evaporate even under the hardest trials of adversity ; and he will
be honoured and revered for his steady and consistent attachment to liberty, long after the rhetorical exaggerations of his enemies
have sunk into merited oblivion.
VOL. xv.
M
MILTON.
moling the highest interests of some of his species, he was
degrading himself in the estimation of the rest.
Toland has described the nature of the education which
he aimed at bestowing upon his pupils, and which involved
a great innovation upon the established practice. In this, as
in many other respects, Milton appears to have been great¬
ly in advance of his age. His purpose wras to teach some¬
thing more solid than the common literature of the schools;
to expand the faculties and to inform the judgments of his
pupils, by combining the knowledge of things with that of
words, instead of subjecting them to the irksome and com¬
paratively useless task of acquiring the mere knowledge of
words, without any adequate conception of those ideas or
objects of which they are the representatives. Not con¬
tent with those books which are commonly used in the
schools, he placed in the hands of his disciples such an¬
cient works as were capable of affording information in va¬
rious departments of science; and “a formidable list” is
given of the authors, Greek and Latin, which w’ere read
in Aldersgate Street, by youth between fifteen and sixteen
years of age. That he perhaps attempted to do more than
any degree of diligence or industry could accomplish, may
be admitted without impeaching the soundness of the prin¬
ciple upon which he proceeded; and although “ nobody
can be taught faster than he can learn,” yet it is at least
equally certain, that some teachers can make young men
learn much faster than others, and that, in general, the com¬
parative progress of the pupil is a pretty fair measure of the
diligence and skill of the master. He set his pupils an ex¬
ample of close application and spare diet; indeed absti¬
nence was one of bis favourite virtues, which he practised
invariably through life ; and the only indulgence which he
allowed himself was passing a day of temperate festivity
once in three weeks or a month.1 “ One part of his sys¬
tem,” says Johnson, “ deserves general imitation. He was
careful to instruct his scholars in religion. Every Sunday
was spent upon theology, of which he dictated a short sys¬
tem, gathered from the writers that were then fashionable
in the Dutch universities.”
But whilst Milton’s occupation as a teacher preserved
his familiarity with the Greek and Roman authors, it pre¬
cluded him from discharging what he conceived to be his
duties as a citizen, and defeated the patriotic object which
had recalled him from the shores of Sicily and Greece.
From his first acquaintance with the struggles of his coun¬
try, he had determined to devote himself to her service; and
the time seemed,now to have arrived for carrying his pur¬
pose into effect. Conscious of his own strength, and sen- Miltc
sible that genius, armed with knowledge, would prove a ''—'V'
more powerful auxiliary to the popular cause than if he
had carried ten battalions into the field, he decided in fa¬
vour of the pen against the sword, and took his position on
ground whence no adversary was able to dislodge him.
The long parliament, representing a nation alarmed and
irritated by many flagrant abuses of power, had now as¬
sembled, and evidently possessed a strong sympathy with
the public feeling. The king’s violent conduct to former
parliaments, in imprisoning refractory members, one of
whom had died under the length and rigour of his confine¬
ment; his unconstitutional attempts to govern by preroga¬
tive alone ; his arbitrary exactions in violation of all law ;
and the severe sentences with which his council and his
courts abetted and enforced his reckless despotism ; these
and many other causes had concurred in alienating the af¬
fections of all orders of the community, and preparing their
minds for resistance and innovations. The leaders of the
church party imitated the despotic policy of the court;
and their rigorous persecution of the puritans, offensive
alike to the feelings of the humane and the common sense
of the enlightened, excited against them the fears of the
good and the jealousies of the wise. The power of the
episcopal courts had been everywhere urged into unusual
activity by the superintendence and incitement of the high
commission ; and almost every diocese had witnessed
scenes of rigour similar to those which had at once dis¬
graced and exasperated the capital.2 There were not
wanting in the church some men of learning and piety ;
at this unfortunate crisis she could boast, amongst her
prelates, of a W illiams, a Davenant, a Hall, and an Usher ;
but at their head was placeed the domineering and into¬
lerant Laud, a man of narrow views, unrelenting zeal, and
abject superstition, who, unrestrained by any considera¬
tions of prudence, took care on every occasion to magnify
the regal authority, and sought by all possible means to
extend that tyranny which supported his own.3 *
Milton, a diligent and attentive observer of all that was
passing around him, having discerned in the church the
source of much of the political and social evil which had as¬
sumed so frightful an aspect, as well as the grand engine of
oppression in the hands of the king, now came to the resolu¬
tion of taking an active part in the rude conflict of affairs.
-The moment was propitious for an assault upon the prelacy.
The parliament had impeached the bigoted and persecut-
ing primate ; they had rescued his victims from their dun-
1 This day was allotted to the society of some young and gay friends : according m Inline,™ u . „ ...
gentlemen of Gray’s Inn.” But, as Dr Symmons observes the gav men nf tl™ nnnL n’ WaSi ufVa 7 sPent with some gay
the revellers of that which succeeded it, when the profligacy ofVshameless court snreadVk^f b.abl®*in e^cess’ compared with
ing life and manners as well as literature with a debasing immorality ■ and when modest v 11 contaglon throughout the land, taint-
nance by wild riot and obstreperous vice. ^ ^ au< temperance were hooted out of counte-
3 Symmons’s Life of Milton, p. 215.
J •*?** by representing him as “ virtuous”
admits, however, that he led the king “into a conduct which proved fetal to himsdfand'tThk't''"", h°n"St p,u,'J,ose?' llT*!e historian
tended to a most popish state of ceremonies in worship, and tvrannv -md mtr,i a”d to his kingdom ; and that ‘ all his measures
more particular if her description of Laud’s arbitra^VS,"”'! InvmeTT” •, Hutch!™, has been
laws of the land satisfied not,” says that incomparable woman • “ if anv dhrst- ,r. t f^ m.ent °f Uvl1 ?be<^ience to the king and the
presently reckoned among the seditious and disturbers of the public ne-ico md nn lb{,l!te , 18 impositions in the worship of God, he was
honesty of the kingdom, or the griping of the poor, or the unius^ ; if ^ were Srieved at the dis-
the riots of the courtiers, and the sw arms of needy sTots^heTinVh^bmught inm d^f ^ rl a1thoufan1d “tented to maintain
a puritan ; if any, out of mere morality or civil honesty discoun wlm .T'S k d .•Ur ^ locusts the Plenty of this land, he was
he conformed to their superstitious worship ; if any showed favour to anv rrnd? 0™inat;ions H those days, he was a puritan, however
in want, or protected them in violent or unjust oppression, he was a nurfifn • Tc ‘°nest Porsons> kept them company, relieved them
laws of the land, or stood up for any public interest, for good order or government ynSent eman ^ hlS (:ountr.f maintained the good
views of the needy courtiers, the proud encroaching priests, the thievish nmiertm-c’ ri Pu1r.1,tan ? ln short, all that crossed the
ous for God’s glory or worship, See. were puritans; and if puritans, then enemies tnHm K d nobd!ty and Sentr>% whoever was zeal-
hypocrites, ambitious disturbers of the public peace, and, finally the nest of tP v i ff’ atc blS g°vernment, seditious, factious,
made them the sport of the pulpit, which was become but a more solemn sort of smim . n f ' As such’” she adds. “ they not only
puppet-play, belched forth profane scoffs upon them ; the drunkards made them fi10S ’ bUt eyei7,'stage, and every table, and every
them, as finding it a most gameful way of fooling.” (Memoirs of Colonel Hutchimon, ro°L PppM^lS 124 learned t0 abuSe
M ALTON.
Iton. geons, recalled his exiles to behold his fall, released the
“Y—'press from its “ horrid silence,” and permitted it to pour
out its long-imprisoned vengeance on the heads of the op¬
pressor and his followers. “ The rigour of the parliament,”
says Milton, “ had begun to humble the pride of the bi¬
shops. As long as the liberty of speech was no longer
subject to control, all mouths began to be opened against
the bishops ; some complained of the vices of the indivi¬
duals, others of those of the order. They said it was un¬
just that they alone should differ from ail other reformed
churches, and particularly the word of God. This awa¬
kened all my attention and my zeal: I saw that a way was
opening for the establishment of real liberty; that the
foundation was laying for the deliverance of man from the
yoke of slavery and superstition ; that the principles of re¬
ligion, which were the first objects of my care, would ex¬
ert a salutary influence on the manners and constitution
of the republic ; and as I had from my youth studied the
distinctions between religious and civil rights, I perceived
that, if I ever wished to be of use, I ought at least not to
be wanting to my country, to the church, and to so many
of my fellow Christians, in a crisis of so much danger. I
therefore determined to relinquish the other pursuits in
which I was engaged, and to transfer the whole force of
my talents and my industry to this one important object.”
Influenced by these views, Milton emerged from his soli¬
tude, and took up his weapon for his country.1
In 1641 appeared the first of his works, which was en¬
titled, Of Reformation touching Church Government in Eng¬
land, and the Causes that have hitherto hindered it. This
treatise consists of two books, the object of which is to de¬
monstrate the proposition that prelacy is essentially inimi¬
cal to civil liberty. In the opinion of the author, the refor¬
mation in the church had not proceeded to the proper ex¬
tent ; and the suspension of its progress he attributes
principally to its prelates, “ who, though they had re¬
nounced the pope, yet hugged the popedom, and shared
the authority among themselves.” He declares, with im¬
pressive solemnity, that wherever, in this book, he has laid
open the faults and blemishes of fathers, martyrs, or Chris¬
tian emperors, he has done so “ neither out of malice, nor
list to speak evil, nor any vain glory, but of mere necessity
to vindicate the spotless truth from an ignominious bond¬
age.” In prosecution of this grand object he displays a
profundity of learning, a vigour of reasoning, an earnest¬
ness of purpose, an impassioned eloquence of style, and a
comprehensive grasp of his subject, which must ever ex¬
cite admiration ; indeed, the work is throughout one con¬
tinued strain of wisdom and eloquence. The bishops, of
course, receive no quarter at his hands. He tears the Milton,
veil of hypocrisy from their hearts ; exposes their worldly-
mindedness and love of pelf and power ; and having ani¬
madverted on the conduct of the prelacy in former times,
he pourtrays, with unsparing severity, its character in his
own,2 3 reproving the unconcern with which the bishops ex¬
torted large incomes from the nation, as well as the pro-
fligacy with which they expended their revenues, and con¬
tending that prelacy is one of those forms of evil which are
“ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.” To this
and other attacks from the pens of puritan writers, Hall,
bishop of Norwich, replied in An Humble Remonstrance
to the High Court of Parliament; and about the same
time Usher, archbishop of Armagh, published The Apos¬
tolical Institution of Episcopacy. In answer to these able
and learned works, Milton wrote two pieces, one of them
entitled Of Prelatical Episcopacy, and the other, The Rea¬
son of Church Government urged against Prelacy? He
had now entered fairly into this great controversy, and he
was not disposed to shrink from the labour or the respon¬
sibility of carrying it on. “ When two bishops of supe¬
rior distinction,” he observes, “ vindicated their privileges
against some principal ministers, I thought that, on those
topics, to the consideration of which I was led solely by
my love of truth, and my reverence for Christianity, I
should probably not write worse than those who were con¬
tending only for their own emoluments and usurpations.”
Nor did he form an erroneous or exaggerated estimate of
his own powers. These productions of Milton, distinguish¬
ed by vigour, acuteness, and erudition, were unquestion¬
ably the most able, eloquent, and learned on the puritan
side of the controversy. But the publication which ap¬
pears to have attracted most attention at the time was
a pamphlet, the joint production of five presbyterian di¬
vines, under the appellation of Smectymnuus, a word
formed from the initial letters of the name of the authors.4
To this production Bishop Hall replied in a Defence of
the Remonstrance; and Milton’s formidable pen, again em¬
ployed in opposition to the prelates, produced Animad¬
versions on the Remonstrant's Defence, a work which is
thrown into the form of a dialogue between the remon¬
strant and his antagonist, who answers him. “ Why this
close and succinct manner was rather to be chosen,” says
the author, “ this was the reason; chiefly that the ingenious
reader, without further amusing himself in the labyrinth
of controversial antiquity, may come to the speediest way
to see the truth vindicated, and sophistry taken short at
the first bound.” In this production the replies are al¬
ways severe, frequently jocose; and there prevails through-
1 It was not from moral cowardice, as Johnston has insinuated, that Milton preferred the pen to the sword, the closet to the field.
“ I did not,” says he in his Defensio Secunda, “ for any other reason decline the dangers of war, than that I might in another way,
with much more efficacy, and with not less danger to myself, render assistance to my countrymen, and discover a mind neither shrink¬
ing from adverse fortune, nor actuated by any improper fear of calumny or of death. Since, from my childhood, I had been devoted
to the more liberal studies, and was always more powerful in my intellect than in my body, avoiding the labours of the camp, in which
any robust common soldier would have surpassed me, I betook myself to those weapons which I could wield with the most effect; and
I conceived that I was acting wisely when I thus brought my better and more valuable faculties, those which constituted my princi¬
pal strength and consequence, to the assistance of my country and her honourable cause.” Can any one read this without assenting
to its justice, or admiring the motives which determined the choice of the immortal writer ?
2 Here is the process for transforming a modern into a primitive bishop. “ He that will mould a modern bishop into a primi¬
tive, but yield him to be elected by the popular voice, undiocesed, unrevenued, unlorded, and leave him nothing but brotherly equa¬
lity, matchless temperance, frequent fasting, incessant prayer and preaching, continual watchings and labours in his ministry ; which,
what a rich booty it would be, what a plump endowment to the many-benefice-gaping mouth of a prelate, what a relish it would give
to his canary-sucking and swan-eating palate, let old Bishop Mountain judge for me.” {Prose Works, p. G.)
3 In this book, he discovers, not with ostentatious exultation, but with calm confidence, his high opinion of his own powers ; and
promises to undertake something, which may prove both useful and honourable to his country. “ This,” says he, “ is not to be ob¬
tained but by devout prayer to the Eternal Spirit, that can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim with
the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases. To this must be added, industrious and select read¬
ing, steady observation, and insight into all seemly and generous arts and affairs ; till which in some measure be compass’d, I refuse
not to sustain this expectation.” What can be more noble or more affecting than the aspiration here breathed out, in prophetic an¬
nouncement of the imperishable monument which he was destined to raise, and upon which his name and fame were to be written in
characters of unextinguishable glory ! It seems to have moved even the obduracy of Johnson. “ From a promise like this,” says he,
“at once fervid, pious, and rational, might be expected the Paradise Lost.”
4 Stephen Marshal, Edward Calamy, Thomas Young, Matthew Newcommen, and William Spurstow.
92 MIL
Milton, out the piece a sort of grim smile of derision, which shar-
v—pens and aggravates the severity. These various publica¬
tions were written in the course of one year, 164il, when
their author was only thirty-three years of age, and occu¬
pied with the fatiguing duties of an instructor of youth ;
a circumstance which cannot fail to excite wonder at the
unwearied industry, the ready application of various know¬
ledge, and the exuberant fertility of mind, which are dis¬
played in their composition.
In the beginning of 1642, the Ammadversiojis, which
are unquestionably personal and offensive, elicited a reply
that was supposed to emanate from a son of the insulted
bishop, and appeared under the title of a Modest Confuta¬
tion of a Slanderous and Scurrilous Libel. If this reply
had been published with its author’s name, the motive
would probably have atoned with Milton for its virulence.
But the publication was anonymous ; and in it Milton was
not only treated with contumely and insult, but assailed
with enormous falsehoods, random accusations, and the
most rancorous personal vituperation. He was, however,
“ dauntless, defiant, and, when insulted, fierce.” In his
Apology for Smectymnuus, the result of this accumulated
provocation, he proved himself a match for his adversaries
even at their own weapons, and, what is of more import¬
ance, successfully vindicated his character from the foul
imputations which had been cast upon it. On this occa¬
sion, there was every excuse for the warmth of Milton’s
reply, and the unscrupulous vigour with which he poured
his overwhelming sarcasms on his assailants. He had
been accused of lewdness and sensuality; other crimes
had been darkly hinted at; and his fellow Christians had
been called upon “ to stone the miscreant to death.” Be¬
sides, he knew that others were partakers of his adversary’s
sins ; that the latter was but the organ or mouthpiece of
the episcopal order; and that, in the most bitter and ma¬
lignant aspersions of his character, his reviler had their
approbation and concurrence. This naturally turned the
edge of his weapon against the bishops, to whom he never
misses an opportunity of expressing his hostility. In fact,
it was as much out of his power to alter or soften the style
in which he wrote, as to dissolve the groundwork of na¬
ture which God has created in him. It was the full re¬
flection of his very soul, whatever might be the state of
its emotions ; a mirror which showed the various workings
of that great and glorious spirit with which God had en¬
dowed him. In noticing the charge, that he had been
“ vomited out of the university,” he keenly remarks, “ Of
small practice were the physician who could not judge, by
what she and her sister have of long time vomited, that the
worser stuff she strongly keeps in her stomach, but the bet¬
ter she is ever keeking at, and queasy; she vomits now
out of sickness; but before it be well with her, she must
vomit with strong physick.” The picture he draws of the
university-men is marked with equal severity. “ What with
truanting and debauchery,’’ says he, “ what with false
grounds, and the weakness of natural faculties in many of
them, perhaps there would be found among them as many
unsolid and corrupted judgments, both in doctrine and life,
as in any other two corporations of the like bigness. This
is undoubted, that if any carpenter, smith, or weaver, were
TON.
such a bungler in his trade, as the greater number of them Milton,
are in their profession, he would starve for any custom;
and should he exercise his manufacture as little as they do
their talents, he would forget his art; or, should he mis¬
take his tools as they do theirs, he would mar all the work
he took in hand.’’1
Dr Symmons, with the natural bias of a churchman, thinks
that “ the learning of Usher, and the wit of Hall, prepon¬
derated in the contestand that this, he says, “ seems to
have been felt not only by the Smectymnuan divines, but
by Milton himself.” As to the former part of this judg¬
ment, it is matter of opinion and taste, in regard to which
different men will come to different conclusions; though,
if the balance of learning and wit was on the side of the
prelates, the balance of genius and eloquence was decided¬
ly on that of the puritans. Nor, on the other hand, have
we been able to discover any indications which would lead
us to infer that Milton was really sensible of the “ prepon¬
derance” here somewhat gratuitously ascribed to his oppo¬
nents. So far from this, there is evidence to show that his
conviction was directly the contrary of that here imputed
to him. From a just confidence in his own powers, he
assumes and maintains throughout a tone of lofty supe¬
riority, and vindicates his title to pre-eminence, by the un¬
rivalled ability and eloquence with which he repulses the
assaults of his adversaries, and defends what he believes
to be the cause of truth and of God. And the impression
made by his writings was commensurate with their power.
When he first directed his attention to the evils growing
out of the church, there was a strong public feeling against
it; but that feeling was vague, and, wanting direction, was
expending itself in useless declamation. Milton, and those
who laboured with him in the same cause, turned it into a
definite channel, and rendered it productive of great and
important results.2 We may admire the abilities of Usher
and of Flail, and even admit, with Dr Symmons, that if
the church, at this crisis, could have been upheld, it would
have been supported by these prelates ; but the evils grow¬
ing out of the system were too great, the abuses and cor¬
ruptions were too gross, the tyranny exercised was too fla¬
grant and exasperating, to be shielded or upheld by any ta¬
lents, especially when laid bare, in all their hideous defor-
rohy, by the unsparing hand of so formidable an adversary
as Milton.
We come now to an event in Milton’s life which had a
material influence on his domestic comfort, and gave a new
direction to his literary labours. This was his marriage,
in 1648, to Mary, eldest daughter of Mr Richard Powell,
of Forest Hill, near Shotover, in Oxfordshire. His choice
seems to have been the suggestion of fancy alone, and its
consequences were such as might have beerf expected from
so imprudent a connection. The lady was brought to
London by her husband, w ho placed her at the head of
his frugal establishment, and expected, no doubt, to enjoy
all the delights of conjugal happiness. But in this he was
destined to be cruelly disappointed. The lady, who was of
a royalist family, and accustomed to the affluent hospitality
of her father’s house, appears to have had no relish for the
pleasures of spare diet and hard study ; for, as Philips re¬
lates, “ having for a month led a philosophic life, after
1 Prose Works, p. 92.
* In December 1640, a petition was presented to the House of Commons, signed by fifteen thousand citizens of London, praying
the legislature to suppress the archbishops and bishops. Early in 1641, a bill was passed by the Commons “to restrain bishons
and others in holy orders, from intermeddling in secular affairsit was sent up to the Lords on the 1st of May and havimr met with
great opposition, was finally rejected. A bill was now introduced, and by a large majority read a second timSk the CoZo“f “ for
the utter abolishine and taking away of all archbishons. bishons. their  ^ m th^ C:ommons\ tor
the utter abolishing and taking away of all archbishops, bishops, their cha'„cello?s andJcom"missaries deans dTans and chaTeTdtant!
er under officers, out of the church of England.” On the 5th of February 1642, this bill paid the House of
.dth of the same month it received the roval nsseni  • o ., p -sea tn ise
ers, canons, and other     
Lords, and on the 14th of the same month it received the royal assent. So rapid was the progression kf‘Bi^a^ t^e ^c^
dust °f WhlCh Ml1 °n ha<1 ^ d US COmmanding talents and e-otiuence. By one fell blow the hierarchy was levelled with the
MILTON.
93
lilton.
having been used at home to a great house, and much com¬
pany and joviality, her friends, possibly by her own desire,
made earnest suit to have her company the remaining part
of the summer; which was granted, upon a promise of her
return at Michaelmas.” The time fixed arrived, but the
lady did not appear, and Milton wrote a letter urging her
immediate return. The letter remained unanswered, and
several others which followed were treated in the same
manner. Incensed at such conduct, her husband at length
despatched a messenger to her father’s house, with instruc¬
tions to bring her to London. But this also failed. The
messenger was rudely dismissed, and the wife remained
with her friends. The prosperous fortunes of the king,
whose forces had defeated those of the parliament under
Fairfax and Waller, probably emboldened the Powells,
who were cavaliers, to take this mode of breaking off the
alliance. Such, at least, is the conjecture of Dr Symmons.
Milton was not of a temper to submit patiently to in¬
justice aggravated by insult. He resolved to repudiate
his wife, upon the grounds of disobedience and desertion ;
and to justify this step to the world, he published, in 1644,
The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, which he inscribed
to the parliament. This treatise was soon followed by
the Judgment of Martin Bucer concerning Divorce ; and,
next year, by Tetrachordon and Colasterion, the last
being a reply to an anonymous antagonist. In these writ¬
ings, he argued the question with very great ingenuity,1 but
made few converts, and even incurred the censure of a body
whom he had sought to propitiate. No sooner had they
appeared than the fury of the presbyterian clergy was
kindled against the author. Unmindful of the recent and
important services which he had rendered them, they now
assailed him, from the pulpit and the press, with violent and
acrimonioos hostility. They even endeavoured to make
the legislature the instrument of their vengeance, and ac¬
tually caused him to be summoaed before the House of
Lords. But from that tribunal he was honourably dis¬
missed ; and all that the Presbyterians gained by their
ill-timed zeal was the loss of an able friend, and the ex¬
citement of a dangerous enemy. Milton was now irrevo¬
cably alienated from their cause. He had discovered that
these pretended'zealots of liberty sought only their own
aggrandisement, and the power of imposing upon others
that very yoke which they had themselves been unable to
bear.
Milton certainly entertained the opinions he professed ;
and, to evince his consciousness of freedom, he proceeded
to pay his addresses to a beautiful and accomplished young
woman, the daughter of a Dr Davis, who seems to have
entertained his suit. This alarmed his wife and her rela¬
tions, who, finding that Milton was not an unresisting suf¬
ferer of injuries, now became anxious for a reconciliation ;
and they were probably the more sincere in their desire,
that, from the desperate situation of the royal cause, which
had been ruined by the decisive battle of Naseby, they
began to be sensible that they might need his protection.
The plan for the accomplishment of their purposes was
conceived and executed with successful ingenuity. Com¬
bining with Milton’s friends, who concurred in the wish
for a reconciliation, they watched his visits ; and, when he
was in the house of a relation, they stationed his wife in
an inner apartment, with instructions to appear at the pro¬
per time, and to implore his pardon on her knees. The Milton,
lady enacted her part to admiration, throwing herself at''■“’■'v'"""
his feet, confessing her fault, and with tears entreating his
forgiveness. For a moment Milton appeared to be inex¬
orable ; but his firmness soon gave way, and yielding to
the impulse of hjs own generous nature, he raised her from
the ground, consented to forget the past, and took her
home to his bosom and affections. Nor was this all. He
extended his placability to those who had been the abet¬
tors, if not the instigators, of his wife’s desertion ; and re¬
ceiving her father and her brothers under his roof, he sup¬
ported them by the fruits of his labours in their day of
danger and distress. In this asylum they remained until,
by his influence and exertions, the question respecting
their property was adjusted with the government in the
year 1647.
The same year, 1644, which saw Milton immersed in
the controversy about divorce, beheld him also imparting
to the world his ideas on the subject of education, and
defending, with matchless power, the freedom of the press.
His Tractate on Education is addressed to Mr Samuel
Hartlib, to whom Sir William Petty afterwards inscribed
one of his early works, and who was equally distinguished
for his learning and public spirit. Its object is to demon¬
strate the folly of devoting seven or eight years of the life
of youth to the “ scraping together of so much miserable
Latin and Greek as might be learned otherwise easily and
delightfully in one;” and also to show that it is practi¬
cable to initiate young students into science and language
by the same process, making a knowledge of things the
immediate result of an acquaintance with words. Milton
did not, like some ignorant modern innovators, propose to
discard the study of the classics from his plan of education.
What he aimed at was far more rational; namely, to econo¬
mize the expenditure of time, and to combine the learning
of languages with the acquisition of some knowledge of lo¬
gic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, law, theology, criticism, com¬
position, and the elements of the physical sciences, thus
rendering the one, as it were, administrative to the other.
The plan, as sketched by Milton himself, is perhaps con¬
structed upon too magnificent a scale ; indeed it is not a
scheme for private individuals to attempt to carry into ef¬
fect ; but an enlightened government, with the vast col¬
legiate resources of England at its disposal, might, with¬
out injuring existing establishments, erect in every county
an academical institution, as the platform of a system which
is unquestionably based upon solid principles. All the
recent improvements in education, which can properly
be considered as such, more particularly the attempts
which have been partially made to combine with the study
of the classics the acquisition of useful knowledge, are to
a certain extent a practical recognition of the soundness
of those principles; and there can be little doubt, we
think, that time and experience will show the propriety,
if not the necessity, of carrying this combination farther,
and rendering it closer and more intimate than has yet
been judged expedient by the instructors of youth, a class
of men who, however willing to teach, are commonly slow
to learn.
But, in point, ability, and eloquence, the Fractate on
Education, with all its merits, was surpassed by another
composition produced about the same time, and addressed
1 The treatises on divorce are equal to any which Milton ever wrote. Every page is strewed with felicities, jnd shnies with a
lustre unsurpassed bv himself on happier though perhaps not more interesting themes. He makes out a strong case, snu tights with
arguments which are’ not easily to be repelled. The whole context of the Holy Scriptures, the laws of the first Christian emperors,
the opinions of some of the most eminent amongst the early reformers, and a projected statute of Edward VI., are adduced by him
for the purpose of demonstrating, that, by the "laws of God, and by the inferences of the most virtuous and enlightened men, he
power of divorce ought not to be rigidly restricted to those causes which render the nuptial state un i mt u , o. w uci am i wi a
spurious offspring. Regarding mutual support and comfort as the principal object of this union, he maintains, that whatever defrau s
it of these ends, essentially vitiates the contract, and must necessarily justify its dissolution. And, upon the assumption that mar¬
riage is nothing more than a mere contract, this reasoning appears to be unanswerable.
94
MILTON.
Milton, to the parliament under the title of A reopagitica, or a Speech
for the Liberty of unlicensed Printing. The Presbyterians,
it appears, on rising into power, speedily forgot the prin¬
ciples which they had professed in adversity; and, declar¬
ing against unlimited toleration, discovered, by their readi¬
ness to abridge the rights of others, that their tenderness
was only for their own. The press was too powerful an
engine not to be seized by these selfish monopolists of li¬
berty. Intolerance had now changed its garb and deno¬
mination ; instead of a cassock and lawn sleeves, it appear¬
ed in the plainer attire of a Geneva gown and band; but
the essential spirit remained the same. Hence, the very
men who had so indignantly complained of restraints on
the press, when imposed by the church, lost no time in
subjecting it to the most rigorous censorship when it pass¬
ed into their own hands. They accordingly revived the
imprimatur of the Star-chamber, and expurgated every
book of every word and phrase which accorded not with
their taste, or jarred with their peculiar notions. Against
this monstrous grievance, the offspring of tyranny and apos-
tacy, Milton advanced as the champion of free discussion;
and never was a good cause more powerfully defended.
The Areopagitica is, beyond all doubt, one of his finest and
noblest compositions; admirable in style, irresistible in
reasoning, and unsurpassed in eloquence.1 In fact, its ar¬
guments, which are individually strong, derive so much
force from their mutual support in a close and advantageous
array, as imperiously to compel conviction. But this splen¬
did effort, in which Milton appears to have concentrated
all the powers of his great mind, proved unavailing. The
Presbyterians were too sensible of the utility of a censor¬
ship to be moved by any thing that could be advanced
against it, and the powerful reasoning of the Areopagitica
was urged in vain. If the parliament, however, remained
obdurate, the impression produced on individual minds was
strong and lasting, Gilbert Mabbot, one of the licensers,
resigned his situation, defending his conduct and motives
from the work in question ; and Cromwell was so moved
by it, that during his protectorate he abolished the censor¬
ship of the press.
In 1045, Milton prepared an edition of his miscellaneous
poems in English, Latin, and Italian, which appeared with
the author’s name, and a preface by the publisher, Hum¬
phrey Moseley. The principal pieces in this collection
have already been incidentally noticed ; the novelties con¬
sist chiefly of sonnets, in which, more perhaps than in any
of his other compositions, the peculiar character of Milton
is displayed. These remarkable poems have been under¬
valued by critics who have not understood their real na¬
ture. 4 hey have neither epigrammatic point nor antithe¬
tical contrasts. There is none of the -refined ingenuity of
Filiaja in thought; none of the hard and brilliant enamel
of Petrarch in the style. They are simple but majestic
records of the feelings of the poet, expressed with as little
apparent effort or elaboration as if they had been set down
in his diary. A victory, an unexpected attack upon the
city, a momentary fit of exultation or depression, a jest
thrown out against one of his own books, a dream that for
a moment restored to him the vision of that beautiful face
over which the grave had heaped its undistinguishing
mould, all led him to musings which spontaneously arranged
themselves in verse. Hence the sonnets are more or less
striking, according as the occasions out of which they sprung
are more or less interesting. That which he wrote “ when
the assault was intended to the city,” and those addressed
to Cyriac Skinner, Fairfax, Vane, and Cromwell, are pre¬
eminent for loftiness and vigour, and animated with a great
and mighty spirit. In fact, they are, almost without excep¬
tion, dignified by a sobriety, yet greatness, of mind, to
which we know not where to look for a parallel. Unity of
sentiment and severity of style are the characteristics of
them all. In the finishing of such short poems, which so¬
licit ornament from variety of thought, on the indispensa¬
ble condition of perfect subordination, greater accuracy
and elegance might perhaps be expected. But they are
all conceived and executed in a grand, broad style, with
a freedom and boldness of hand which always bespeaks a
master of the art. Like a small statue from the chisel of
Lysippus, or a miniature from the pencil of Michel An¬
gelo, they demonstrate that the idea of greatness may be
excited in our minds by the least of those works on which
genius has stamped its magical impression.2
In 1646, the wife of Milton gave birth to her first child,
a daughter, baptized by the name of Anne, who appears
to have been lame from her early infancy; and, in the fol¬
lowing year, his father died, whilst the Powells left him
to return to their former residence in the country. At
this period, says Toland, “ he revived his academic insti¬
tution of some young gentlemen, with a design, perhaps,
of putting in practice the model of education lately pub¬
lished by himself; yet this course was of no long continu¬
ance, for he was to have been, in 1647, made adjutant-
general to Sir William Waller, but that the new-modelling
of the army, and Sir William turning cat-in-pan, this de¬
sign was frustrated.” In 1648, Milton’s second daughter,
Mary, was born ; and sqpn afterwards the course of public
events introduced him to an honourable and important
office in the state.
The political occurrences of this period, in as far as these
were connected with the personal history of Milton, have
been briefly and lucidly described by Dr Symmons. The
victory of Naseby, gained on the 14th of June 1645, by
the army under Fairfax and Cromwell, may be considered
as having terminated the contest between the king and
the parliament. From this time the unhappy monarch
was, in truth, in the hands of his enemies, and passed se¬
veral months in a species of captivity at Oxford. In April
1646, he fled to the army of the Scots before Newark, un¬
der the command of the Earl of Leven, by whom he was
detained as a prisoner ; and not long afterwards he was de¬
livered to the commissioners of the parliament, and by them
conducted to Floldenby House in Northamptonshire. Here
he remained until June 1647, when he was seized by the
army, and, after some removals, settled at Hampton Court.
At this crisis, an opportunity was presented him of reco¬
vering his fallen fortunes and replacing himself upon the
throne. Cromwell and Ireton, uncertain of the result of
the contest with the Presbyterians, and apprehensive of a
junction between the latter and the royalists, now offered
to reinstate him in his kingly dignity, upon certain con-
Miltou
ed from^his^nptlpThrnnp6 tSlnff!r; t!!uS ulink t^ems®l.ves original. Sir Egerton Brydges alleges, that as soon as Milton descend-
a cold and harsh stimintinn nf nil tl ^ m f C°are c,on ict practical affairs,” the happy delirium of glorious genius subsided into
n T^i «?*T- (4* P- ») Now this writer had either read the Speech for the
, y -nseJ renting, or he had not. It he had read it, what are we to think of his judgment as a critic ? If he had not
*?• ,W8’ WhC",the freeta «f ‘he press was conlidefed in danger, momson, author £
erevS“hrcttita”l10t^ttr,,0‘l'i,S d,rursei »nd, at such a time, lie could not possibly have rendered a more acceptable
service, as it contains all that can be urged in favour of that species of liberty, without which there is no security for anv other
"'hi° asse.rtei' ,th? u,,ii4ed ^ caSSaiihis pC,s ;
and so admirably did he perform his task. thal he leTLLsTnoThi^tot SrbTotherIh‘Ch ^ ml*h* ^ eontroverted,
Edinburgh lieview, vol. xlii. p. 324. Symmons’s Life of Milton, p. 272.
MILTON.
95
Hilton, ditions, which they stipulated in behalf of themselves and
their friends. But the infatuated monarchs rejected the
proffers of fortune, and, by his haughtiness, fluctuation, and
duplicity, gave mortal offence to the only individuals who
had the power to save him. Even at Carisbrooke Castle,
where he was confined on his flight from Hampton Court,
fortune seemed again disposed to redress her past wrongs,
and to give him back by treaty a large portion of what had
been ravished from him by force of arms. But his fatal
obstinacy repulsed her advances, and this, added to his
perfidy, sealed his doom. He refused with scorn the pro¬
posals of the army, thinking to prevail by means of the dif¬
ferent factions, and to regain by policy what he had lost in
fight. All hopes of accommodation had thus vanished.
The nation was torn in pieces by contending factions, each
desirous to employ the king as an instrument for attaining
its own objects. How to dispose of him now became the
only question, and it was speedily decided. The army
demanded his death, which its leaders deemed indispen¬
sable to their own safety; the Presbyterians in the par¬
liament, who would have joined the king against the army,
were seized and committed to prison ; the unfortunate mo¬
narch, after the semblance of a legal trial, was condemned
to suffer death ; and on the 30th of January 1648-49, he
was executed, in pursuance of the sentence passed upon
him, for having “ traitorously and maliciously imagined
and contrived the enslaving or destroying of the English
nation.”
Hitherto Milton had remained an inactive spectator of
events ;• he had taken no part in the controversy in which
the king, the parliament, and the army were engaged;
and he had been in no way accessory to the king’s death.
Now, however, his services were required in behalf of those
who had been principally concerned in that distressing
transaction ; and, in February 1648-49, he published The
Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, in which he attempted
to prove “ that it is lawful, and hath been held so through
all ages, for any who have the power, to call to account a
tyrant or wicked king, and, after due conviction, to depose
and put him to death, if the ordinary magistrate have ne¬
glected or denied to do it.” This work, he tells us, “ was
written rather to tranquillize the minds of men, than to dis¬
cuss any part of the question respecting Charles,” the dis¬
cussion of which belonged to the magistrate and not to
him, and which had already received its final determina¬
tion. He also disclaims having directed his argument or
persuasion against Charles personally; contenting himself
with proving, by the testimony of many of the most emi¬
nent divines, “ what course of conduct might lawfully be
observed towards tyrants in general.” The subject, in fact,
is discussed without any taint of virulence or acrimony,
with much force of reasoning, and a considerable but not
an ostentatious display of learning. That kings and magis¬
trates are amenable to the laws, and may be punished for
the violation of them, is argued from the origin and con¬
stitution of society, from the authority of the Jewish scrip¬
tures, from that of the most eminent Christian divines, and
from the practice of all civilized nations; and the author
has unquestionably demonstrated, that the responsibility
of kings to a human tribunal is a doctrine which has not
been considered as incompatible with Christian theology.
It this were not so, then the doctrine that tyrants may
lawfully be resisted, could no longer be maintained ; for,
to make resistance lawful in any circumstances, the tyrant
who abuses his power and tramples down the rights and
liberties of the people, must first of all be held to be re¬
sponsible, not to God only, but to the nation whose laws
he has violated. But it may, nevertheless, be doubted
whether the authorities produced by Milton support, to
its full extent, the assertion in the title of this work, “ that
it is lawful for any who have the power to call to account
a tyrant;” even although the assertion be somewhat quali- Milton,
fled by the subsequent words, “ and, after due conviction,
to depose and put him to death.” It is much more easy
to establish the responsibility of tyrants generally, than
either to define its limits, or to fix the jurisdiction by which
it may be rendered effectual.
Milton’s next work was Observations upon the Articles of
Peace between Ormond and the Irish Rebels, signed at Kil¬
kenny on the 17th of January 1648-49. One of the prin¬
cipal causes of the king’s misfortunes and ruin was his sup¬
posed connection with the Irish Catholics; and the treaty
concluded with them by his representative, at the time
here mentioned, served to confirm public prepossession on
the subject. The rebellion in Ireland had been distin¬
guished by circumstances of peculiar atrocity, all evincing
the power of long-continued oppression to debase and un¬
humanize the hearts of men. Mercy seemed to have fled
from the earth ; cruelty exhausted its horrid and sicken¬
ing refinements; enormities, which admit not of descrip¬
tion, were perpetrated; all ordinary ties were disregarded;
no voice was listened to; save that of revenge. Never,
even in the annals of servile wars, had the wild passions of
infuriated slaves rioted in more indiscriminate slaughter.
Yet in the massacre itself the king had no participation;
it was the terrible, but not necessary nor foreseen conse¬
quence of the revolt; and Charles can only be held as hav¬
ing been accessory to the rising, by considering his sanc¬
tion as implied in that of the queen, and from the circum¬
stance that the leaders of the insurrection everywhere pro¬
fessed to act under the royal authority. But, in the first
place, so grave an imputation should not be made on grounds
of constructive probability alone ; and, secondly, it seems
to be now admitted on all hands that the king’s commis¬
sion, pretended by O’Neale, was a forgery of his owm. The
opportunity, however, was too favourable to be neglected
by Milton ; and he found little difficulty in exciting indig¬
nation against the articles of a peace which, abandoning
the English and Protestant cause in Ireland, permitted its
enemies to exult in the success of their sanguinary ven¬
geance.
Milton now retired for a time from the field of political
warfare, and, reverting to the more peaceful occupations
of literature, composed four books of a History of England,
which he intended to consecrate to the honour of his na¬
tive country. But the prosecution of this undertaking was
suspended by an event which formed a remarkable epoch
in the life of the poet; namely, his appointment as Latin
secretary to the council of state. His profound knowledge
of the Latin language, in which the council had determin¬
ed to carry on all their correspondence with foreign na¬
tions, and the elegance of his style, added to his extensive
knowledge of history, and other qualifications, pointed him
out to the sagacity of the council as a person eminently
fitted for such an office; and, accordingly, without even a
suspicion of the preferment intended for him, he was invit¬
ed to enter into the service of the state. The appointment
was made on the 15th March 1649, and he immediately
applied himself to the duties of his new avocation. It has
been suggested, with some appearance of probability, that
he must have been indebted for this preferment either to
the younger Vane or to Bradshaw, who were members of
the council, and who have been made the subjects, both
in prose and in verse, of his eloquent and poetic panegyric.
But if the preference was, in the first instance, the sugges¬
tion of friendship, it was afterwards proved by the event
to have been the dictate of wisdom. I he hand of the La¬
tin secretary most ably concurred with the spirit of the
executive council ; and during his continuance in office,
which was prolonged till the Restoration, the state papers
in his department may be regarded as models of diploma¬
tic composition. Amongst the correspondence of Milton,
96
Milton.
M I L
during the protectorate of Cromwell, were a series of letters
addressed to the kings of France, Denmark, and Sweden,
relative to the persecution of the Vaudois, which might be
cited in proof of what has just been stated. The official
instruments were no doubt faithful to the general purposes
of the man who then governed England; but they also
exhibit much of the liberal and benevolent spirit of the
secretary ; and, by their dignified yet conciliating tone,
strong reasoning, and persuasive eloquence, they deserve to
be classed amongst the ablest compositions of the kind to
be found in any language. Nor was it merely in conducting
the correspondence of the state with foreign powers that
Milton’s ministerial agency was employed. It appears to
have been used by the council in all cases which related to
foreigners, and to have been nearly of an equal extent with
that of the modern secretary of state for the foreign de¬
partment. But his pen was not confined to the writing of
government despatches or official correspondence.
Soon after the king’s death, a book, purporting to have
been written by the “ royal martyr” himself, appeared,
under the title of EIKHN BA2IAIKH, or Portraiture of his
Sacred Majesty in his Solitudes and Sufferings, and made
a powerful impression upon the public mind, to the disad¬
vantage of the republican cause. The fate of the unhap¬
py Charles had very generally excited strong feelings of
sympathy. He appeared to have been the victim of an am¬
bitious and sanguinary faction ; and, whilst his faults were
generously buried in his grave, his virtues were aggran¬
dised by pity for his misfortunes, and honoured with exag¬
gerated commendation. Hence the appearance of a work,
professedly by his own hand, in which he is represented in
the constant exercise of prayer, asserting the integrity of
his motives before the great Searcher of Hearts, and urg¬
ing a fervent appeal from the injustice and cruelty of man
to the justice and clemency of God, was eminently calcu¬
lated to agitate the public mind in his favour, and to make
every tongue vibrate in execration of his enemies. To
counteract the effect of this popular production, which
threatened to become alarmingly great, the council deter¬
mined to avail itself of the abilities of its new secretary, and
delegated to Milton the task of contending with the Eikon
Basilike. This he performed with singular ability, in his
E/xovoxXoccrjis, or Image-breaker, the title prefixed to this re¬
futation of the reputed work of royal authorship, and which
may be regarded as one of the most finished and powerful of
his controversial productions. There does not appear to
have been any order in council directing him to write this
TON.
answer 5 but his owm wrords are full and expiess as to the IVIilton
direction he had received. “ A book appeared soon after,” ’’W '
says he, “ which was ascribed to the king, and contained
the most invidious charges against the parliament. I was
ordered to answer it, and opposed the Iconoclast to the
Ikon.” It is certain that the royalists depended greatly
on the effect which they expected to be produced by the
Eikon Basilike; forty-seven editions of it were circulated
in England, and forty-eight thousand five hundred copies
are said to have been sold. Milton, therefore, felt that the
peace and safety of the commonwealth were at stake, and
having entered into his subject with his usual ardour, he
completed his task with even more than his ordinary suc¬
cess.
The genuineness of the Eikon long remained a matter of
controversy ; but all doubt upon this subject has for some
time been set at rest. It is now certain that the use of
the king’s name was a fraud, and that the real author of
the book was Gauden, bishop of Exeter. This has been
established by evidence so convincing and conclusive, that
the question may be considered as definitively settled.1 2
From several passages in the Iconoclast, it is evident that
Milton strongly suspected the Eikon to have been the
production of some “ idle and pedantic” churchman ; but it
seems to have been his policy to permit the imposture to
pass, and to deal with the work as if it had been the genuine
effusion of the royal personage whose name it bears. Pres¬
sing closely on his antagonist, and tracing him step by step,
he either exposes the fallacy of his reasonings, or the false¬
hood of his assertions, or the hollowness of his professions,
or the convenient speciousness of his devotions. He dis¬
covers a quickness which never misses an advantage, and
a keenness of remark which carries an irresistible edge. In
argument and in style the Iconoclast is equally masterly,
being at once compressed and energetic, perspicuous and
elegant. It is a .work, indeed, which cannot be read by
any man, whose reason is not wholly under the dominion
of prejudice, without producinga conviction unfavourable to
the royal party ; and it justly merited the honourable dis¬
tinction conferred upon it by royalist vengeance, of burn¬
ing in the same flames with the Defence of the People of
England? The Iconoclastes was first printed in 1649 ; a
second edition of it appeared in the following year; and, in
1652, it was again published in London by Du Gard, in a
French translation. It received two answers ; one with the
title of E/xwv ccKkaGrog, or the Image Unbroken, in 1651;
and the other, called Vindicice Carolines, in 1692.
1 See on this subject, Who Wrote Ikon Basilike? by Dr Christopher Wordsworth, London, 1824 ; and more especially a most mas¬
terly discussion of the same question in the Edinburgh Review (vol. xliv. p. 1, et seq ) by Sir James Mackintosh, one of the ablest and
most conclusive pieces of historical reasoning and investigation to be found in modern literature.
2 Dr Johnson, who misses no opportunity of libelling the character of Milton, accuses him of having interpolated “ the book called
Ikon Basilike, by inserting a prayer taken from Sidney’s Arcadia, and imputing it to the king.” One would have thought that the
very severity with which Milton, in one passage of his work, has animadverted on the king for having adopted this prayer, and given
it, with a few immaterial alterations, as his own to the bishop who attended him on the scaffold, might have saved his memory from
the imputation of an act at once so scandalous and so paltry. But, fortunately, we possess the most satisfactory evidence of his entire
exemption from the dishonest meanness imputed to him. It was by Itoyston, who is said to have received the manuscript from the
king, and not by Du Gard, the printer of the parliament, that the edition of the Eikon was printed in which the controverted prayer
originally appeared ; and, surely, Royston’s royalist press was remote from the suspicion of any contact with Milton or his supposed
accomplice Bradshaw. A et with this fact staring him in the face, Dr Johnson admitted the calumny, which the infamous Lauder
had revived, and attempted to affix on the name of Milton the stigma of forgery. The first edition of the Eikon BasiUke, to which
this prayer, called “ a pi'ayer in time of captivity,” is attached, was printed for R. Royston, at the Angel in Ivy-lane ; a fact which
utterly annihilates the charge, whilst it proves the “malice” in which it” originated. “Faction,” says Johnson, “seldom leaves a
man innocent, however it might find him.” The maxim is not only true, but its truth has been exemplified by its author, whose
guilt, in this particular, Dr Symmons has unanswerably exposed. (See Life of Milton, pp. 328, 329, et seq.)
rhis_ is. no new charge. It was originally broached by Lauder in his publication entitled King Charles Vindicated from the charge
of Plagiarism brought against him by Milton, and Milton himself convicted of Forgery and a Gross Imposition on the Public, which appeared
in 1754, some time after his.forgeries in regard to the Paradise Lost had been detected and exposed by Dr Douglas, and after he had
publicly confessed his guilt in a penitential letter addressed to that eminent person. The dog returned to his vomit again, and in¬
vented this new falsehood in the hope of attracting some attention by a fabrication which it might be difficult to refute. But he was
deceived in his expectation. I he “ unspecious falsehood” failed to obtain that degree of regard which was requisite to render it of
any use to the author ; yet, “ with a. notable and hardy contempt of truth,” it was afterwards revived by Johnson, “ the great literary
patron of Lauder, and his accomplice in the infamous but abortive attempt to blast the reputation of Milton. (Symmons’ Life of
Milton, App. pp. 627, 628.) ^ \ j j j
M I L
Hilton. We may mention here, that on his appointment to the
office of Latin secretary, Milton removed, in the first in¬
stance, to a lodging in the house of one Thompson, atChar-
ing-cross, and afterwards to apartments in Scotland Yard,
where his wife gave birth to her third child, a son, who
died in infancy, on the 16th of March 1650. And in 1652
he shifted his residence to Petty France, where, till the
period of the Restoration, he occupied a handsome house,
opening into St James’s Park, and adjoining to the mansion
of Lord Scudamore.
But, wherever his dwelling-place might be, he was des¬
tined to enjoy no respite from labour. No sooner had he
finished his masterly reply to the posthumous work (as it
was then generally considered) of King Charles, than he
was again called upon to enter the lists as the assertor of
the commonwealth of England; but he was now to be op¬
posed to a more formidable antagonist, and to contend on
a far more ample field. His refutation of the Eikon had
been confined almost within the limits of his own country.
But in the contest in which he was about to engage, the
powers of his mind were to be exhibited to Europe at large,
and the whole family of civilized nations were to witness his
victory or defeat. Charles II. was at this time protected
by the states of Holland, and being anxious to appeal to
the world against the execution of his father, as well as to
blend his own with the general cause of kings, he employed
Claudius Salmasius, or Claude de Saumaise, then an hono¬
rary professor in the university of Leyden, to write a de¬
fence of the late king and of monarchy. This man, who
was famed for his learning, and held a high rank amongst
the most eminent scholars of that age, had already distin¬
guished himself by the publication of a book in defence of
civil and religious liberty ; and, as the reward of his exer¬
tions, he had received the grant of a pension from the repub¬
lic of Holland. It would have been well for Salmasius had
he been content to enjoy the advantages of his lot in the
bosom of tranquillity, and had he refused to tarnish his re¬
putation, belie his principles, and compromise his peace, at
the solicitation of an intriguing and profligate prince. But
when a king sued to be his client, and the cause of so¬
vereigns claimed the support of his pen, his vanity over¬
mastered every other consideration ; in an inauspicious hour
he undertook the defence of prelacy, monarchy, and Charles
I.; and, in virtue of this engagement, he produced his/^e-
fensio Regia pro Carolo Primo ad Carolum Secundum, which
made its appearance before the close of the year 1649.
This book, taken as a whole, greatly disappointed the ex¬
pectations of the learned. With the tenacious memory, the
quick combination, and the acute microscopic vision, of the
scholar and the critic, its author was destitute of that grasp
and comprehension of mind which are requisite for the dis¬
cussion of complex political systems. Throughout the
whole of the Royal Defence there is a pervading littleness,
of which the reader is soon rendered painfully sensible. Its
author, like Martha, is troubled about many things, and
seems overwhelmed with trifles. Etymology is frequently
substituted for argument; quotations are accumulated with¬
out judgment or felicity ; and his materials are put together
without method, unassorted and unarranged. Still, the
Royal Defence is by no means a contemptible production.
It amasses nearly all that can be collected on the subject;
in its management it is sometimes skilful, as in its execu¬
tion it is occasionally happy ; and it presents us with argu-
T O N. 97
ments which are often subtle and generally specious. “ But Milton,
the circumstance which will principally recommend this
work of Salmasius’s to a numerous party in the present
day,” observes Dr Symmons, “ is the vivid recollection
which it forcibly awakes, of some of the political writings
Mr Burke. The same dark arsenal of language seems to
have supplied the artillery which, in the seventeenth cen¬
tury, was aimed at the government of England, and in the
close of the eighteenth at that of France; and many of
those doctrines which disgust us with their naked deformi¬
ty in the Leyden professor, have been withdrawn from our
detestation under an embroidered and sparkling veil by
the hand of the British politician. When Salmasius calls
upon the monarchs, and indeed upon all the well-instituted
republics, or, in other w'ords, the regular governments of
Europe, to extirpate the fanatic and parricide English, the
pests and the monsters of Britain, we must necessarily be
reminded of Mr Burke’s crusading zeal against the revolu¬
tionists of France, and be persuaded that he blows the
trumpet bequeathed to him by the antagonist of Milton,
and sullied with the venal breath which was once purchas¬
ed by Charles. Unquestionable resemblance is to be dis¬
covered in the Royal Defence to those pieces of Mr Burke’s
which respect the French revolution; and if the former were
to be translated, the English reader wmuld be less struck
with the novelty of the latter, and more disposed to assent
to what was asserted by the wise man more than three
thousand years ago, that ‘ there is now no new thing under
the sun.’ ”1 On the causes of this resemblance we shall
not venture to offer any opinion. Similar thoughts might
be suggested by similar subjects; the same passions, how¬
ever excited, might naturally rush into the same channel
of intemperate expression ; or the discursive mind of Burke
might range even the moors of Salmasius to batten on their
coarse produce, and, finding them replenished with bitter
springs, might be induced to draw from them supplies to
feed the luxuriancy of his owm invective.
But whatever might be the intrinsic merit of the Royal
Defence, it derived importance from the name of Salma¬
sius ; and the appeal being made to all Europe, especially
to crowned heads, it was not likely to be without its ef¬
fect. The council of state immediately perceived the ne¬
cessity of replying to it, and it was accordingly resolved
“ that Mr Milton do prepare something in answer to the
book of Salmasius, and when he hath done it, bring it to
the council.” This entry is dated the 8th January 1649-
50 ; and there is another, dated the 23d of December 1650,
in which it is ordered “ that Mr Milton do print the trea¬
tise which he hath written, in answer to a late book writ¬
ten by Salmasius, against the proceedings of the common¬
wealth.” By this time his sight had become greatly im¬
paired, and he was forewarned by his physicians that the
total loss of it would be the infallible result of his labour;
but, undeterred by this prediction,2 and unrestrained by
bad health, which allowed him to compose only at intervals,
with hourly interruptions, he persevered in the work which
he had undertaken, and produced, early in 1651, that noble
acquittal of his engagement to the council, the Defemio
pro Populo Anglicano contra Claudii Salmasii Defensio-
nem Regiam. This work more than answered the expec¬
tations which were entertained of it. Indeed the triumph of
Milton was decisive, and the humiliation of his adversary
complete. It would be difficult even for its greatest ad-
1 Symmons’Life of Milton, pp. 357, 358,359. , , . „ ..
s “ I would not,” says he, “have listened to the voice even of Esculapius himself, from the shrine of Epidaurus, in preference to
the suggestions of the heavenly monitor within my breast; my resolution was unshaken, though the a en
of my sight or the desertion of my duty.” “ I considered,” he adds, “ that many had purchased a less good by a greater evil, the
meed of glory by the loss of life ; but that I might procure a great good by a little suffering; tha loug am in , s
discharge the most honourable duties, the performance of which, as it is something more duiable t lan g o „, 0 J
superior admiration and esteem.” (Second Defence, Prose Works, p. 927.)
VOL. XV.
98
MILTON.
Milton, mirer to speak of this masterly composition in terms of too enemies whom his want of moderation had excited, exult- Milton.
—v—^high commendation. “ If happily,” says Dr Symmons, ed openly in his fall. It has been asserted that the ya- " V'*'
“ ft had been less embittered with personal invective, and rious mortifications which he experienced on this occasion
had withdrawn the two immediate combatants to a greater proved eventually fatal to his life ; and it is not improbable
distance from our sight; if it had excluded every light that wounded pride and vanity might prove injurious to
and sportive sally from its pages, it would have approach- health, and accelerate the crisis of dissolution. He retired
ed very nearly to perfection, and would have formed one from the court of Stockholm in September 1651, and the
of the most able and satisfactory, the most eloquent and following year died at Spa in Germany, just after he had
splendid, defences of truth and liberality against sophistry completed a most virulent reply to his opponent, on whose
and despotism, which has ever been exhibited to the world.” devoted head he accumulated every crime which his ma¬
lts diction is pure, spirited, and harmonious j1 the language lignity could invent, and heaped every opprobrious epithet
of Cicero is upon the author’s tongue, “ winged with red which a copious vocabulary of abuse could supply. It is
lightning and impetuous rage ;” and through this appro- stated by Toland, and repeated by others on his authority,
priate medium are conveyed strong argument, manly sen- that Milton received L.1000 from the Treasury as a reward
timent, comprehensive erudition, and profound wisdom, re- for this great work. That he deserved recompense no
lieved at intervals by sallies of excursive fancy. By the one can doubt; but there is reason to believe that Toland
law^s of God, either written in the heart of man or made had been misinformed ; for, in the Second Defence, pub-
the subject of immediate revelation, and by the testimony lished three years afterwards, he declares that he had
of all history, sacred and profane, the Defence of the “ not been made one penny richer” by the publications he
People of England shows that political power properly had undertaken for the service of the country.3 He re¬
emanates from the people, that for their benefit it must be ceived the thanks of the council “ for his good services,”
exercised, that for their good it may rightfully be resum- which they seem to have duly appreciated; but the terms
ed. With reference to the point more immediately at is- in which these are conveyed seem to indicate that this was
sue, the author asserts the ancient genealogy of English the only acknowledgment.4 His best reward, however,
freedom, and traces it from its British origin, through its was the triumphant success with which he vindicated the
Saxon and Norman lineage, down to the establishment of people of England, and annihilated the presumptuous fo-
the commonwealth. During the whole of this period he reigner who had been hired to calumniate them,
proves that the existence of the ultimate sovereignty of the In 1652, Milton, having removed from his lodgings in
people w'as established by solemn acts, or by acknowledg- Whitehall to a house opening into St James’s Park, lost
ment in compacts ; and, from the Saxon times, he demon- his wife in child-bed, and was left with three motherless
strates the existence of a supreme legislative assembly, by daughters, in domestic solitude, and in a state of almost
which the conduct of the executive was controlled, and to total blindness. The prediction of his physicians had been
which the chief magistrate was responsible. He is unques- but too fatally verified. His sight, naturally weak, had for
tionably too severe in his treatment of Charles, and we are several years been declining ; and the composition of his
fatigued with the perpetual recurrence of invective against last great work had completed its extinction. In the course
his antagonist; but the one was provoked by exaggerated of this honourable labour he lost entirely the vision of one
praise, and the other may find some excuse in the abusive eye ; that of the other soon afterwards closed; and “ for
and insolent language with which the government and the book of knowledge fair” he was “ presented with an
people of England had been assailed. He condescended to universal blank of Nature’s works.” But such was the vi-
fight the adversary with his own weapons, and answered gour of his intellect, that, in addition to the discharge of
a fool according to his folly. his duties as secretary to the council, he continued his
The Defence of the People of England was received labours in defence of the commonwealth. His mind was
and read with universal applause and admiration; and, too eager to be diverted from his purpose, and too strong
whilst the production of his opponent crept languidly to be subdued even by this accumulation of calamities,
through a confined circulation, it passed rapidly through The precise date of his blindness, however, has not been
several impressions, - was translated into foreign languages, ascertained ; and equally unfixed is that of his second mar-
and occupied a large space in the public mind. Even riage, which appears to have taken place about two years
Christina, queen of Sweden, is said to have commended it after his entire loss of sight. The lady wdiom he chose on
openly, although, from her rank and character, she could this occasion wTas Catherine, daughter of Captain Wood-
scarcely be supposed to have any great favour for its doc- cock of Hackney, who seems to have been the object of
tunes. ^ The result of the contest was peculiarly affecting his fondest affection. Like her predecessor, she died in
to the feelings and unfavourable to the interests of Salma- child-bed within a year after her marriage, and the daugh-
sius. The Swedish queen frowned upon him as a pernicious ter she bore to him soon followed her to the grave,
parasite; the states of Holland suppressed his work, as Numerous replies to Milton’s Defence of the People of
one calculated to promote tyranny; and the numerous England were sent forth by the royalists, but these he left
rntm«nnbtnnVPt^kf ” mm ^ombatants’ declares himself unable to decide whose language was best, or whose arguments were worst.
Johnson thinks that Milton s pe™ds are smoother, neater, and more pointed.” As to the arguments of Salmasius, it is a strong
in thehPfavour?ainSt them’ HobbeS’ Wlth a11 hls acuteness’ added to his known partiality for despotism, could find nothing to say
- 1 he author of the Clamor Rcgn Sanguinis ad Caelum, which called forth the Second Defence, says, “ Of what the execrable Mil-
ton has spiteful y elaborated to rum the reputation of the deceased king, and to destroy the hereditary succession to the crown there
are so many editions, that I am uncertain to which of these I should refer my readers.” ' 7 succession ro me crown, mere
turn 0P-niffates atque opes, quas mihi exprobras, non attigisse, neque eo nomine, quo maxime accusas, obolofac-
‘DrSymmons conjectures that the munificence of the council might have been posterior to the date of the Second Defence or
that the passage may be regarded as not sufficiently explicit to be admitted against the positive assertion of Toland coinciding with
the general character of the republican government, but, in the first place, its three years confessedly elapsed w^ouTthe council
ass^rtTon^iOIilton ^Jas'no^tive^arth^ rfCqinifieniSej’ 11 is.s^eIy probable that they Would do*so at aposterior date; secondly, the
wn . , ,1 r U \ u 1 that of lola"d’t0 whlch ff is in direct opposition ; and, thirdly, as secretary of the council he
was a public servant, all of whose energies were fairly exigible for the service of the state. ' 7 ’
MILTON.
Jlilton. to perish in their natural obscurity.1 In 1652, however,
—-v—''there appeared at the Hague a work entitled Regii San¬
guinis Clamor ad Ccelum adversus Parricidas Anglicanas,
which, from the calumnies it heaped both upon the parlia¬
ment and upon Milton himself, the latter considered as
calling for a reply. The real libeller was a Frenchman of
the name of Du Moulin, afterwards prebendary of Canter¬
bury ; but, fearful of avowing a production calculated to
expose him to literary vengeance, he sent it in manuscript
to Salmasius, by whom it was consigned, for the purpose
of publication, to one Alexander Morns or More, a man of
Scotch parentage, but settled in France, and at this time
principal of the protestant college of Castres in Langue¬
doc, where he had acquired some celebrity as a preacher.
♦ Morus readily undertook the honourable task proposed to
him, wrote a dedication to Charles II. under the name of
the printer,2 and became so mixed up with the work, that,
until Du Moulin was compelled to acknowledge his pro¬
duction, he was generally considered as its author. But
he had reason to repent bitterly the part he acted in this
disgraceful action. For a brief and equivocal reputation (of
which he made the most whilst it lasted), his life was em¬
bittered, and his memory covered with infamy. A terrible
castigation awaited him. In 1654, Milton produced his
reply, under the title of Defensio Secunda pro Populo An-
glicano, contra infamem Libellum anonymum cui titidus
“ Regii Sanguinis Clamor ad Codum.”
In answer to the slanders with which his adversary had at¬
tempted to overwhelm him, he found it necessary to give a
sketch of many parts of his own history, and to disclose the
motives and springs of action by which his conduct had
been regulated ; a delicate task, in the execution of which he
speaks with the confidence of innocence and the unfalter¬
ing dignity of truth. On this account the wrork is pecu¬
liarly interesting, and has supplied his biographers with
materials, which are of the more value as they cannot be ob¬
tained any where else, and their authenticity is beyond all
doubt. The defensive portion of the work, therefore, is
that which at present constitutes its principal interest.
But at the time of its publication, the attraction consisted
in its active and unsparing hostility. The character of
Morus was, unhappily for himself, not proof against attack.
Of a quarrelsome and overbearing temper, he was at va¬
riance with every body; whilst his uncontrolled attach¬
ment to women involved him in adventures not calculated
to reflect much credit upon a minister of the gospel. Pos¬
sessing correct information as to his conduct, and resolv¬
ed to use it without scruple, Milton pursues him through the
opprobrious privacies of his immorality,3 4 and exacts a se¬
vere vengeance for those savage insults, in the guilt of
which he had become implicated as a party and an accom¬
plice. Morus struggled to support himself by a reply, which
Milton demolished in another answer ; as he did also a se¬
cond attempt of the same kind in a short confutation,
which terminated the controversy. In the course of it
the sufferings of Morus had induced him to give up the au¬
thor of the publication which had brought upon him such
a fearful visitation; and Du Moulin, who was then in
England, felt himself to be in danger; but, for some reason
or other, Milton suffered the Frenchman to escape chastise-
99
ment. It is probable enough, as Dr Symmons suggests, Milton,
that, regarding Morus and his associate “ as joint parties inv'—-v—
a bond, he conceived himself to be justified in calling up¬
on the most responsible of the two for the payment of his
debt.”
But, independently of its communications respecting its
illustrious author, the Second Defence contains many
striking passages, and exhibits a variety of entertaining
matter. It introduces to our notice many of the writer’s
republican friends, as Fleetwood, Lambert, Howley, Mer¬
ton, Whitelocke, Pickering, Strickland, Sydenham, Syd¬
ney, Montacute, Laurence, Fairfax, and Bradshaw; and,
besides an animated address to Cromwell, in which the cha¬
racter of that remarkable man is ably pourtrayed, it pre¬
sents us with an eloquent eulogy on Christina, queen of
Sweden, in requital, as it would seem, of the praise which
the daughter of the great Adolphus had so liberally be¬
stowed on his Defence of the People of England. Of the
address to Cromwell, Johnson observes, in his characteris¬
tic manner, that “ Caesar, when he assumed the perpe¬
tual dictatorship, had not more servile or more elegant
flattery.” The beauty of the 'composition, indeed, has
never been, and cannot be, disputed ; and as to the alleged
“ servility,” they alone can properly judge who are capa¬
ble of appreciating the wisdom of the advice which is ten¬
dered to the protector, in connection with the state of af¬
fairs at the time when Milton wrote. The Long Parlia¬
ment had been dismissed ; its successor, nicknamed Bare-
bones’ Parliament, had also been dissolved ; and the cap¬
tain-general, with his military council, found himself in
possession of a kind of derelict sovereignty. On the 16th
of December 1653, Cromwell was installed into the office
of Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, and
under that title now possessed the supreme power. Some
provision appears to have been made for convening a tri¬
ennial parliament; but the country was torn in pieces by
contending factions, and the only hope of the restoration
of internal tranquillity depended on the honesty and firm¬
ness of the protector, whose wisdom and courage had al¬
ready, on more than one occasion, proved the salvation of
the commonwealth. Milton, whose address appears to have
been composed immediately after Cromwell’s elevation,
could not be unconscious of the egregious mockeries which
had been practised upon the people, or insensible to the
danger with which liberty was threatened by the concen¬
tration of all the powers of the state in the person of the
protector ; but still it was natural for him not to abandon,
without extreme reluctance, the hopes which he had che¬
rished respecting the protector’s rectitude of intention ;
and hence he seems desirous of urging him to a just and
generous exercise of power by every motive which wise
counsel or eloquent panegyric could suggest. Milton was
not a venal parasite or a courtly flatterer. He certainly ap¬
proaches the master of England with elevated sentiments,
and in elegant language extols the enlightened wisdom,
martial prowess, and stern integrity, by which the conduct
of that fortunate soldier had hitherto been characterized;
but extravagant as some of his praises may now be thought,
it cannot be denied that, even in these, he discovers the
quality of an erect and independent spirit.4
1 The earliest of these replies, all of which were anonymous, was erroneously imputed to Bishop Bramhall. It appealed in 1051,
with the strange title Apologia pro liege ct Populo Anglicano contra Joannis Pulyprugmitici, alias Aliltoni Angli, Dejensionem destiucti-
vam, &c.
9 Adrian Ulac, in Latin Vlaccus. . .
3 The following epigram, commonly attributed to Milton, relates to one of the licentious amours in which Morus had been en¬
gaged :—
Galli ex concubitu gravidam te, Pontia, Mori
Quis bene moratam morigeramque neget ?
On this point of attack, Morus, in his reply, gave his antagonist an advantage, by inadvertently correcting the orthography of the gii 1 s
name, which, he affirmed, ought to be written Bontia, and not Pontia. , . , , . ^ .
4 The conduct of Milton during the administration of the protector is a subject on which his enemies delight to dwell. Inat
100
MILTON.
Milton. With the Second Defence of the People of England,
•v-~—^ and the two subsequent replies to Morus, Milton closed his
controversial labours. He still continued to serve his
country in the character of Latin secretary; but his dis¬
approbation of the actual state of affairs is evident from
more than one of his letters ; and he seems to have ac¬
quiesced in the existing evil only because it was irreme¬
diable, and inferior in degree to the calamity of a resto¬
ration. Mortified and disappointed, he now sought relief
from the feelings which oppressed him by engaging in the
prosecution of three great works; his History of England,
of which he only completed two additional books; his
Thesaurus Linguce Latince; and his immortal epic poem
of Paradise Lost. Of the History it is only necessary to
remark, in addition to what has already been stated, that,
prior to its publication in 1670, it was mutilated by the
caprice of the licenser, who struck out one of its most spi¬
rited and brilliant passages; that the portion expurgated
was printed separately in 1681 ; and that it was afterwards
restored to its proper place in the edition of the author's
prose works published in 1738. The Thesaurus, for which
he had made large collections, was never published; but the
materials which he had amassed, occupying in manuscript
three large folio volumes, were presented by his nephew
Philips to the editors of the Cambridge Dictionary, by
whom they appear to have been used in the preparation
of that work for the press. “ To collect a dictionary,’’
says Johnson, “ seems a work of all others the least prac¬
ticable in a state of blindness, because it depends upon
perpetual and minute inspection and collation. Nor would
Milton probably have begun it after he had lost his eyes;
but having had it always before him, he continued it ‘ al¬
most to his dying day.’ ” This work indeed appears to have
formed a part of that change of literary labour in which he
delighted; and it is curious in another point of view, as
showing that his mind, with all its energies, could instan¬
taneously pass from invention to compilation, from the glo¬
rious visions of fancy to the dry and sterile drudgery of
mere verbal collation. As to the third object upon which his
powers were at this time exerted, his immortal epic, we
shall forbear adverting to it until the time of its comple¬
tion and publication.
In this variety of vigorous and effective intellectual ex¬
ertion did Milton employ his leisure hours during the re¬
mainder of the protectorate. He was evidently dissatis¬
fied with the state of public affairs ; but fearing lest he
might aggravate existing evils by any symptom of aliena¬
tion, and unwilling to break with the protector, in whom
his confidence was not yet entirely destroyed, he repress¬
ed his feelings, and waited in expectation of better times.
In 1655 he composed the manifesto issued by the protec¬
tor to justify his war with Spain; and in 1657 Andrew Milton.j
Marvell was associated with him in the office of Latin se-‘v'»
cretary. In 1658 he published, under the title of The Ca¬
binet Council, a manuscript of Sir Walter Raleigh’s, con¬
sisting of aphorisms on the art of government. But from
this and other occupations his mind was soon called to cir¬
cumstances of an afflicting and embarrassing kind.
In the September of this year, Cromwell, broken down
by the cares and anxietiesof government, finished his splen¬
did but unenviable career. He died surrounded by diffi¬
culties which even his powerful mind knew not how to sur¬
mount ; suffering acutely under domestic calamity; and
leaving the nation a prey to the violence of factions which
his vigorous authority alone had for a time restrained. His
successor in the protectorate, Richard Cromwell, was not a
pilot able to weather the storm now gathering; and at the
end of nine months he resigned his perilous office, descend¬
ing without regret to the safe level of a private station. The
council of officers then summoned the relics of the Long
Parliament to re-assume the guidance of the common¬
wealth ; but the contests between them and the army ruin¬
ed the last hopes of the friends of liberty, and introduced
a species of anarchy which threatened the setting up of a
military despotism. The Presbyterians, taking advantage
of these events, now openly avowed their disaffection to
the ruling powers, and united themselves heartily with the
royalists. This extraordinary conflict of parties, and the
confusion which ensued, opened a field to Monk, then go¬
vernor of Scotland, for the display of his inconstancy, cun¬
ning, and perfidy. Favoured by his situation, and solicited
at once by the Presbyterians, the people, and the parlia¬
ment, he was enabled to betray all who confided in him,
to abandon his old associates to the butchery of legal ven¬
geance, and to surrender the nation, without a single sti¬
pulation in its favour. Never was a counter-revolution
effected by such accumulated dissimulation, treachery, and
perfidy; never did the liberties of a nation sink under the
temporary ascendency of a meaner, a baser, or a more un¬
principled traitor, than the man by whom the Restoration
was achieved.
Whilst these events were passing, in the space between
the protector’s death and the return of Charles, the mind
of Milton must have been agitated with severe disquietude.
Lie had seen the structure of liberty which his ardent ima¬
gination had erected, dissolve like a vision into air, leaving
not a trace or vestige behind. All that was good, or prog¬
nostic of good, had passed away; and he now saw nothing
but the selfishness of faction triumphing over the rights
and the patience of the nation, and precipitating the cause
which it professed to support into irretrievable ruin. At.
this crisis, when England had need of him, Milton was not
an enthusiastic votary of liberty,” says Mr Macaulay, “ should accept office under a military usurper, seems, no doubt, at first sight,
extraordinary. The ambition of Oliver was of no vulgar kind. He never seems to have coveted despotic power. He at first fought
sincerely and manfully for the parliament, and never deserted it till it had deserted its duty. If he dissolved it by force, it was not
till he found that the few members who remained after so many deaths, secessions, and expulsions, were desirous to appropriate to
themselves a power which they held only in trust, and to inflict on England the curse of a Venetian oligarchy. But when thus placed
by violence at the head of affairs, he did not assume unlimited power. He gave the country a constitution far more perfect than any
which had at that time been known to the world. He reformed the representative system in a manner which has extorted praise
even from Lord Clarendon. For himself he demanded indeed the first place in the commonwealth ; but with powers scarcely so great
as those of a Hutch stadtholder or an American president. He gave parliament a voice in the appointment of ministers, and left to
it the whole legislative authority, not even reserving to himself a veto on its enactments. And he did not require that the chief
magistracy should be hereditary in his family.” {Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. p. 355.) If Cromwell’s moderation had been met in a
corresponding spirit, there is no reason to think that he would have overstepped the line which he had traced for himself. But when
he found that his parliaments questioned the authority under which they were called together, and that he was in danger of being
deprived of the limited power he had reserved to himself, then it must be acknowledged that he adopted a more arbitrary policy.
. In judging of the conduct of Milton, due regaid must be had to the character and circumstances of the times. A good constitu¬
tion is infinitely better than the best despot. But, at the period in question, the violence of religious and political animosities ren-
dered a stable and happy settlement next to impossible. The choice lay not between Cromwell and- liberty, but between Cromwell
and the Stuarts. Cromwell was evidently laying, though in an irregular manner, the foundations of an admirable system of liberty.
1 he Stuarts, if restored, would have re-constituted the despotism which had been overthrown. That Milton, therefore, made a wise
election no one can doubt who compares the history of the protectorate with that of the thirty vears which succeeded it, the darkest
and most disgraceful period in the annals of England. {Edinburgh Review, ubi supra.)
M I L
filton. wanting to his country. Apprehensive of returning into-
,-v“*'/lerance, he published two treatises, devoted to the consi¬
deration of two opposite evils. One of these was entitled
A Treatise on the Civil Power in Ecclesiastical Causes;
and the other, Considerations touching the likeliest Means
to remove Hirelings out of the Church. Both these works
are written with beautiful simplicity and earnestness, and
should be studied by all who wish to understand the prin¬
ciples of religious liberty. In the first of them, he asserts
the entire liberty of conscience, and, by arguments drawn
from the sacred writings, demonstrates that, in matters
purely religious, the interference of the magistrate is un¬
lawful. In the second, he allows the propriety of a main¬
tenance for Christian ministers; but, denying the divine
right, as well as the political expediency, of tithes, he con¬
tends that pastors ought to be supported by the contribu¬
tions of their owm immediate flocks. In short, the immor¬
tal author of the Paradise Lost here advocates what, in
the language of the present day, is called the voluntary
principle.1
The current of national opinion was now running strong¬
ly in favour of monarchy. Harassed by the conflict of
parties, and the disorders thereby occasioned, the people
were in a state of mind favourable to the projects of Monk,
and, regarding the restoration of the kingly power as a less
evil than the frightful state of anarchy which now pre¬
vailed, were prepared to join him in setting up the old form
of government. The earnest protestations of Monk, and
the existence of a parliament in whi'?h the royalists formed
an inconsiderable party, still supported the hopes of the
republicans; but Milton, fully aware of what was passing
around him, and indignant at the outrages committed by
the army, discovered his serious apprehension of the gene¬
ral result, in a letter to a friend, dated the 20th of October
1659, in which he plainly hinted his suspicions of Monk,
whom circumstances had rendered the arbiter of his coun¬
try’s fate. “ Unless these things, as I have above proposed,”
says he, “ be once settled, in my fear, which God avert,
we instantly ruin ; or at least become the servants of one
or another single person, the secret author and fomenter of
these disturbances? Almost immediately afterwards he
addressed a letter to Monk, which was first published by
Toland, entitled The Present Means and Brief Delinea¬
tion of a Free Commonwealth ; urging him to adopt such
measures as seemed best calculated to prevent the resto¬
ration of “ kingship,” and put an end to civil commotion.
And, after an interval of a few months, this was followed
by another tract, entitled A Ready and Easy Way to
establish a Free Commomoealth, in which he employs all
his eloquence in demonstrating the preference of a repub¬
lican to a monarchical government, and in exposing the
evils which would infallibly result from a restoration. He
was accustomed to say, that “ the mere trappings of a
monarchy could support a commonwealthyet, in this
work, as well as in his Brief Delineation, he betrays an ap-
TON. 101
prehension of an unqualified appeal to the people. The Milton,
realization of a pure republic he felt to be impossible ; and
he therefore proposed such a modification of that form of
government as wrould, in his estimation, be a sort of mean
between the two extremes of monarchy on the one hand,
and a pure democracy on the other.2 His last effort in be¬
half of the republican cause was a short but very forcible
commentary, entitled Brief Notes, on a loyal sermon
preached by Dr Matthew Griffith, one of the late king’s
chaplains; and with this, to which L’Estrange wrote a
sharp reply entitled Ao Blind Guides, terminated the po¬
litical controversies of the author of Paradise Lost.
All his hopes were now blasted. Monk having consum¬
mated his perfidy, Charles was advancing to take posses¬
sion of the throne ; and the Latin secretary had acted too
distinguished a part in opposition to him and his family,
not to be endangered by the event. He was therefore
hurried from his house in Petty France, and concealed in
that of a friend in Bartholomew Close, where he remained
till the passing of the act of oblivion, in the exceptions of
wdiich his name was happily not included. To whom, on
this emergency, he was indebted for his preservation, has fre¬
quently been inquired, and variously explained, but never
fully ascertained. The most probable conjecture is, that
he was saved by the intercession of his friends Andrew
Marvell, Sir Thomas Clarges, and Secretary Morrice, pow¬
erfully supported by Sir William Davenant, whom, in 1651,
Milton had rescued from similar peril.3 Whilst he remain¬
ed in concealment, the House of Commons, by a formal
vote, condemned his two great political works, the Icono-
clastes, and the Defence of the People of England, to be
burned by the hands of the common hangman; the only
honour which that servile and degraded body could con¬
fer upon them. On the passing of the act of oblivion, 29th
August 1660, Milton came forth from his hiding-place,
where he had remained nearly four months; but, though
his life had been spared, he was still persecuted by his ene¬
mies. Towards the close of the same year he was in cus¬
tody of the serjeant-at-arms, having probably been seized
in consequence of a warrant for his apprehension issued
by the House of Commons on the 16th of June ; but, on the
15th of December, the house ordered him to be forthwith
released on paying his fees. Milton, however, appears to
have objected to the condition of his discharge; for there
is an entry in the journals, dated the 17th, to the effect,
that “ a complaint being made that the serjeant-at-arms
had demanded excessive fees for the imprisonment of Mr
Milton, it be referred to the committee of privileges to ex¬
amine this business, and to determine what is fit to be
given to the serjeant for his fees in this case.”
On his return to society, Milton took a house in Hol-
born, near Red Lion Square; but this he occupied only for
a short term, as, in 1662, we find him residing in Jewin
Street, from which he afterwards removed to a small house
in the Artillery-walk, adjoining Bunhill Fields, where he
1 ‘‘ To the politician,” says Dr Symmons, “ who contemplates in this country the advantages of a church establishment, and
sees it in union with the most perfect toleration, or to the philosopher who discovers in the weakness of human nature the neces¬
sity of present motives to awaken exertion and to stimulate attention, the plan recommended by our author would appear to be
visionary or pernicious; and we should not hesitate to condemn it, if its practicability and inoffensive consequence were not incon-
trovertibly established by the testimony of America. From Hudson’s Bay, with the small interruption of Canada, to the Mississippi,
this immense continent beholds the religion of Jesus, unconnected with the patronage of government, subsisting in independent yet
friendly communities, breathing that universal charity which constitutes its vital spirit, and offering, with its distinct yet blending
tones, one grand combination of harmony to the ear of its heavenly Father.” {Life of Milton, p. 475.)
2 This production was made the subject of a sportive and a serious reply. The former, a ludicrous pamphlet, affecting to issue
from Harrington’s republican club, was called The Censure of the Rota upon Mr Milton’s Book ; and the latter was styled The ,
Dignity of Kingship asserted, in answer to Mr Milton’s Ready and Easy Way.
3 “ The principal instrument,” says Bishop Newton, “ in obtaining Milton’s pardon, was Sir William Davenant, out of gratitude
for Milton having procured his release when he was taken prisoner. It was life for life. Davenant had been saved by Milton’s in¬
terest, and in return Milton was saved by Davenant’s intercession.” For the existence of Davenant’s obligation to Milton, we
have the testimony of Wood {Athmce. Oxon. ii. 412); and for the subsequent part of the story, the evidence may be distinctly
traced from Richardson to Pope, and from Pope to Betterton, the immediate client and intimate of Davenant. (Symmons’s Life
of Milton, pp. 489, 490.)
102
Milton, continued during the remainder of his life. Whilst in Jewin
'—-v—^ Street he married his third wife, Elizabeth Minshull, daugh¬
ter of a gentleman of Cheshire. This step was rendered
necessary by the undutiful conduct of his two daughters,
upon whose attentions he was solely dependent for the
management of his domestic concerns. His nuncupative
will, which was discovered in the prerogative registry, and
published by Warton, affords a glimpse into the interior
of his house, and shows him to have been amiable and in¬
jured in that private scene, in which alone he has gene¬
rally been considered as liable to censure, or, at least, not
entitled to affection. In this will, and the papers connect¬
ed with it, we find the venerable father complaining of his
“ unkind children,” for neglecting him because he was
blind ; and he was even compelled, by their injurious con¬
duct, to appeal against them to his servants. They sold
his books; combined with the maid-servant, whom they ad¬
vised to cheat their father in her marketings; and other¬
wise acted a most unnatural part. A wife was therefore
necessary to rescue him from such undutiful, not to say
dangerous, hands ; and in the lady whom his friendly phy¬
sician, Dr Paget, selected for him, he appears to have ob¬
tained such a helpmate as his circumstances required.
About the time of his marriage he published a short trea¬
tise on the Accidence of Grammar ; and, in the same year,
he printed another manuscript of Raleigh’s entitled Apho¬
risms of State.
Soon after his establishment in Jewin Street, Ellvvood
the Quaker wras introduced to his acquaintance by Dr
Paget. For some years, his daughters, whom he had taught
to read Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and French,
as well as their own tongue, vvere in the habit of reading
to him such works as he desired ; but when this became
an irksome employment, and they complained, he released
them from the task, and trusted to the kind offices of seve¬
ral friends, whose solicitude to minister to his comfort and
enjoyment he gratefully acknowledges in some of his fa¬
miliar epistles. The kindness of Dr Paget provided him
with a more certain and steady resource. Ellwood, in the
hope of advancing himself in classical knowledge, solicited
an introduction to Milton in the character of a reader;
and in this great man, conciliated by the ingenuousness of
his mariners and the goodness of his heart, the worthy
Quaker soon found a friend as well as an instructor. To
be near his illustrious friend, Ellw’ood took lodgings in the
vicinity of Jewin Street, and every afternoon, that of Sun¬
day excepted, read to him such Roman authors as he was
desirous oi hearing, from this accidental intercourse with
the author ol the Paradise Lost, Ellwood is raised into an
object of particular interest; and, in the history of his life
which he left behind him, he not only speaks with the
most affectionate regard of Milton, from whom, he says,
he uniformly experienced the kindness of a friend and the
instructions Oi a master,1 but relates many interesting par¬
ticulars respecting the literary occupations of his patron,
anu also gives us an insight into the unassuming and con¬
descending character of the great poet. The following pas¬
sage in his narrative fixes the date of the completion of the
d aradisc Lost, and also states the origin of the Paradise
Regained.
“ Some time before I went to Alesbury prison,2 in 1665,
I was desired by my'guardian master, Milton, to take a Miltoi;
house for him in the neighbourhood wdrere I dwelt, that'^—v-f
he might get out of the city, for the safety of himself and
family, the pestilence then growing hot in London. I took
a pretty box for him in Giles Chalfont (in Buckingham¬
shire), a mile from me, of which I gave him notice ; and
intended to have waited on him, and seen him well settled
in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment. But now
being released, and returned home, I soon made a visit to
him, to welcome him into the country. After some com¬
mon discourses had passed between us, he called for a ma¬
nuscript of his ; which, being brought, he delivered to me,
bidding me take it home with me, and read it at my lei¬
sure ; and when I had so done, to return it to him wuth
my judgment thereupon.
“ When I came home, and had set myself to read it, I
found it was that excellent poem Paradise Lost. After I
had, with the best attention, read it through, I made him
another visit, and returned him his book, with due ac¬
knowledgment of the favour he had done me, in commu¬
nicating it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what
I thought of it; which I modestly but freety told him :
And after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly
said to him, ‘ Thou hast said much here about Paradise
I^ost, but what hast thou to say of Paradise Found?' He
made me no answer, sate some time in a muse, then broke
off’ that discourse, and fell upon another subject.
“ After the sickness was over, and the city well cleans¬
ed and become safely habitable again, he returned thither.
And when afterwards I went to wait on him there, which I
seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions drew me to
London, he showed me his second poem, called Paradise
Regained, and in a pleasant tone said to me, ‘ This is ow¬
ing to you; for you put it into my head, by the question
you put to me at Chalfont; which before I had not thought
of.”3
It thus appears that, by the middle of the year 1666,
Milton had completed his two sacred poems, having occu¬
pied in all several years in the composition of Paradise
Lost, but not more than ten months in that of Paradise
Regained. The latter, indeed, seems to have been begun
and brought to a conclusion during his residence at Chal¬
font, which probably extended from June or July 1665 to
March or April 1666. But it was not until the lapse of a
year after their completion that he committed either of
these poems to the press. His contract with Samuel
Simmons the bookseller, for the copyright of Paradise
Lost, is dated the 27th of April 1667, and in the course of
that year was given to the world the first edition of this
mighty effort of intellectual power. “It is a great won¬
der,” says Toland, “ this piece should ever be brought to
perfection, considering the many interruptions that ob¬
structed it. His youth was spent in study, travelling,
and religious controversy ; his manhood was employed in
affairs of state, or those of his family; and in his latter
years, to speak nothing of a decaying fancy, nor of his
personal troubles, he was, by reason of his blindness, ob¬
liged to write, by whatsoever hand came next, ten, or
twenty, or thirty verses at a time, and consequently must
trust the judgment of others, at least for the pointing and
orthography.”1 But when this immortal epic poem had, in
T 13 ra Sitri°ng dlS!:ke of thn E?Sbsh mode of pronouncing Latin. In Ins letter to Hartlib, he had declared that “ torea
tVm TMbi1 an Ijl!Sllhh mouth is as ill a hearing as Law French.” He therefore required that Ellwood should learn and practis
'l ChI hetlsaid’ was necessary in conversing with foreigners. Ellwood complied with this injunctioi
Whpn in'ro-. i€etltti, ’ .|!°Ug 1 j101, w^fout considerable difficulty, in accommodating his pronunciation to the taste of his maste:
him q’n,l pvi ^ IC‘ classics, however, his tones betrayed his ignorance of what he read, Milton would, on such occasions, sto
interemrsp bmvpv beei?ied M01 to yndei'stood; thus repaying the trouble of reading with the benefit of instruction. Thei
mtercouise, however, experienced several interruptions.
a succession of prisons^ ^ ^ ^Uaker meetiriS a party of soldiers, and, along with his associates, detained for a considerable time i
? Ellwood’s Life, pp. 134, 135. 4 Toland’s Life of Milton, p. 117.
M I L T O N.
MIL
;on. these painful and affecting circumstances, been completely
prepared for the press, its birth was on the point of being
intercepted by the ignorance or malice of the licenser,
who had been restored with the monarchy, and whose
quick nostril detected the scent of treason in the well-
known simile of the sun in the first book.
As when the sun new risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with tear of change
Perplexes monarchs.
Tomkyns, however, was, it seems, appeased, and the Para¬
dise Lost saw the light unmutilated by malignity orcaprice,
being born to an immortality of fame.
Much surprise and concern have been expressed at the
small pecuniary benefit which the author derived from this
proud display of his genius, and at the slowness with which
the work laboriously won its way to public estimation. To
us, who are accustomed to consider the Paradise Lost with¬
out any reference to its author or the age in which it ap¬
peared, it must certainly seem deplorable that the copy¬
right of such a composition should be sold for the sum of
five pounds, and a contingent payment, on the sale of two
thousand six hundred copies, of two other equal sums, or
fifteen pounds in all. But if we consider the circumstances
of the times, and call to mind the prominent part which
Milton had taken in defence of the regicides and republi¬
cans, we should rather be surprised at the adventurous
liberality of the bookseller who would give even this small
sum for the production of a man living under the heaviest
frown of the restored dynasty, and who was only remem¬
bered as the associate and apologist of the men who had
overthrown the monarchy. Nor have the reflections which
have been made upon the slow apprehensions of the men
of that age any better foundation than the strictures which
have been passed upon the parsimony of the bookseller. At
a time when learning and the love of reading were far
from being so widely diffused as at present, the sale of
the poem was, all things considered, large and rapid. At
the end of two years, thirteen hundred copies had been
disposed of; in five years a second edition was issued;
after another interval of four years, a third was called for ;
and before the end of twenty years, it had passed through
six editions;1 “a circumstance,” says Dr Symmons, “which
abundantly proves that it was not destitute of popularity
before it obtained its full and final dominion over the pub¬
lic taste from the patronage of Somers, and still more from
the criticism of Addison.” In the second edition, which
was published in 1674, the author divided the seventh and
the tenth book each into two, and thus changed the origi¬
nal distribution of his work from ten to twelve books.
TON.
103
Milton himself informs us that, after much deliberation,
“long chusing and beginning late,” he fixed upon Para¬
dise Lost as the subject of his epic poem ; a design so com¬
prehensive that, as Johnson observes, it could be justified
only by success. At a very early period of life he appears
to have had in contemplation some production in the very
highest region of poetry. The idea accompanied him to
Italy, wheie, from the example of Tasso, and the conver¬
sation of Tasso’s friend the Marquis of Villa, it took the
form of a determinate purpose, and seems to have become
immoveably fastened in his mind. Butalthoughhe had made
a covenant with his own mind to produce something w’hich
men should not willingly let die, yet a long period appears
to have elapsed before his choice of a subject was finally
determined ; and there has been much curious inquiry, and
anxious speculation, as to the circumstances by which, after
long hesitation, it was at length fixed on Paradise Lost.
It has been sought to detect the first spark which kindled
this magnificent idea in the mind of the poet; and the
sublime has been rendered ridiculous by the conceit of an
overstrained ingenuity. Voltaire, on his visit to England
in 1/27, suggested that the original hint of Paradise Lost
had been supplied by an Italian comedy called Adamo,
written by Andreini, a strolling player, and stuffed with
bombast, conceit, and allegory. This suggestion, how¬
ever, attracted little notice at the time when it was offer¬
ed. It has since been rejected with contemptuous disdain
by Johnson ; and we cannot think, with Dr Symmons. that
it has derived any new importance from its adoption by
Hayley and Warton.2 The conception appears to have
developed itself gradually. At first it appeared in a semi¬
nal state, pregnant with latent possibilities of excellence ;
by and by it assumed a more distinct form, striking out
roots full of life, and indicative of vigorous vegetation ;
anon it expanded in growth, and seemed about to take the
shape of one of those wild and irregular dramas, anciently
called Mysteries ; and at last, it towered in all its grandeur
and magnificence, the mightiest production of creative ge¬
nius that the human mind has ever elaborated. It is curious
to reflect on the steadiness of its growth under a compli¬
cation of adverse circumstances ; it is deeply interesting to
behold it, like a Norwegian pine, ascending to a majestic
elevation beneath a dreary and inclement sky, deriving its
nurture and its strength from the very rocks into the cre¬
vices of which it has struck its roots, and braving at the
same moment the tempest that rages above, and the wild
commotion of the elements below.
The only poem of modern times which can be compar¬
ed with the Paradise Lost is the Divina Cornmedia. The
subject of Milton in some points resembles that of Dante,
but he lias treated it in a very different manner. “ The
poetry of Milton,” says Mr Macaulay, “ differs from that
Milton.
Milton lived to obtain the whole fifteen pounds, for which he had conditionally stipulated, on the 21st of December 1080; and his
widow sold the absolute copyright, which he had bequeathed to her, for the sum of eight pounds. Twenty-three pounds was there-
tore tlie entire sum which Milton and his family received for the copyright of the Paradise Lost. It is curious enough that the instru¬
ment hy which Milton conveyed this copyright to his publisher was not long ago purchased by Samuel Itogers for the sum of seventv-
v<f or pounds, thus producing to its possessor nearly four times as much as the poem did to its great author. Such is fortune
and such is fame.
Hit Adamo opens with a chorus of angels, and one cherub speaks for the rest in the following strains :
A la lira del ciel iri sia 1’arco,
Corde le sfere sien, note le stelle,
Sien le pause e i sospir 1’aure novelle,
,r _ E’l tempo i tempi a misurar non parco.
is, lendered into prose, reads thus: Let the rainbow be the fiddlestick of the fiddle of heaven; let the spheres be the
AiMi'1111 ,l!e slars lb0 notes ; let the winds mark the cadences ; and let time carefully beat the measure.” “ But,” says Voltaire,
H 1 A 011 I)ierc®u through the absurdity of the performance to the hidden majesty of the subject, which being altogether unfit for
t s age, _\et (for the genius of Milton, and his only) might be the foundation of an epic poem and he straightway concludes that,
A0mf Vs ridiculous trifle,” Milton actually took the first hint of the noblest work which human imagination has ever at-
>.mp ed, mid which he executed more than twenty years after.” We question much whether the “ absurdity” of the player’s’' “ per-
ormance be not greatly outdone by that of the critic ; and whether, in the competition of nonsense and extravagance, Andreini has
not been edipsed by Voltaire. ? r b
Milton, of Dante, as the hieroglyphics of Egypt differ from the
—picture-writing of Mexico. The images which Dante em¬
ploys speak for themselves; they stand simply for what
they are. Those of Milton have a signification which is
often discernible only to the initiated. Their value de¬
pends less on what they directly represent than on what
they remotely suggest.” Whatever Dante undertakes to
describe, he never shrinks from describing. His details
are exact, and his similes are the illustrations of a travel¬
ler. In his descriptions he specifies shape, colour, sound,
smell, and taste ; he counts numbers, and he measures size.
And, with respect to his similes, they are introduced,
not for the sake of any beauty in the objects from which
they are drawn, not for the sake of any ornament which
they may impart to the poem, but simply to make the
meaning of the writer as clear to the reader as to himself.
They are merely picture-writing translated into words.
But how differentfrom these kuriological details are the dim
intimations of Milton. He has never thought of taking
the dimensions of Satan, but contents himself with giving
us a vague idea of vast bulk. The fiend lies stretched out,
huge in length, floating many a rood, equal in size to the
earth-born enemies of Jove, or to the fabulous kraken
which the mariner mistakes for an island. When he turns
to do battle with the angels, he towers like Tenerifte or
Mount Atlas ; and in height he reaches the sky. Compare
with this Dante’s description of the gigantic spectre of
Nimrod, with a face as large and as broad as the dome of
St Peter’s at Rome, his other limbs in proportion, and his
stature such that three tall Germans would in vain have
attempted to reach his hair. Again, the lazar-house in the
eleventh book of Paradise Lost presents the same contrast
with the last ward of Malbolge in Dante. Milton avoids
loathsome details, and takes refuge in indistinct but solemn
and appalling imagery ; Despair is hurrying from couch to
couch in horrible mockery of the wretches on whom he
bestows his unbidden attendance; and Death is brandish¬
ing his dart over them, but, notwithstanding their suppli¬
cations, delaying to strike. Dante, on the other hand, is
as physically precise as if he had written his description in
a pest-house, whilst his ears were stunned with the moans
of the dying, and his nostrils offended with the stench of
the dead. Each in his own department is incomparable ;
and each has, wisely or fortunately, chosen a subject adapt¬
ed to exhibit his peculiar genius to the greatest advantage.
The Divina Commedia is a personal narrative ; Dante is
himself the supposed witness of all that he relates.1 The
Paradise Lost is a revelation of things beheld in vision
“ beyond the flaming bounds of space and time,” where
even “ angels tremble while they gaze,” and where imagi¬
nation may tire itself “ without the censure of extrava¬
gance.”
Of all the poets who have introduced into their works
the agency of supernatural beings, Milton is the most suc¬
cessful. In this respect Dante is decidedly inferior to
him. Milton, it is true, has been censured for the ambi¬
tious attempt to give sensible action to the negative idea
of spirit; or, in other words, for ascribing to spirits func¬
tions of which, according to our conceptions of spiritual
beings, they are incapable. But is this censure well
founded, or in accordance with the true principles of poe¬
try ? We think not. Spirit is something of which we have
no distinct idea. We infer its existence, but we can define
it only by negatives, and reason about it only by symbols.
We have the name, but we have no image of the thing;
and the business of poetry is with images or pictures, not
with abstractions. Logicians may reason as they please;
but the great mass of mankind can never feel an interest
in their transcendental speculations. It is through the Miltcii
sensible alone that their minds can be raised to the con- ^
ception of the invisible and immaterial. The strong ten¬
dency of the multitude in all ages and nations to idolatry
cannot be explained upon any other principle. The Per¬
sians thought it impious to exhibit the Creator under a
human form ; yet even they transferred to the Sun the
worship which, in speculation, they considered as due only
to the Supreme Intelligence. This is an inevitable con¬
sequence of the condition of humanity, when it is unen¬
lightened by revelation. Hence it may be inferred that
a poet who should affect that metaphysical accuracy for
the want of which Milton is censured, would scarcely es¬
cape a disgraceful failure. Llis great art, indeed, consists
in the very indistinctness with which he has been re¬
proached. On the one hand, it was absolutely necessary
for him to clothe his spirits with material forms; and, on
the other, he had to avoid such obvious incongruities and
contrarieties as neutralize even the most exquisite colour¬
ing of fancy, and destroy that illusion, or modified kind of
belief, which it is the object of poetry to produce. How
was this to be accomplished ? It is easy to say with John¬
son, that “ he should have secured the consistency of his
system by keeping immateriality out of sight, and sedu¬
cing the reader to drop it from his thoughts.” Such “ se¬
duction” was altogether impossible. The contrary opinion
had taken too full possession of the minds of men to be
dislodged by the art of the poet; and the attempt to do so
would infallibly have annihilated that quasi-belief which
poetry requires, and which it misses entirely its object
if it fails to produce. Milton, therefore, took his stand
between the material and immaterial system, on the con¬
fines of the sensible and the spiritual, leaving the whole
ambiguous and undefined. By so doing, he has no doubt ex¬
posed himself to the charge of inconsistency ; but though
philosophically in the wrong, we cannot help thinking that
he was poetically in the right.2 Mystery is the appro¬
priate and indispensable garment of that muse which ad¬
ventures to sing of the beings and the things which belong
to another world.
The spirits of Milton are as unlike those of Dante as
the genius of the one poet differs from that of the other.
His fiends, too, are wonderful creations. They are neither
metaphysical abstractions on the one hand, nor wicked
men or ugly beasts on the other. They have enough in
common with humanity to be conceivable to human beings;
and their characters, like their forms, are marked by a cer¬
tain dim resemblance to those of men, but expanded to
gigantic dimensions, and veiled in mysterious obscurity.
Perhaps the gods and demons of iEschylus may best bear
a comparison with the angels and devils of Milton ; and in
the Prometheus of the former may be discovered a consi¬
derable resemblance to the Satan of the latter. But such
comparison, if pursued, will show the superior, indeed the all-
transcending, power of the English poet. Prometheus, for
instance, is not sufficiently superhuman. He is too much
depressed and agitated ; too sensible of pain, too intolerant
of misery. His resolution is not sustained by inherent
energy, but seems to depend on the knowledge he possess¬
es, that he holds the fate of his torturer in his hands, and
that the hour of his deliverance will surely come. “ But,”
in the eloquent language of Mr Macaulay, “ Satan is a
creature of another sphere. The might of his intellectual
nature is victorious over the extremity of pain. Amidst
agonies which cannot be conceived without horror, he de¬
liberates, resolves, and even exults. Against the sword of
Michael, against the thunder of Jehovah, against the flam¬
ing lake and the marl burning with solid fire, against the
1 Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. pp. 316, 317.
2 Ibid. p. 320.
MILTON.
jilton. prospect of an eternity of uninterrupted misery, his spirit
-s,'—^ bears up unbroken, resting on its own innate energies, re¬
quiring no support from anything external, nor even from
hope itself.” In regard to the personifications of Sin and
Death, with the actions attributed to them, we must dis¬
sent in opinion from both Addison and Johnson. When
Milton formed these personages, and blended them with
the agents of his poem, he appears to have availed him¬
self of an indisputable prerogative of his art; and if any
authority were wanted to support this particular exercise
of the privilege, it might be found in the sacred Scriptures.
In these Sin is more than once distinctly personified ; and
Death is not only described as the last enemy whom the
Son of God is to vanquish, but, in a sublime passage of
the Apocalypse, he is invested with a specific and formid¬
able agency, mounted on a pale horse, with all hell follow¬
ing in his train.1
But, without prosecuting contrasts, or entering further
into details, we may observe generally, that Paradise Lost
may be considered, first, with reference to the plan and
arrangement of the poem ; secondly, in regard to the sub¬
ject, with its difficulties and advantages ; thirdly, as re¬
spects the poet’s object, the svQv/iaiov h or the spirit in
the letter of the fable ; and, lastly, as to its characteristic
excellencies. The plan is remarkable for its exquisite
simplicity and its unity. In the Iliad many of the books
might change places without any detriment to the story.
But it is not so in Paradise Lost. That poem alone really
has a beginning, a middle, and an end ; it possesses a to¬
tality by which it is distinguished from the ab ovo birth
and parentage or straight line of history. As to the sub¬
ject, again, the superiority of Paradise Lost is obvious in
this respect, that, unlike the Iliad, which is a Greek poem,
and languid to all but Greeks, the interest transcends the
limits of a nation or race ; its main excellence is attribut¬
able to Christianity, yet the interest is in fact wider than
Christendom, comprehending also the Jewish and Ma-
hommedan worlds. In Homer, the supposed importance
of the subject is an after-thought of the critics; in Mil-
ton, its real importance is inseparably blended with the
present condition and future destinies of man. Nor is the
object of the poet unsuited to the grandeur of his design j
it is
That to the height of this great argument
He may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to man.
It is to be observed, however, that his views in this respect
take their colour from the great controversy of his age,
namely, the origin of evil. He asserts the will, but declares
for its enslavement out of an act of the will itself. Last¬
ly, as to the execution, the language and versification are
peculiar, in being more necessarily correspondent to each
other than in any other poem. The connection of the sen¬
tences, and the position of the words, are exquisitely arti¬
ficial ; but the collocation is rather according to universal
105
logic, or the general laws of human thoughts, emotions, Milton,
and passions, than according to the more confined logic of
grammar.2 3 Milton attempted to make the English lan¬
guage obey this logic as perfectly as the Latin or the
Greek ; to impart to it the susceptibility of diversified col¬
location which distinguishes the one, with something of
that wonderful flexibility and power of adaptation which
forms the prominent characteristic of the other; and, not¬
withstanding occasional harshness of construction, he has
been astonishingly successful. In fine, sublimity constitutes
the pre-eminent attribute of the Paradise Lost? There is
a greatness arising from images of effort and daring, and
also from those of moral endurances ; in Milton both these
kinds are united. From the causes already explained, his
fallen angels are invested with a dramatic reality, which
is the more astonishing, considering the difficulty of giving
to-spiritual natures distinctness and individuality.4
In 1670 Milton published his History of England, and
in 1671 he gave to the world the Paradise Regained and
the Samson Agonistes, poems of very unequal merit. Para¬
dise Regained was probably considered by the author as
the theological completion of his design ; and he is said
to have regarded it with a strong preference. But it pos¬
sessed no charms for the multitude, notwithstanding the
weight of sentiment and knowledge which it everywhere
displays ; and it seems to have immediately fallen into that
state of neglect from w hich, in spite of all the efforts of
Jorton, Warburton, and Dunster, it has never since had
the good fortune to emerge. Yet it is by no means un¬
worthy of the author. It is embellished with several exqui¬
site passages, and, in some of its finer parts, it shows the
undiminished power of the author of Paradise Lost. The
Samson Agonistes is a drama composed upon the ancient
model, but, like the Comus, it is in reality a lyric poem in
the form of a play. Its delineation of character, though
not various, is discriminate and just; its sentiments are
full of dignity ; its diction is severe, exquisite, and sub¬
lime ; and the whole is overshadowed by a gloomy ma¬
jesty, which at once subdues and elevates the imagination.
Milton did not disdain to perform the humblest services
to literature. Having already condesended to publish a
book of Latin Accidence for the use of children, he now,
in 1672, supplied the young but more advanced student
with a scheme of logic digested on the plan of Ramus, and
entitled Artis Logicce plenior Instilutio ad Petri Rami
Methodam concinnata. In 1673, he published a short trea¬
tise, entitled Of true Religion, Heresy, Schism, Toleration,
and what best Means may be used against the Growth of Po¬
pery. Milton was as little tolerant of papists as of pre¬
lates, and for the same reasons; he conceived (whether
rightly or not is another question) that both were equally
inimical to the existence of perfect civil and religious li¬
berty. But it must not be supposed that he gave any
countenance to persecution. On the contrary, the object
of this treatise w'as to show, first, that no true Protestant
1 Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. pp. 321, 322. Symmons’s Life of Milton, pp. 530, 531.
* Coleridge’s Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 17L et seq. ...
3 Channing’s Remarks on the l haracter and Writings of John Milton have been extolled by many persons, who impeach their
own judgment by such commendation. They are merely pulpit criticisms, constructed on the false principle of making out a case
for Milton, as if his fame required the help of such exaggeration. They are elaborate and magniloquent, but neither new nor dis¬
criminating ; and, to speak freely, the whole seems to be a laboured and somewhat tumid paraphrase of Lord Bacon’s well-known
definition of poetry, a tissue of ambitious commonplace.
4 The following" well-known lines of Dryden show how just an estimate he had formed both of the comparative and the absolute
merits of Milton:
Three poets in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn :
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ;
The next in majesty ; in loth the last;
The force of nature could no further go :
To make a third, she joined the former two.
VOL. XV. °
MILTON.
can persecute another on account of his religious opinions, queathed to the widow is said to have amounted to about Milton,
without renouncing the main principles on which true re- fifteen hundred pounds, exclusively of goods. The pub- v'—v"*
ligion is founded; and, secondly, to make it appear that lication of this will by Mr VVarton has completely refuted
popery, by placing human tradition above the Scriptures, the charge of unkindness to his children, which has often
and by inculcating implicit obedience to the pope as a tem- been alleged against Milton, and proves, as we have al-
poral prince, is inimical to religion and to social order. The ready shown, that he had but too good reason for his con-
principle of toleration which he lays down is agreement in the duct in this matter.
sufficiency of the Scriptures; and this he denies to the pa- Milton left three daughters, all by his first wife. Anne,
pists, because they appeal to another authority. In the same the eldest, married a master builder, and died in her first
year, he published a second edition of his youthful poems, confinement; Mary, the second, died in a single state;
with his Tractate on Education, in one volume, including and Deborah, the youngest, married Abraham Clarke, a
some pieces not contained in the edition of 1645. In 1674, weaver in Spittalfields, by whom she had seven sons and
the last year of his honourable and laborious life, he publish- three daughters. 1 he distress into which she fell in con¬
ed his familiar letters, and some university exercises; the sequence of this imprudent marriage expeiienced some
former under the title of Epistolarum Familiarium Liber late and partial relief from the liberality of Addison, and
unus, and the latter under that of Prohtsiones qucedam the less splendid munificence of Queen Caroline. Of her
Oratorio: in Collegia Christi habitce. He is also said, al- ten children two only left offspring; Caleb, who, marrying
though on doubtful authority, to have translated into Eng- in the East Indies, had two sons, whose history cannot now
lish the declaration of the Poles on elevating John So- be traced; and Elizabeth, who married Ihomas tester, a
bieski to the throne; and, with more probability, to have weaver, by whom she had three sons and four daughters,
written, in the same year, a Brief History of Muscovy, who all died young and without issue. In old age and in
which was published about eight years after his decease. penury, Mrs Foster was discovered in a small chandler’s
His health now declined fast, and the gout, which had shop, and brought into public notice by Dr Birch and Dr
for many years afflicted him, attacked him with a severity Newton. Attention being thus awakened to the grand-
which prognosticated a fatal termination ; yet such w'as daughter of Milton, Comus wras performed for her benefit
the buoyancy of his spirits, that, even in the paroxysms of in 1750; and Johnson, associated as he then was in the
the disease, he would, according to Aubrey, “ be very labours of the infamous Lauder, did not hesitate to sup-
cheerful and sing.” On Sunda)? the 8th of November 1674, ply the occasional prologue.2 The profits of the night
he expired without pain, and with so little appearance of were only L.130 ; yet this was the greatest benefaction
death, that his departure was unperceived by the persons that the Paradise Lost ever procured the author’s descen-
who waited in his bed-chamber. He closed a life enno- dants. Mrs Foster died on the 9th of May 1754, and with
bled by the constant exercise of high and rare endow- her expired the last descendant of the immortal poet,
ments, in the sixty-sixth year of his age ; and was buried In his youth Milton was so remarkable for the fine-
in the chancel of St Giles, Cripplegate, all his learned and ness of his complexion, and the beauty of his features,
great friends in London accompanying his body, “ not that at Cambridge he was called “ the lady of Christ’s
without a friendly concourse of the vulgar.”1 College.” His eyes were dark grey, but full of anima-
In the July preceding his decease, Milton had request- tion ; and his hair, which was light brown, he wore parted
ed the attendance of his brother Christopher, and, in his at the top, and clustering, as he describes that of Adam,
presence, had made a disposition of his property by a for- upon his shoulders. His person w as of the middle size,
mal declaration of his will. By this nuncupative testament, and well proportioned; not fat nor corpulent, but mus-
he bequeathed the whole of his property to his widow, cular and compact. In early life he was fond of man¬
assigning nothing to his daughters but their mother’s por- ly sports, and excelled in the exercise of the sword. When
tion, which had not yet been paid, and the sums which blindness and the gout confined him in a great measure
he had expended upon their education. But after a full to his house, he contrived a swing for the purpose of ex¬
hearing of the cause, on a suit instituted against it by the ercise, as the essential preservative of health, and to this
daughters, the will was set aside, on the ground of certain he regularly allotted one hour a day. His habits were
informalities, by a decree of the judge of the Prerogative those of a severe student, and a rigid economist of time.
Court. The property which was thus ineffectually be- His temperance, varied by intervals of abstinence, we have
1 Toland’s Life of Milton, p. 137.
2 For information as to Johnson’s undoubted connection with Lauder, the reader is referred to Dr Symmons’s L\fe of Milton, Ap¬
pendix, p. 018, et setp In fact, Lauder’s essay, entitled Milton's Use and Imitation of the Moderns, in which he asserted that the author
of the Paradise Lost had been guilty of numerous plagiarisms from some modern Latin poets of very inferior note, and produced from
their works pretended extracts in support of his alleged discovery, is ornamented with a preface and a postscript by Johnson, who thus
made himself an accomplice in the malignity, even if we admit his ignorance of the frauds committed by Lauder. But public detec¬
tion and exposure awaited the forger. The whole mystery of iniquity was revealed to the world by Dr Douglas, afterwards bishop of
Salisbury, who, in a pamphlet entitled Milton vindicated from the charge of Plagiarism brought against him by Mr Lauder, laid bare a
system of imposture unparalleled in the history of literature, and showed with what impudence the passages cited from Masenius,
Staporstius, laubmannus, and other obscure writers, had been adapted to the forger’s design by the interpolation of lines either imme¬
diately fabricated for the purpose, or transcribed without alteration from Hogg’s Latin translation of the Paradise Lost. Lauder, when
convicted, addressed to Dr Douglas a letter of penitence and confession, which was written for him by Johnson, who no doubt felt
it necessary to disavow his association with falsehood, but which, with characteristic duplicity, Lauder represented as his own composi¬
tion. lire criminality of the latter, however, required not this plea of guilty to insure condemnation. After a vain attempt to conciliate
the high royalist party, by a miserable attempt to vindicate Charles I. from the charge of plagiarism, and to prove that Milton had
interpolated the Eikon Basiliki with Pamela’s prayer from the Arcadia of Sidney, the unhappy wretch was compelled to fly from popular
resentment to the M est Indies, where he sunk into the grave amidst penury and contempt. Johnson, more fortunate than his coad¬
jutor, survived the disgrace of this infamous alliance, to enjoy the opportunity of attempting, with deeper malignity, though not with
any better success, to inflict a mortal wound on the invulnerable reputation of Milton.
Multi
Committunt eadem diverse crimina fato;
Hie crucem sceleris pretium tulit, hie diadema.
n t ... Juvenal. Sat. xiii. 1. 103.
r or abundant proofs of Johnson’s injustice, see Animadversions on his Life of Milton, appended to Ivimey’s biography of the poet,
MILTON.
lilton. already noticed. In his youth he studied late, and pro-
longed his vigils far into the night; but he afterwards
corrected this practice, retired to bed at the early hour of
nine, and usually rose with the sun. The opening of his
day was uniformly consecrated to religion. When he rose
he heard a chapter of the Hebrew Bible read, and then
occupied himself till twelve in private meditation, in list¬
ening whilst some author was read to him, or in dictating
as some friendly hand supplied him with its pen. At noon
commenced his hour of exercise, which was succeeded
by his early and frugal dinner ; after which he either
played on the organ, or sung, or heard some one else sing.
From musie, of which he was passionately fond, he return¬
ed with fresh vigour to study or composition. At six he
received the visits of his friends ; at eight he supped ; and
at nine, having smoked a pipe and drank a glass of water,
he retired to his repose. Such was the scheme of his daily
life.
His personal character corresponded with his high intel¬
lectual endowments. His manners were affable and grace¬
ful ; his conversation was cheerful, instructive, and engag¬
ing. In his whole deportment, however, there was visible
a certain elevation of mind, something of a conscious supe¬
riority, which could not altogether escape observation. His
temper was grave without any taint of melancholy ; he was
bold in conception, and persevering in the execution of his
purposes. His kindness was ardent, his resentments were
keen ; but the former was permanent, the latter were tran¬
sitory; his friendships were lasting, his enmities expired
with the immediate occasion. In his domestic relations,
his conduct seems to have been unimpeachable ; and if he
was not fortunate in his family, no part of the blame rested
with him. He was disinterested, generous, and forgiving.
The malignant slanders of his enemies sometimes betrayed
him into unbecoming recriminations; but his conduct to
the Powells, who had so wantonly injured him, and other
circumstances in his life, establish his superiority to any
feeling of a vindictive nature. As to bis own purity and
sanctity of soul, the earnest and fearless declarations con¬
tained in his prose writings make it impossible to doubt.
These he made before his most bitter enemies, rendered
furious by a common cause, in which all the principles of
ancient institutions were involved ; yet none attempted to
disprove them, scarcely any dared to call them in ques¬
tion. Johnson, in his biographical libel on Milton, a pro¬
duction worthy of the coadjutor of Lauder, has had the
baseness to stigmatise him as “ morose and malevolent,”
as “ impatient of social subordination, yet oppressive to
those within his power,” as at once “ a rebel, a tyrant, and
a sycophant,” with much more to the same effect that is
equally disgusting and false ; but these slanderous impu¬
tations have been refuted by irrefragable evidence, and
the life of the patriot and poet has been shown to be as
pure as his soul was lofty and his genius unrivalled.
In strictness, Milton did not belong to any of tbe classes
into which, in his time, his countrymen were divided. In
his character the noblest qualities of every party were
combined in harmonious union. “ From the parliament
and from the court,” says an eloquent writer, “ from the
conventicle and from the Gothic cloister, from the gloomy
and sepulchral circles of the Roundheads, and from the
Christmas revel of the hospitable cavalier, his nature se¬
lected and drew to itself whatever was great and good,
while it rejected all the base and pernicious ingredients by
which those finer elements were defiled.”1 He lived “ as
ever in his great taskmaster’s eye,” keeping his mind con¬
tinually fixed on an Almighty Judge and an eternal reward;
and hence he acquired that fortitude, tranquillity, inflexi¬
ble resolution, and contempt of external circumstances, for
which the puritans were (listinguished. But he was per¬
fectly free from their wild delusions, savage manners, and
ludicrous jargon, their contempt of science, and their aver¬
sion to innocent pleasure. There was none who had a
stronger sense of the value of literature, a finer relish for
every elegant amusement, or a more chivalrous delicacy of
honour and love. 'I hough his opinions were democratic,
his tastes and associations were such as harmonize best
with other forms of government. But of these natural pre¬
dilections or tendencies he was the master, not the slave ;
he enjoyed the pleasures of fascination without being fas¬
cinated ; the politician was proof against the splendid illu¬
sions which enchanted the imagination of the poet. This
will be understood by any one who contrasts the sentiments
expressed in his treatises on prelacy, with the exquisite
lines on ecclesiastical architecture and music in II Pense-
roso, which w'ere nearly contemporaneous productions. But
the public character of Milton derives its great and pecu¬
liar splendour from another source. The glory of the bat¬
tle which he fought for that species of freedom which is
the most valuable, and which was then the least understood,
is exclusively his owm. Here there is none to divide the
palm with him. He looked farther and saw deeper than
the men of his time. The objects which he justly con¬
ceived to be the most important, escaped the observation
of his countrymen. They indeed raised their voices against
Ship-money and the Stcr-chamber, because all felt the pres¬
sure of the arbitrary impost, or were liable to oppression
by the tyrannical tribunal. But it was reserved for Milton
alone to discern the more fearful evils of moral and intel¬
lectual slavery, and point out the benefits w hich would re¬
sult from the liberty of the press, and the unfettered exer¬
cise of private judgment.2
Todd has, with laborious industry, collected a list of the
editions of Milton’s poetical works, amounting in all to a
hundred and four. The Paradise Lost has been translated
into Greek, Latin, Italian, French, German, Dutch, and Por¬
tuguese ; and of the other poems several have likewise been
translated into various languages. The best Italian trans¬
lations are those of Rolli and Mariottini. Of the French
translations of Paradise Lost, there are four in prose and six
in verse ; but, upon the whole, the preference seems to be
due to that of Jacques Delille, the celebrated author of the
Jar dins, which is enriched with an able preface by Michaud,
the historian of the Crusades. “ D’autres traductions es-
timables ont paru de nos jours,” says Villemain, “mais le
monument qui a naturalise parmi nous la gloire et la genie
du poete Anglais c’est la traduction en vers de Jacques
Delille. Nulle part Delille n’a montre un plus riche et plus
heureux naturel, plus d’originalite, de chaleur, et d’eclat.
Les negligences, les incorrections meme, abondent, il est
vrai, dans cet ouvrage, ecrit avec autant de promptitude
que de verve. Le caractere antique et simple de J’Homere
Anglais disparait quelquefois sous le luxe du traducteur.
Ce n’est pas toujours Milton, mais c’est toujours un
poete.”3 Of Milton’s works, thirty-five in number, thirty-
three have been particularly noticed in the course of the
preceding article, where they are arranged and described
in their true order. The pieces omitted are of very
inferior importance, being, 1. Joannis Philippi Respon-
sio ad Apologiam Anonymi cujusdam; and, 2. Littene
Senatus Anglicanae, which has been Incidentally refer¬
red to. (a.)
107
Milton.
Edinburgh Review, vol. xlii. p. 342.
* Ibid. p. 343.
3 Biog. Univer. art. Miltox.
I
108
M I N
M I N
Milverton MILVERTON, a town of the county of Somerset, in the
. II hundred of its own name, 152 miles from London, and
r-hlnim" ^lree ^rom Wellington. It was a borough, but lost its fran-
>^ , chise many years ago. It was once a place where woollen
^ cloths, serges, druggets, and other goods, were extensively
made, but the trade has greatly fallen off of late years.
There is a market on Friday. The population amounted in
1801 to 1667, in 1811 to 1637, in 1821 to 1930, and in
1831 to 2233.
MIMI, Mimes, in the ancient comedy, were buffoons or
mimics, who entertained the people by taking off certain
characters, and using such gestures as suited the persons or
subjects they represented. There were upon the Roman
stage female performers of this kind, called mim<E. I he
word is derived from I imitate. Some of the mimi
acted their parts to the sound of the tibia, and were called
mimauli.
Mimi were also a kind of farces or ludicrous comedies,
generally performed by one person. They had no acts, nor
any exordium.
The mimi were introduced upon the Roman stage long
after comedy and tragedy had arrived at their full perfec¬
tion. The actor wore no mask, but smeared his face with
soot, was dressed in lamb-skin, wore garlands of ivy, carried
a basket of flowers and herbs in honour of Bacchus, and
diverted the audience with apish tricks and ridiculous
dances. This w'as the state of the mimi soon after their
first introduction ; but they underwent many alterations,
which it would occupy too much room to relate, and which
are not of sufficient importance to justify a detailed ac¬
count.
MIMESIS, in Rhetoric, the imitating the voice and ges¬
tures of another person.
MIMNERMUS, an ancient poet and musician, flourish¬
ed about the beginning of the sixth century before our era.
He was a native of Smyrna, and contemporary of Solon.
Athenaeus ascribes to him the invention of pentameter
verse. His elegies, of which only a few fragments are pre¬
served, were so mifch admired in antiquity, that Horace
preferred them to those of Callimachus. He composed a
poem of this kind, as w7e learn from Pausanias, upon the
battle fought between the people of Smyrna, and the Ly¬
dians under Gyges. He was likewise author of a poem in
elegiac verse, quoted by Strabo, which he entitled Nanno,
and in which we may suppose he chiefly celebrated a young
and beautiful girl of that name, who, according to Athenaeus,
was a player on the flute, and of whom he was enamoured
in his old age. With respect to love matters, according
to Propertius, his verses were more valuable than all the
writings of Homer.
MINA, or Maneh, a species of money which properly
signifies one part or ounce. It is observed that this word
occurs only in the books of Kings, Chronicles, Ezra, and
Ezekiel. The prophet (xlv. 12) tells us, that the mina or
maneh was valued at sixty shekels, which in gold are equi¬
valent to L.54. 15s. of English money, and in silver to
about L.7. Thus for the Hebrew maneh. But the Greek
or Attic mina, which is probably that mentioned in the
books of the Maccabees and in the New' Testament, is va¬
lued at a hundred drachmae, or about L.2. 17s. sterling.
There was also a lesser mina, which was valued at seventy-
five drachmae.
Mina, a small town of Arabia, about twenty miles to
the south of Mecca, on the way to Mount Arafat. It is
situated between two granite mountains, and consists of a
single long street, containing several handsome houses.
MINAGNGHIN1M, an instrument of music amongst
the Hebrews. It was a square table of wood, fitted with a
handle ; and over this table was stretched an iron chain, or
hempen cord, passing through balls of wood or brass, which
struck against the table when the instrument w'as shaken,
and occasioned a clear sound, that might be heard at a great Minas (, jj
distance. raes.
MINAS GERAES, an important interior province of i,
Brazil, in South America. On the south it is separated
from the provinces of Rio and St Paulo by a mountain chain
called the Serra Mantiqueira; on the north the rivers Verde
and Carynhenha divide it from Bahia and Pernambuco;
on the east it is bounded by part of Bahia, Porto Seguro,
and Espiritu Santo ; and on the w'est by Goyaz. It is si¬
tuated between the thirteenth and twenty-second parallels
of south latitude, and is above six hundred miles in length
by about three hundred and fifty in average breadth. This
is the most mountainous province in Brazil. Hills swell
up in every direction, forming an elevated table-land, and
the country gradually assumes the features of a romantic
alpine region. The golden mountains traverse the whole
extent of the province, but they do not rise more than
4000 feet above the level of the sea ; nor are they charac¬
terised by rugged cliffs or gigantic rocky summits, such
as the Alps or Cordilleras exhibit. They consist of long
series of detached ranges, having agreeable campos on their
summits,and are separated from one another by sloping and
pastoral, but not very deep valleys. Owing to the eleva¬
tion of its table-land, the climate of Minas Geraes is tem¬
perate when compared with other countries under the tor¬
rid zone ; and none of the provinces of Brazil abound more
with rivers and mountain torrents. Of these, the greater
part have their origin in the Serra Mantiqueira, and are
received by four general channels. Two of them, the Rio
Doce and the Jequitinhonha, flow to the eastward, the
former irrigating the comarca of Villa Rica, and the latter
that of Serro do Frio. The St Francisco has a northerly
course, and waters the comarca of Sahara ; whilst the Rio
Grande, or Para, takes a westerly direction, after receiv¬
ing the Rio das Mortes, which gave its former name to the
comarca of St Joao del Rey. The soil in general is very
fertile, yielding in abundance, and with little trouble, the
grains and fruits of Europe; besides the aromatic plants and
other vegetable productions characteristic of such regions,
such as cotton, tobacco, sugar, maize, mandioc, coffee, in¬
digo, ipecacuana, col umbo root, jalap, liquorice, vanilla, va¬
rious gums, and Jesuits’ bark. The grape yields a delici¬
ous wine, but the inhabitants of the gold and diamond dis¬
tricts drink a humbler liquor, and neglect their vineyards.
The forests in this province have only been partially ex¬
plored, and they still constitute strongholds of the Indians.
The trees of which they consist are consequently little
known, but many of them are well adapted for dyeing and
tanning. These arts, however, have hitherto made little
progress, as the inhabitants are averse to employments
of this nature, their attention being chiefly directed to the
glittering but often useless treasures found in the bowels
of the earth. The adraganth, or dragon’s gum, in this
district, is of the best quality. The sugar-cane grows in a
wild state ; the roads are covered with arcades formed by
its branches, which reach in many parts to the height of
thirty feet. The cattle are allowed to go at large on the
open tracts of the country, and left to subsist on whatever
they can find. In the summer months, when the grass
throughout the wide extent is withered and burnt, they
flock to the margins of brooks ; but this resource soon fails
them, and vast numbers perish from hunger. This pro¬
vince is very rich in mineral productions, and here the
principal mines of gold and diamonds are situated. The
following metals and minerals are also found : Platina, sil¬
ver, copper, iron, lead, mercury, antimony, bismuth, fossil-
coal, sulphur, emeralds, rubies, topazes, chrysolites, sap¬
phires, agates, aqua-marinas, amethysts, and almost all the
precious stones.
Minas Geraes is divided into five comarcas ; namely, St
Joao del Rey, Sahara, Paracatu, Villa Rica, and Serro do
M
V.
MINAS G E R A E S.
a Ge- Frio. In drawing up an account of these, we have been
es. chiefly indebted for information regarding them to the
works of Mr Mawe, Mr Luccock, and Drs Von Spix and
Martins. We shall follow the route of the first-named tra¬
veller from the frontier to Villa Rica. At rather more than
a league’s distance from the river Paraibuna is llosinha
do Negro, a small village, situated, like others in this part
of the country which are connected with a large planta¬
tion, at the bottom of a deep hollow, and by the side of a
small stream. Two leagues farther on is another register,
called Mathias Barboza, formed by mud-walls, enclosing
a large area, with a gateway at each end, through which the
public road passes. This place is the great toll-house of Mi¬
nas Geraes, and the duties collected, amounting to L.25,000
annually, are every three months remitted to Villa Rica.
The road, which lies through extensive tracts of wood,
continues to ascend in a direction north-west by north ;
and there is a very sensible change in the temperature.
Amongst the trees are the pine and the common box-tree,
the latter attaining a height of more than twelve feet. As
the road continues to ascend, the trees get smaller, the
heaths and ferns larger and more vigorous, and the air be¬
comes cool and fresh, except between the hours of two
and four p. m. Several fazendas succeed one another at
intervals as the traveller proceeds on his journey to the
capital. That called Mantequeira is situated in a large
plain, consisting of rich land, watered by numerous streams,
but overrun with weeds and brushwood. Some leagues
further inland is Barbazena, which consists of between
three and four hundred houses, and where a considerable
traffic was at one time carried on with the interior in baize,
cotton goods, salt, and iron. Much of the trade, however,
is now removed to St John’s. Barbazena is pleasantly si¬
tuated on the southern declivity of a considerable hill, and
here the two great roads from the mining country unite;
the one to the westward leading to St Joao del Rey, Sa¬
hara, and Cujaba; the other in a northerly direction, con¬
ducting to Villa Rica, Tijuco, and Minas Novas. In the
vicinity of a place called Louza there is a hill covered
with micaceous iron ore, and the road for above half a mile
is strewed with a rich oxide of iron. At Alto de Virginia
and S. Antonio do Ouro Branco are extensive gold wash¬
ings ; but between these places and the capital the route
lies over bleak and sterile mountains.
Villa Rica, the capital of Minas Geraes, dates its title as
a town no further back than 1711, previously to which
period it bore the name of Piro Oreto (black gold),
which is still retained by the mountain on the eastern de¬
clivity of which it is situated. It occupies two hills, and
part of the circumjacent valley or hollow. The principal
street runs for nearly twm miles in a straight line along
the slope of the Morro. Several streets lead from the
lower part of the city to that situated on the high ground ;
and they are all paved, and connected by four stone bridges.
The houses are built of stone, two stories high, covered
with tiles, and in general white-washed. It is well sup¬
plied with water from a number of public fountains dis¬
tributed through the town. Amongst the public build¬
ings, some of which are not without a claim to splendour,
is the governor’s palace, which is situated on the highest
projection of the hill; and opposite is a group, of which
the inhabitants are particularly proud, formed by the
town-house, the prison, and the theatre. In one of the
lower parts of the town stands the treasury, attached to Minas Ge-
which are the mint and the custom-house. There are ten raes-
churches, several of which are richly ornamented, and
contain paintings and images. Villa Rica enjoys a very
considerable trade. Almost every week large convoys set
out vv ith the productions of the country, consisting of cot¬
ton, hides, marmalade, cheese, precious stones, bars of gold,
and other articles. In exchange they bring back salt, wines,
calicoes, handkerchiefs, hams, iron-ware, and negroes to
be employed in the gold washings and other occupations.
Almost all kinds of trades are here carried on; the prin¬
cipal are saddlers, tinmen, and blacksmiths. There are
likewise manufactories of gunpowder, hats, and pottery ;
and they spin and weave wool, worsted, and cotton ; but
the trade of the goldsmith is prohibited. All the manu¬
factures are purely domestic; ,and the implements and
modes of using them are of the oldest and most unim¬
proved description. The climate of this city is delight¬
ful, being equal, it is said, to that of Naples. The range of
the thermometer in summer is from 64° to 80°; and
in winter it rarely descends below 50° of Fahrenheit.
From the great elevation of the city, however, it is sub¬
ject to sudden alternations of temperature during the
course of a single day, and thunder-storms are frequent.
Both soil and climate are remarkably favourable to fruits
and vegetables, and numerous orchards are situated on the
side of the mountain. The system of horticulture, how¬
ever, is very bad ; and, notwithstanding the fertility of the
country, the market is but ill supplied with culinary ar¬
ticles. Of the population it is difficult to form an esti¬
mate, as the amount is given by different travellers at from
eight thousand to twenty thousand ; and Mr Luccock
states that it is continually fluctuating. According to one
traveller, the greater part of the inhabitants consist of
blacks and mulattoes ; another says there are more whites
than blacks ; and a third states that there is a considerable
proportion of Portuguese.
This is the very centre of the gold country, and a some¬
what particular description of this extraordinary spot is
necessary. “ To contemplate the gold mines of Villa
Rica with advantage,” says Mr Luccock, “ it will be ne¬
cessary to recollect, that the land is composed of schist, or
a sort of slaty clay, resting upon a core of granite, gneiss,
or sandstone, sometimes laminated, at other times solid,
the gold being scattered in small particles amid the su¬
perjacent schist and clay j1 and that the town is placed at
the junction of several streams, whose waters have only one
outlet by a narrow bason, cut by their force through the
surface down to the more firm component parts. Before
this outlet, called the Rio do Carmo, became so deep as
it is, a small lake must have existed among the hills,
through which all the waters of the upper country passed,
bringing with them and depositing in the bottom a variety
of heavy matter.” By this means the ground was raised,
whilst the outlet was deepened, until the water was en¬
tirely drained off; thus leaving the bottom dry, in the
shape of a level plain, composed of the debris of various
kinds, mingled with which was a considerable quantity ot
gold. This plain is surrounded by mountains containing,
it is supposed, much gold, notwithstanding what has been
washed down or extracted from them. A stream tra¬
verses the plain, and, when flooded by rain, small trenches
are formed on its banks, into which the water runs, and,
1 Dr Von Spix, however, denominates the superjacent stratum an ironstone floetz, consisting partly of clay coloured by oxide ot
iron, but principally of lithomarge, generally of a reddish-brown colour. In this mass there is a large quantity ot compact brown
ironstone: and also detached nodules of quartz, mica slate, and, though rarely, fragments of topazes. The gold in this formation
occurs either in very small grains and crystals within the layers of clay and lithomarge, or as a coating on brown ironstone, or im¬
bedded in it in folia. Below this ironstone floetz is a species of mica slate, containing a large proportion of iron ; and through the
mass there is disseminated a considerable quantity of gold, particularly in the quartz veins by which it is traversed. Gold in abun¬
dance is likewise found in other formations.
110
MINAS GERAES.
Minas Ge-depositing the sediment suspended in it, more or less
raes. gold is generally mingled with the mass ; and on the oc¬
casion of a flood the whole of the inhabitants turn out
and pursue the search for the precious metal. On the
side of the hill the bottoms of the natural streams are
searched, and where these do not exist, excavations are
formed, and the courses of streams are turned and made to
pass through them. So numerous are the perforations of
this kind, that the side of the mountain presents the ap¬
pearance of a honey-comb. The greatest quantity of gold
has been found on the eastern declivity of the Morro of
Villa Rica, and here the search for it is conducted more
systematically. Sieves and raw ox hides are placed at cer¬
tain distances in trenches full of water, which is conduct¬
ed from the summit; the first is intended to stop the
coarser sand, and the second is to catch the gold dust in
the hair, which stands erect; sometimes woollen cloths are
used for this purpose. The gold found here varies in co¬
lour according to the nature of the other metals or mine¬
rals with which it is mixed. The Morro of Villa Rica
extends in a direction east and west along the valley of
the Ribeiro do Oiro Preto or do Carmo, to Passagem,
a village containing about one hundred and fifty houses,
situated about two leagues from the capital. Gold mines
or washings are likewise situated in the vicinity of the
episcopal city of Mariana (see Mariana), at the Presidio
de St Joao Baptista, on the Rio de San Joze, where it washes
the base of the Altos de St Miguel, at the aldeaof St Joze
de Barra Louga, and at various other places throughout
the province. A district in which the beautiful fazenda of
Capao is situated, is that where the well-known Brazilian
topazes are found. What is called the topaz mine is only
an open quarry, consisting of two breaks or slips in the
mountain side. These precious stones are found in three
different places. The mine which Dr Von Spix examined
was a hill immediately behind the fazenda of Lana, which,
on one side, for a considerable breadth and to a height of
sixty feet, had become so softened by rains, and by water
conducted upon it by art, that it had become like a marsh.
The soil is thrown up into long heaps with shovels, and
washed, by means of water conducted over it, into a narrow
channel, with some wooden lattices fixed in it, so that only
the more solid parts remain behind, which are then broken
with hoes, and with the hands in search of topazes. The
quantity found here annually may amount to between fifty
and sixty arrobas, but many of them are of an inferior,
quality. The greater part of these topazes is exported from
this place to Rio de Janeiro, and a smaller portion to
Bahia. The euklase is also found here, and has attracted
the attention of the mineiros since mineralogists have in¬
quired after it. This stone is in general scarce, and is
more frequently met with in the mine of Capao than in
that of Lana. Five leagues to the westward of Capao is
the iron foundery of De Prata, which produces annually
about one thousand arrobas of iron. The ore is a rich
iron glance, but particularly magnetic iron stone, the very
thick beds of which stand out near the foundery. The
rock is mica slate. A league and a half to the south-south¬
east of De Prata are the gold and lead mines of Senhor
Romualdo Joze Monteiro do Barros. The gold mine is a
cream-coloured clay slate traversed by auriferous veins of
quartz, amongst which the metal is disseminated, along
with manganese. The mine of Cujabeira, in which the
chromate of lead is found, is a low hill of clay, scarcely a
league distant from the fazenda. The red lead ore is found
in a vein of friable, grayish-white, granular quartz, amongst
pretty much integrated, white, scaly lithomarge. The
crystals of the chromate of lead are very small, and seldom
show well-defined terminal planes. Not far from this estate
is the arraial of Matozinho, which contains about one hun¬
dred and fifty houses, with several churches; and on the
opposite side of the river Paraopeba is situated Congon- Minas c
has, containing about two hundred houses, and several raes.
chapels, one of which, although small in dimensions, vies'^v-^
in the splendour of its ornaments with any ecclesiastical
edifice in the country. It has indeed been designated the
Loretto of Brazil. In external appearance it is not more
than respectable, but the interior decorations and embla¬
zonry, consisting of the precious stones of Brazil, are on the
most splendid scale. Eight miles to the north-east of Ma¬
rianna is the arraial of Antonio Perreira, where gold mines
are situated; but we must now quit the land of gold for
the land of diamonds, situated in the comarca of Serro do
Frio.
The comarca of Serro do Frio is divided from that of
Villa Rica by the river Doce. Villa do Principe, the ca
pital, is situated about one hundred and ten miles north
north-east of Marianna, close upon the confines of the dia
mond district. Like the other provincial capitals of Minas
this town has its smelting-house, with the usual appoint
ments, its ouvidor, who holds also the office of mint master,
and Zijuiz de fora. It contains a church, five chapels, and
about five thousand inhabitants, a considerable portion of
whom are shopkeepers, the rest being artizans, farmers, and
miners. The country around Villa do Principe is very fine
and open, being free from those impenetrable forests which
occur so frequently in other parts of the province. The
climate is mild and salubrious ; the soil is productive, yield¬
ing Indian corn, legumes, cotton, and sugar. A few leagues
beyond this town the aspect of the country changes, and
the district in which Tejuco is situated is sterile and un¬
productive. This town is irregularly built on the side of
a hill, and contains a church, several chapels, and a num¬
ber of shops stocked with English cottons, baizes, and
cloths, with other kinds of manufactured goods. What is
termed the diamond ground extends about sixteen leagues
from north to south, and about eight from east to west;
and several thousand negroes, who are superintended by
about two hundred whites, are employed in searching for
the precious mineral. The largest of the diamond works,
called Mandango, is situated on the river Jequitinhonha,
which in this part is about nine feet deep, and about as
broad as the Thames at Windsor. _Mr Mawe has minute¬
ly described the process by which the diamonds are ob¬
tained, the chief object of his visit being to examine the
mines. The part of the river which was then worked was
a curve or elbow from which the current had been divert¬
ed by means of a canal. The deeper parts of the channel
were laid dry by means of chain-pumps worked by a water¬
wheel, and the cascalho was then removed by means of
machinery. This stratum of debris consists of similar
materials to that found in the gold district. During the
dry season sufficient cascalho is dug up to occupy all the
hands during the rainy months. This gravelly matter is
washed in troughs placed under sheds erected for the pur¬
pose. The negroes are formed into working parties called
troops, containing two hundred each, under the direction
of an administrator and inferior officers. Besides the pre¬
cious stone, which is principally sought, gold is found in
the debris. Diamonds are by no means peculiar to the
beds of rivers or deep ravines; they have been found in
cavities and water-courses, even on the summits of the
loftiest mountains. They of course vary exceedingly in
size. Some are so small that four or five are required to
weigh one grain, consequently sixteen or twenty to the carat.
I here are seldom found more than two or three diamonds of
from seventeen to twenty carats in the course of a year;
and not once in two years is there found throughout the
whole washings a stone of thirty carats. There are other
diamond works in this comarca besides Mandango, parti¬
cularly those of Monteiro, and those situated on the Rio
Pardo. I hirty-five leagues from Tejuco, in a north-easter-
M I N
.ly direction, is Tocaya, the principal place in the district
of Minas Novas. The road to it runs nearly parallel with
the Jequitinhonha, in the numerous rivulets flowing, into
which river are found white and blue topazes, aqua-marinas,
and the chrysoberyl, a stone held in high estimation in
Brazil. Twenty-five miles north-north-east of Villa do
Principe is the town of Fanado or Bom Succeso, in the
neighbourhood of which diamonds of an inferior quality
are found. There are several other arraials in this comarca,
amongst which maybe mentioned Bara do Rio das Velhas,
a place of considerable commerce, and, but for its insalu¬
brity, likely to become one of the largest places in the pro¬
vince.
The great river San Francisco is the boundary line be¬
tween the comarca of Serro do Frio and that of Paracatu.
This almost unknown district, prior to 1815, was included
in the comarca of Sahara. A new ouvidor wTas then ap¬
pointed for the township and circuit of Paracattf, the vil¬
lages of Desemboque and Araxa being subsequently de¬
tached from the comarca of Villa Boa in Goyaz, and an¬
nexed to the new ouvidoria. Paracatu do Principe, the
only town, owes its origin to its mines, first discovered in
1744i. These consist of gold and lead; but diamonds
have also been found in some places.
The comarca of Sahara, whiclvformerly included all the
western part of Minas Geraes north of the comarca of
Rio das Mortes, takes its name from its head town, the
Villa Real do Sahara. This town stands near the con¬
fluence of the small river of the same name with the Das
Velhas, about thirty-five miles north-north-west of Mari¬
anna, and is surrounded with mountains. About twelve
miles from Sahara there is said to be a tepid lake, two
miles in length by one in breadth. It has acquired the
name of the Holy Lake, from its waters having been found
to possess medicinal virtue in various diseases. Fifteen
miles north of Sahara is the flourishing parish of St Luzia,
which contains a considerable population, and is ornament¬
ed with five Roman Catholic temples. The only towns in
the comarca besides Sahara are Villa Nova da Raynha,
better known by its Indian name of Caethe, containing
about 5000 inhabitants ; it is twelve miles east-south-east
of Sahara, and has in its suburbs good potteries; and Pi-
tangui, situated on the right margin of Para, about eighty
miles west-north-west of Sahara. Its inhabitants, about
20,000 in number, breed horses, cattle, hogs, and sheep,
and cultivate cotton and the sugar-cane.
The comarca of St Joao del Rey or Rio das Mortes
occupies the southern extremity of the province adjoining
those of St Paulo and Rio. It is itself larger than the
whole kingdom of Portugal, and the land is for the most
part rich and fertile in a high degree. From March to
November the climate is fine and dry, the nights being
sometimes sharp and frosty. Ice is occasionally formed,
and snow falls, but they disappear before the noon-day
sun. About the middle of November the rainy season is
ushered in by violent thunder and lightning. Rain comes
invariably from the south, and in continued damp wea¬
ther the air is unpleasantly cold. The Villa St Joao del
Rey, antecedently called Rio das Mortes, is a handsome
little town, surrounded by a bulwark of romantic hills and
broken rocks, with tracts entirely sterile, and others cover¬
ed with the most luxuriant verdure. Its situation is so
agreeable and central, that an intention was once formed
of making it the capital. There are in St Joao about 6000
inhabitants, of whom only one third are white people, the
rest being negroes and mulattoes. For their employment
and support there are no manufactures, except a small one
of hats of a peculiar kind. In the adjoining country a
large quantity of woollen cloth is made from native pro-
MIN in
duce, and serves for ordinary clothing. Yet the trade of Mincha
St Joao del Rey must be considerable; for Dr Von Spix ||
informs us that four constantly employed caravans, each of Mindoro,
fifty mules, annually go backwards and forwards to the '"■“'-'v'--
capital, conveying thither bacon, cheese, some cottons,
woollen hats, horned cattle, mules, and gold bars; and
bringing back in return European goods, chiefly Portu¬
guese and English, such as calicoes, handkerchiefs, lace,
iron-ware, wine, porter, and liqueurs. The gold mine, to
which the town owes its origin and celebrity, and whence
such masses of mineral wealth have been extracted, is si¬
tuated within the town. It is nothing more than a deep
pit, and is now little resorted to. St Joao del Rey is
situated eighty miles south-west of Villa Rica, about the
same distance south-south-west of Sahara, and upwards of
two hundred miles north-west of Rio. The population of
Minas Geraes has been computed at between six and seven
hundred thousand inhabitants, of whom nearly a fourth
are slaves. Indians are found only upon the eastern con¬
fines of the province, or in the impenetrable forests of
the Serra do Mar.
MINCHA, in the Jewish customs, offerings of meal,
cakes, or biscuits, made in the temple of the Lord. The
Seventy-two have sometimes preserved this word in their
translation ; but instead of mincha they read manaa, which
doubtless was the received pronunciation in their time.
MINCHINHAMPTON, of a town of the county of Glou¬
cester, in the hundred of Longtree, a hundred miles from
London. Some parts of the parish are very romantic, es¬
pecially one called the Golden Vale. The clothing trade
forms the chief occupation. Near to it are several elegant
seats. The celebrated Roger Bacon was an inhabitant of
the town. The population of the town amounted in 1801
to 3419, in 1811 to 3246, in 1821 to 4907, and in 1831 to
5114; but there are two hamlets within the parish, Rod-
borough and Nailsworth, and the number of the whole in¬
habitants appears by the last census to have been 7255.
MINDANAO. See Magindanao.
MINDEN, one of the governments into which the Prus¬
sian province of Westphalia is divided. It has been formed
out of the ancient principalities of Minden, Paderborn, and
Corvey, and the smaller sovereignties of Reckenberg,
Rheda, and Rittberg. It is divided into thirteen circles,
extends over 2068 square miles, comprehends thirty-six
cities or walled towns, seven market-towns, and 549 vil¬
lages, besides many detached agricultural establishments.
The houses are 47,140, and the inhabitants 362,649, of
whom about four sevenths are Protestants, and the remain¬
der chiefly Catholics, with some Jews and a few Menonites.
The city of Minden is the capital of the government and
of the circle. It is built on the river Weser, over which is
a bridge 600 feet long. It is an important pass, and is
strongly fortified, the works having of late years been much
extended. It contains five Lutheran, two Catholic, and one
Calvinist church, 1146 houses, and 8940 inhabitants. It
contains some manufactures of woollen, linen, and iron
goods, and some trade by the Weser, which connects it with
Bremen. It is known as the field of battle in 1759, where
the French suffered a partial defeat. Long. 8. 50. 6. E.
Lat. 52. 17. 47. N.
MINDORO Isle, one of the Philippine Isles, a hun¬
dred and ten miles in length, by about twenty-five in
average breadth, and situated due south from the south¬
west extremity of the island of Lucos. Ihe interior is
mountainous, but sloping towards the sea-coast; the whole
covered with trees, and making a beautiful appearance from
the sea-coast. The island is well inhabited, though the
Spaniards have a few establishments there. Long. 120. 24.
to 121. 24. E. Lat. 12. 21. to 13. 30. N."
112
y
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Mineralogy is that department of Natural History which while Geology considers the various properties and relations
logy. makes us acquainted with all the properties and relations of the Atmosphere, the Waters of the Globe, the Mountain j^er'
of minerals. It is divided into two grand branches, viz. Rocks, or those mineral masses of which the crust of the earth v
Mineralogy properly so called, and Geology. Mineralogy is principally composed, and the form, density, heat, elec-
treats of the properties and relations of Simple Minerals ; tricity, and magnetism of the earth.
I.—MINERALOGY.
1. System of Arrangement.
The arrangement of simple minerals has always been a
subject of controversy with mineralogists; and the discus¬
sions to which it has given rise have materially contributed
to the advancement of our knowledge of the natural and
chemical history of minerals. Berzelius contends for the
Chemical arrangement, according to which the species are
grouped in conformity with their chemical composition and
characters; Werner rejects the pure chemical, and adopts
the Mixed method, in which the species are arranged and
determined according to the conjoined external and chemi¬
cal characters; of late years the plan, or the arrangement
according to external characters alone, (named the Natural
History System), has been advocated by Mohs ; and Jame¬
son, in his lectures in the University of Edinburgh, has for
some years taught his pupils according to a method of a
mixed character, which, had we space, might be more par¬
ticularly noticed. The system of Mohs having been for¬
merly adopted in this work, as one founded on correct
principles, and, very useful in a practical view, is still ad¬
hered to.
2. Characters of Minerals.
As the characters employed in the natural history system
of mineralogy are principally those named external, our at¬
tention will here be chiefly directed to the consideration of
their various properties, using the chemical characters only
in so far as they illustrate the constituent parts of the mine¬
ral species. We shall first give an account of the charac¬
ters used in the construttion of lln^different principal divi-
» sions of the system ; and next enumerate and define those
characters which are employed in the description of the spe¬
cies, sub-species, kinds, and varieties of simple minerals.
I. CHARACTERS EMPLOYED IN THE DETERMINA¬
TION OF THE CLASSES, ORDERS, GENERA, AND
SPECIES.
1. Regular Form—2. Cleavage—3. Hardness 4. Specific
Gravity.1
1. Regular Form.
1. Simple and Compound Forms.
The first step Crystallography takes in the consideration
of the regular forms occurring in the mineral kingdom, is
to distinguish them into simple and compound ones. A
simple form is contained under homologous planes, or such
as are equal, similar, and equally disposed in respect to
each other ; a compound one is contained under planes not
homologous, or such as are not equal, similar, and equally
disposed to each other.
2. Combinations.
A compound form is termed a combination. The com¬
binations consist of the simple forms, and each face occur¬
ring in them, belongs to a particular simple form, in as far
as it is not homologous with others.
3. Edges of Combination.
The edges, in which the faces of different forms meet or
intersect each other, are called edges of combination. The
denomination of the edges between the homologous faces
depends upon the simple forms themselves, or upon their
peculiar situation, and their other qualities.
4. Development of the Combinations.
An object of the greatest importance for crystallography
is the illustration of the development of the, combinations.
A combination is developed by shewing of what simple
forms it consists, and in what relations those simple forms
are to each other. The manner in which this is done is as
follows: First, The connection existing among certain sim¬
ple forms is exhibited ; and these simple forms are arrang¬
ed accordingly into series, the members of which, between
certain limits, follow constant laws, and are known in all
their geometrical relations, if it is possible to determine
their distance from a known member, or to assign them
their relative position in a series, which contains the same
member. The position of a member in the series is deter¬
mined by considering the situation of the edges of combina¬
tion ; and the development of the latter will, therefore, de¬
pend upon two points ; first, to make out the kind of the
simple forms they contain ; and, then, from the observed
situation of the edges of combination, to determine to which
member of the afore-mentioned series they belong, or which
places they occupy in the series.
5. Preparation for the Development of the Combinations.
Let fig. l.be a combination of two rhomboids or rhombohe-
drons.2 1 he faces ADEED, ADE' E' D,.. .belong to one, the
faces DEE//E,/E,,...to
the other. Let the
edges of combination
DE,DE/,...be parallel,
and the faces of the two
forms that meet in
them equally inclined
to each other. The
plane angles at the
apex, or at the solid an¬
gle formed by three
equal plane angles of
the former, are smaller
than the same of the lat¬
ter; and likewise the in¬
clination of the termi¬
nal edges, or at those
which terminate in the apex, or in the terminal point of the
axis AX of die former, is smaller than the same of the latter.
Fig. I.
5Jo„sertain vaiieties ofcoW’ the lustre' and also the are occasionally used, in forming the characters of the systematic
* use, as synonymous, the terms rhomboid and rhombohedron.
MINER
which, therefore, is called the more obtuse, whilst the for¬
mer bears the denomination of the more acute rhomboid.
It wrould not be sufficiently intelligible to derive the rela¬
tion which exists between the two rhomboids, from the
figure in its present state, the absolute dimensions remain¬
ing unaltered. Let, therefore, the axis of the more obtuse
rhomboid increase, till it equals that of the more acute one,
without any alteration in the angles, and consequently in
the parallelism of the edges of combination depending upon
them. Whilst the axis increases, that part of the faces of
the more obtuse rhomboid, which is visible in the combina¬
tion, will become narrower and narrower, till it disappear?,
when the length of the axis is equal in both the forms.
The planes of the more obtuse rhomboid are in this case
tangent to the terminal edges of the more acute one ; and
the absolute dimensions are now in that state, in which they
allow of a clear development of the relations between the
forms which the combination contains.
6. Upright Position and Horizontal Projection.
Place a rhomboid in such a position that its axis is ver¬
tical. This is called the upright position. From the six
angles of the rhomboid, B'jC'..., fig. 2, which are no apices,
Fig. 2.
JV
draw perpendicular lines B/0/,C/R/...to a horizontal plane,
and join the points in which these perpendiculars meet with
the plane, by straight lines 0'R/,R/Z'...The regular hexa¬
gon H'O'R'Z'N'T' produced by those lines is called the
horizontal projection of the rhomboid.
7. Relation of the Two Rhomboids expressed by the Side
of the Horizontal Projection.
By comparing the planes of the horizontal projections
HORZNT and H/0/R/Z'N/T/ belonging to the rhomboids,
we find that, the axes being supposed equal, the horizontal
projection of the more obtuse is four times as large as that
of the more acute ; or it is to the same in the ratio of 4 : 1.
From this follows the ratio of their sides — 2:1. Therefore,
two rhomboids, the horizontal projections of which are in
the ratio of 4 : 1, or the sides of these in that of 2 :1, the
axes being supposed equal, will be able to produce a com¬
bination in which the edges of combination are parallel to
each other; also to the terminal edges of the more acute,
and to the inclined diagonals (those which join the apex
with the opposite angle of the faces) of the more obtuse
rhomboids; provided the absolute dimensions allow the
space to be limited by both the forms at the same time.
This is one of the relations between simple forms, which
are useful and necessary for explaining the combinations,
and of which the other relation will be explained in the
following paragraphs.
8. Fundamental Form, Derivation, Derived Form.
A L O G Y.
plaining the combinations. The form chosen for this pur¬
pose is called ^fundamental form or type ; the proceed-
mg by which the other forms are produced the derivation,
and those forms themselves the derived forms.
9. Relation of the Two Rhomboids expressed by the Axis.
The easiest method of expressing the relation of the de¬
rived rhomboids to the fundamental form (§ 7.) is not that
by the sides of the horizontal projections, the axes being
supposed equal. Let, therefore, the derived rhomboid,
without any alteration in its angles, diminish in size (as
could be done by sections parallel to its faces) till its hori¬
zontal projection becomes equal to the horizontal projec¬
tion of the fundamental form ; its axis will decrease to half
of its former length. Now, the horizontal projections be¬
ing supposed equal, the axis of the derived rhomboid will
be to the axis of the fundamental'form in the ratio of £ : 1
= 1:2, an expression of the relation between the two forms,
which, on account of its easy application, we shall retain
and make use of as we proceed.
10. Inversion of the Proceeding.
The mode of proceeding, by which the more obtuse
rhomboid has been derived from the more acute one, can
easily be inverted; setting out from the more obtuse one,
we can, by the same way, in an opposite direction, derive
the more acute rhomboid. The diagonals being drawn up¬
on the faces of the rhomboid, and by planes laid through
three and three of them, those parts which are situated on
their outside being taken away, what remains will be a
rhomboid more acute than the fundamental form. The
axes of both these forms are equal, whilst the sides of the
horizontal projections in the fundamental and the derived
rhomboid are in the ratio of 1 : £. Now, the horizontal
projections being equal, the ratio of the axes will be =1 : 2.
11. Generality of the Relations.—Series.
These modes of proceeding, and the relations between
the derived forms, are general. If, therefore, from one
rhomboid, taken for the fundamental form, another more
obtuse has been derived ; this same more obtuse rhomboid,
considered as a fundamental form, will yield another still
more obtuse ; and if, on the other hand, from the funda¬
mental form a more acute rhomboid has been derived, the
same proceeding applied to the resultant form will give an¬
other still more acute ; and this may be continued on either
side ad infinitum. The ratio between the axes of any two
subsequent rhomboids, the horizontal projections being
supposed equal, has every where the same exponent. The
axes are therefore in a geometrical progression, and the
rhomboids represented by these axes are themselves said
to form such a progression, or a series.
12. Laws of Progression of the Series.
Let A be the fundamental form, its axis = a. Let B
represent the first, C the second more obtuse ; B' the first,
C the second more acute rhomboid, the rhomboids will
follow' each other thus :
...C, B, A, B', C'...
their axes will be
... fi, a, 2a, 4a ...
4 2^
or they are in the ratios of
1119 4
••• A> ** •••
... 2_1, 2°, 21, 22. ...
113
Minera¬
logy.
^ hat has been said above leads to a general method, equal to those of the powers of the number 2.
one form being given or chosen, to find one or several The more obtuse rhomboids B, C ... and the more acute
others, which are in such relations to it, as to be fit for ex- ones, B', C'... derived from a given or supposed funda-
vol. xv. p
114
MINERALOGY.
Minera- mentai form A, their horizontal projections being equal,
l0^ produce a series, in which the axes of the subsequent mem¬
bers increase on one side, and decrease on the other, like
the powers of the number 2.
13. Designation.
The method of designating crystallizations, whether sim¬
ple or compound, is founded on the present and similar
series, to be developed afterwards. Represent the funda¬
mental form by any arbitrary letter, in this case, according
to the practice hitherto observed, by R. The sign of any
other member of the series contains the same letter ; the
exponent of the fundamental number of the series, which,
in the present case, is the number 2, being added for the
sake of expressing the place occupied in the series by the
number to be designated. This yields the crystallographic
sign for one member, and by applying the same proceed¬
ing to the others, the designation also of the whole series.
14. Continuation.
The above mentioned part of the series of rhomboids is
C, B, A, B', C';
the ratio of their axes
2 2, 2—1, 2°, 21, 22;
its designation, therefore,
R—2, R— 1, R, R + l, R + 2,
regular six-sided prism is the limit of the series of rhom- Minera
boids, we can imagine each face of the rhomboid to make ^ logj.
a revolution round an immove-''“"V'
able line Q.S, fig. 3. This line is
z the side of that regular hexagon,
which can be inscribed into the
horizontal projection HORZNT;
the hexagon itself will be the
basis or transverse section of the
prism, and it differs from the ho¬
rizontal projection by both its
contents and its situation. If the
axis of the rhomboid decrease till
it ultimately evanesce, the faces
contiguous not only to one, but
also those contiguous to the other
apex, coincide in one plane; and
the rhomboid is changed into a
plane figure, equal and similar
to the horizontal projection, to
which it is parallel, and appears,
therefore, in all the combinations
as a face perpendicular to the
axis. It must here be remarked,
that forms of infinite dimensions
cannot be produced by them¬
selves, or as simple forms, but appear only in combina¬
tions.
and in the same way R+«, the general term for each mem¬
ber of the series, which may be transformed into a parti¬
cular one, by putting whole numbers, positive or negative,
instead of n in the expression.
15. Usefulness of the Designation.
From the ratio of the axis to the side of the horizontal
projection being known in a rhomboid, all the rest of its
ratios, its dimensions (plain and solid angled), &c. can be
deduced. The side of the horizontal projection is suppos¬
ed equal in all the members of the series, and made = 1
in the calculations which refer to the rhomboid. The de¬
signation contains therefore, by representing the relation of
the axes, every thing required as a basis of calculation;
and since it does not require any figures (for instance those
of a fundamental form), the letter R signifying by itself a
rhomboid, the designation is also evident, and upon this
depends the easiness of its application in crystallography.
16. Limits of the Series.
There can be no doubt of n being able to obtain any
possible value; or, which is the same, the series may be
continued as far as we choose. This produces always new
rhomboids, as long as n has a finite value. On one side
the axis will increase, if n increase and remain positive ;
on the other the axes will decrease, if the negative value of
n increases. Let n become infinite, the axis will likewise
be infinite ; let —n become infinite, the axis will be infi¬
nitely small. It is clear that the limits of the series will be,
on one side, a rhomboid of an infinitely large axis, on the
other, a rhomboid of an infinitely small axis, and their seve¬
ral signs must therefore be R+oo and R—oo ; so that
R—co ... R-j-ra ... R + oo
represent the series between its limits.
17. The. Limits are Regular Six-sided Prisms.
It is very easily shewn that a rhomboid of an infinite
axis is a regular six-sided prism; for at the same time, as
the axis increases, the six faces of the rhomboid approach
nearer and nearer to parallelism with the axis, and they
become really parallel with it, if the axis becomes infinite¬
ly long. For rendering more evident in what manner the
18. Position.
The series of rhomboids, already described, contains
every thing concerning the dimensions and the ratios of its
members, as far as each of them is considered singly or by
itself. But there is still one object of great importance to
be noticed, if those members are considered connected to¬
gether, or in combinations. This is their position. It is
evident that two subsequent members of the series, as, for
instance, R and R+l, or, in general terms, R+w and
R+w+1, will produce the above combination; in which
the edges of combination are parallel, not only with each
other, but also with the terminal edges of the more acute;
and with the inclined diagonals of the more obtuse rhom¬
boids ; but they will produce this combination only in the
case of their being in such a position, that the terminal
edges of the one are in the same plane with the inclined
diagonals of the other, which plane passes at the same time
through the axis, as is shewn by fig. 2. This position of
two rhomboids is termed the turned position, because it
arises when a rhomboid is turned out of former position,
under an angle of 60° or 180°. If a rhomboid, in the turned
position, undergo a new revolution of 60° or 180°, it re¬
turns to that which it occupied before, and this is called
the parallel position. Rhomboids that affect a parallel po¬
sition with each other, have their terminal edges and their
inclined diagonals distributed in such a manner, that the
terminal edges of both on one side, and the inclined dia¬
gonals of both on the other, fall into one and the same
plane, passing through the axis.
19. Position of the Members in respect to each other.
The position of the fundamental form R is considered as
the normal position, to which those of the derived mem¬
bers are referred. In reference to R, R + 1 and R — 1 will
be in a turned, R + 2 and R — 2 in a parallel, R + 3 and
R—3 in a turned position again, and so on; from which it
follows, that any two subsequent, or, in general, any two
members of the series, between which an even number of
members (0 in the above case being considered as even)
are wanting, will be in the turned position, whilst any two
members of the series, between which an odd number of
members are wanting, will affect the parallel position. All
those members, therefore, which have their exponent an
even number, are in the parallel, those which have their
' exponent an odd number in the turned position, if com¬
pared with R, the fundamental form of the series. The
position exercises no influence upon the regular six-sided
prism, since, by turning it under angles of 60° and 180°,
its faces will come into their former situation.
20. Scalene Six-sided Pyramids.
The rhomboid allows several forms to be derived from
it, which are not themselves rhomboids like the original.
Lengthen the axis of a rhom¬
boid, fig. 4, on both sides to an
indefinite but equal distance, and
from the angles B, C, ... draw
straight lines to the terminal
points A', X', of the lengthened
axis. The planes which can be
laid through any two contiguous
lines of these, and the lateral
edges, BC, CB,...of the rhom¬
boid will produce a form, which,
from its faces being scalene tri¬
angles, is called a scalene six-
sided pyramid. The solid an¬
gles, A', X', at the terminal
points of the axis, are its apices;
the edges which terminate in
these apices are the terminal,
and those which correspond with
the lateral edges of the rhom¬
boid are the rhomboidal edges
of the pyramid. The terminal
edges allow of a farther distinc¬
tion into more obtuse and more
acute ones ; the faces being on AB, the first, inclined under
a greater, on AC, the other, under a less angle.
21. Their Axis a Multiple of the Axis of the Fundamen¬
tal Form.
Instead of lengthening the axis, we may conceive it to
be multiplied by a certain number, expressed in general
by m. The values of m must be determined by observa¬
tion, or, which is the same, they must be derived from
combinations containing six-sided pyramids. They can¬
not, therefore, be fixed arbitrarily, if we expect them to be
confirmed by observation.
22. Series of Scalene Six-sided Pyramids.
From each rhomboid, several scalene six-sided pyramids
may be derived, and we are authorized to expect as many
forms of this kind as observation has discovered different
values for m. By deriving scalene six-sided pyramids,
according to a constant m, from the subsequent members
of the series of rhomboids, a series of such pyramids is pro¬
duced, the axes of which partake of the law followed by
those of the series of rhomboids. For the horizontal pro¬
jections of the pyramids are identical with those of the
rhomboids, because the rhomboidal edges of the pyramids
have the same situation as the lateral edges of the rhom¬
boids from which they are derived; and the axes of the
pyramids, being equal to the axes of the rhomboids, multi¬
plied by a constant number m, will therefore persist in the
ratio of those.
23. Designation.
The letter P, in general, signifies a pyramid, but more
particularly a six-sided pyramid, if referred to a form de¬
rivable from the rhomboid. The quality of a scalene six-
sided pyramid, in which there occur differences according
to the relation of its axis to that of the rhomboid, must be
MINERALOGY.
made evident by the designation. Include the general
sign for the pyramid, expressed in such a manner as to re-
er to the rhomboid from which it is derived, within crotchets
(), and add the number of derivation, or that by which the
axis of the rhomboid has been multiplied, in order to pro¬
duce the axis of the pyramid, in the form of an exponent;
the result will be the crystallographic sign of a scalene six-
i ed pyramid. Thus (P+1)3 represents a scalene six-
sided pyramid derived from R+l by multiplying its axis
by the number 3 ; and (P+>*)ra is the general term of any
or of each series of scalene six-sided pyramids, which can
be derived from a series of rhomboids having R for its fun¬
damental form, according to the value of™, determined for
each particular series. If the axis of the rhomboid from
which a scalene six-sided pyramid is derived, and the num¬
ber of derivation m are known, the dimensions of the pvra-
mm are easily to be found ; thus every thing that has been
said above (§15.) in respect to the designation, can be
equally applied in the present case.
24. Values of m.
Although the value of m be, as far as experience goes,
most commonly = 2, 3, or 5, yet it sometimes affects others,
and even fractionary numbers. The only thing to be said
in general of the value of m is, that it must be greater than
1, rational and positive.
25. Limits.
Every series leads to its limits; it is, therefore, to be
expected, that the series of scalene six-sided pyramids will
have limits of their own. It appears by an easy geometri¬
cal construction, that scalene six-sided pyramids, derived
according to a constant m, from the different members of
a series of rhomboids, or even from any rhomboid though
it be no member of that series, if cut perpendicularly upon,
and through the centre of their axes; that such pyramids
will have a common, or equal and similar transverse sec¬
tion, provided only the horizontal projections of these rhom¬
boids have been equal. This section is an equilateral do¬
decagon of alternately equal angles. The limits of a series
of scalene six-sided pyramids must therefore be a scalene
six-sided pyramid of an infinite axis; which, since m can¬
not become infinite, must be derivable from a rhomboid of
an infinite axis, that is to say, from a regular six-sided
prism. Ihe limit will, therefore, appear in the shape of an
unequiangular twelve-sided prism, of the same transverse
section, which the finite members of the series produce.
Each series of scalene six-sided pyramids is limited by a
prism of this kind; the number of different prisms will
therefore be equal to the values of m, upon which the
angles of their transverse sections depend. The opposite
limit, viz. the scalene six-sided pyramid of an infinitely
small axis again appears in a plane figure, equal and similar
to the horizontal projection, its faces being perpendicular
to the axis of those forms with which it is combined. The
general sign of an unequiangular twelve-sided prism is
(P-f-co ) . The face perpendicular to the axis does not
require any particular designation, since that of R—co
(§ 15) is already applied to it. Respecting the position,
both of the scalene six-sided pyramids, and of their limits,
the unequiangular twelve-sided prisms to each other, and
to the rhomboidal form from which they are derived; § §
18 and 19 contain the necessary explanations.
26. Subordinate Series of Rhomboids.
There are several rhomboids in connection with R, with¬
out being members of the series derived from it, because
their axes, the horizontal projections being equal, are not
products of the axes of R, multiplied by powers of the
number 2. These rhomboids follow, however, the law
115
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
116
Minera- (§ 12) which governs the series of rhomboids immediately
logy- derived from R, and their axes are results of the axes of
v   the members of this series multiplied by a certain coefti-
cient. Series arising in this way are termed subordinate
series, whilst that which has been derived from R has the
relative name of the principal series.
27- Coefficients of the Subordinate Series, and how the
Members of these belong to each other and to the Mem¬
bers of the Principal Series.
Members of the subordinate series are geometrically ob¬
tained by laying planes into the homologous terminal edges
of the scalene six-sided pyramids derived from the members
of the principal series, and by enlarging these planes till
they enclose the space by themselves. By applying the
planes to the more obtuse terminal edges, the resulting
-j-1 .-I i
coefficient is = —^— ; by applying them to the more acute
ones, it follows — 1. If the three most common values
4
of m are one after the other put into the expressions, each
of the two coefficients give rise to members of two different
subordinate series; but at the same time it yields one
member of the principal series, namely, if 3?»zh 1 becomes
equal to a power of the number 2. These numbers of the
principal series are not, however, objects of the present
consideration. The subordinate series, whose coefficient
contains, besides a power of the number 2, the number 5,
is styled the first; that wdiose coefficient, also besides a
power of the number 2, contains the number 7, the second
subordinate series. The members of the subordinate series
arrange themselves with those of the principal series in
such a manner, that the axes of those which are put to¬
gether stand in the ratio of 1 : f: f. According to this
disposition, a rhomboid, whose axis contains five-fourths of
the axis of R+w, or which is r= £ . 2”«, its horizontal pro¬
jection being equal to that of R, is R-f-rc of the first subor¬
dinate series, and its designation |R+»; a rhomboid
whose axis is — J.2”a, is R+w of the second subordinate
series, and its designation is JR+w. Any other value of
m affords other subordinate series. The members of a
subordinate series cannot be interpolated, or put between
those of the principal one, without undoing both these series
themselves. The limits of the subordinate series are iden¬
tical with those of the principal series; the position of their
members follows from their derivation.
28. Isosceles Six-sided Pyramids.
Apply pairs of planes to the terminal edges AC, of a
rhomboid, fig. 5, in such a manner and inclination, that
Fig. 5.
those from the upper apex, AHO and AOR, may inter¬
sect those from the under apex, XHO and XOR, in a
plane figure HORZNT, similar to and parallel with the
horizontal projection. The result will be an isosceles six-
sided pyramid. The axes of both the pyramid and the
rhomboid being equal, as appears from the derivation, the
sides of their horizontal projections are in the ratio of 3 : 2.
Hence the horizontal projections being supposed equal,
the ratio between the axis of the pyramid and that of the
rhomboid will follow = 2 : 3, or the first w ill contain § of Miners,
the axis of that rhomboid from which it is derived. The logy,
isosceles six-sided pyramid, derived from R+ra, is desig-s—^y-..
nated only by V-f n (§ 23), on account of its being always
obtained by a similar proceeding from its rhomboid.
29- Series of Isosceles Six-sided Pyramids.
Each member of the principal series of rhomboids has
its concomitant isosceles six-sided pyramid of the ratio just
stated, the horizontal projections being equal. This gives
rise to a series of isosceles six-sided pyramids, the axes of
which, their horizontal projections being equal, increase
and decrease as the powers of the number 2 ; that is to say,
they follow the general law of all those forms which are
derived from the rhomboid.
30. Limits and Position.
The limits of this series are regular six-sided prisms of
infinite axes, like those of the series of rhomboids. Let
the axis of an isosceles six-sided pyramid increase, whilst
the horizontal projection remains unchanged, the inclina¬
tion of the faces at the edges of the basis (those in which
the faces from different apices meet) will likewise increase
till it becomes = 180°, in which case the axis will be in¬
finite. In this case, each two corresponding faces from the
different apices coincide into a single plane parallel with
the axis, and the isosceles six-sided pyramid is thus trans¬
formed into a regular six-sided prism, the basis or trans¬
verse section of which is the horizontal projection itself.
By this basis and its situation the present prism differs from
that (§ 17), which limits the series of rhomboids ; and by
this the necessity of considering them as two distinct forms
becomes evident. The crystallographic sign for the limit
of the series of isosceles six-sided pyramids is P + QO . The
opposite limit, merely a face perpendicular to the axis of
any of the foregoing forms, requires no particular designa¬
tion. Since the faces of an isosceles six-sided pyramid,
when this is turned round under 60° or 180°, resume their
former situation, there is no difference prevailing in the
position of the members and limits of this series, either in
respect to themselves, or to the other forms derived from
the rhomboid.
31. Derivation from the Isosceles Four-sided Pyramid.
Consider an isosceles four-sided pyramid (fig. 6), a
Fig. 6.
form contained under eight equal and similar isosceles
triangles, as a fundamental form; place it in its upright
position, by making its axis AX vertical, and apply to
it the process § 5. The tangent planes will limit a space
representing again an isosceles four-sided pyramid, the
plane angles of which at the apex, and the inclination of the
faces at the terminal edges, will be greater than the same
in the fundamental form, and hence it will likewise be the
more obtuse of both.
32. Patio of the Derived Pyramid to the Fundamental
Form.
The axes of these pyramids are equal to each other. The
horizontal projection of the more obtuse is that square which
can be circumscribed to the horizontal projection of the funda-
MINERALOGY.
mental form ; and, accordingly, its content twice the con¬
tent of the horizontal projection of the fundamental form,
the ratio of their sides = \/2 : 1. Suppose now the hori¬
zontal projections of the two pyramids to be equal, the axis
of the derived more obtuse pyramid will be to the axis of
1
the fundamental form in the ratio of —7=-
V 2 : 1.
33. Inversion of the Proceeding.
This proceeding can be applied inversely, in order to
obtain from the fundamental form the same more acute
four-sided pyramid, from which, by the proceeding applied
directly, the fundamental form would have been the result.
This inverse application is as follows : Draw in the faces of
the fundamental form perpendicular lines from the apices
to the edges at the basis, lay cutting planes through every
two contiguous of these lines, and separate those parts of
the pyramids which lie outside of them. The remainder,
inclosed by the cutting planes, will be again an isosceles
four-sided pyramid, having the same axis as the fundamen¬
tal form, but a horizontal projection, whose content is half
the content of the horizontal projection of the fundamental
form, and the ratio of their sides, therefore, = The
horizontal projections being made equal, the axis of the de¬
rived more acute pyramid is to tire axis of the fundamental
form in the ratio of \/2 :1, which is the inverse of the ratio
deduced above.
34. Series and Designation.
By continuing the derivation, the more obtuse pyramid
produces another still more obtuse ; the more acute another
still more acute, and thus arises a series of isosceles four¬
sided pyramids, whose axes, their horizontal projections
being equal, increase and decrease as the powers of the
square root of 2 ; which law of progression can be express¬
ed by 2 ^ or 2”. The designation of this series is con¬
cordant with the principles already laid down and followed
(§ 13). The fundamental form receives the letter P.
Hence its neighbouring members will be
... P_2, P-1, P, P + 1, P + 2, ...
their axes that of P being = a,
a, a*/ 0, 2a;...
' ' ' 2 V a
their ratio to each other,
. . . a/22 + : \/21 : \/2° : x/21 : VTP ; . . .
and P + 71 the general term of the series, which, by the
substitution of any whole positive or negative number in
the place of n, gives a certain determined member. The
present designation is quite the same as that in § 28, and
as another to be mentioned in § 44. However, the obser¬
vation in page 135 is sufficient to shew the impossibility of
any confusion or ambiguity that could arise from making
use of identical signs for the expression of different forms.
35. Limits.
If n becomes greater or smaller than any given number,
a transformation takes place similar to that by which the
isosceles six-sided pyramid gave rise to the regular six-
sided prism: the series of isosceles four-sided pyramids
terminates on one side in an unlimited four-sided prism,
on the other in a plane figure, equal, similar, and parallel
to the horizontal projection, and these two forms represent
the limits of the series. In respect to the first, however,
there occurs the particular circumstance, that the series is
doubly limited; because the different members in their
succession assume a different position. The derivation
shews the pyramids, P — 1 and P + 1, to stand in such a
■ 8
. P + a .
position towards P, that the sides of their bases are parallel
with the diagonals of the basis of P ; whilst in P — 2 and
P + 2, the sides and the diagonals are parallel with the
same lines in the basis of the fundamental form. The for¬
mer are said to be in a diagonal, the latter in a parallel
position with P ; and every thing contained in § 18 and
§ 19, in respect to position, may be applied here, if only,
instead of 60° and 180°, a revolution of 45° is imagined.
Suppose now the two different prisms, the regular six-sided,
as well as the rectangular four-sided, in both their peculiar
positions. The faces of the first will, after having been
duly turned, assume their former situation, which is not the
case in the second; and hence it becomes necessary to
adopt two rectangular four-sided prisms of an infinite axis
as limits of the series of isosceles four-sided pyramids, one
being in a parallel, the other in a diagonal position with P.
The sign of the first is P + go , that of the second [P + 00 ].
The opposite limit, where there is no difference in the posi¬
tion, is represented by P — 00; and the whole series of
isosceles four-sided pyramids between its limits appears thus,
r p+00 1
36. Scalene Eight-sided Pyramids.
With the isosceles four-sided pyramids there are connect¬
ed scalene eight-sided pyramids, contained under sixteen
equal and similar scalene triangles (fig. 7)• These eight-sided
pyramids depend upon the Fig. 7*
four-sided by the same
process of derivation, by
•which the scalene six-
sided pyramids take their
rise from the rhomboid.
The application of this
process to the isosceles
four-sided pyramid sup¬
poses, however, a prepara¬
tion of this form, which is
effected by enlarging its
faces beyond the edges of
its basis, and by drawing
in these enlai'gements tri¬
angles, equal and similar
to the faces of the pyra¬
mid. Thus the points a,
a', .. x, x . . are fixed in
two squares that are per¬
pendicular to the axis
AX, in its terminal points,
or in the apices of the py¬
ramids. Now, produce
the axis of the pyramid on both sides to an indefinite but
equal length, or multiply it by a number m, greater than 1
positive and rational (§ 24.) Join, then, the upper terminal
point A' of the lengthened axis with the points a, a! . .
in the under, the under terminal point X' with the points
x, od . . \n the upper square, by straight lines. The points
SS' . ., in which these lines intersect each other, will lie in
the prolongation of the basis of the four-sided pyramid.
We now join these points with the neighbouring angles of
the base by straight lines, the result of which will represent
the basis of the derived scalene eight-sided pyramid, which
may now be completed without difficulty. I he most com¬
mon, though not the only values given for m by nature,
are 3, 4, and 5.
37. Series of Scalene Eight-sided Pyramids.
If the number of derivation m be constant, the resultant
scalene eight-sided pyramids have similar bases, the axes
of the isosceles four-sided pyramids may be whatever they
117
Miner a
logy.
L,
118
MINERALOGY.
Minera- will. The application of the described proceeding to the
logy- subsequent members of the series of isosceles four sided
' -V ' pyramids will, therefore, m remaining for all the members
the same, not only produce a series of scalene eight-sided
pyramids, subject to the law followed by the isosceles four¬
sided pyramids, which is that of a/2 ; but the bases or
transverse sections of all the members of this series will be
similar to each other. The designation of an indetermi¬
nate nth member of such a series is (P -\-n)m, and it is evi¬
dent, that as many values of m as experience gives, so many
different series of scalene eight-sided pyramids will arise.
38. Limits.
The limits of those series are, on one side unlimited une-
quiangular eight-sided prisms, the transverse sections of
them being similar to the bases of the members of the
series; on the other side, a plane figure, which in the
combinations appears as a face perpendicular to the
axis. This is evident from what has been said above, and
there remains only to be added, that the prisms of an
infinite axis coming into consideration in two different po¬
sitions, they must be taken for two different forms, or as
double limits of the series. These two positions are the
parallel and the diagonal, as in § 35 ; the parallel being
that which prevails between scalene eight-sided pyramids
and that isosceles four-sided from which they are derived ;
whilst forms of this kind in the diagonal position are sup¬
posed to have undergone a horizontal revolution of 45°.
Now, the eight-sided prisms may be considered as scalene
eight-sided pyramids, derived from isosceles four-sided
pyramids of an infinite axis, namely, the rectangular four¬
sided prism, according to a certain value of m. The ne¬
cessity of considering the four-sided prism in m two dif¬
ferent positions (§ 35) must therefore be extended to the
eight-sided. The designation of the series of eight-sided
pyramids, between their limits, will accordingly be thus :
P —00
(P+H)
+ 1
([(p+®f] s
39. Subordinate Series.
There are series of isosceles four-sided pyramids belong¬
ing to that of § 33, which, in reference to the latter, or the
principal series, are termed subordinate series. The mem¬
bers of these series are obtained by placing tangent planes
in the homologous terminal edges of the scalene eight-sided
pyramids; the same proceeding which applied to the sca¬
lene six-sided pyramids produced the subordinate series
of rhomboids. The coefficient for the more obtuse termi¬
nal edge (if + is = — ; that for the more
acute one (under the same supposition) — If m be
\/‘2
determined, each of those coefficients gives a member of a
particular series. The members of the principal and of
the two subordinate series arising from m — 3, 4, and 5,
7; and are said to
circumstances remaining the same, with an axis :
A v?
Minera-
Jogy.
arrange themselves thus: 1 : —
2^2 ' 4
belong together in this order. An isosceles four-sided py¬
ramid, therefore, whose axis, the horizontal projection being
equal to that of P, is — —V2ri a represents the mem¬
ber P -fn of the first subordinate series, and bears the de-
3
gignation of — P + »; and a similar pyramid, the other
is the member P + » of the second subordinate series, ex-
5
pressed by the designation - P + w. The limits of the pre¬
sent series coincide with those of the principal series. The
positions of its members in respect to each other, and to
the members of the principal series, will become evident
by comparing what has been stated of their derivation with
§ 27 regarding the position of the subordinate series of
rhomboids.
40. Scalene Four-sided Pyramids.
If in the basis of an isosceles four-sided pyramid, the
diagonals are supposed unequal, the pyramid itself is trans¬
formed into a scalene four-sided pyramid, or into one whose
basis is a rhomb, its faces scalene triangles, and its terminal
edges of a different magnitude, the one more obtuse, the
other more acute, as is represented by ABCB'C'X, fig. 8.
Fig. 8.
A
From this we may conjecture that several of the preceding
methods of derivation, though with some modifications, will
also in this case be applicable.
41. Derivations from it. Auxiliary Form.
Apply to the homologous terminal edges of a scalene
four-sided pyramid tangent planes, and enlarge them till
they intersect each other in every possible direction; the
result will be no form limited on every side, or such as is
finite in all its dimensions. If the tangent planes are laid
in all the terminal edges of the fundamental form, a form
limited from every side will indeed appear, but this form is
not a simple one, its faces being homologous only by four
and four (§ 1). The form thus arising represents a four¬
sided pyramid, with an oblong rectangular basis, AIGHFX,
fig. 8; and most of the crystallographers consider it as such,
and term it accordingly. In this place it must be consi¬
dered only as an auxiliary or intermediate form, which is
not the derived form itself, but useful and auxiliary for its
derivation.
42. Derived Form.
Suppose taugent planes to be laid in the terminal edges
of the auxiliary form, in such an inclination that those
from the upper apex produce by their intersection with
those from the under apex, a rhomb similar and parallel to
the basis of the fundamental form, and situated in the pro¬
longation of this basis. The result will be a scalene four¬
sided pyramid, the basis of which is similar to that of the
fundamental form; but the plane angles at the apex, and
the inclination at the terminal edges, being greater than in
this form, the derived will be more obtuse than the funda¬
mental form.
43. Ratio to the Fundamental Form.
The two pyramids, as produced by the derivation, have
the same axis, the ratio betweeen the basis of the derived,
MINERALOGY.
and the basis of the fundamental pyramid being that of
4:1. This ratio is evident, since the basis of the auxilia-
^ ry form is double of the basis of the fundamental form, and
that of the derived form again double of the basis of the
auxiliary form. Hence the horizontal projection of the two
forms being supposed equal, the ratio between the axes of
the derived, and of the fundamental pyramid, is that of £ : 1.
The process of derivation, by which the more obtuse pyra¬
mid is produced, is liable to an inversion like that in § 10.
44. Series. Designation. Limits. Position.
From a continued derivation on both sides of the funda¬
mental form, a series of scalene four-sided pyramids, of
equal and similar bases, will evidently arise, the axes of
which increase on one side and decrease on the other, like
the powers of the number 2. P -(- » will be the sign of an
indeterminate «th member of the series, and if n becomes
infinite, the series reaches its limits, which are on one side
an obliquangular four-sided prism, whose transverse section
on the other side is a horizontal plane, whose figure is
equal and similar to the horizontal projection of the funda¬
mental form. The designation of the series between its
limits becomes thus:
P  00 . . . P+rc . . . P + 00.
It must be remarked, that such differences on account of
the position of the members of the series as are met with
in the rhomboid (§ 18) and the isosceles four-sided pyra¬
mid (§ 35), are not to be found in the scalene four-sided
pyramid.
45. Further Derivations.
The members of the present series are, or this series it¬
self is, now the foundation of several other derivations; and
although the forms derived by them will be nothing but
scalene four-sided pyramids and obliquangular four-sided
prisms, yet the variety in the relations of those forms is
great enough to surpass that of the forms in connection
with the rhomboid, and with the isosceles four-sided pyra¬
mid, for which reason it is one of the most interesting ob¬
jects of crystallography. The derivations already mention¬
ed apply as well to the fundamental form itself as to the
auxiliary form; and they are similar to that which has been
employed in deriving the scalene eight-sided from the isos¬
celes four-sided pyramid.
46. From the Fundamental Form.
Instead of the isosceles (§ 37), suppose the scalene four¬
sided pyramid to be the fundamental form, and prepare it
for derivation by enlarging its planes beyond the edges at
the basis, and by drawing triangles equal and similar to the
faces of the pyramid in these enlargements. The points
a, a' x a/ . . will no longer be the angles of squares, but
of oblong rectangles, the planes of which are perpendicular
to the axis AX in its terminal points. Produce now the
axis of the scalene four-sided pyramid on both sides to an
indefinite but equal length, or, what comes to the same,
multiply it by a number m, enjoying the general properties
mentioned, §§ 24, 26. Draw straight lines from the points
a, a' . . in the lower rectangle to the upper apex A', from
the points #, af . . in the upper rectangle to the under apex
X' of the lengthened axis, and join their intersections s,d..
in the plane of the enlarged basis by straight lines with the
angles of this basis. The resultant octagon will not have
alternately equal angles, like that in § 36, which is the basis
of the scalene eight-sided pyramids, but it will be irregular,
fig- 9, since of the angles B, B/, c, c', only the opposite are
equal to each other. A form constructed upon such a
basis cannot be contained under equal and similar planes,
or it cannot be a simple form. Like the four-sided pyra¬
mid of an oblong rectangular basis, it is considered as an
Fig. 9.
c
auxiliary or intermediate form, whose resolution gives the
simple forms of which it consists.'
47. Desolation of the Auxiliary Form.
This resolution is executed by enlarging those places
which are equal and similar to each other, till the rest dis¬
appear. In the present case, the resolution produces two
different scalene four-sided pyramids of equal axes, their
bases being different amongst themselves, as well as from
the bases of the fundamental form. They are termed sca¬
lene four-sided pyramids of dissimilar bases, derived from
the fundamental form, and more particularly that in which
the long diagonal of the fundamental form remains unalter¬
ed, the pyramid belonging to the long: that in which the
short diagonal remains unaltered, the pyramidal belonging
to the short diagonal of the fundamental form.
48. Designation.
This important difference between the two forms must
be expressed by the designation. The designation (P + «)”*
used for the scalene eight-sided pyramids in § 37, if refer¬
red to forms in connection with the scalene four-sided py¬
ramids, denotes at the same time both of the pyramids just
mentioned. In order to make it applicable to each of them
singly, it is now necessary to express their difference in
respect to the diagonals of the fundamental forms, which is
effected by adding the signs o and -. Thus (P + w)m re¬
presents a scalene four-sided pju-amid of dissimilar basis,
derived from P + w according to the number m, which be¬
longs to the long diagonal; (P -{- ri)1, another pyramid of
the same properties which belongs to the short diagonal of
P.
49. Ratios.
The pyramids just mentioned differ from the members
of the series (§ 44), ls£, in their axes, which, the axis of
P being — a, are expressed by ^ma ; 2c?, by the ratio of
the diagonals of their bases. Let in P the ratio of the axis
to the long and to the short diagonal be that of a : 5 : c, or
the ratios of the same lines in P + » that of 2”a : 5 : c; the
ratio of the homologous lines will be
in (V -\-n)m ma : b : me,
in (P11)1 — 2nma : mb : c,
as follows easily from the consideration of a few triangles
in the figures required for explaining the derivation. Hence
the ratio between the diagonals of the bases in the derived
forms, that of the fundamental form remaining constant,
depends only upon the number m. Accordingly, if m be
supposed constant, all the pyramids of this kind, derived
from scalene four-sided pyramids of similar bases, will like¬
wise, as far as they belong to one or the other diagonal,
contain similar bases or transverse sections, the axes of the
119
Mlnera.
iogy.
120
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
sed from the agreement existing between the forms derived Minera-
from the scalene, and those derived from the isosceles four- logy,
sided pyramid. In order to obtain the members of these ^
^ -- subordinate series, enlarge the laces of the fundamental
If those forms are the members of the above series, each fi 10? on both gides . draw in the enlarged faces
   4-r. /-i/.rt Qo'r'tps nl* derived nvramids of a dissimi- t,-.:„ jq
forms, subservient to the derivation, may be whatever they
Wi^* 50. Double Series.
m gives rise to tivo series of derived pyramids of a dissimi
lar basis, viz. one whose members refer to the long, and
another whose members refer to the short diagonal ol the
basis of the fundamental form. From each of those series
having constant transverse sections in all their members, it
appears that the obliquangular four-sided prisms, limiting
them, must likewise be subject to the equality of transverse
sections or bases. Both the series stand, therefore, be¬
tween their limits, thus:
Fig.
P — oo
...(P+8)
,..(P + 8)r
. . (P + n)
p — oo . . . (P + w)
What has been observed in § 44 in respect to position, may
be equally applied here. The values of m hitherto most
commonly, though not exclusively observed, are _ 3, 4, 5.
But neither in this case are they the only ones.
51. Derivations from the Auxiliary Form, § 41. Batios
of the Series.
Instead of the fundamental form P, or of P + w, suppose
the auxiliary or intermediate form, belonging to it, to take
its place; by applying to it the proceeding described in
§§ 46, 47, the form produced in a compound one like that
in § 46, but its resolution yields again two simple forms,
which are also scalene four-sided pyramids, whose bases are
dissimilar to those of the fundamental form. These pyramids
can be distinguished from each other by referring, the one
to the long, the other to the short diagonal; from those
derived in § 47, by the form to which the derivation is ap¬
plied, since, in § 47, it is the fundamental form itself, in
the present case, the auxiliary form belonging to it; which
latter circumstance is expressed in the crystallographic sign
by the letter r added to P. From the dimensions of the
three lines disposed perpendicularly to each other in the py¬
ramid P + n, the axis and both the diagonals, being in the
ratio of 2n« : & : c, it will follow, the ratio of the homolo¬
gous lines in the scalene four-sided pyramids of dissimilar
basis, derived from the auxiliary form, which belongs to
the long diagonal of the fundamental form, or in
(Pr+») tobe=(-2-).2 a: 6
• /tT . ™ /m+l\ on
,n(Pr+B =(-r) 2 “:U=I,)S:
triangles, equal and similar to the faces of the funda¬
mental form; through the point a, a' . . x, xf. ., thus de¬
termined, lay rhombs, similar and parallel to the basis of
the fundamental form; multiply the axis by a number m;
join the points X', A', of the lengthened axis by straight
lines with the said points a, a'. . x, x'; and, lastly, reduce
the derived pyramid which has a basis similar to that of the
fundamental form, to an equal horizontal projection with it.
The number m being not yet determined, the coefficient of
the subordinate series will be — —-— ; which, if m + 1
be equal to any power of the number 2, shews the member
to which it belongs to be a member of the principal series.
The subordinate series, whose coefficient, besides powers
of the number 2, contains the factor 3, is termed Avefirst,
and that which, in the same case, contains the factor 5, the
second subordinate series. Members of the principal, of the
first and of the second subordinate series, which are sup¬
posed to belong together, arrange themselves thus: 1: |: f>
which numbers express the ratio between their axes. The
designation and the position of the members in the subor¬
dinate series is evident from the foregoing.
53. Besolution of the Auxiliary Form, § 41. Horizontal
Prisms.
  &   „         The only form now left for examination is the auxiliary
are limited by obliquangular four-sided prisms, partaking form, § 41 ; which, as has been mentioned above, is not a
of the similarity in the transverse sections of all the mem- simple one, its faces not being homologous. By enlarging
bers. The crystallographic designation of the series, be- only those planes which, amongst themselves, are equal and
tween their limits, stands thus: similar, there arise two obliquangular four-sided prisms,
The dependence of the ratios between the diagonals of the
basis, only from m, is evident; and this remains unaltered,
how much soever a and n may be allowed to vary. If the
derivation is applied to the whole series in § 44, there will
arise two series of scalene four-sided pyramids, which pro¬
ceed according to the law of the fundamental series, and
P — oo
(Pr + n)
unlimited in the direction of their axis, and which, there¬
fore, like all the prisms, are forms in which one dimension
is infinite. The axes of the two prisms are perpendicular
to each other, and have a horizontal position, if the funda¬
mental form be in the upright position. These axes coin¬
cide with the diagonals of the basis of the fundamental form
produced to an infinite length. Hence the prisms may be
—   considered as scalene four-sided pyramids, one diagonal of
That there are certain subordinate series belonging to wdiich has become infinite ; similarly to the vertical prisms,
the series § 44, which, in reference to the former, may also that are scalene four-sided pyramids of an infinite axis. For
be considered as the principal series, can easily be suppo- the sake of distinguishing them from these, they bear the
O JY*
. (Pr + co)
P — oo ... (Pr+«)W . . . (Pr-j-ao)1”
The values of m are here the same as in the above-men¬
tioned cases. To the position applies what has been said
in § 44.
52. Subordinate Series.
MINERALOGY.
finera-
name of horizontal prisms, and their general designation is
Pr + n. More particularly, Pr + rc expresses the horizon¬
tal prism in which the longer diagonal, Pr + oo that in
which the shorter diagonal of the fundamental form has re¬
mained a finite quantity.
54. Series of Horizontal Prisms.
Every scalene four-sided pyramid, whatever its properties
may be, has its dependent horizontal prisms. To every
series of such forms will, therefore, belong two series of
horizontal prisms, to be distinguished by their designation
according to the properties of those series. It is, however,
remarked, that, if we take the common values of rn, as stated
above, the angles of several members of those series, and,
therefore, the series themselves, will be identical; and, for
this reason, one designation will suffice for them. Thus,
the number of series of those forms taken together may be
reduced to three pairs, of which the first pair belongs to
the principal, the others to the subordinate series of scalene
four-sided pyramids ; each of the diagonals having one se¬
ries referred to it. The horizontal prisms belonging to a
scalene four-sided pyramid are produced by placing tangent
planes in its homologous terminal edges. If those terminal
edges connect the terminal point of the axis with the long
diagonal, the prism is said to belong, or to be referred, to
the long; if they connect it with the short, it is said to be¬
long, or to be referred, to the short diagonal of P. The
horizontal prisms are remarkable forms, often to be met
with in the natural combinations.
55. Limits of the Series of Horizontal Prisms.
By comparing the horizontal prisms belonging to mem¬
bers of a series of scalene four-sided pyramids, it becomes
evident how, whilst the axis of the pyramid increases, the
angle of the horizontal prism contiguous to the axis of the
fundamental form becomes smaller and smaller; whilst the
other, at the intersection of the planes from different apices,
becomes greater and greater. If the axis of the pyramid
become infinite, or the pyramid itself a vertical prism, the
first of these angles will disappear, the second become =
180°. Hence a horizontal prism is transformed, in this
case, in a pair of unlimited parallel planes, perpendicular to
the diagonals to which they belong. These planes, which
may be considered as forms unlimited, as it were, in two
directions, are the limits of the series of horizontal prisms,
the axis of the pyramid to which they belong being infinite.
The opposite limits, or those which appear, if the pyramid
have an infinitely small axis, appear as faces perpendicular
to the axis. The series of horizontal prisms between their
limits may, accordingly, be represented thus:
56. Derivations from the Hexahedron.
„ Besides the rhomboid, the isosceles, and the scalene four¬
sided pyramids, there is only one other form existing fit for
being considered as a fundamental form, or which, without
being derivable from any one of the former, can itself serve
as basis to the derivation. This form is the hexahedron^
Fig]1- Fig. 12.
ties, differing, however, from each other more by their ge¬
neral aspect than by their dimensions. The complete as¬
semblage of those forms is obtained in the following way.
Bring first the hexahedron in an upright position, so as
to bring one of its corners uppermost, and the opposite per¬
pendicularly below it, by which means the rhomboidal axis,
passing the two corners, becomes vertical; then consider
the possible situations of a moveable plane, tangent to the
hexahedron in the uppermost point of the said rhomboidal
axis. The different situations the plane can effect are seven
in number; but in one of them it becomes parallel to the
face of the hexahedron itself. Every one of these situa¬
tions gives rise to a peculiar form ; hence there will exist
as many forms as the moveable plane can assume different
situations, and no more. The forms thus obtained agree
Fig. 13.
Fig. 14.
121
Minera-
logy.
P — go . . . Pr + rc . . . Pr + co
P — GO . . . Pr + M . . . Pr -f 00 .
For, having the designation in every respect complete, the
coefficient of the series to which the horizontal prism be¬
longs must be added to the sign for a particular member.
Although this is not a place for entering into the exami¬
nation of combined forms, yet that peculiar combination
which is produced by the two limits of the series of hori¬
zontal prisms, and takes the appearance of a vertical rec¬
tangular four-sided prism, net yet limited in the direction
of its axis, cannot remain unnoticed. This combination is
designated by Pr + oo . Pr + oo ; it must carefully be dis¬
tinguished from the rectangular four-sided prisms, limiting
the series of isosceles four-sided pyramids, wdiich, abstrac¬
tion being made of the face perpendicular to the axis, are
simple forms ; a property not belonging to the rectangular
prism in connection with the scalene four-sided pyramid.
VOL. xv.
in several of their properties, particularly in respect of the
kind, number, and situation of their axis, and are as fol-
Fig- 15. Fig. 16.
«
V
122
Minera¬
logy.
teral triangles. 3. The one-edgcd tetragonal dodecahe¬
dron, fig. 13, contained under twelve rhombs. 4. The
^ hexahedral trigonal-icositetrahedron (fig. 14), contained
under twenty-four isosceles triangles, its prominent form
being that of the hexahedron. 5. The octahedral trigonal-
icositetrahedron (fig. 15), contained under twenty-four
isosceles triangles, its prominent form being that of the oc¬
tahedron. 6. The two-edged tetragonal-icositetrahedron
(fig. 16), contained under twenty-four irregular tetragons,
in which two of the opposite angles are equal; and, 7, The
tptracontaoctahedron (fig. 17), contained under forty-eight
MINERALOGY.
tetragonal dodecahedrons (fig. 20), contained under twelve Minera-
tetragonal faces, in which there is only one pair of equal logy,
angles ; those from the twro-edged tetragonal-icositetrahe- y~'*
dron, the two trigonal dodecahedrons (fig. 21), contained
under twelve isosceles triangles ; and lastly, the halves of
’ Fis. 22.
Fig. 21.
Fig. 17.
Fig. 18.
the tetracontaoctahedron, viz. a, the tetrahedral irigonal-
Fig. 23. Fig. 24.
scalene triangles. The dimensions of the three first of
these forms are constant, a property not to be met with in
the others, of which, therefore, several varieties may be
found differing from each other by their angles.
57* Resolution of some of those Forms into Halves.
MINERALOGY.
inera- only by the number of objects they contain, the latter being
)gy. a particular determination of the former; and both refer not
so much to the mere aggregation of forms-, as to the rela¬
tions prevailing amongst them.
60. Denomination of the Systems of Crystallization.
The systems of crystallization, agreeing in number with
the fundamental forms, of which there are four, receive
their names according to those fundamental forms. That
which has been derived from the rhomboid is called the
rhomhoidal system, because its forms agree with the rhom¬
boid in their general properties ; that which has been de¬
rived from the isosceles four-sided pyramid, for the same
reason, the pyramidal system ; that which has been derived
from the scalene four-sided pyramid, the prismatic system,
on account of the great number and variety of prisms it
contains ; and that which has been derived from the hexa¬
hedron, the tessular system, in order to intimate that there
occurs no other system of crystallization in nature which
shares in the general properties of the hexahedron. It is
evident that any form, if known, will suffice for the deter¬
mination of the system to which it belongs, even though
this form be a limiting one. Only the right rectangular
four-sided prism is an exception, since it may be a simple
form in the tessular, a double combination (P—oo . P+oo )
in the pyramidal, and a triple' combination (P—co .
O —
Pr+oo . Pr+oo ) in the prismatic system. The consider¬
ation of the mere form does not decide at all in this case.
Some of the means of removing this uncertainty will be
explained hereafter.
61. Determination of the series of Crystallization.
A series of crystallization is determined by any one of
its members, which is no limiting form, if the dimensions of
it are known. These dimensions, if they are not (like those
of the hexahedron, the octahedron, &c.) constant, must be
made out by direct measurement. From these the dimen¬
sions of any other member, or of the fundamental form, if
it has not been measured itself, can be found, in compliance
with the relations developed above. The series of crystal¬
lization proves of great importance for the determination
of the natural history species in the mineral kingdom. It
is also an external character of the utmost value in the cha¬
racter of the species. This character requires, therefore,
the dimensions of a member of the series to be stated, of
which the most eligible is the fundamental form. The li¬
mits do not determine the series of crystallization, since,
in the rhomboidal and in the pyramidal system, they are
common to all; in the prismatic, at least to those series
which possess a similar transverse section. Hence the ob¬
taining the limiting forms is not sufficient for the character
of the natural history species.
62. General Laws of Combination.
The second advantage flowing from the above inquiries,
consists in the accurate understanding of the qualities of
combinations, and of the development of their most general
laws. The first of these laws stands thus :—The forms
which nature combines must belong to one series of crystal¬
lization. The second, The combination must be effected
in that position of the several simpleforms it contains, which
the derivation assigns to them. Upon these two laws de¬
pends the symmetry of the combinations, which, therefore,
is not the fundamental law of crystallization.
63. Tthomboidal and Dirhomboidal Combinations.
An accurate investigation of the combinations is one of
the most interesting parts of crystallography. Without
entering into minute details, some of their relations may be
shortly mentioned, as they convey general ideas of the con¬
nection between different forms, and as they are, there¬
fore, of consequence in the system of arrangement and dis¬
crimination to be explained in this article.
Combinations of the rhomboidal system, produced by
simple forms in such a manner that they appear in the com¬
bination with the full number of their faces, and in their
proper position, are termed rhomboidal combinations.
Such are the most common combinations in the rhomboidal
system. Suppose, on the contrary, a rhomboid to combine
with itself in a turned position, it will affect the shape of a
simple form, and appear as an isosceles six-sided pyramid.
It is termed a dirhomboid, and designated by 2 (K -f- n).
The dirhomboids do not arrange themselves with the isos¬
celes six-sided pyramids in the same series (§ 29), because
there is a difference existing in the situation of the bases in
the one and in the other, as becomes evident in consider¬
ing the derivation. In a similar way, two equal scalene
six-sided pyramids being combined in a turned position, pro¬
duce a scalene twelve-sided pyramid, which has as little right
as the dirhomboid to be ranked with the simple forms, al¬
though its faces are all equal and similar to each other.
Combinations produced by, or containing forms of this kind,
are termed dirhomboidal combinations.
64. Hemi-rhomboidal and Hemi-dirhomboidal Combina¬
tions.
It sometimes happens in the rhomboidal system, that the
forms enter only with half the number of their faces into a
combination. If these combinations contain simple forms,
they are said to be hemi-rhomboidal; if they contain any
of the above-mentioned compound forms under this restric¬
tion, they are said to be hemi-dirhomboidal. A further
distinction is to be made among such combinations, in as
much as the faces contiguous to one apex are either par¬
allel, or inclined to those of the other. The hemi-rhom¬
boidal, or hemi-dirhomboidal, are said, in the first case, to
be of parallel, in the other to be of inclined faces. An
example will put the importance of this difference in its full
light: enlarge in a scalene six-sided pyramid the alternating
faces contiguous to one apex, and, at the same time, those
of the opposite apex, which are parallel to the former, the
resultant form will take the appearance of a rhomboid, with¬
out in reality being a form of this kind. If, on the con¬
trary, the faces enlarged on the opposite apex are inclined
to those of the former, the resultant form is contained under
six trapezoidal faces.
65. Pyramidal and Hemi-pyramidal Combinations.
A relation similar to that which in the rhomboidal system
has been expressed by the name of hemi-rhomboidal, is
equally found in the pyramidal system, and here it consti¬
tutes the hemi-pyramidal combinations. The hemi-pyra¬
midal combinations of parallel faces refer only to the eight¬
sided pyramids, which by this affect the shape of isosceles
four-sided pyramids, without partaking of their other pro¬
perties ; those of inclined faces refer also to the isosceles
four-sided pyramids, which yield forms analogous to the te¬
trahedron, whilst the result of the scalene eight-sided pyra¬
mid is a particular form, contained under eight scalene tri¬
angles.
66. Prismatic, Hcmi-prismatic, and Tetarto-prismatic
Combinations.
The differences already mentioned are particularly re¬
markable in the prismatic system. From what has been
said in respect to the other systems, it becomes evident
what is meant by prismatic and by hemi-prismatic combi¬
nations. The latter expression refers also to one or to se¬
veral prisms, whose axes are parallel, if they enter into the
combinations with only half the number of their faces. A
similar relation of forms in the present system, marked by
123
Minera-
logy.
r
MINERALOGY.
124
Minera- the expression tetarto-prismatic, arises, when of a scalene
logy, four-sided pyramid only the fourth part, as to the number,
of the faces appear in a combination. Such a combination
can also be produced by oblique angular four-sided prisms,
whose axes are perpendicular to each other, when only half
the number of their faces is visible. The hemi and tetarto-
prismatic combinations illustrate the oblique, the rectangu¬
lar as well as the obliquangular prisms produced by nature.
These belong altogether to the prismatic system, and none
of them is a simple form.
The signs of the hemi-rhomboidal, hemi-pyramidal, and
hemi-prismatic, are composed of the signs of the whole
forms, and of the number 2, placed below them like a di¬
visor ; instead of the latter, the signs of the tetarto-prisma¬
tic combinations contain the number 4 as divisor.
67. Tessular and Semi-tessular Combinations.
Those combinations of the tessular system, into which no
halves or fourths enter, are called tessular combinations,
and in the present place they need no further explanation.
Combinations of this system, however, containing halves,
are termed semi-tessular combinations. These allow of a
further distinction into semi-tessular combinations of paral¬
lel faces, and into those of inclined faces, as is the case in
the hemi-rhomboidal and hemi-pyramidal combinations.
The halves peculiar to the former are those in which every
face is parallel to another, as the hexahedral pentagonal-
dodecahedron, the three-edged tetragonal-icositetrahedron,
and the general aspect of the forms undergoes thereby no
alteration. The halves peculiar to the latter have not two
faces parallel to each other, as the tetrahedron, the tetrahe¬
dral trigonal-icositetrahedron, &c., and the combination it¬
self assumes, or at least approaches to a tetrahedral aspect.
Instead of crystallographic signs, verbal expressions are
employed, in the characteristic part of this article, when de¬
scribing the forms of the tessular system ; because the use
of the former is in the present system subject to much
greater difficulties, without affording services either so be¬
neficial or so numerous as in the other systems.
68. Development of the Combinations.
To develope a combination is to exhibit by itself each of
the simple forms which it contains (§ 4). The determina¬
tion of the kind of these forms has no difficulty whatever.
The homologous planes of a combination being enlarged till
the rest disappear, one of the forms after the other is pro¬
duced. To find out their relations, upon the knowledge of
which, nevertheless, depends the demonstration of the com¬
binations, is somewhat more circumstantial, and here the
series of simple forms, produced by the derivation, shew
their great utility. The following paragraph contains a ge¬
neral idea of the mode of proceeding, followed for this pur¬
posely crystallography, though its full explanation would
require too much calculation to be given in this place.
69. Line of Combination, General Formulce for it, and
their Application.
Imagine a combination of two simple forms, whose di¬
mensions are known, and which themselves are in such a
position as is peculiar to the system of crystallization to
which they belong. Suppose now two terminal edges, or
two diagonals, or one terminal edge and one diagonal, that
are situated in a plane which, at the same time, passes
through the axis, to be prolonged, till they intersect each
other above or below, in a finite or infinite distance from a
horizontal plane, laid through the centre of the axis. The
straight line measuring the distance between the mutual
intersection of the two lengthened lines, and that in which
one of the lines meets with the horizontal plane, is termed
the line of combination. The length and situation of the
line of combination are evidently dependent upon the di¬
mensions of the combined forms; and inversely the situa¬
tion of the edge of combination (§ 3.) is dependent upon Minera. '
the length and situation of the line of combination: for, logy,
join by a straight line the terminal point of the line of com-
bination with one of the points of intersection between the
edges and diagonals of the combined forms, amongst them¬
selves or with each other, the prolongation of this line will
equally pass through the other point of intersection, and
therefore be identical with the edge of combination.
Hence if two forms of a system, in a determined position,
produce writh a third form lines of combination equal both
in length and situation, the edges of combination thus pro¬
duced will be equally situated ; and if the two forms enter
at once into combination with the third, the edges of com¬
bination produced by the first and the third must be pa¬
rallel to those between the second and the third.
Crystallography developes general formulae, expressing
the quantity of the line of combination respecting the three
first systems of crystallization (this not being required for
the tessular system), in which due notice is taken of the
kind of forms, their position, and the quality of the edges
of combination, namely, whether the faces producing them
are contiguous to one or to different apices of the simple
forms. Of these formulae, that which answers to the cir¬
cumstances of a given combination between two known
simple forms, is chosen and determined for that particular
case, by substituting, instead of the variable quantities, m
and n occurring in them, those finite numbers, which de¬
pend upon the place of the members in the series, and those
factors by which the axes of the rhomboids and others have
been multiplied. Thus the quantity of the line of combi¬
nation, expressed either by a terminal edge, or by a diago¬
nal, or by the axis of one or the other form contained in the
combination, is found. Another formula must now be
chosen, answering to a combination between one of these
known forms, and another unknoion, which produces with
it edges of combination parallel to those in the combination
of the two known forms. The formula must be determined
for the case in question, by the substitution of numbers to
m and n. This can only be done in respect to the known
forms; m and n of the unknown remain unaltered in the
expression. This expression, as is evident from the pre¬
ceding, must be equal to the value of the line of combina¬
tion found above. These two equal terms give an equation
to be resolved for the values of m and n.
If the unknown form contains only n (as for instance it
being a rhomboid, where ra = 1), it is determined in the
manner already mentioned. If, on the contrary, it contains
m and n at once, another equation must be established in
order to determine the second quantity, which is effected in
the manner shewn already. Some experience in this me¬
thod of developing the combinations will teach how to take
advantage of certain circumstances offering themselves, by
which very often it is rendered possible to argue imme¬
diately upon one of the unknown quantities m or n, or even
sometimes upon both, and to determine the relations of se¬
veral forms, according to such arguments, without being
obliged to employ calculations.
Every simple form being thus determined as member of
a series, and furnished with its crystallographic sign; the
combination containing those simple forms will be desig¬
nated by wrriting the signs for the simple forms one after the
other, as some instances in the preceding, § 60, have already
shewn. As to the order in which the signs succeed each
other in designating a combination, there are tw o distinct
methods, each of which may be applied. Either those
forms, whose planes are perpendicular to the axis, are set
down first, those whose planes are parallel to it, last; the
rest following each other according to the greater or less
inclination which their faces have toward the axis, as de¬
creasing from 90° to 0° ; or the forms, according to their
kind, are collected into series between their limits, and then
set down one after the other. The designation
MINERALOGY.
JlStera- ^—1 • (P—2)5. R . | R. R 1 . (P)3. R -f_ qq .
"J* « b c d e f g
■v ' represents fig. 26, according to the first method,
Fig. 26.
pyramidal copper-pyrites, the fundamental form is P, though
the cleavage-form is P + 1. No cleavage-form, whose di¬
mensions are infinite, can be employed as a fundamental
(P—2)s . (py
* /
R—1 .R.R + 1 .| R.R + oo
ace d g
the same, after the second method.
/0. Calculation of the Angles at the Edges of Combina¬
tion.
After having developed the combination, the last of¬
fice of crystallography is to calculate the angles of com¬
bination, or the incidences of the faces of different forms.
In many instances this angle follows at once from those
of the simple forms. If this will not do, crystallography
employs general formulae for the trigonometrical functions
of the edge of combination, similar to those for the line
of combination, containing equally the variable quanti¬
ties m and n. The development of the combinations de¬
termines these quantities, and if substituted in the said for¬
mulae, they give the value of a trigonometrical function,
commonly of the cosine of the angle, produced by two
aces of different forms, meeting in the edge of combination,
II. Cleavage. Foliated Fracture of Werner.
Cleavage is the property which minerals possess of split-
iry ce.rta^n determinate directions. The faces or planes auic uy x luicaam iv±u
us obtained, which are termed the faces of the cleavage, ful scale of hardness :
are more or less smooth and shining. The forms contained 1. Talc, of a white or greenish colour,
un er these forms are called of cleavage, or cleavage- 2. Rock-salt, a pure cleavable variety, or semitranspa-
/oms. rent wncrystallized gypsum, the transparent and crystalliz-
,va£’e"fi)rrns represent members of the series of ed varieties being generally too soft,
crystallization of those mineral species to which the mine- 3. Calcareous spar, a cleavable variety,
ra aving the cleavage belongs. The same may be infer- 4. Fluor-spar, in which the cleavage is distinct. .
re o such individuals or species as possess more than one 5. Apatite, the asparagus stone, or phosphate of lime,
c eavage-form. Hence cleavage extends the application of from Saltzburg.
crystallography in the mineral kingdom, because a mineral, 6. Adulariafelspar, any cleavable variety.
.. ^ crystallized, may be cleavable, and thus 7* Rock-crystal, a transparent variety,
a ow t e series, at least the system of crystallization, to 8. Prismatic topaz, any simple variety.
e ma e out by cleavage in most of the cases where no 9- Corundum from India, which affords smooth cleavage
regular crystallizations occur. surfaces.
The cleavage-forms are designated like those of crystal¬
lization. Cleavage-forms, Mohs remarks, if among the
e number of those which, in the preceding pages, served
as a basis to the derivation, are by preference chosen for
representing the fundamental form in the species to which
10. The Diamond.
If we wish, by means of this scale, to ascertain the
hardness of a mineral, we first try which of the members of
the scale is scratched by it. In order to save the speci¬
mens of the scale it is desirable to begin, in our determina-
Mjiin uic speiaea lu winuu mens oi uie scaie it is uesiraoie to oegm, in our ueierimna-
ey ® on£ 5 as rhomboidal calc-spar, the rhomboid of tion of hardness, with the highest members of the scale,
° f * , *s r^e’ h°wever, suffers an exception in the and proceed downwards, until we reach the one which is
case of a rhomboid or a pyramid, which occur as cleavage- scratched. We next take a fine hard file, and draw along
oi ms, being too obtuse or too acute. For this reason, in its surface, with the least possible force, the specimen we
^ From,*!*,,, the axis, and I cut; cleavable in one direction.
125
Minera.
logy.
A few technical expressions are employed by Mohs in
determining the cleavage, of which the following mav be
enumerated Cleavage, in the three first systems of crys¬
tallization, which are those of variable dimensions, is said
to be axotomous, when it appears as a single plane or face
perpendicular to the axis; it is said to be paratomous* if
it is parallel to the faces of a finite form; and peritomous?
if it takes place parallel to the axis, and equally distinct in
moie than one direction. In the prismatic system, the ex¬
pression prismatoidal means a single cleavage face parallel
to the axis; and diprismatic denotes the cleavage to be
parallel at the same time to the faces of a vertical, and to
those of a horizontal obliquangular four-sided prism. The
expression monotomous, referring to the three systems is
more general than any of the foregoing; it comprises the
axotomous and the prismatoidal, and is applied where a
single cleavage-face is met with, whose position in regard to
the axes, that is to say, whether it is parallel or perpendicu¬
lar to the axis, has not been determined. The perfection
or distinctness of the cleavage, which is next to be consi¬
dered, refers to the aspect of the faces of the cleavage,
viz. whether these are more or less smooth or shining,
whether they are streaked, &c. The most important ob¬
ject be remarked in this respect, is the sameness of qua¬
lity existing in the faces belonging to one and the same,
and the diversity of faces belonging to different cleavage-
forms ; the latter is a particular illustrated and confirmed
by the derivations of the prismatic system. The nature of
the faces of the cleavage is one of the means to remove the
uncertainty mentioned in § 60, on account of the right rec¬
tangular prism. Lastly, it may be remarked, that we must
be careful not to confound certain faces of composition
(§ 86), which sometimes likewise keep constant directions
with the cleavage-forms.
III. Hardness
Is the resistance which solid minerals oppose, when we
attempt to separate their parts.
This important character has been rendered more avail¬
able by Professor Mohs, who gives the following as a use-
I rom beside, and Ti^u, 1 cut; with cleavage planes, which are parallel with the planes of the fundamental figure, or
are inclined to the axis.
from tnj/, round about, and rtpyu, I cut; with surrounding cleavage planes parallel to the axis
120
MINERALOGY.
Minera- are examining, and also one of the minerals in the scale
logy. whose hardness is immediately above that of the mineral
which has been scratched, in order to compare them toge¬
ther. From the resistance they offer to the file, from the
noise occasioned by their passing along it, and from the
quantity of powder left on its surface, their relative hard¬
ness is deduced. If the two specimens afford the same de¬
gree of noise and resistance, and same quantity of powder,
their hardness is the same. When, after repeated trials,
we are satisfied to which member of the scale of hardness
one mineral is most nearly allied, we say its hardness (sup¬
pose it to be felspar) is equal to 6, and write after it H =
6.0. If the mineral do not exactly correspond with any
degree of the scale, but is found to be between two of them,
we say H = 6.5.
In our experiments we must be careful to employ speci¬
mens, each of which nearly agree in form and size, and
also as much as possible in the shape of their angles. They
should also be quite pure, as, if impure, their hardness can¬
not be determined with accuracy.
IV. Specific Gravity.
The specific gravity of minerals, a very important dis¬
tinctive character, is determined by means of the hydrosta¬
tic balance, the hydrometer or areometer, and Adie’s ap¬
paratus, a new instrument. {Vide Memoirs of the Werne¬
rian Society.) These instruments, and the mode of taking
specific gravities, are given under other articles in this
work.
II. CHARACTERS EMPLOYED IN THE DESCRIPTION
OF THE SPECIES, SUB-SPECIES, KINDS, AND VA¬
RIETIES OF MINERALS.
1. Colour 2. Common and Particular External Forms 3. Dis¬
tinct Concretions 4. Surface.—5. Lustre—6. Fracture—7.
Shape of Fragments.—8. Transparency.—9. Opalescence 10.
Streak.—11. Soiling.—12. Tenacity.— 13. Frangibility 14.
Flexibility 15. Adhesion to the Tongue.—16. Unctuosity.—
17. Smell—18. Taste.
I. Colour.
The colours in the mineral kingdom are not so nume¬
rous as is generally imagined; and even the varieties, al¬
though often extremely beautiful, and apparently infinite
in number, bera but a small proportion to the vast series
that characterize the various productions of the vegetable
and animal kingdoms. Werner, who bestowed great at¬
tention on this interesting and beautiful character, enu¬
merates eight 'principal colours, viz. white, grey, black,
blue, green, yellow, red, and brown. Each of these prin¬
cipal colours exhibits a greater or less number of varieties;
the purest variety is named the characteristic colour, thus
snow-white, the purest colour of the white series, is the
characteristic colour. Colours are further divided into no7i-
metallic, or those without metallic lustre, and into metallic,
or those with metallic lustre.
I. Definitions of the different Varieties of Colours.
Non-metallic Colours.
1. WHITE.
1. Snow-white is the purest colour, and agrees with that
of newr-fallen snow. Examples of this colour occur in Car¬
rara marble and common quartz.
2. Reddish-white is snow-white with a slight intermix¬
ture of red and grey. Example, heavy-spar.
3. Yellowish-white is snow-white with very little lemon-
yellow and ash-grey. Example, chalk.
4. Greyish-white is snow-white mixed with a little ash-
grey. Example, quartz.
5. Greenish-white is snow-white mixed with a very lit¬
tle emerald-green and ash-grey. Example, amianthus.
6. Milk-white is snow-white mixed with a little Berlin - Miner;;
blue and ash-grey. The colour of skimmed milk. Exam- logy,
pie, calcedony.
2. GREY.
1. Bluish-grey is ash-grey mixed with a little blue. Ex¬
ample, limestone.
2. Pearl-grey is pale bluish-grey mixed with a little red.
Example, porcelain jasper, and rarely quartz.
3. Smoke-grey, or brownish-grey, is dark bluish-grey
mixed with a little brown. Colour of dense smoke. Exam¬
ple, dark varieties of flint.
4. Greenish-grey is ash-grey mixed with a little emerald-
green, and has sometimes a faint trace of yellow. Exam¬
ple, clay-slate and whet-slate.
5. Yellowish-grey is ash-grey mixed with lemon-yellow
and a trace of brown. Example, calcedony.
6. Ash-grey, the characteristic colour, is a mixture of
black and white. It is the colour of wood-ashes. Exam¬
ple, zoisite, zircon, and slate-clay.
3. BLACK.
1. Greyish-black is velvet-black mixed with ash-grey.
Example, basalt, Lydian stone, and lucullite.
2. Velvet-black is the characteristic colour of this series.
It is the colour of black velvet. Example, obsidian and
schorl.
3. Pitch-black, or brownish-black, is velvet-black mixed
with a little yellowish-brown. Example, cobalt ochre, bi¬
tuminous coal, and some varieties of mica.
4. Greenish-black, or raven-black, is velvet-black mixed
with a little greenish-grey. Example, hornblende.
5. Bluish-black is velvet-black mixed with a little blue.
Is a rare colour; is well marked in the reniform cobalt
ochre from Saalfeld, Thuringia, &c.
4. BLUE.
1. Blackish-blue is Berlin blue mixed with much black,
and a trace of red. Example, dark varieties of blue copper.
2. Azure-blue is Berlin-blue mixed with a little red.
Examples, in bright varieties of blue copper and lapis-
lazuli.
3. Violet-blue is Berlin-blue mixed with much red, and
very little black. Examples, amethyst and octahedral
fluor-spar.
4. Lavender-blue is pale violet-blue mixed with much
grey. Examples, lithomarge and porcelain jasper.
5. Plum-blue is Berlin-blue with more red than in vio¬
let-blue, and a small portion of brown and black. Exam¬
ples, spinel and octahedral fluor-spar.
6. Berlin-blue is the purest or characteristic colour of
the series. Examples, sapphire, rock-salt, kyanite.
7. Smalt-blue is Berlin-blue, with much white, and a
trace of green. Examples, pale-coloured smalt, named
eschel, and some varieties of gypsum.
8. Duck-blue is a dark blue colour, composed of blue,
much green, and a little black. Examples, ceylanite, talc,
and corundum.
9. Indigo-blue is a deep blue colour, composed of blue,
with a considerable portion of black, and a little green.
Example, earthy blue iron of Eckardsberg, in Thuringia.
10. Sky-blue, the mountain-blue of painters, is a pale
blue colour, composed of blue, green, and a little white.
It is the colour of a clear sky, hence its name. Examples,
lenticular copper, some varieties of fluor-spar, and of blue-
spar.
5. GREEN.
1. Verdigris-green is emerald- green mixed with much
Berlin-blue and a little white. Examples, the variety of
felspar named amazon stone, and prismatic liriconite.
2. Celandine-green is verdigris-green mixed with ash-
grey. Examples, green earth, Siberian and Brazilian beryl.
MINERALOGY.
3. Mountain-green is emerald-green mixed with much
blue, and a little yellowish-grey; or verdigris-green with
yellowish-grey. Examples, beryl, aqua-marine topaz.
4. Leek-green is emerald-green with bluish-grey and a
little brown. Examples, common actynolite and prase.
5. Emerald-green is the characteristic or pure unmixed
green. Examples, emerald, and some varieties of green
malachite.
6. Apple-green is emerald-green mixed with a little
greyish-white. Example, chrysoprase.
7. Grass-green is emerald-green mixed with a little le¬
mon-yellow. Examples, uranite, smaragdite, and some kinds
of green malachite.
8. Blackish-green is pistachio-green mixed with a con¬
siderable portion of black. Examples, augite, and pre¬
cious serpentine.
9. Pistachio-green, the sap-green of painters, is emerald-
green mixed with more yellow than in grass-green, and a
small portion of brown. Examples, chrysolite and epidote.
10. Asparagus-green is pistachio-green mixed with a
little greyish-white, or emerald-green mixed with yellow
and a little brown. Example, the variety of phosphate of
lime named asparagus stone, from Spain and Salzburg.
11. Olive-green is grass-green mixed with much brown
and a little grey. Examples, garnet, olivenite, pitch-stone,
and olivine.
12. Oil-green is emerald-green mixed with yellow,
brown, and grey ; or pistachio-green with much yellow
and light ash-grey. Is the colour of olive-oil. Examples,
yellow-blende, beryl, and pitchstone.
13. Siskin-green is emerald-green mixed with much le¬
mon-yellow and a little white. Examples, uran mica and
some varieties of phosphate of lead.
6. YELLOW.
1. Sulphur-yellow is lemon-yellow mixed with much
emerald-green and white. Example, native sulphur.
2. Straw-yellow is sulphur-yellow mixed with much
greyish-white. Examples, some varieties of schorlite and
carpholite.
3. Wax-yellow is lemon-yellow mixed with reddish-
brown and a little ash-grey; or it may be considered as
honey-yellow with greyish-white. Examples, opal and yel¬
low lead-spar.
4. Honey-yellow is sulphur-yellow mixed with chestnut-
brown. Colour of dark varieties of honey. Examples,
fluor-spar and beryl.
5. Lemon-yellow is the pure unmixed or characteristic
colour. It is the colour of the rind of ripe lemons. Ex¬
ample, yellow orpiment.
6. Ochre-yellow is lemon-yellow mixed with a consider¬
able quantity of light chestnut-brown. Examples, yellow
earth and jasper.
7. Wine-yellow is lemon-yellow mixed with a small por¬
tion of red and greyish-white. Examples, !2>xon and Bra¬
zilian topaz, and octahedral fluor-spar.
8. Cream-yellow, or Isabella-yellow, contains more red
and grey than the wine-yellow, and also a little brown.
Examples, bole from Strigau and compact limestone.
9. Orange-yellow is lemon-yellow with carmine-red.
It is the colour of the rind of the ripe orange. Examples,
uran-ochre, and some varieties of molybdate of lead-
7. RED.
1. Aurora, or morning-red, is carmine-red mixed with
much lemon-yellow. Example, red orpiment.
2. Hyacinth-red is carmine-red mixed with lemon-yel¬
low, and a minute portion of brown ; or aurora-red mixed
with a minute portion of brown. Examples, hyacinth and
dodecahedral garnet.
3. Tile-red is hyacinth-red mixed with greyish-white.
The colour of tiles or bricks. Examples, fresh burned por¬
celain jasper, and some varieties of foliated zeolite.
4. Scarlet-red is carmine-red mixed with a very little
lemon-yellow. Example, light red cinnabar from * Wolf-
stein.
5. Blood-red is scarlet-red mixed with a small portion
of black. The colour of blood. Example, pyrope.
6. Flesh-red is blood-red mixed with greyish-white.
Examples, felspar and heavy spar.
7. Carmine-red is the characteristic colour. The co¬
lour of carmine. Examples, spinel, particularly in thin
splinters, also in rubellite.
8. Cochineal-red is carmine-red mixed with bluish-grey.
Examples, cinnabar and certain garnets.
9. Crimson-red is carmine-red mixed with a consider¬
able portion of blue. Examples, oriental ruby and cobalt
bloom.
10. Columbine-red is carmine-red with more blue than
the preceding variety, and, what is characteristic for this
colour, a little black. Example, precious garnet.
11. Rose-red is cochineal-red mixed with white. Exam¬
ples, red manganese and rose-quartz.
12. Peach-blossom-red is crimson-red mixed with white.
The colour of the blossoms of the peach. Example, red
cobalt-ochre.
13. Cherry-red is crimson-red mixed with a considerable
portion of brownish-black. Examples, spinel, red anti¬
mony, and precious garnet.
14. 'Broivnish-red is blood-red mixed with brown. The
colour of reddle, a ferruginous clay used in drawing, and of
columnar clay ironstone.
8. BROWN.
1. Reddish-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with a little
red and yellow; or chestnut-brown with a small portion of
aurora-red. Examples, brown-blende from the Hartz, and
pyramidal zircon.
2. Clove-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with cochineal-
red and a little black. It is the colour of the clove. Ex¬
amples, rock-crystal and axinite.
3. Hair-brown is clove-brown mixed with ash-grey.
Examples, wood-opal and brown iron-ore.
4. Broccoli-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with much
blue and a small portion of green and red. Example,
zircon.
5. Chestnut-brown is the characteristic or pure brown
colour. Example, Egyptian jasper.
6. Yellowish-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with a con¬
siderable portion of lemon-yellow. Examples, iron-flint and
jasper.
7. Pinchbeck-brown is yellowish-brown with metallic or
semi-metallic lustre. Rather the colour of tarnished pinch¬
beck. Example, mica.
8. Wood-brown is yellowish-brown mixed with much
pale ash-grey. Examples, mountain wood and bituminous
wood.
9. Liver-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with olive-green
and ash-grey. The colour of boiled liver. Example, com¬
mon jasper.
10. Blackish-brown is chestnut-brown mixed with black.
Examples, mineral pitch from Neufchatel, and moor coal.
Metallic Colours.
1. WHITE.
1. Silver-white is yellowish-white, with metallic lustre.
Examples, arsenical pyrites and native silver.
2. Tin-white is milk-white, with metallic lustre. Exam¬
ple, native antimony.
2. GREY.
1. Lead-grey is bluish-grey, with metallic lustre. Ex¬
ample, galena or lead-glance.
127
Minera-
togY-
t
V
128
Minera-
logy.
MINER
2. Steel-grey is dark ash-gtey with metallic lustre. Ex¬
ample, native platina.
3. BLACK.
1. Iron-black is greyish-black with metallic lustre. Ex¬
ample, black or magnetic iron-ore.
4. YELLOW.
1. Brass-yellow is sulphur-yellow with metallic lustre.
Example, copper-pyrites.
2. Bronze-yellow is brass-yellow mixed with steel-grey,
and a minute portion of reddish-brown. Example, iron
pyrites.
3. Gold-yellow is lemon-yellow with Metallic lustre.
Example, gold-yellow native gold.
5. RED.
1. Copper-red is flesh-red with metallic colour. Ex¬
amples, native copper and copper nickel.
A L O G Y.
semblage of yellow, green, blue, red, and brown colours, ,
on a yellow ground. The colours are nearly equal in pro- * i0gV“
portion, and are never precisely distinct, but always pass'"—
more or less into one another. Example, copper-pyrites.
b. Iridescent, or rainbow tarnish. In this variety the
colours are red, blue, green, and yellow, on a grey ground.
It is more beautiful and brighter than the preceding. Ex¬
ample, specular iron-ore or iron-glance of Elba.
c. Columbine, or pigeon-necked tarnish. The colours
are the same as in the preceding, with this difference, that
the tints of colour are paler, and the red predominates.
Example, native bismuth of Schneeberg.
d. Tempered-steel tarnish. The colours are vfcry pale
blue, green, and very little yellow. Example, grey cobalt.
VII. Colour Suite.
Where more than one colour occurs in a species, we find
that the tints form characteristic groups or suites, peculiar
to the species.
II. The Play of the Colours.
If we look on a mineral which possesses this property,
we observe, on turning it slowly, besides its common co¬
lours, many others, which are distributed in small shining
points. It is beautifully seen in the diamond when cut,
and also in precious opal, both in the rough state and when
polished.
III. The Changeability of the Colours.
When the surface of a mineral, which we turn in differ¬
ent directions, exhibits, besides its common colours, differ¬
ent bright colours, that do not change so rapidly, are fewer
in number, and occur in larger patches than in the play of
the colour, it is said to exhibit what is called the change¬
ability of the colours. The changeability of colour is seen
only in particular directions connected with the structure
of the mineral, while the play of colour is visible in all di¬
rections. Example, Labrador felspar.
IV. Opalescence.
Consists in a kind of reflected milky-light, which some
minerals exhibit when cut en cabachon, or upon plain faces
both natural and artificial. This appearance in catseye
stone is alleged to be owing to the fibrous structure of the
mineral; while in adularia and sapphire, in which it is beau¬
tifully seen, it is traced to the foliated structure.
V. The Iridescence.
When a mineral exhibits the colours of the prism or the
rainbow, arranged in parallel, and sometimes in variously
curved layers, it is said to be iridescent. This appear¬
ance is supposed in some cases to depend on fissures in the
interior of the mineral, as in iridescent rock-crystal, or on
the lamellary structure, as in iridescent or rainbow calce-
dony.
VI. Tarnished Colours.
A mineral is said to be tarnished when it shews on its
external surface, or on that of the distinct concretions, fix¬
ed colours different from those on its interior or fresh frac¬
ture.
Tarnished colours are simple or variegated.
I. Simple.
a. Grey,—white cobalt.
b. Black—native arsenic.
c. Brown,—magnetic pyrites.
d. Reddish,—native bismuth.
II. Variegated.
The variegated, or party-coloured, are distinguished ac¬
cording to the colour of their basis. Of these the follow¬
ing are enumerated by Werner.
a. Pavonine, or peacock-tail tarnish. This is an as-
VIII. Dicrbism.
Some minerals when examined by transmitted light in
determinate directions, exhibit different colours. This pro¬
perty is called dichrbism. lolite, tourmaline, and mica ex¬
hibit this phenomenon. lolite is blue in the direction of
the axis, yellow or grey perpendicular to it; some varieties
of* tourmaline are nearly opaque in the direction of the
axis, while they display several degrees of transparency,
and different green, brown, and blue colours in the direc¬
tion perpendicular to it; several varieties of mica are green
in the direction of the axis, but brown perpendicular to it.
II. Common and Particular External Forms.
1. Common External Shape.
Common external shapes are those in which there are
neither a determinate number of planes meeting under de¬
terminate angles, nor any resemblance to known natural or
artificial bodies. As they occur more frequently than the
other shapes, they are named common external shapes.
Six diftierent kinds are enumerated by Werner, which are
distinguished according to their relative length, breadth, and
thickness, their relative magnitude, and their connections
with other minerals. The kinds are massive, disseminat¬
ed, in angular pieces, in grains, in plates, and in mem¬
branes.
\. Massive is that common external shape which is from
the size of a hazel-nut to the greatest magnitude, and whose
dimensions, in length, breadth, and thickness, are nearly
alike. It occurs imbedded in other minerals. A very com¬
mon form.
2. Disseminated is from the size of a hazel-nut until it
is scarcely visible, and its dimensions, in length, breadth,
and thickness, are nearly alike. It occurs imbedded.
3. In angular pieces. These are distinguished from
massive, by their occurring loose and unattached. Of this
external shape there are two kinds:
a. Sharp-cornered, as in quartz.
b. Blunt-cornered, as in common opal.
4. In grains. The form in grains bears the same rela¬
tion to angular pieces, as disseminated does to massive.
I hey are distinguished into coarse, small, and fine grains,
and into roundish, angular, and flat grains. Examples, gar¬
net, platina, and gold.
o. In plates. I his form is distinguished from massive,
by its dimensions in breadth and length very much exceed¬
ing that in thickness; and are generally formed in veins.
Example, red silver.
6. In membranes ox flakes. This shape is distinguished
rom the former by its thinness, as it never greatly exceeds
the thickness of common paper, and the fracture cannot be
seen. Examples, iron-pyrites and silver-glance..
linera-
l°gy.
MINERALOGY
II. Particular External Shape.
Particular external shapes differ from the common ex-
129
ternal shapes, in bearing a resemblance to natural or arti¬
ficial bodies, and in being far more characteristic and varied
in their aspect. There are four different sets, entitled,
longish, roundish, flat, and cavernous.
1.
Longish Particular External Shapes.
a. Dentiform. Adheres by its thick extremity, becomes
gradually thinner, incurvated, and at length terminates in
a free point, so that it resembles a canine tooth, whence
its name. Example, native silver.
h. Filiform. Adheres by its thicker extremity, and
terminates by an almost imperceptible diminution of thick¬
ness, and is usually curved in different directions. It is
thinner and longer than the dentiform. Example, native
silver.
c. Capillary. When the filiform becomes longer and
thinner, it forms the capillary. It is generally much en¬
tangled, and sometimes the threads are so near each other
that it passes into the compact. Example, native silver.
d. Reticulated is composed of many straight threads,
that cross each other under 90°, or under 120° and 60°,
and thus form a reticulated shape. Example, silver-glance.
e. Dendritic. In this external shape we can observe a
trunk, branches, and twigs, which are distinguished from
each other by their thickness, the trunk being the thickest.
Examples, native copper and native silver.
f. Coralloidal. When two or three branches, having
rounded or pointed extremities, proceed from one stem,
the coralloidal external shape is formed. There are usual¬
ly many stems together. Example, coralloidal aragonite.
g. Stalactitic. A mineral is said to possess a stalactitic
external shape, when it consists of different straight, more
or less lengthened rods, which are thickest at their at¬
tachment, and become narrower at their free extremity,
which is rounded or pointed. Examples, calc-sinter and
calcedony.
h. Cylindrical consists of long, rounded, straight, imper¬
forated, usually parallel roads, which are attached at both
extremities, and are generally thicker at the extremities
than the middle. The interstices are either empty or fill¬
ed up with another mineral. Examples, galena or lead-
glance.
i. Tubiform consists of long, usually single, perforated
tubes, which are somewhat longitudinally knotty. Ex¬
ample, calc-sinter.
k. Claviform is the reverse of stalactitic; it is composed
o c ub-shaped parallel rods, which adhere by their thin ex-
trermties. Example, compact black hematite.
• Lruticose. This external shape has the appearance
oreCaU 1"°Wer' ^xamP^es’ calc-sinter and hard manganese
2. Roundish Particular External Shapes.
a. Globular. Under this head are comprehended:
<*• Perfect globular or spherical, as in alum-slate.
Imperfect globular, as in calcedony.
y. Ovoidal or elliptical. Examples, rounded masses
of quartz in puddingstone.
• Spheroidal. When the spherical is compressed
the spheroidal is formed. Example, Egyptian
jasper.
* Amygdaloidal. When the ovoidal is compressed
in the direction of its length, the amygdaloidal
i d formed. Example, zeolite.
' -flotryoidal consists of large segments of small balls,
^ /C are. i^gularly heaped together, and thus leave con-
sk era )le interstices. It resembles grapes, whence its name,
xam.' < -> hematite, hard manganese-ore, and calcedony.
c. Reniform consists of small segments of large balls, Minera-
which are so closely set together that the interstices are 2 * * * * * * * logy-
very inconsiderable. Example, calcedony. —
d. Tuberose. This shape consists of irregular roundish
or longish elevations and depressions. Example, flint.
e. Fused-lihe or liquiform. This consists of numerous
\er^ flat rounded elevations, which are generally depressed
in the middle. Example, lead-glance.
3. Flat Par ticular External Shapes.
a. Specular has on one side, seldom on two opposite
sides, a stiaight smooth shining surface. It occurs in veins.
Example, galena or lead-glance.
b. In leaves. In this external shape there are thin
leaves, which are either irregularly curved, or are straight,
and have throughout the same thickness. It occurs fre¬
quently in native gold.
4. Cavernous Particular External Shapes.
a. Cellular. A mineral is said to be cellular when it is
composed of straight or bent tables, which cross each other
in such a manner as to form empty spaces or cells. Exam¬
ple, quartz.
b. Impressed. That is, when one mineral shews the im¬
pression of any particular or regular external shape of an¬
other mineral. It borders on the cellular shape, and is
formed when a newer mineral is deposited over an older,
the form of which it assumes and retains, even after the
impressing mineral has been destroyed or removed.
c. Perforated consist of long vermicular cavities, which
occupy but an inconsiderable portion of the mass, and ter¬
minate on the surface in small holes. When the holes be¬
come very numerous, it passes into spongiform. Example,
bog iron-ore.
d. Corroded. A mineral is said to be corroded when it
is traversed with numerous hardly perceptible roundish
holes. Example, quartz.
e. Amorphous is composed of numerous roundish and
angular parts that form inequalities, between which there
are equally irregular hollows. Example, silver-glance or
sulphuretted silver.
f Vesicular. When a mineral has distributed through
its interior many single, usually round, elliptical, and sphe¬
roidal, also amygdaloidal, or irregularly-shaped cavities, it is
said to be vesicular. Example, wacke and lava.
III. Distinct Concretions.
Distinct concretions are those parts into which minerals
are naturally divided, and which can be separated from one
another, without breaking through the solid or fresh part
of the mineral. In describing them, wre have to attend to
the following appearances, i. Their shape ; 2. Their sur¬
face ; and, 3. Their lustre.
1. Shape of the Distinct Concretions.
They are granular, lamellar, prismatic, radiated, and fi¬
brous.
1. Granular distinct concretions are those in which the
length, breadth, and thickness are nearly alike. Primi¬
tive limestone or marble is composed of granular distinct
concretions.
2. Lamellar distinct concretions are those in which the
length and breadth are nearly equal, and much more con¬
siderable than the thickness. Lamellar heavy-spar affords
a good example of this kind of concretion.
3. Prismatic distinct concretions are those in wdiich the
length is very considerable, in comparison of the thickness,
thus forming irregular prisms. Examples, amethyst and
prismatic heavy spar.
4. Radiated distinct concretions are those in w hich the
form is thin prismatic, differing froift the preceding in be-
130
MINERALOGY.
Minera- ing narrower, and in having the form of rays. The radiat-
log-y- ed fracture of Werner belongs to this division. Example,
radiated iron-pyrites.
5. Fibrous distinct concretions are those in form of fibres.
The fibrous fracture of Werner is included under this head.
Example, actynolite.
2. Surface of the Distinct Concretions.
The surface varies considerably ; in some, it is smooth,
as in hematite ; in others it is streaked, as in schorl, or it
is uneven, as in hornblende.
3. Lustre of the Distinct Concretions.
Here the varieties of lustre are the same as already enu¬
merated, and therefore require no particular illustration.
IV. Surface.
The following are the varieties of this character :—
1. Uneven. This, of all the kinds of external surface,
presents the greatest and most irregular elevations and de¬
pressions, yet they are not so considerable as to alter the
external shape. Example, surface of balls of calcedony.
2. Granulated. When the surface appears like sha¬
green, it is said to be granulated.
3. Rough. This kind of surface is marked with small,
scarcely-visible elevations, which we can hardly discover
but by the feel. It has little or no lustre. Example, roll¬
ed pieces of common quartz.
4. Smooth. Here there is no perceptible inequality,
and the surface reflects more light than the preceding kinds
of external surface. Example, fluor-spar.
5. Streaked. This kind of surface is marked with line¬
like elevations. It is either simply streaked or doubly
streaked.
a. Simply streaked when the line-like elevations run but
in one direction.
<*. Longitudinally streaked. When the streaks are
parallel with the length of the lateral planes. Exam¬
ple, topaz.
/3. Transversely streaked. When the streaks are par¬
allel with the breadth of the lateral planes. Example,
rock-crystal.
y. Diagonally streaked. When the streaks are parallel
with the diagonal of the planes. Example, garnet.
5. Alternately streaked. When transverse and longitu¬
dinal streaks occur on alternate planes. Example,
cubic iron-pyrites.
b. Doubly streaked, when the streaks run in different
directions. This is of two kinds.
«. Plumiformly. When the streaks run obliquely to¬
wards a principal streak, like, the disposition of the
parts of a feather. Example, plumose native bismuth.
/3. Reticularly. When the streaks either cross each
other in a promiscuous manner, or under right angles,
forming a kind of flat net-work. Example, silver-
white cobalt.
c. Drusy. When a crystal is coated with a number of
minute crystals of the same kind as the mineral itself, the
new surface is denominated drusy. Example, common iron-
pyrites.
V. Lustre.
Here we have to consider the intensity and the sort of
lustre.
1. The Intensity of the Lustre.
Of this there are five different degrees.
1. Splendent. A fossil is said to be splendent, when in
full day-light its lustre is visible at a great distance, or
when the faces produce distinct and well-defined images.
Example, galena or lead-glance.
2. Shining. When a mineral at a distance reflects but
a weak light, it is said to be shining ; or when the lustre,
although considerable, does not form a distinct image.
Example, heavy-spar.
3. Glistening. This degree of lustre is only observable
when the mineral is near us, and at no greater distance
than arms-length ; or when the surface no longer forms an
image, but reflects a more feeble light than the preceding.
Example, porcelain jasper.
4. Glimmering. If the surface of a mineral, when held
near to the eye in full and clear day-light, presents a num¬
ber of small, faintly-shining points, it is said to be glimmer¬
ing. Example, red hematite.
5. Dull. When a mineral is destitute of lustre, it is
said to be dull. Example, chalk.
2. The Sort of Lustre.
The following are the different kinds of lustre :—
1. Metallic lustre, which is always combined with opacity.
It is divided into perfect and imperfect. The perfect occurs
in native metals, and in all the species of the orders py¬
rites and glance ; and the imperfect in tantalum ore, urani¬
um-ore, and glance-coal.
2. Adamantine. So named from its occurring beautifully
marked in the diamond. There are two varieties of this
lustre, viz. the perfect and metallic: the diamond, in its
rough and polished states, bright red varieties of ruby silver
ore, and some varieties of blende, and carbonate of lead,
afford examples of the perfect, as the dark varieties of red
silver-ore, and of zink blende, of the second.
3. Pearly, so named from its resemblance to the lustre
observed in pearls, is divided into common and metallic-
like. Mica and zeolite are examples of the first, and bron-
zite of the second.
4. Resinous is that which a body would present if smear¬
ed with oil. Example, pitchstone and vesuvian.
5. Vitreous or glassy. The lustre of glass. Example,
rock-crystal.
Minera.
logy.
VI. Fracture.
Fracture surfaces, or planes, are those produced on
breaking a mineral. The following are the principal kinds:
1. Splintery. When, on a nearly even fracture surface,
small wedge-shaped or scaly parts are to be observed,
which adhere by their thicker ends, and allow light to pass
through, we say that the fracture is splintery. It some¬
times passes into even. Example, quartz.
2. Even is that kind of fracture in which the surface is
nearly even, or without inequalities. Example, Lydian-
stone.
3. Conchoidal is composed of concave and convex
roundish depressions and elevations, which are more or less
regular. When regular, they are accompanied with con¬
centric ridges, as in many shells. Examples, obsidian and
rock-crystal.
4. Uneven. In this kind of fracture the surface is mark¬
ed with numerous angular elevations. These inequalities
are termed the grain, so that we have coarse and fine¬
grained uneven fractures. Example, copper-pyrites.
5. Earthy. When the fracture-surface shews a great
number of very small elevations and depressions, which
make it appear rough, it is called earthy. Example, chalk.
6. Hackly. When the fracture-surface consists of nu¬
merous small slightly-bent sharp inequalities, it is said to
be hackly. Example, native copper.
7. Slaty. In this kind of fracture the mineral splits
into plates or slates which are more or less perfect. Ex¬
ample, common roof-slate.
VII. The Shape of the Fragments.
Fragments are those shapes which are formed when a
MINERALOGY.
; nera- mineral is so forcibly struck, that masses having surround-
gy. ing fracture-surfaces, are separated from it.
The fragments are either regular or irregular.
I. Regular fragments are enclosed in a certain number
of regular planes, that meet under determinate angles. The
following are the varieties of regular fragments:—
1. Cubic, which occur in minerals possessing a rectan¬
gular three-fold cleavage, as galena or lead-glance, and
rock-salt.
2. Rhombohedral or oblique angular, which occur in mi¬
nerals having a three-fold rhombohedral cleavage, as calca¬
reous spar.
3. Tetrahedral, or three-sided pyramidal and octahe¬
dral, occur in minerals having a four-fold cleavage in which
the folia meet under equal angles, as in fluor-spar.
4. Dodecahedral. Fragments of this form occur in mi¬
nerals having a six-fold cleavage. Example, zinc-blende.
II. Irregular fragments are such as have no regular form.
The following are the different varieties :—
1. Cuneiform, in which the breadth and thickness are
much less than the length, and gradually and regularly
diminish in magnitude from one end to the other. Ex¬
ample, radiated zeolite.
2. Splintery, in which the breadth and thickness are
less considerable than the length, but without diminution
of magnitude from one extremity to the other. Example,
asbestus.
3. Tabular, in which the breadth and length are more
considerable than the thickness. Example, clay-slate.
4. Indeterminate angular, in which the length, breadth,
and thickness, are in general nearly alike, but the edges
differ much in regard to sharpness, which gives rise to the
following distinctions:—
a. Very sharp-edged, as in obsidian.
b. Sharp-edged, as in common quartz.
c. Rather sharp-edged, as in basalt.
d. Rather blunt-edged, as in pumice.
e. Blunt-edged, as in gypsum.
f Very blunt-edged, as in loam.'
VIII. Transparency.
The different degrees of this character are ascertained
by observing the relative quantity of light transmitted
through their substance. The degrees are five.
1. When a mineral, either in thick or thin pieces, allows
the rays of light to pass through it so completely, that we
can clearly distinguish small objects placed behind it, as
written letters, it is said to be transparent. It is either
simply transparent, that is, when the body seen through it
appears single, as in selenite; or duplicating, when the body
seen through it appears double, as in calcareous-spar.
2. Semi-transparent. When objects can be discerned
only through a thin piece, and then appear as if seen
through a cloud, it is said to be semi-transparent. Exam¬
ple, calcedony.
3. Translucent. When the rays of light penetrate into
the mineral and illuminate it, but objects placed behind it
cannot be observed either through thick or thin pieces, it
is said to be translucent. Example, pitch-stone.
4. Translucent on the edges. When the angles and
edges are illuminated in the same degree as the whole mi¬
neral in the immediately preceding variety of transparency,
it is said to be translucent on the edges. Example, horn-
stone.
5. Opaque. When, even on the thinnest edges of a mi¬
neral, no light passes through, it is said to be opaque, as in
chalk.
X. Streak.
When a mineral is scratched with a hard body, as a
knife or file, or is drawn across the surface of a piece of
porcelain biscuit, either a powder is formed, or the scratched
part acquires a higher lustre. Both these appearances are
comprehended under the term streak. The lustre is in¬
creased in the streak in the malleable metals, in some
glances, and in clays. Some minerals retain their colour
in the streak, as the glances and haloids ; while others, as
many ores, all the pyrites tribe, many blendes, &c. acquire
a different colour when in the streak.
XI. Soiling or Colouring.
When a mineral, taken between the fingers, or drawn
across a surface, leaves some particles, or a trace, it is said
to soil or colour.
XII. Tenacity.
By tenacity is understood the relative mobility, or the
different degrees of cohesion of the particles of minerals.
The degrees of tenacity are the following:—
1. Brittle. A mineral is said to be brittle, when, on
attempting to cut it with a knife, it emits a grating noise,
and the particles fly away in the form of dust, and leave a
rough surface, which has in general less lustre than the
fracture ; it cannot therefore be cut into slices. Example,
quartz.
2. Sectile or Mild. On cutting minerals possessing of
this degree of tenacity, the particles lose their connection
in a considerable degree, but this takes place w ithout noise,
and they do not fly off, but remain on the knife. Exam¬
ple, galena or lead-glance, and some micas.
3. Ductile. Minerals possessing this degree of tenacity
can be cut into slices with a knife, extended under the
hammer, and drawn into wire. Example, native gold.
XIII. Frangibility.
By frangibility is understood the resistance which mine¬
rals oppose, when we attempt to break them into pieces or
fragments. It must not be confounded with hardness.
Quartz is hard, and hornblende comparatively soft; yet
the latter is much more difficultly frangible than the for¬
mer.
XIV. Flexibility.
This term expresses the property possessed by some
minerals, of bending without breaking. Flexible minerals
are either elastical flexible, that is, if w hen bent they spring
back again into their former direction ; or common flexible,
when they can be bent in different directions without break¬
ing, but remain in the direction in which they have been
bent, as molybdena, gypsum, talc, asbestus, and all malle¬
able minerals.
XV. Adhesion to the Tongue.
This character occurs only in such minerals as possess
the property of absorbing moisture, which causes them to
adhere to the tongue. Example, meerschaum.
XVI. Touch.
This character is of comparatively little importance.
Some minerals feel greasy, others meagre ; and in order
to distinguish the different degrees of unctuosity, the fol¬
lowing distinctions are employed :—
1. Very greasy, as talc and graphite.
XVII. Sound.
131
Minera-
logy.
IX. Opalescence.
Some minerals, when held in particular directions, re¬
flect from single spots in their interior, a coloured shining
lustre, named opalescence.
Some minerals on being struck emit a ringing sound, as
rock-crystal; others, when the finger is drawn across them,
a grating sound, as mountain cork; natural amalgam,
when pressed between the fingers, affords a creaking sound.
MINERALOGY.
132
Minera- 2. Greasy, as steatite and fuller’s earth,
lugj- 3. Rather Greasy, as asbestus and polished serpentine,
''■‘—■'v'-— 4. Meagre, those that do not feel greasy, as cobalt.
XVIII. Smell.
This character is observed under the following circum¬
stances :—
1. Spontaneously emitted ; in which case it is,
a. Bituminous, as mineral oil and mineral pitch.
b. Faintly sulphureous, as natural sulphur.
2. After breathing on it, in which a clayey-like smell is
produced, as in hornblende and chlorite.
3. Excited by friction.
a. Urinous, in stinkstone.
b. Sulphureous, in iron-pyrites.
c. Garlick like, or arsenical, in native arsenic and
arsenic-pyrites.
d. Empyreumatic, in quartz and rock-crystal.
XIX. Taste-
This character occurs principally in the saline class, for
which it is highly characteristic.
The varieties of it are, Minert
1. Saline, common salt. logy-
2. Sweetish astringent, natural alum and rock butter. "
3. Styptic, blue and green vitriol.
4. Bitter, natural Epsom salt.
5. Cooling, nitre.
6. Alkaline, natural soda.
7. Urinous, natural sal-ammoniac.
8. Acid, sulphuric and carbonic acids.
The magnetical and electrical properties of minerals
may occasionally be used in our account of species.
II. Fluid Minerals. In describing liquid minerals, we
must attend to their colours, degree of liquidity, lustre,
transparency, smell, taste, and specific gravity.
III. Friable Minerals. The colour, degree of cohe ¬
rence, lustre, soiling, feel, taste, and hardness, and specific
gravity, are to be carefully noted in our description of los¬
ing aggregated or friable minerals.
SYSTEM OF ARRANGEMENT OF SIMPLE MINERALS.
CLASS I.
Order L—GAS.
Genus I. Hydrogen Gas.
1. Pure Hydrogen Gas.
2. Empyreumatic or Carburetted Hydrogen Gas.
3. Sulphuretted Hydrogen Gas.
4. Phosphuretted Hydrogen Gas.
Genus II. Atmospheric Air.
1. Pure Atmospheric Air.
Order II.—WATER.
Genus I. Atmospheric Water.
1. Pure Atmospheric Water.
Genus II. Sea Water.
1. Common Sea Water.
Order III—ACID.
Genus I. Carbonic Acid.
1. Aeriform Carbonic Acid.
Genus II. Muriatic Acid.
1. Aeriform Muriatic Acid.
Genus III. Sulphuric Acid.
1. Aeriform Sulphuric Acid.
2. Liquid Sulphuric Acid.
Genus IV. Boracic Acid.
1. Prismatic Boracic Acid.
Genus V. Arsenic Acid.
1. Octahedral Arsenic Acid.
Order IV—SALT.
Genus I. Natron.
1. Hemiprismatic Natron.
Genus II. Glauber Salt.
1. Prismatic Glauber Salt.
Genus III. Nitre.
I. Prismatic Nitre.
Genus IV. Rock-Salt.
J. Hexahedral Rock-Salt.
Genus V. Sal-Almoniac.
1. Octahedral Sal-Almoniac.
Genus VI. Vitriol.
1. Hemiprismatic Vitriol, or Green Vitriol.
2. Tetarto-prismatic Vitriol, or Blue Vitriol.
3. Prismatic Vitriol, or White Vitriol.
Genus VII. Epsom Salt.
1. Prismatic Epsom Salt.
Genus VIII. Alum.
1. Octahedral Alum
Genus IX. Borax.
1. Prismatic Borax.
Genus X. Glauberite.
1. Prismatic Glauberite.
CLASS II.
Order I—HALOIDE.
Genus I. Gypsum.
1. Prismatoidal Gypsum, or Common Gypsum.
2. Prismatic Gypsum, or Anhydrite.
Genus II. Cryolite.
1. Prismatic Cryolite.
Genus III. Alum Stone.
1. Rhombohedral Alum Stone.
Genus IV. Fluor.
1. Octahedral Fluor.
Genus V. Apatite.
Rhombohedral Apatite.
Genus VI. Limestone.
1. Prismatic Limestone, or Arragonite.
2. Rhombohedral Limestone.
3. Dolomite, or Macrotypous Limestone.
4. Breunnerite, or Brachytypous Limestone.
5. Ankerite or Paratomous Limestone.
Order II—BARYTE.
Genus I. Sparry Iron.
1. Rhombohedral Sparry Iron.
Genus II. Red Manganese.
1. Rhombohedral Red Manganese.
Genus III. Calamine.
1. Prismatic Calamine, or Silicate of Zinc.
2. Rhombohedral Calamine or Carbonate of Zinc.
Genus IV. Tungsten, or Scheelium.
1. Pyramidal Tungsten.
Genus V. Baryte.
1. Peritomous Baryte, or Strontianite.
2. Di-Prismatic Baryte, or Witherite.
3. Prismatic Baryte, or Heavy-Spar.
4. Prismatoidal Baryte, or Celestine.
Genus VI. Lead-Spar.
1. Di-Prismatic Lead-Spar, or White and Black
Lead-Spars.
2. Rhombohedral Lead-Spar, or Green and Brown
Lead-Spars.
3. Hemiprismatic Lead-Spar, or Red Lead-Spar.
4. Pyramidal Lead-Spar, or Yellow Lead-Spar.
5. Prismatic Lead-Spar, or Sulphate of Lead.
MINERALOGY.
133
Order III.—KERATE.
’>gy- J
Genus I. Corneous Silver, or Chloride of Silver.
1. Hexahedral Corneous Silver.
Genus II. Corneous Mercury, or Muriate of Mercury.
1. Pyramidal Corneous Mercury.
Order IV MALACHITE.
Genus I. Copper Green.
1. Uncleavable Copper Green, or Chrysocolla.
Genus II. Liriconite.
1. Prismatic Liriconite, or Lenticular Arseniate of
Copper.
2. Hexahedral Liriconite, or Cubical Arseniate of Iron.
Genus III. Olivenite.
1. Prismatic Olivenite, or Prismatic Arseniate of Cop¬
per.
2. Di-Prismatic Olivenite, or Phosphate of Copper.
Genus IV. Blue Malachite, or Blue Copper.
1. Prismatic Blue Malachite.
* Velvet Blue Copper.
Genus V. Emerald Malachite.
1. Rhombohedral Emerald Malachite or Dioptase.
Genus VI. Green Malachite.
1. Prismatic Green Malachite, or Hydrous Phos¬
phate of Copper.
2. Hemiprismatic Green Malachite, or Common Ma¬
lachite.
3. Prismatoidal Green Malachite, or Muriate of Copper.
Order V MICA.
Genus I. Copper-Mica.
1. Rhombohedral Copper-Mica, or Micaceous Arse¬
niate of Copper.
Genus II. Uran-Mica, or Uranite.
1. Pyramidal Uran-Mica.
* Uran-Ochre.
Genus III. Cobalt-Mica, or Red Cobalt.
1. Prismatic Red Cobalt.
* Cobalt-Ochre.
1. Black Cobalt-Ochre.
2. Brown Cobalt-Ochre.
3. Yellow Cobalt-Ochre.
Genus IV. Antimony-Mica, or White Antimony.
1. Prismatic White Antimony.
* Antimony Ochre.
Genus V. Blue Iron, or Iron-Mica.
1. Prismatic Blue Iron.
Genus VI. Graphite.
1. Rhombohedral Graphite.
Genus VII. Talc-Mica.
L Prismatic Talc-Mica, or Talc.
L Native Magnesia, or Hydrate of Magnesia. 2.
Ophite, or Precious Serpentine. 3. Nephrite.
4. Steatite, or Soapstone. 5. Figurestone or Al-
galmatolite. 6. Magnesite. 7. Meerschaum. 8.
Lithomarge. 9. Mountain Soap. 10. Bole.
2. Rhombohedral Talc-Mica.
3. Hemiprismatic Talc-Mica, or Common Mica.
Genus VIII. Pearl-Mica.
1. Rhombohedral Pearl-Mica.
Order VI.—SPAR.
Genus I. Schiller-Spar.
L Diatomous Schiller-Spar, or Common Schiller-Spar.
2. Hemiprismatic Schiller-Spar, or Bronzite.
3. Prismatoidal Schiller-Spar, or Hypersthene.
4. Prismatic Schiller-Spar, or Anthophyllite.
Genus II. Kyanitk.
1. Prismatic Kyanite.
Genus III. Spodumene.
1. Prismatic Spodumene.
Genus IV. Prehnite.
L Axotomous Prehnite.
Genus V. Datolite.
1. Prismatic Datolite.
Genus VI. Zeolite.
1. Trapezoidal Zeolite, or Leucite.
2. Dodecahedral Zeolite, or Lapis Lazuli.
3. Hexahedral Zeolite, or Analcime.
4. Paratomous Zeolite, or Cross-stone.
5. Rhombohedral Zeolite, or Chabasite.
6. Diatomous Zeolite, or Laumonite.
7. Prismatic Zeolite, or Mesotype.
8. Prismatoidal Zeolite, or Stilbite.
9- Hemiprismatic Zeolite, or Heulandite.
10. Pyramidal Zeolite, or Apophyllite.
11. Macrytopous Zeolite, or Brewsterite.
Genus VII. Petalite.
1. Prismatic Petalite.
Genus VIII. Felspar.
Minera-
logy-
1. Rhombohedral Felspar, or Nepheline.
2. Prismatic Felspar, Common Felspar, or Potash
Felspar.
3. Tetarto-Prismatic Felspar, or Soda Felspar.
4. Polychromatic Felspar, or Lime Felspar.
5. Pyramidal Felspar, Scapolite, Meionite.
Genus IX. Augite.
1. Paratomous Augite, or Common Augite, &c.
2. Hemiprismatic Augite, or Hornblende, &c.
3. Prismatoidal Augite, or Epidote.
4. Prismatic Augite, or Wollastone.
Genus X. Azure-Spar.
1. Prismatic Azure-Spar, or Lazulite.
2. Prismatoidal Azure-Spar, or Blue Spar.
Order VII.—GEM.
Genus I. Andalusite.
1. Prismatic Andalusite.
Genus II. Corundum.
1. Dodecahedral Corundum, or Spinel.
2. Octahedral Corundum, or Automolite.
3. Rhombohedral Corundum, or Sapphire.
4. Prismatic Corundum, or Chrysoberyl.
Genus III. Diamond.
1. Octahedral Diamond.
Genus IV. Topaz.
1. Prismatic Topaz.
Genus V. Emerald.
1. Prismatic Emerald, or Euclase.
2. Rhombohedral Emerald.
Genus VI. Quartz.
1. Prismatic Quartz, or lolite.
2. Rhombohedral Quartz.
3. Uncleavable Quartz.
4. Fusible Quartz.
Genus VII. Axinite.
1. Prismatic Axinite.
Genus VIII. Chrysolite.
1. Prismatic Chrysolite.
2. Hemiprismatic or Chondrodite.
Genus IX. Boracite.
1. Octahedral Boracite.
Genus X. Tourmaline.
1. Rhombohedral Tourmaline.
Genus IX. Garnet.
1. Pyramidal Garnet, or Vesuvian.
2. Tetrahedral Garnet, or Helvine.
3. Dodecahedral Garnet.
4. Prismatoidal Garnet, or Grenatite.
Genus XII. Zircon.
1. Pyramidal Zircon.
134
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Genus XIII. Gadolinite.
logy* 1. Prismatic Gadolinite.
Order VIII.—ORE.
Genus XI. Iron.
1. Octahedral Iron.
Genus XII. Copper.
1. Octahedral Capper.
Genus I. Melane Ore.
1. Prismatic Melan-Ore, or Gadolinite.
2. Anorthetic Melan-Ore, or Allanite.
Genus II. Titanium-Ore.
1. Hemiprismatic Titanium-Ore, or Sphene.
2. Octahedral Titanium-Ore, or Pyrochlor.
3. Peritomous Titanium-Ore, or Rutile.
4. Pyramidal Titanium-Ore, or Octahedrite.
5. Prismatic Titanium-Ore, or Brookite.
Genus III. Zinc-Ore.
1. Prismatic Zinc-Ore, or Red Zinc-Ore.
Genus IV. Red Copper-Ore.
1. Octahedral Red Copper-Ore.
Genus V. Tin-Ore.
1. Pyramidal Tin-Ore.
Genus VI. Wolfram-Ore.
1. Prismatic Wolfram.
Genus VII. Tantalum-Ore.
1. Prismatic Tantalum-Ore.
Genus VIII. Fergusonite.
1. Pyramidal Fergusonite.
Genus IX. Uranium-Ore.
1. Uncleavable Uranium-Ore.
Genus X. Cerium-Ore.
1. Rhombohedral Cerium-Ore.
Genus XI. Chrome-Ore.
1. Octahedral Chrome-Ore, or Chromat of Iron.
Genus XII. Iron-Ore.
1. Octahedral Iron-Ore, or Magnetic Iron-Ore.
2. Rhombohedral Iron Ore, or Red Iron-Ore.
3. Prismatic Iron-Ore, or Brown Iron-Ore.
4. Diprismatic Iron-Ore, or Lievrite.
Genus XIII. Manganese-Ore.
1. Pyramidal Manganese-Ore, or Black Manganese-
Ore.
2. Brachytypous Manganese-Ore, or Braunite.
3. Uncleavable Manganese-Ore, or Psilomelane.
4. Prismatoidal Manganese-Ore, or Grey Manganese-
Ore.
5. Prismatic Manganese-Ore, or Pyrolusite.
Order IX.—NATIVE METALS.
Genus I. Arsenic.
1. Rhombohedral.
Genus II. Tellurium.
1. Rhombohedral.
Genus III. Antimony.
1. Rhombohedral Antimony.
2. Prismatic Antimony, or Antimonial Silver.
Genus IV. Bismuth.
1. Octahedral Bismuth.
Genus V. Mercury.
1. Liquid Native Mercury.
2. Dodecahedral Mercury, or Native Amalgam.
Genus VI. Silver.
1. Hexahedral Silver.
Genus VII. Gold.
1. Hexahedral Gold.
Genus VIII. Iridium.
1. Rhombohedral
Genus IX. PALLADthw.
1. Octahedral. '
Genus X. Platina.
1. HexahedraL
Order X.—PYRITES.
Genus I. Nickel Pyrites, or Copper-Nickel.
1. Prismatic Nickel Pyrites.
Genus II. Arsenic Pyrites.
1. Axotomous Arsenic Pyrites.
2. Prismatic Arsenic Pyrites.
Genus III. Cobalt Pyrites.
1. Hexahedral Cobalt-Pyrites, or Silver-White Cobalt.
2. Octahedral Cobalt-Pyrites, or Tin-White Cobalt.
3. Isometric Cobalt-Pyrites.
4. Eutomous Cobalt-Pyrites, or Nickeliferous Cobalt-
Pyrites.
Genus IV. Iron Pyrites.
1. Hexahedral Iron-Pyrites.
2. Prismatic Iron-Pyrites.
3. Rhombohedral Iron-Pyrites, or Magnetic Pyrites.
Genus V. Copper Pyrites.
1. Pyramidal Copper-Pyrites, or Yellow Copper-Py¬
rites.
2. Octahedral Copper-Pyrites, or Variegated Copper,
Order XL—GLANCE.
Genus I. Copper-Glance.
1. Tetrahedral Copper-Glance, or Grey and Black
Copper.
2. Prismatoidal Copper-Glance.
3. Prismatic Copper-Glance, or Vitreous Copper.
4. Diprismatic Copper-Glance, or Bournonite.
Genus II. Silver-Glance, or Vitreous Silver.
1. Hexahedral Silver-Glance.
Genus HI. Galena, or Lead-Glance.
1. Hexahedral Galena, or Lead-Glance,
Genus IV. Tellurium-Glance, or Black Tellurium.
1. Pyramidal Tellurium-Glance.
Genus V. Molybdena, or Molybdena Glance.
1. Rhombohedral Molybdena.
Genus VI. Bismuth Glance.
1. Prismatic Bismuth-Glance.
* Bismuth-Ochre.
Genus VII. Antimony-Glance.
1. Prismatic Antimony-Glance. Schrifterz.
2. Prismatoidal Antimony-Glance, or Grey Antimony.
3. Axotomous Antimony-Glance. Jamesonite.
4. Peritomous Antimony-Glance, or Sulphuret of Sil¬
ver and Antimony.
Genus VIII. Melane Glance,
L Prismatic Melane-Glance, Brittle Silver-Glance
of Werner.
Order XII.—BLENDE.
Genus I. Manganese-Blende.
1. Hexahedral Manganese-Blende.
Genus II. Zinc-Blende, or Garnet-Blende.
1. Dodecahedral Zinc-Blende.
Genus III. Antimony-Blende, or Purple Antimony.
1. Prismatic Antimony-Blende, or Purple Antimony.
Genus IV. Ruby-Blende.
1. Rhombohedral Ruby-Blende, or Red Silver.
2. Hemiprismatic Ruby-Blende, or Cinnabar.
Order XIII—SULPHUR.
Genus 1. Sulphur.
1. Prismatoidal Sulphur, or Yellow Orpiment.
2. Hemi-Prismatic Sulphur, or Red Orpiment.
3. Prismatic Sulphur, or Common Sulphur.
nera-
»gy*
CLASS III.
Order L—RESIN.
MINERALOGY. > 13 j
ing to this genus must be either tessular, or rhombohedral, Minen.-
Genus L Mellilite, or Honey-Stone.
1. Pyramidal Mellilite, or Honey-Stone.
Genus II. Mineral Resin.
1. Yellow Mineral Resin, or Amber.
2. Black Mineral Resin.
Order II COAL.
Genus I. Mineral Coal.
1. Bituminous Mineral-Coal.
2. Glance-Coal.
Mode of determining a Mineral, or of referring it to its
place in the System.
The characters principally employed in the formation of
what is called the Specific Character are the regular cry¬
stallizations (including cleavage); the degrees of hard¬
ness ; and the specific gravity. The first character given in
the Specific Character is the system of crystallization to
which the form and cleavage of the species belongs. Then
follows, together with its dimensions (if known), the funda¬
mental form, from which all the other simple and compound
forms are derived. In rhombohedrons, that edge which
ends in the apex of the axis, that is to say, the terminal
edge is given ; for instance, in calcareous spar, R = 105°5/;
in isosceles four-sided pyramids, both edges, first the ter¬
minal one, and then that on the base, are mentioned; for
instance, in pyramidal zircon, Pz= 123° 19', 84°20/; and in
scalene four-sided pyramids, first, both of the terminal
edges, and then that at the basis, are given : thus, in pris¬
matic topaz, Pz=14107', 101°52/, 90°55'. In this system,
besides the dimension of the finite forms, those of the in¬
finite ones, or of the limits, are mentioned, as in the last
example, P-f-oo =124°19/, and so on; which is very con¬
venient, as the cases in which these can be examined occur
more frequently than those in which the edges of pyramids
can be measured.
After this follows the indication of the general aspect of
the combinations, explained in the foregoing § § 63—67,
under the denominations of dirhomboidal, hemi-prismatic,
&c. Of the former are mentioned the angles at the edges
of combination, of the latter that terminal edge, which is
formed by the intersection of the remaining faces of the
scalene four-sided pyramid.
With respect to cleavage, the expression “ cleavage,
R>” for instance in rhombohedral calcareous spar, means,
that this mineral has its cleavage parallel to the faces of a
rhombohedron, similar to the fundamental form of the
species; “ cleavage P—oo . P +go .[P +oo ]” in pyramidal
garnet means that this mineral has its cleavage parallel to
the faces of two rectangular prisms, and at the same time
perpendicular to their axis; “ cleavage Pr-f-oo ” in prisma¬
tic chrysolite, indicates that the cleavage of this mineral
passes at the same time through the axis and the short di¬
agonal of the prism P+oo ; and “cleavage (Pr-f-oo)3 =
87°42'. Pr-f-oo . Pr+oo ,” expresses, for instance, in para-
tomous augite, that the individuals of this species can be
cleaved, first parallel to the faces of an obliquangular four-
sided prism, of the given dimensions ; and, secondly, pa¬
rallel to planes, which pass through the axis and both dia¬
gonals of the prism P + oo ; or, what comes to the same,
parallel to the faces of a rectangular prism.
Characters mutually excluding each other.
If two or more characters, the one of which excludes the
other, be co-existent in the character of an order, or of a
genus, as in the genus Corundum, “ Tessular, rhombohe¬
dral, prismatic,” the meaning is, that an individual belong-
or prismatic ; because only one of these three can take place
a.-, the same time. In the specific character this never hap¬
pens, because all the forms must belong to one system.
Determination of a Mineral in general.
If a mineral is to be determined, first its form must be
made out, at least so far as to know the system to which it
belongs. Then hardness and specific gravity must be as¬
certained, and expressed in numbers. It is sufficient, how¬
ever, to know the latter to one or two decimals. The
specific character requires these data; and they are also of
use in the characters of the genera, orders, and classes.
This being done, the system maybe consulted, and this will at
the same time point out what other characters are wanting ;
so that a mere inspection of the mineral, or a very easy
experiment, for instance, to try the streak upon a file, or,
still better, upon a plate of biscuit porcelain, will be suffi¬
cient. Haying advanced in this manner to the character
of the species, it will, in some instances, be necessary, and
in all cases advisable, for the sake of certainty, to have re¬
course to the dimensions of the forms. This is particularly
necessary, if the genus to which the mineral belongs con¬
tains several species having forms of the same system, as is
the case in the genus Augite. This termination of the di¬
mensions of the forms may be effected by the common
goniometer, the differences in the angles being in general
so great, that they cannot easily be mistaken, even by the
application of that instrument.
It will seldom be necessary to read over the whole of
any character of a class, order, genus, or species, excepting
that which includes the individual; one character that does
not agree sufficing for exclusion. Thus even the charac¬
ters of the orders, though the longest, will not be found
troublesome.
The application of the method will become very easy and
expeditious, by taking particular notice of some characters,
which may be termed prominent. Such are a metallic
aspect; a high degree of specific gravity (particularly if the
mineral is not metallic), and a high decree of hardness.
The observation of these will immediately decide whether
an individual can belong to any particular class, order,
genus, or species. It is understood, that if it be not there¬
by excluded, the other characters must next be examined,
till either an excluding one be found, or, if not, the indivi¬
dual may be considered as belonging to that class, order,
&c. with which it has been compared and found to agree.
Example—The following example may serve as an illus¬
tration :—Let the form of an unknown mineral be a com¬
bination of a scalene eight-sided pyramid, of an isosceles
four-sided pyramid, and of a rectangular four-sided prism;
the cleavage parallel to the faces of two rectangular four-
sided prisms, in a diagonal position to each other ; form and
cleavage, therefore, pyramidal, or belonging to the pyra¬
midal system. Let the hardness be —6.5; specific gravity
= 6.9. _
In this case, both hardness and specific gravity are pro¬
minent characters, and exclude at once the individual from
the first and third, but not from the second class; with the
characters of which its other properties also perfectly agree.
Hence the individual belongs to the second class.
Comparing the properties of the individual mineral with
the characters of the orders in the second class, hardness
and specific gravity will be found too great for the order
Haloide; hardness too great for the orders Baryte and
Kerate ; both of them too great for the orders Malachite
and Mica; and specific gravity too great for the orders Spar
and Gem. But in the character of the order Ore, both
hardness and specific gravity fall between the fixed limits,
and cannot exclude the individual from this order. The
other parts of this character are now to be taken in consi¬
deration. If the lustre of the individual be metallic, its
logy.
136 MINERALOGY.
Minera- colour must be black, otherwise it cannot belong to the
logy, order Ore. But the lustre is not metallic ; therefore the
colour of the individual is of no consequence ; that is, this
condition part of the character does not affect the indivi¬
dual, and consequently cannot determine its place. Since
the lustre is not metallic, the individual must exhibit ada¬
mantine, or imperfect metallic lustre : the first will be found
particularly in the fracture. The next part of the character
refers to minerals of a red, yellow, brown, or black streak;
and as the individual gives none of these, its streak being
white, this part of the character does not come into con¬
sideration. Hardness keeps between the limits, as stated
in the character of the order Ore. Should it be = 4.5 and
less, the streak must be yellow, red, or black ; but hard¬
ness is = 6.5, therefore the colour of the streak is indiffer¬
ent. If the hardness be =r 6.5 and more, and streak white,
then the specific gravity must be = 6.5 and more. Now,
this condition exists: hardness is = 6.5, and the streak is
white ; the specific gravity being = 6.9, which is greater
than 6.5. Lastly, the specific gravity keeps within the
limits.
As far as respects the individual wdiich is to be deter¬
mined, all the characters in the characteristic of the order
Ore may be divided into two parts. The first part contains
those which refer to the individual; the second those which
do not; the last afford no decisive distinctions. But with
the first all the properties of the mineral agree. These
properties agree consequently writh the whole character of
the order, as far as it is applicable to the individual, and
determine it to belong to the order Ore ; or, in shorter
terms, to be an ore.
Beginners may also compare the characters of the re¬
maining orders. Sometimes they find one individual be¬
longing to two orders, in which case there must be evi¬
dently a mistake in the comparison, w'hich would perhaps
not have been discovered, had they stopt at the first order,
which does not exclude it. In the present case, the want
of metallic lustre excludes the individual from the orders
Metal, Pyrites, and Glance; hardness from the order Blende ;
and both hardness and specific gravity from the order Sul •
phur. The individual can, therefore, be nothing else than
an ore. The characters of the genera of the order Ore
may next be examined.
If we consider again hardness and specific gravity as pro¬
minent, the individual wall be immediately excluded from
the genera Titanium-ore, Zinc-ore, and Copper-ore, but not
from the genus Tin-ore. The form of the pyramidal system,
and the white streak, shew that it belongs to this genus.
From the genus Wolfram-ore, it is excluded by its too great
hardness, and too low specific gravity. From the genera
Tantalum, Uranium, Cerium, Chrome, Iron, and Manganese-
ore, by hardness and specific gravity, both of them being
too high; as also by its white streak, which only agrees
with that genus from which the individual differs most by
its hardness and specific gravity. The form also does not
agree with any in these genera, consequently the individual
can belong to no other than to the genus tin-ore.
*1 his genus contains but one species. I he conclusion
that the individual must belong to this species might, never¬
theless, be erroneous. There could exist a second species
of this genus. The dimensions of the form must now be
accurately considered. If these coincide with the angles
given in the character, the highest degree of certainty that
the individual belongs to or is pyramidal tin-ore, will be
obtained.
Perfect determination supposes all the Characters to be
known.
The perfect determination of an individual depends, as
the above example has shewn, upon the possibility of mak¬
ing out correctly those three properties, viz. form, includ¬
ing cleavage, hardness, and specific gravity. In botany it Minera.
is the same. The characters must be observable, other- logy,
wise the determination will be impossible. In mineralogy,
the method affords sometimes more; it leads to a correct
determination, even if the knowledge of the form remains
imperfect. But it will be an useful rule for beginners to
occupy themselves at first with the determination of such in¬
dividuals as present properties which can be easily and fully
investigated. The rest will come of itself, when their know¬
ledge of the mineral kingdom, and particularly of the pro¬
perties of minerals, increases, and when they have by ex¬
perience acquired the skill to judge properly of form and
cleavage, at least, so far as is necessary for the determina¬
tion of the system of crystallization, even in those cases
where form and cleavage are somewhat difficult to be ob¬
served. This exercise is recommended to every naturalist
who wishes to acquire a satisfactory knowledge of minerals,
by means of the method we have here explained.
Immediate and Mediate Determination.
The method of determination, already illustrated by an
example, is termed the immediate determination, because
it is applied directly to the individual mineral which is to
be determined, without the aid of one or several other mi¬
nerals. If, on the contrary, we must employ one or several
other minerals for this purpose, we determinate it mediately.
That variety of hemiprismatic augite, which is known by
the name amianthus, occurs in crystals so very seldom, as
to withdraw their form, supposing it to be regular, from the
sight, aided even by the most powerful magnifying instru¬
ments; cleavage is evidently still less observable. These crys¬
tals are flexible like fibres of flax, their hardness, therefore,
cannot be estimated. Their surface has so great an extent
in respect to their bulk, that they will swim in water, though
endowed with a pretty considerable specific gravity, which,
therefore, cannot be ascertained. Some varieties, however,
may be observed, whose crystals are a little thicker, though
in other respects, these varieties perfectly agree with amian¬
thus. These varieties lose their flexibility, yet they are too
frangible to be able to sustain the trial of hardness. Others
are still thicker, but the dimensions of their forms cannot
be ascertained on account of their minuteness. They sink
in water, and scratch prismatoidal gypsum, but they break,
if tried upon calcareous spar. By thus proceeding, we come
to such varieties, as possessing a discernible form, allow the
cleavage to be investigated ; we find their specific gravity
about three times that of the water, and their hardness be¬
tween five and six. These will be immediately determin¬
able, and be found to belong to the species of hemiprisma¬
tic augite. Chalk, rock-milk, clay-slate, and a great many
other minerals not allowing of an immediate determination,
are determined in the same way, and thus nothing escapes
in the natural history method, which in any one of the other
methods can be an object of determination Vide Edin¬
burgh Philosophical Journal, where this system was first
explained to English mineralogists, for fuller details in re¬
gard to the determination of species, and also for a series
of observations on the principles of the Natural History
method. Mr Haidinger’s English translation of Mohs’ Trea¬
tise is also particularly recommended to the attention of
natural historians. •
In the following account of simple minerals, we do not
intend to describe all the species enumerated by authors,
but to confine ourselves chiefly to those which are the most
interesting.
CLASS 1.
Specific gravity under 3.8. If solid, is sapid. No bitu¬
minous-smell.
2ra*
y-
Order I—GAS.
Sp. gr. = 0.0001,—0.00014. Elastic. Not acid.
Genus I—Hydrogen Gas.
Evident smell. Sp. gr. = 0.0001,—0.00014.
1. Pure Hydrogen Gas.
Specific Character Hydrogenous smell. Sp. gr.
= 0.00012.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It rises from
limestone, and also from the coal'formation, not only in
Europe, but in other quarters of the globe.
2. Empyreumatic or Carhuretted Hydrogen Gas.
Specific Character.—Empyreumatic smell. Sp. gr.
= 0.0008.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations .Rises from
marshes and from beds of coal (forming the fire-damp of
miners) in different parts of Great Britain. It is also one
of the aeriform substances given out by volcanoes.
3. Sulphuretted Hydrogen Gas.
Specific Character—Smell of putrid eggs. Taste nau¬
seous and bitter. Sp. gr. =0.00135.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Rises from
marshes, sulphureous springs, and volcanoes. It is met with
in many places in Great Britain.
4. Phosphuretted Hydrogen Gas.
Specific Character.—Smell of putrid fish. Sp. gr. un¬
known.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It rises from
marshy places, where organic substances are in a state of
decomposition.
Genus II—Atmospheric Air.
Without smell or taste. Sp. gr. =0.001, — 0.0015.
I. Pure Atmospheric Air.
Specific Character—Without smell or taste.
Constituent Parts.—Azotic gas 79, oxygen gas 21,
forms the atmosphere which surrounds the earth.
Order II.—WATER.
Liquid. Tasteless, or with sensible taste and smell.
Sp. gr. = 1.0,-1.0269.
mineralogy.
Genus I.—Carbonic Acid.
Taste slightly acid. Sp. gr. =0.0018.
1. Aeriform Carbonic Acid.
Specific Character—Elastic. Taste acidulous and pun-
Carbon 27.4, oxygen 72.6, =100.
137
Minera¬
logy.
gent.
Constituent Parts.-
Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in
marshy places and in acidulous waters, in Great Britain
and other countries.
Genus II—Muriatic Acid.
Smell of saffron, and strong acid taste. Sp. gr. = 0.0023.
1. Aeriform Muriatic Acid.
suffocTtmg ExPansible’ Smell pungent and
Constituent Parts—Muriatic acid 73.31, water 24.69
Berzelius. *
Geographic Situations—Rises from volcanoes.
Genus III—Sulphuric Acid.
. If gaseous, the smell is sulphureous. If liquid, the taste
is strongly acid. Sp. gr. = 0.0025, — 1.5.'
1. Aeriform Sulphuric Acid.
Specific Character—Expansible. Sp. gr. =0.0028.
Constituent Parts—Sulphur 50.144, oxygen 49.856,
= 100. Berzelius.
Geognostic Situation—Often rises in considerable quan¬
tities from volcanoes.
2. Liquid Sulphuric Acid.
Specific Character—Liquid. Sp. gr. =1.8, 1.9.
Geognostic Situation.—Occurs in volcanic districts in
Italy, America, and Java.
Genus IY—Boracic Acid.
Solid. Sp. gr. 1.4 to 1.5.
1. Prismatic Boracic Acid.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Occurs in scaly crusts. Taste first sourish, or sub-acid,
then bitter and cooling, and lastly sweetish.
Constituent Parts—Boron 25.83, oxygen 74.17. Ber¬
zelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Found on the
edges of hot springs in Italy, &c.
Genus I—Atmospheric Water.
Without smell or taste.
1. Pure Atmospheric Water.
Specific Character—Without smell or taste.
Constituent Parts.—Oxygen 88.94, hydrogen 11.06,
= 100. Berzelius. 1 he purest natural wrater contains small
portions of foreign matter.
This is common rain, river, and spring water. Mineral
waters might be introduced into this part of the system.
Genus II—Sea Water.
Sensible smell and taste.
1. Common Sea Water.
Specific Character.—Bitter nauseous taste, and disagree¬
able smell. S
Constituent Parts.—In 10,000 parts of water of the
frith of forth, common salt 220.01, sulphate of soda 33.16,
muriate of magnesia 42.09, muriate of lime 7.84,= 303.09.
Order III ACID.
Sp. gr. =0.0015,—3.7. Acid.
VOL. XV.
Genus V.—Arsenic Acid.
Solid. Sp. gr. above 3.0.
1. Octahedral Arsenic Acid.
Arsenic oxyde.—Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Taste sweetish-astringent. Hardness = 1.5. Sp. °t. = 3 6
—3.7.
Description.—Colour white, often inclining to yellow.
Occurs in delicate capillary crystals; also massive, in crusts,
stalactitic, reniform and botryoidal. Lustre vitreous, in¬
clining to adamantine. Translucent or opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Arsenic 75.82, oxygen 24.18, = 100.
Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
at Andreasberg in the Hartz.
Order IV.—SALT.
Sp.gr. =1.2, — 2.9. Solid. Not acid.
Genus I.—Natron.
Prismatic. Taste pungent and alkaline. Hardness,
= 1.0, —1.5. Sp. gr. =1.4, —1.6.
s
138
MINERALOGY.
Minerar
logy.
1. Hemiprismatic Natron.
Hemiprismatisches Natron-Salz, Mohs.—Natiirliches Mi¬
neral-Alkali, Werner Soude carbonatee, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Hemiprismatic. Cleavage pris¬
matic.
description—Its chief colours are grey, white, and yel¬
low. Occurs in acicular crystals, in radiated and granular
distinct concretions ; also in loose earthy particles, and in
crusts. Is more or less translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Dry carbonate of soda 32.6, sulphate
of soda, 20.8, muriate of soda, 15.8, water of crystallization
31.6, =100.0.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in
crusts on rocks and soils of different kinds ; and also in the
waters of natron lakes and springs. It is particularly abun¬
dant in the natron lakes in Egypt.
Genus II.—Glauber Salt.
granular, fibrous, radiated, and prismatic concretions; mas¬
sive, dentiform, and stalactitic. Lustre between vitreous
and resinous. More or less transparent and translucent.
Constituent Parts—Muriate of soda 98.32, sulphate of
lime 0.65, muriate of magnesia 0.02, muriate of lime 0.01,
undissolved matter 1.0, =99. Henry.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations It occurs in
beds, imbedded masses, and veins, associated with salinife-
rous clay, gypsum, limestone, sandstone, and anhydrite, in
the salt formation; also in layers and crusts on soils of
particular kinds, and deposited on the shores of salt lakes,
and in the vicinity of salt springs. Occurs abundantly in
Cheshire, and also in other parts of England.
Genus V.—Sal Ammoniac.
Tessular. Taste pungent and urinous. Hardness = 1.5,
—2.0. Sp. gr. 1.5, —1.6.
Prismatic. Taste, first cooling, then saline and bitter.
Hardness = 1.5, — 2.0. Sp.gr. 1.4, —1.5.
1. Prismatic Glauber Salt.
Prismatisches Glauber Salz. Mohs—Natiirliches Glau¬
ber Salz, Werner.—Soude sulphatee, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
^ . . P
Combination hemiprismatic. 7p. Cleavage, Pr + oo per¬
fect. Less perfect, Pr go . (Fig. 29, 28.)
description Colour white, sometimes inclining to yel¬
low. Occurs in acicular crystals, granular concretions, sta¬
lactitic, in loose earthy particles, and in crusts. More or
less translucent.
Constituent Parts—Sulphuric acid 24.84, soda 19.39,
water 55.77, = 100.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs on
soils and rocks of different descriptions, in Scotland, Eng¬
land, and other countries.
Genus III.—Nitre.
Prismatic. Taste cooling and saline. Hardness = 2.0.
Sp. gr. = 1.9, —2.0.
1. Prismatic Nitre.
Prismatisches Nitrum-Salz. Mohs. Natiirlicher Salpe-
ter, Werner. Potasse nitratee, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid =132° 22';
91° 15'; 107° 43'. Cleavage, Pr + oo = 120°. More dis¬
tinct, Pr + a>. (Fig. 30, 29.)
description—Colour white, grey, and sometimes yel¬
low. Occurs in acicular crystals, in crusts, and in fibrous
concretions. More or less translucent.
Constituent Parts—Potash 55.28, nitric acid 44.72.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in-
crusting limestone, marl, sandstone, calc-tuff, chalk, and
on soils of particular kinds. It is collected in limestone
caves in Italy, in caves of various descriptions in America,
and in abundance from the surface of the ground in many
of the Tartarian plains.
Genus IV.—Rock-Salt.
Tessular. Taste saline. Hardness = 2.0. Sp.gr. = 2.2,
— 2 3.
1. Hexahedral Rock-Salt.
Hexaedrisches Steinsalz, Mohs. Natiirlich Kochsalz
Werner.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage, hexahedral.
description.—Most frequent colours grey and w'hite;
sometimes also blue, red, yellow,, and green. Occurs in
1. Octahedral Sal Ammoniac.
Octaedrisches Salmiac, Mohs. Naturlicher Salmiac,
Werner. Ammoniaque Muriatee, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage, octahedral.
description—Colours white, grey, yellow, and some¬
times green and bluish. Occurs in granular and fibrous
concretions; also in efflorescences, in crusts, stalactitic, bo •
tryoidal, tuberose, and corroded. More or less translucent.
Constituent Parts—.Muriate of ammonia 99.4, sulphate
of ammonia 0.5. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in
crusts in the fissures and on the surfaces of volcanic rocks,
as in Vesuvius, 7Etna, &c.
Genus VI—Vitriol.
Pyramidal, prismatic. Taste, astringent. Hardness
= 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. =1.8, — 2.3.
1. Hemiprismatic, or Green Vitriol.
Hemiprismatisches Vitriol-Salz, Mohs. Eisen Vitriol,
Werner. Fer Sulfatee, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Combination hemi-
P
prismatic -=102° 35', P + go =82° 21'. Cleavage =
4U
P + co . Inclination ofP — oo to P-f-oo = 990 23'.
Green. Hardness =2.0. Sp. gr. = 1.8, —2.9.
Description—Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized, in fibrous concretions, massive, stalactitic, botryoidal,
and reniform. More or less translucent and transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Sulphuric acid 31.02, oxide of iron
27.19, water 41.79, = 100. Kobel.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in coal
and iron mines, both in Scotland and England.
2. Tetartoprismatic Vitriol, or Blue Vitriol.
Prismatisches Vitriol-Salz, Mohs. Kupfervitriol, Wer¬
ner. Cuivre Sulfatee, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. Combination, tetarto¬
prismatic. Cleavage, two faces, one more distinct than
the other; incidence, 149° 2'. Hardness =2.5. Sp. gr.
= 2.2, 2.3.
description—Colour blue. Occurs distinctly crystal¬
lized, massive, stalactitic, and dentiform. More or less
transparent and translucent.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of copper 31.72, sulphuric
acid, 31.72, water, 36.14.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in cop¬
per mines in England and Ireland.
3. Prismatic Vitriol, or White Vitriol.
Prismatisches Vitriol-Salz, Mohs. Zink-vitriol, Werner.
Zink sulfatee. Hauy.
MINERALOGY.
139
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pzrl27° 27; 126° 45;
, 78° 5'. P + qo = 90° 42'. Cleavage Pr + oo very per¬
fect. White. Hardness =z2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. =2.0,
— 2.1.
Constituent Parts —Oxide of zinc 27.5, sulphuric acid,
20.0, water 50.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. — Occurs in
mines where blende is met with, both in Flintshire and
Cornwall.
Genus X —Glauberite.
Brithyn-Salz, Mohs.
Prismatic. Taste feebly saline and astringent,
ness = 2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr. 2.75, —2.85.
1. Prismatic Glauberite.
Prismatisches Brithyn-Salz, Mohs.— Glauberite, Haiiy.
Specific Character.— Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Minera¬
logy.
Hard-
Genus VII Epsom Salt.
Prismatic. Taste bitter and saline. Hardness = 2.0,
— 2.5. Sp. gr. =1.7, — 1.8.
1. Prismatic Epsom Salt.
Prismatisches Bittersalz, Mohs. Natiirlicher Bittersalz,
Werner. Magnesie Sulfatee, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. P = 127° 22/; 126°
48'; 78° 7/. P + a> = 90° 38'. Cleavage Pr + 8, very
perfect.
Description.—Colours white and grey. Occurs in crusts,
botryoidal, reniform, and crystallized. Transparent or
translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Magnesia 16.0, sulphuric acid 32.53.
water 51.43.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs along
with natural alum at Hurlet near Paisley.
Genus VIII—Alum.
Tessular. Taste sweetish, astringent. Hardness = 2.0,
—2.5. Sp.gr. = 1.7, — 1.8.
1. Octahedral Alum.
Octaedrisches Alaun, Mohs Natiirlicher Alaun, Wer¬
ner.—Alumine Sulphatee Alcaline, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Description—Colours white. Occurs in crystals ; but
more frequently in farinaceous efflorescences, stalactitic,
and in fibrous concretions. Translucent.
Constituent Parts—Alumina 10.8. Potash 10.1. Sul¬
phuric acid 33.7. Water 45.4.— Gmelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Generally oc¬
curs incrusting aluminous minerals, in which situation it is
met with in various parts of Scotland and England.
Genus IX.—Borax.
Combination hemiprismatic.
Cleavage
Pr
2’
perfect.
In¬
distinct P + oo = 104° 28'. (Fig. 35, 30.)
Description—Colours white and yellow. Occurs crys¬
tallized in oblique four-sided prisms. Shining lustre. Frac¬
ture conchoidal. Transparent. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Sulphate of lime 49.0. Sulphate
of soda 51.0.—Brongniart.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. — Occurs in
masses of rock-salt, associated with clay, at Villarubia near
Ocanas, in the province of Toledo, in Spain.
CLASS II.
Specific gravity above 1.8. Tasteless.
Order I.—HALOIDE.1
Not metallic. Streak white or grey. Hardness =1.5,
—5.0. Sp. gr. = 2.2.—3.3.
If pyramidal or prismatic, the hardness = 4.0, and less.
If tessular, the hardness = 4.0. If single highly perfect
faces of cleavage, the sp. gr = 2.4, and less. If the hard¬
ness ‘s under 2.5, the sp. gr. = 2.4, and less. If the sp.
gr. = 2.4, and less, the hardness is under 2.5, and no resi¬
nous lustre.
Genus I.—Gypsum.
Prismatic. Hardness = 1.5,—3.5. Sp. gr. = 2.2,—3.0.
If the sp. gr. is above 2.5, there are cleavages in three
directions, perpendicular to each other, and of which two
are more distinct than the other.
1. Prismatoidal Gypsum, or Common Gypsum.
Prismatoidisches Gyps-Haloid, Mohs.—Chaux sulfatee,
Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid = 149° 33';
135° 32'; 54° 52'. P-{-a>=110o 30'. Combination
Borax-Salz, Mohs.
Prismatic. Taste feebly sweetish and alkaline. Hard¬
ness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.7,—1.8.
1. Prismatic Borax.
Prismatisches Borax-Salz, Mohs.—Soude Boratee, Haily.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P = 150° 9'; 120° 20';
67° 3'. P + oo = 52° 53'. Combination hemiprismatic,
P
- = 120° 23'. Cleavage (Pr + oo )3 = 88° 8'. More dis¬
tinct Pr + oo . (Fig. 32, 29.)
Description—Colours white, grey, and green. Occurs
crystallized, internally shining and resinous. Fracture,
flat, conchoidal. Semitransparent.
Constituent Parts.—Soda 16.31. Boracic acid 36.59.
Water 47.10.—Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
soil, and in the wrater of springs in Thibet and Persia.
p o
hemiprismatic, —=149° 33'. Cleavage, Pr + co,very
perfect and distinct, Pr, Pr+oo, imperfect. (Fig. 41.)
Hardness = 1.5,— 2.0. Sp. gr. = 2.2, — 2.4.
Description Most frequent colours white and grey; oc¬
curs also yellow, red, blue, green, brown, and even black.
Occurs in regular crystals ; in granular, scaly-granular, and
fibrous distinct concretions ; massive, disseminated, and
dentiform. Lustre alternates from splendent to glimmer¬
ing, and is pearly. Fracture splintery. Fragments inde¬
terminate, angular, and blunt-edged. Alternates fi'om
transparent to translucent on the edges.
The transparent and highly crystallized varieties are
named selenite ; those in granular concretions, foliated
granular gypsum ; those disposed in fibrous concretion,
fibrous gypsum ; the splintery fracture characterizes the
compact gypsum ; while those varieties composed of scaly-
granular concretions form the subspecies named scaly-
foliated gypsum. Some varieties, composed of fine scaly or
1 From «Xf, salt; and *S»f, the appearance (habitus).
'
MINERALOGY.
Minera- dusty and slightly cohering particles, are named earthy gyp-
logy. sum.
v-—Constituent Parts.—Lime 33.0. Sulphuric acid 44.8.
Water 21.0.—Bucholz.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Selenite, the
purest subspecies, occurs most frequently in what are call¬
ed the gypsum and salt formations of the secondary class of
rocks ; also in metalliferous veins of different descriptions,
and in various alluvial clays and marls. The foliated granu¬
lar subspecies occurs in beds, in transition and secondary
rocks,—-being in the former intermixed with mica, in the
latter with quartz, boracite, &c. The compact variety oc¬
curs in considerable abundance along with the granular in
the secondary gypsum formation, and the fibrous is disposed
in veins in the same formation, which also contains the
scaly-foliated and the earthy kinds.
The salt mines in England afford examples of nearly all
the subspecies, and several of them are also met with in
Scotland.
2. Prismatic Gypsum, or Anhydrite.
Prismatisches Gyps-Haloide, Mohs—Muriacit, Werner.—
Chaux Anhydro- Sulphatee, Hefuy.
Specific Character Prismatic. Pyramid = 121° 32';
108° 35'; 99° 7'. Cleavage, Pr —oo . Pr + oo ,veryper-
fect. Less perfect?— oo . Traces of P + a* • (Eig* 29,
28, 27, 30.) Hardness = 3.0,— 3.5. Sp. gr. = 2.7,—3.0.
Description Colours white, blue, red, and grey. Oc¬
curs crystallized; in granular, fibrous, and lamellar con¬
cretions; massive, and vermicular]y convoluted or contorted.
Lustre alternates from splendent to glistening, and is pearly
Fracture splintery and conchoidal. Alternates from trans¬
parent to translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts.—Lime 41.75, sulphuric acid 55.0,
muriate of soda, 1.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs mas¬
sive, and in beds in the salt and secondary gypsum forma¬
tions. Is frequently intermixed with rock-salt, also with
stinkstone, saliniferous clay, and occasionally with ores of
different kinds. Some varieties are met with in transition
and primitive rocks. Several of the varieties are found in
the red sandstones of England and Scotland.
Genus II.—Cryolite.
Prismatic. Cleavage in three directions, perpendicular
to each other, of which one is more perfect than the others.
Hardness = 2.5, — 3.0. Sp. gr. = 2.9, — 3.0.
1. Prismatic Cryolite.
Kryolite, Werner—Prismatisches Kryon-Haloide, Mohs.
—Alumine fluatee alcaline, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, P — go . Less distinct, Pr + x;. Pr + oo .
Traces of P. (Fig. 27, 29, 28.)
Description—Colours white, brown, and red. Occurs
massive, disseminated, and in lamellar concretions. Inter¬
nally shining, and lustre vitreous, inclining to pearly.
Fracture uneven. Fragments cubical. Translucent. Brit¬
tle, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Alumina 24.40, soda 31.35, fluoric
acid 44.25. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. It has hitherto
been found only in West Greenland, where it occurs in
gneiss, associated with iron-pyrites and galena or lead-
glance.
Genus III—Alumstone.
Alaun-Haloide, Mohs.—Alaunstein, Werner.
Rhombohedral. Hardness = 5.0. Sp. gr. = 2.4, 2.6.
1. Rhombohedral Alumstone. Minen. H
Rhomboidrisches Alaun-Haloide, Mohs. logy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhomboid un-
known. Cleavage R —go . R.
Description Colours white, red, and rarely grey. Oc¬
curs massive, porous, and vesicular. Lustre feebly glim¬
mering Fracture uneven. Feebly translucent on the
edges. Brittle, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—Mont d’Or in Auvergne. Sul¬
phuric acid 27.05, alumina 31.80, potash 5.79, silica 28.40,
water and loss 3.72. Cordier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in beds
and large irregular masses in porphyry in Hungary, and in
veins and drusy cavities in aluminous rocks at Tolfa, near
to Civita Vecchia.
Genus IV Fluor.
Tessular. Hardness == 4.0. Sp. gr. = 3.0, — 3.3.
1. Octahedral Fluor.
Octaedrisches Flus-Haloide, Mohs.—Chaux fluatee, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Description.—Colours white, grey, black, blue, green,
yellow, red, and brown. Occurs regularly crystallized, in
granular, prismatic, and lamellar concretions, massive, and
disseminated. Lustre from splendent to feebly glimmer¬
ing, and vitreous. Fracture even, inclining to splintery
and to conchoidal. More or less transparent and translucent.
Brittle, and easily frangible.
The varieties, with even fracture and feeble lustre, are
named compact fiuor ; those in which the cleavage is dis¬
tinct are named common or foliated fiuor ; and some rare,
dull, earthy, and loosely aggregated varieties, which occur,
incrusting other minerals, are described under the name
earthy fiuor.
Constituent Parts.—Lime 67.75, fluoric acid 32.25.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations It occurs in
veins and beds in primitive gneiss, mica-slate, and clay-
slate, in various remarkable metalliferous formations of
cobalt, silver, tin, lead, copper, &c.; less frequently in
transition rocks, and very abundantly in some secondary
rocks, as limestone, and rarely in secondary porphyries. It
is a rare mineral in Scotland, its principal localities being
Monaltree, in Aberdeenshire, Banffshire, Papa Stour in
Shetland, and Gourock in Renfrewshire. It is very abun¬
dant in several of the mining districts in England.
Genus V—Apatite.
Rhombohedral. Hardness = 5.0. Sp. gr. = 3.0,— 3.3.
1. Rhombohedral Apatite.
Rhomboedrishes Flus-Haloide, Mohs—Apatit, Werner.—
Chaux phosphatee, Hauy.
Specific Character Rhombohedral. R = 88° 4F.
Combination, dirhombohedral. 2. Rzrl31014'; 1110
20', (P + ri)n hemi-dirhombohedral, with parallel planes.
Cleavage, R—oo. P-j-oo . 11 = 5. Sp. gr. — 3.0, — 3.3.
Description Colours white, green, blue, red, yellow,
and brown. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in concretions
which are granular, lamellar, and fibrous ; massive and dis¬
seminated ; lustre resinous, and varying from splendent to
glimmering. Fracture conchoidal and uneven. Alternates
from transparent to feebly translucent on the edges. Brit¬
tle, and easily frangible.
One set of varieties, in which the cleavage is very dis¬
tinct, is named foliated apatite; another, in which the
fracture is conchoidal, is named conchoidal apatite ; and
the varieties in which the fracture is uneven are named
phosphorite.
MINER
Qmtituent Parts.—Lime 55.75, phosphoric acid 44.25.
■j. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in
gneiss, near Kincardine, in Ross-shire; in the same rock
in the Shetland Islands ; and in veins in greenstone, in the
Island of Rume. Several varieties are met with in Corn¬
wall.
Genus VI.—Limestone.
Kalk-Haloide, Mohs.
Rhombohedral, prismatic. Cleavage, rhombohedro-para-
tomous, prismatoidal. Hardness = 3.0, — 4.5. Sp. gr. —
2.5, — 3.2. If prismatic, the specific gravity = 3.0 and
less. If the hardness is above 4.0, the specific gravity =
2.8 and more. If specific gravity zr 2.9 and more, the
hardness = 2.8 and more.
1. Prismatic Limestone, or Aragonite.
Prismatisches Kalk-Haloide, Mohs Aragon, Werner.
—Arragonite, Haiiy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid =113° 44';
93° 43' ; 122° lO^ P -f- go = 105° 23/. Cleavage,
Pr — 1 = 109° 28'. (Pr + oo )3 = 64° 4/. More distinct,
Pr + oo . (Fig. 42.) Hardness = 3.5, — 4.0. Sp. gr. =
2.6, — 3.0.
Description—Colours white, grey, green, and violet-
blue. Occurs regularly crystallized ; also in prismatic con¬
cretions and massive. Lustre vitreous, inclining to resin¬
ous, and shining and glistening. Fracture conchoidal pass¬
ing into uneven. Translucent and transparent. Brittle,
and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Carbonate of lime 94.82, carbo¬
nate of strontites 4.08, water 0.98. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs along
with galena in the lead-mines of Leadhills, and in secondary
trap-rocks in different parts of Scotland.
2. Rhombohedral Limestone.
Rhomboedrisches Kalk-Haloide, Mohs Chaux carbona-
tee, Haiiy.—Kalk-spath, Werner.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron=
105° 5'. Cleavage, R. Hardness = 3.0. Sp. gr. = 2.5,
— 2.8.
Constituent Parts—The purest kind of this species,
named calcareous spar, is composed of lime 56.15, carbonic
acid 43.70.
Description—Colours very varied, but of all the tints,
white and grey are the most frequent; besides these, the
following kinds also occur, viz. red, blue, green, yellow,
brown, and rarely black. Occurs regularly crystallized,
and of all known minerals, exhibits the greatest number of
varieties of the rhombohedral series of crystallization ; also
in granular, prismatic, tabular, and globular distinct concre¬
tions. Its other forms are massive, disseminated, globular,
botryoidal, reniform, tuberose, stalactitic, tabular, claviform,
coralloidal, cellular, and curtain-shaped. Its lustre varies
from splendent to dull, and is vitreous, inclining sometimes
to pearly, sometimes to resinous. Fracture splintery, con¬
choidal, earthy, and uneven. Alternates from transparent
to opaque. Generally brittle, and easily frangible.
Those varieties which are regularly crystallized, and pos¬
sess high degrees of transparency, are named calcareous
spar ; those in angulo-granular distinct concretions, with
a lower lustre and transparency than the former, are the
foliated granular limestone, or crystalline marble of au¬
thors ; the varieties with splintery or conchoidal fractures
are named compact limestone; other varieties having a
grey or brown colour, dull earthy fracture, and which, on
rubbing, give out a sulphureo-bituminous smell, are named
ALOGY. ]4
stinkstone; the black varieties in granular and prismatic Minera-
concretions, or with a compact fracture, with a glimmering logv.
or shining lustre, and low degree of translucency on the
edges or complete opacity, and which, on rubbing, yield a
sulphureo-bituminous odour, are named anthraconite; those
limestones which have the oolitic structure, or are com-
posed of spherical granular concretions, set on a marly basis,
are named roestone or oolite ; the soft varieties with earthy
fractui e and white colour are named chalk ; the varieties
with dull fracture surface, in loosely cohering pieces and
crusts, and so light as nearly to swim upon water, are named
agaric mineral; the fibrous varieties are named common
fibrous limestone or satin spar, and fibrous calc-sinter, or
calcareous alabaster; the earthy-looking opaque varieties
that occur in many particular external shapes, near calca¬
reous springs, and on the borders of lakes, are named calc-
tufifi; while the varieties in spherical round granular concre¬
tions, and concentric lamellar concretions, found near hot
springs, are named peastone ; the slate-spar of mineralo¬
gists is a variety in lamellar concretions, with a beautiful
pearly lustre and feeble translucency ; varieties with earthy
fracture, more or less inclined to splintery and conchoidal,
are named marl; and, lastly, the opaque dull black varie¬
ties, with slaty fracture, are named bituminous marl-slate.
Geognostic Situation—This mineral is one of the most
abundant and widely distributed with which we are ac¬
quainted. Calcareous spar, one of its principal kinds, occurs
in every rock from granite to the newest member of the
secondary series, ft generally occurs in veins with nume¬
rous metalliferous minerals, and assists in an eminent degree
in characterizing the vast host of mineral veins in primitive,
transition, and secondary rocks. In the state of granular,
foliated, and compact limestones, also in the form of oolite,
chalk, and lucullite, it forms beds, hills, mountains, and even
ranges of mountains. The beautiful fibrous limestone or
satin-spar, occurs in veins in clay-slate, and in rocks of the
coal formation, while all the beautiful forms of calc-sinter
are met with ornamenting the walls and floors of caverns in
limestone and other formations ; calc-tuff abounds around
cold, and also warm springs, frequently incrusting organic
bodies, forming the calcareous incrustations so well known
to mineralogists. Peastone is also a production of warm
springs. The white, porous, and nearly supernatent mineral
agaric incrusts rocky cliffs, particularly in limestone hills,
and the rare variety, named slate-spar, has hitherto been
found only in primitive limestone.
Geographic Situation.—England and Scotland abound
in interesting varieties of calcareous-spar, and the moun¬
tains, hills, and valleys of Great Britain afford numerous
localities of many of the different kinds of marble, limestone,
chalk, marl, Lucullite, and oolite, while its calcareous
springs, and caves and caverns, exhibit numerous deposits
of calc-tuff and of calc-sinter.
3. Dolomite or Macrotypous 1 Limestone.
Macrotypes Kalk-Haloide, Mohs—Braunspath, Rhomb-
spath, Dolomite, Werner,.—Chaux carbonatee ferrifere per-
lee, Chaux carbonatee magnesifere, Haiiy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
106° 15'. Cleavage, rhombohedral. Hardness = 3.5,—
4.0. Sp. gr. = 2.8,—2.95.
Description—Colours wliite, grey, brown, red, and green.
Occurs crystallized in rhomboids, in granular and prismatic
concretions; massive, disseminated, globular, stalactitic,
reniform, and with tabular and pyramidal impressions.
Lustre varies from shining to glimmering, and is pearly,
sometimes inclining to vitreous. Fracture splintery, con¬
choidal, and slaty. Varies from transparent to translucent
on the edges. Brittle, and easily frangible.
1 From ficix^oi long; and tvims, the type (fundamental form_).
142 MINER
Minera- The white varieties in small and fine granular concre-
logy. tions, which are sometimes so loosely aggregated as to
separate by the mere pressure of the finger, are the dolo¬
mite-marble of mineralogists ; the magnesian limestone of
England is a dolomite with yellow or yellowish brown
colours; the green varieties are described under the name
Miemite, from Miemo in Tuscany, where they were first
found; the brown, red, reddish-white, and pearl-grey varie¬
ties, with very distinct pearly lustre, are arranged together,
and described under the names brown spar and pearl spar.
Constituent Parts.—Carbonate of lime 68.0, carbonate
of magnesia 25.5, alumina 2.0, carbonate of iron 1.0, water
2.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The dolomite
marble occurs in the island of Iona; the yellow dolomite
constitutes a secondary limestone formation very abundant
in England; the brown spar and pearl spar are not unfre¬
quent in the lead mines of Scotland and England.
4. Hreunnerite or Brachytypous1 Limestone.
Brachytypes Kalk-Haloid, Mohs Rautenspath, Werner.
—Chaux carbonatee magnesifere, Haiiy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
— 107° 22'. Cleavage rhombohedral. Hardness z=. 4.0,
—4.5. Sp. gr. = 3.0,—3.2.
Description Colours white, grey, and yellow. Occurs
crystallized in rhombs; also massive and disseminated.
Lustre splendent and vitreo-pearly. Fracture imperfect
conchoidal. More or less translucent. Brittle, and easily
frangible.
Constituent Parts—Magnesia, 41.06, protoxide of iron
8.57, oxide of manganese 0.43, carbonic acid 48.94. Stro-
meyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in chlorite-slate on the banks of Loch Lomond, and
associated with galena, copper-pyrites, and blende, near
Newton Stewart, in Galloway. It is named in honour of
Count Breunner.
5. Anherite or Paratomous Limestone.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Cleavage parallel
to a rhombohedron of 106° 12'. H = 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr.
= 2.95,—3.1. Is a compound of carbonate of lime and
carbonate of iron.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Found in the
Styrian mines. Is named in honour of Professor Anker.
Order II.—BARYTE.
Not metallic. No metallic-pearly lustre. Streak white,
grey, or orange-yellow. H = 2.5,—5.0. Sp. gr. = 3.3,
—7.3. If cleavage monotomous, the specific gravity =
4.0 and less, or = 5.0 and more. Not elastic, not flexible,
in thin folia. If lustre adamantine or imperfect metallic,
the sp. gr. = 5.0 and more. If streak orange-yellow, the
sp. gr. = 6.0 and more. If H = 5.0, and sp. gr. less than
4.5, the streak is white. If the sp. gr. is less than 4.0, and
H = 5.0, the cleavage is diprismatic.
Genus I.—Sparry Iron.
Rhombohedral. Cleavage paratomous. Hardness =3.5,
—4.5. Sp.gr.=3.3,—3.9.
1. Rhombohedral Sparry Iron.
Brachytyper Parachros Baryte, if/o/w—Spath Eisen-
stein, Werner—Fer Oxyde Carbonate, Hauy.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
= 107° 0/. Cleavage rhombohedral. H = 3.5, 4 5
Sp. gr. = 3.3,—3.9.
Description.—Colours yellow, white, brown, and black.
Occurs crystallized in rhombohedrons; also in granular
concretions, massive and disseminated. Internally, lustre
ALOG^.
pearly, and varying from shining to glimmering, and even ]yjj,nera
to splendent. Fracture sometimes splintery. Translucent i0gj '
on the edges. Rather brittle, and easily frangible. ^
Constituent Parts Protoxide of iron 57.50, car¬
bonic acid 36.00, oxide of manganese 3.30, lime 1.25.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in me¬
talliferous veins, and in common veins, in primitive, transi¬
tion, and secondary rocks in different parts of Great Britain
and Ireland. The common clay ironstone of the coal for¬
mation, the most important of ores, is an impure kind, of
this species.
Genus II.—Red Manganese.
Hardness = 3.5. Sp. gr. =3.3,—3.6.
1. Rhombohedral Red Manganese.
Macrotyper Parachros Baryte, Mohs Rother Braun-
stein, Werner. Manganese Oxide Carbonate, Hauy.
Specific Character.— Rhombohedron = 106° 51'. Cleav¬
age, rhombohedral.
Description.—Colours red and brown. Occurs in gra¬
nular concretions, also in fibrous concretions, which are sco-
piformly and stellularly arranged, massive, and reniform.
Lustre varies from shining to glimmering, and pearly.
Fracture splintery. More or less translucent on the edges;
in some rare varieties translucent. Brittle, and rather
easily frangible.
The varieties with distinct cleavage are named foliated red
manganese; those in fibrous concretions, fibrous red manga¬
nese ; and the splintery varieties, compact red manganese.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of manganese 54.60, carbonic
acid 33.75, oxide of iron 1.87, silica 4.37, lime 2.50. Du
Menil.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. — Occurs at
Kapnic in Transylvania, and at Catharinenberg in Siberia.
Genus HI.—Calamine.
Zinc-Baryt, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Prismatic. Hardness = 5.0. Sp. gr.
=3.3,—4.5. If rhombohedral, the sp. gr. above 4.0.
1. Prismatic Calamine, or Silicate of Zinc.
Prismatischer Zinc-Baryt, Mohs. Zink Oxyde, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid =134° 59';
99° 56'; 96° 56'. P +oo 118° 29'. Cleavage, Pr =120°.
More distinct, (Pr -f-oo )3 = 80° 4'. (Fig. 43.) Hardness
5.0. Sp. gr. =3.3,—3.6.
Description.—Most frequent colours white and yellow ;
also green, grey, yellow, and brown; and with curved
striped colour delineations. Occurs regularly crystallized,
and in distinct concretions, which are scopiform radiated,
and scopiform fibrous, granular, and curved lamellar. Mas¬
sive, in crusts, stalactitic, reniform, botryoidal, and cellular.
Internally alternates from glistening to dull, and lustre pearly,
inclining to adamantine. Fracture small and fine-grained,
uneven. Varies from transparent to opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of zinc 66.83, silica 24.89,
water 7.46. Berthier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
of galena, in greywacke, and clay-slate, and in beds, and
imbedded masses in secondary limestone. Is found in the
lead mines of Wanlockhead, and in the mines of Flintshire
and Leicestershire.
2. Rhombohedral Calamine or Carbonate of Zinc.
Rhomboedrischer Zinc-baryt, A/oAa.—Galmei, Werner.
—Zinc carbonate, Hauy.
7 From fyaxai, short, and rvvros, the type.
MINERALOGY.
[aera- Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron=r
gy. 110° (nearly.) Cleavage rhombohedral. Hardness == 5.0.
'•v'—Sp. gr. = 4.2,—4.5.
Description.—Colours white, grey, green, yellow, and
brown. Occurs regularly crystallized, and in distinct con¬
cretions, which are radiated, granular, and curved lamellar ;
massive, corroded, reniform, stalactitic, botryoidal, and
cellular. Internally ranges from shining to dull, and is
pearly. Fracture uneven, splintery, and flat conchoidal.
Ranges from transparent to opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of zinc 65.20, carbonic acid
34.80. Smithson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.— Occurs in beds,
veins, nests, filling up or lining hollows, in transition lime¬
stone and in secondary limestone. Derbyshire, Somerset¬
shire, Flintshire, and Durham, afford numerous localities of
this mineral.
Genus IV.—Tungsten, or Scheelium.
Pyramidal. Hardness =4.0,—4.5. Sp. gr. = 6.0,—6.1.
1. Pyramidal Tungsten.
Pyramidaler Scheel-Baryt, Mohs.—Schwerstein, Werner.
—Scheelin Calcaire, Haiiy.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 107° 27';
113° 35'. Combination hemi-pyramidal with parallel planes.
Cleavage, P + 1 = 100° 8'; 130° 20'. P. Traces in di¬
rection of P 00 .
Description—White is the principal colour; but other
varieties, as brown and orange yellow, occasionally occur.
Sometimes crystallized, and also in distinct concretions,
which are granular, prismatic, and curved lamellar. Oc¬
curs massive and disseminated. External lustre shining
and splendent; internal lustre shining and resinous. Frac¬
ture uneven or conchoidal. More or less translucent, sel¬
dom transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Lime 19*40, oxide of scheelium
80.24. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs along
with tinstone, wolfram, magnetic iron-ore, and brown iron-
ore, in Cornwall, &c.
Genus V. Baryte.
Prismatic. Hardness = 3.0,—4.0. Sp. gr. 3.6,—4.7.
1. Peritomous Baryte, or Strontianite.
Peritomer Hal-Baryt,
-Strontian, Werner.—.
Description.—Colours white, grey, and yellow. Oc¬
curs regularly crystallized, and also in distinct concretions,
winch are radiated and granular. Occurs massive, cellu¬
lar, globular, botryoidal, reniform, and stalactitic. Lustre
shining and resinous. Fracture uneven, inclining to splin¬
tery. 1 ranslucent. Brittle, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.— Witherit. Baryta 79*66, carbonic
acid 20.00, water 0.33. Bucholz.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs abun¬
dantly in the lead mines of Cumberland, and at Anglesark
m Lancashire.
3. Prismatic Baryte, or Heavy-Spar.
143
Prismatischer Hal-baryte, Mohs-
—Baryte sulphatee, Hauy.
Minera¬
logy.
-Schwerspath, Werner.
Mohs.
Strontiane Carbonate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 105°6'; (Pr+oo )2
= 77° 27'. Cleavage Pr= 78° 18'. Pr + oo. (Fig. 45.)
Less distinct, P—oo . (Fig. 33, 20, 27, 28.) Hardness=3.0,
—3.5. Sp. gr. = 4.1,—4.7.
Description—Colours white, grey, black, blue, green,
yellow, red, and brown. Occurs regularly crystallized;
also in granular, lamellar, fibrous, and prismatic distinct
concretions; massive, disseminated, reniform, botryoidal,
and globular. Lustre alternates from splendent to glim¬
mering, and resinous or pearly, inclining to vitreous. Frac¬
ture uneven, splintery, and earthy. Alternates from trans¬
parent to opaque. Brittle, and very easily frangible.
The varieties with uneven and splintery fracture are
named compact h. spar ; those in fine granular concretion
granular h. spar ; the lamellar varieties are named straight
or curved lamellar h. spar, according to the direction of
the lamellar concretion ; the fibrous varieties fibrous h.
spar ; the radiated varieties radiated h. spar ; those in pris¬
matic concretions prismatic h. spar ; the varieties which,
on rubbing, emit a hepatic smell, fetid h. spar, or hepatite;
and those which occur in the earthy or powdery state,
earthy h. spar.
Constituent Parts.—Baryta 66.00, sulphuric acid 34.00.
Berthier
Geognostic and Geographic Situations It occurs in
veins, either alone or associated with various metalliferous
formations of silver, copper, lead, cobalt, antimony, man¬
ganese, zinc, arsenic, iron, &c. in rocks of the primitive,
transition, and secondary classes. There are numerous lo¬
calities of this mineral in Scotland, England, and Ireland.
4. Prismatoidal Baryte, or Celestine.
Cleavage, P-j-ao=117° 19'; less distinct Pr. Traces
according to Pr+oo. (Fig* 46.) Hardness 3.5. Sp.
gr. 3.6,—3.8.
Description.-—Colours green and grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized, and in distinct concretions, which are
scopiform radiated, and scopiform fibrous. Lustre shin¬
ing, glistening, and pearly. Fracture uneven. More or
less translucent. Brittle, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—Strontia 61.21, carbonic acid 30.20,
water 8.59* Hope.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.-—Occurs at
Strontian in Scotland in veins of lead-glance that traverse
gneiss.
2. Di-prismatic Baryte or Witherite.
Di-prismatischer Hal-baryt, Mohs—Witherit, Werner.
—Baryte carbonatee, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, P. + oo = 118° 30'. Pr +go . Pr + 1 • (Fig.
46.) Hardness = 3.0,—3.5. Sp. gr. = 4.2,—4.4.
Prismatoidischer Hal-baryt, Mohs.—Coelestin, Werner.
—Strontiane sulphatee, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. Pr = 103° 58'.
(P + oo .)2 = 78° 35'. Cleavage, P7 = 76° 2'. More
distinct, Pr + oo . Less distinct P—oo . Hardness =3.0,
—3.5. Sp. gr. =3.6,—4.0.
Description.—Colours white, blue, and red. Occurs
regularly crystallized ; in granular, fibrous, and radiated
distinct concretions; massive and stalactitic. Lustre alter¬
nates from splendent to glimmering, and is pearly. Ranges
from transparent to translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts.—Strontia 58.00, sulphuric acid 42.00.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in lime¬
stone, in red sandstone, and gypsum, where it is associated
with sulphur, and in vesicular cavities in amygdaloid. It
has been found in sandstone near Inverness; in the amygda¬
loid of the Calton Hill; in the neighbourhood of Bristol;
and near Knaresborough, in Yorkshire.
T
144
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
Genus VI.—Lead-Spar.
Blei-baryt, Mohs.
Rhombohedral, pyramidal, prismatic. Hardness = 2.5,
 4.0. Sp. gr. =6.0,—7.3. If the hardness is above
3.5, the sp. gr. = 6.5, and more.
1. Di-prismatic Lead-Spar, or White and Black Lead-
Spars.
Di-prismatischer Blei-baryt, Mohs.—Plomb carbonatee,
llauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P =130° O'; 108° 28';
92° 19'. Cleavage, P?=117° 13'. (Pr + <» )3 = 69°20'.
(Fig. 43.) Hardness = 3.0,—3.5. Sp. gr. =6.3,—6.6.
Description.—Principal colour white, occurs also black,
yellow, brown, and grey. Occurs regularly crystallized ;
massive and cellular. Lustre externally ranges from splen¬
dent to shining; internally from shining to glistening, and
is adamantine, inclining more or less to resinous and im¬
perfect metallic. Fracture uneven and conchoidal. Ranges
from transparent to opaque. Streak greyish-white.
Constituent Parts.— Oxide of lead 82.0, carbonic acid
16.0, water 2.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in veins
in granite, gneiss, mica-slate, and clay-slate; also in lime¬
stone, greywacke, and in various secondary formations.
Well known localities are Leadhills and Wanlockhead.
2. Rhombohedral Lead-Spar, or Green and Brown Lead-
Spars.
Rhomboedrischer Blei-Baryt, Mohs.—Plomb phosphate,
llauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. R = 88° 29';
2 (R) = 131° 5'; 1110 48'. P = 142° 12'; 80° 44'. Clea¬
vage. P. P + oo . Both imperfect. Hardness = 3.5,—4.0.
Sp.gr. =6.9,—7.3.
Description.—Colours green, brown, and sometimes yel¬
low and white. Occurs regularly crystallized ; also in gra¬
nular, radiated, and curved lamellar concretions. Lustre
externally shining, internally glistening, and resinous. Frac¬
ture uneven or splintery. Ranges from translucent to
translucent on the edges. Streak white.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of lead 78.5, phosphoric acid
19.73, muriatic acid 1.65.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins,
and most abundantly in their upper part, in various rocks
of the primitive, transition, and secondary classes, where it
is associated with galena, white lead-spar, &c. Leadhills
and Wanlockhead are well known localities.
3. Hemi-Prismatic Lead-Spar, or Red Lead-Spar.
Hemi-prismatischer Blei-Baryt, Mohs.—Roth Bleierz,
Werner—Plomb chromate, Hauy.
Specific Character.— Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Combination hemi-prismatic. Cleavage, P + oo = 90°
(nearly). Pr +00, Pr + 00. (Fig. 30, 29, 28.) Hard¬
ness = 2.5. Sp. gr. =6.0, —6.1.
Description.—Colour hyacinth-red. Occurs regularly
crystallized ; also massive, and in flakes. Internally shin¬
ing or splendent, and lustre adamantine. Fracture uneven,
sometimes imperfect conchoidal. More or less translucent.
Streak between lemon-yellow and orange-yellow. Nearly
sectile, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of lead 63.96, chromic acid
36.40. Thenard.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in a
granular quartzy rock, associated with brown ironstone,
iron-pyrites, green lead-spar, native gold, galena, and quartz,
in Siberia; also in sandstone in the Brazils.
4. Pyramidal Lead-Spar, or Yellow Lead-Spar. Minera- Ifi
Pyramidaler Blei-Baryt, Mohs.—Gelb Bleierz, Werner. logy. 1
—Plomb molybdate, Hauy. | ^
Specific Character—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 99° 40';
131° 3*5'. Cleavage P. less distinct. P—oo . Hardness
= 3.0. Sp. gr. =6.5,—6.9.
Description.—Colour yellow. Occurs crystallized; also
massive, in crusts, and cellular. Externally generally splen¬
dent and shining; internally shining or glistening, and lustre
resino-adamantine. Fracture uneven and conchoidal. Trans¬
lucent, or translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts Oxide of lead 58.40, molybdic acid
38.00, oxide of iron 2.08. Hatchet.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in com¬
pact limestone, at Bleiberg in Carinthia; also in France
and Saxony.
5. Prismatic Lead-Spar, or Sulphate of Lead.
Prismatischer Blei-Baryt, Mohs.—Vitriol Bleierz,- Wer¬
ner.—Plomb sulphate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid = 104° 55';
(P + 00 )2 = 78° 45'. Cleavage, Pr = 76° 11'. More
distinct Pr + 00 • (Pig* 45.) Hardness = 3.0. Sp. gr.
6.2, —6.3.
Description.—Colour white, seldom green or wine yel¬
low, or blue (owing to blue malachite). Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized; in granular distinct concretions; also
massive and disseminated. Lustre adamantine, and ranging
from splendent to shining. Fracture conchoidal. Trans¬
parent or translucent.
Constituent Parts Oxide of lead 72.47, sulphuric acid
26.09, wTater 0.12, silica 0.51, Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in ga¬
lena veins, at Leadhills and Wanlockhead and also in the
Pary’s Mine in Anglesea.
Order III—KERATE.1
Not metallic. Streak white or grey. No single distinct
cleavage. Hardness = 1.0,— 2.0. Sp. gr. =5.5,—6.5.
Genus I Corneous Silver, or Chloride or Silver.
Hardness =1.0,—2.0. Sp. gr. =5.5,—6.5.
1. Hexahedral Corneous Silver.
Hexedrisches Perl Kerat, Mohs—Hornerz, Werner—
Argent muriate, Hauy.
Specific Character Tessular. Cleavage not visible.
Malleable. Sectile.
Description.—Colour pearl-grey, which passes into white,
blue, and green; on exposure to light becomes brown. Oc¬
curs crystallized; in prismatic and granular concretions;
massive, and in flakes. Lustre ranges from shining to
glistening and is resinous. Fracture conchoidal. Trans¬
lucent, or feebly translucent on the edges. Becomes shin¬
ing in the streak.
Constituent Parts Silver 76.0, chlorine 24.0.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in sil¬
ver-mines in Siberia, America, and has also been found in
Cornwall.
Genus II Corneous Mercury, or Muriate of Mer¬
cury.
Hardness =1.0,—2.0. Sp. gr. 6.4,—6.5.
1. Pyramidal Corneous Mercury.
Pyramidales Perl Kerat, Mohs.—Quecksilber Hornerz,
Werner.—Mercure muriate, Hauy.
1 From horn, as the minerals of this order resemble horn in external aspect.
MINERALOGY.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. P rr 98° 4'; 136° O'.
Cleavage P + 00 > imperfect. Sectile.
Description.—Colour grey. Occurs generally in very
minute crystals in vesicular cavities. Lustre shining and
adamantine. Faintly translucent.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of mercury 76.0, muriatic
acid 16.4, sulphuric acid 7.6. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in the
mercury-mines of Almaden, Idria, and Bohemia.
Description.—Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized, and massive. Lustre glistening and vitreo-resinous.
Translucent, or translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of iron 40.56, arsenic acid
38.00, oxide of copper 0.60, silica 0.35, water 19.57.
Perzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
copper-mines of Cornwall.
Genus III—Olivenite.
145
Minera-
logy.
Order IV.—MALACHITE.
Not metallic. Colour blue, green, brown. No single
distinct faces of cleavage. Hardness =2.0,— 5.0. Sp.
gr. =2.0,—4.6. If brown, in colour or in streak, the
hardness =3.0, and less; and the specific gravity above
2.5. If white in the streak, the specific gravity = 2.2, and
less; and the hardness under 3.0.
Genus I Copper Green, or Chrysocolla.
Staphylin Malachit, Mohs.
Uncleavable. Hardness =2.0,— 3.0. Sp. gr. =2.0,
—2.2.
1. Uncleavahle Copper-Green.
Untheilbarer Staphylin-Malachite, Mohs.—Kupfergriin,
Werner.~~r-C\rivre carbonate, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Reniform, botryoidal, massive.
Fracture conchoidal, shining. Streak white.
Description.—Colour green. Occurs massive, dissemi¬
nated, in crusts, reniform, and botryoidal. Lustre shining,
glistening, and resinous. Fracture small, conchoidal. Ranges
from translucent to translucent on the edges. Colour does
not change in the streak.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of copper 50.0, silica 26-0,
water 17.0, carbonic acid 7.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in cop¬
per-mines in Cornwall.
Genus II.—Liriconite.1
Lirikon-Malachite, Mohs.
Tessular, prismatic. Hardness = 2.0,— 2.5. Sp. gr.
= 2.8,—3.0.
1. Prismatic Liriconite, or Lenticular Arseniate of
Copper.
Prismatischer Lirikon- Malachite, Mohs. — Linsenerz,
Werner.—Cuivre arseniate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pr = 71° 59'. P + 00
= 119° 45'. Cleavage, Pr. P + oo , imperfect. (Fig. 35,
30.) Streak pale verdigris-green,...Sky-blue. Hardness
= 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. =2.8,— 3.0.
Description.—Colour blue, inclining more or less to ver¬
digris-green. Occurs regularly crystallized. Lustre shin¬
ing, glistening, and pearly, passing to vitreous. Fracture
uneven. Translucent. Brittle, and uncommonly easily
frangible.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
copper-mines of Cornwall.
2. Hexahedral Liriconite, or Cubical Arseniate of Iron.
Hexaedrischer Liricon-Malachite, Mohs.—Wurfelerz, If cr-
ner—Fer arseniate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Combination semi-tes-
sular, with inclined planes. Cleavage, hexahedral. Streak
pale olive-green,...brown. Hardness = 2.5. Sp. gr. =
2.9,—3.0.
Oliven-Malachit, Mohs.
Prismatic. Cleavage very imperfect. Colour neither
blue nor bright green. Streak olive-green—brown. Hard¬
ness = 3.0,—4.0. Sp. gr. = 3.6,—4.6.
1. Prismatic Olivenite, or Prismatic Arseniate of Copper.
Prismatischer Oliven-Malachit, Mohs.—Olivenerz, Wer¬
ner.—Cuivre arseniate, Hauy.
O
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 110° 50'. P -j- oo
= 92° 30'. Cleavage, Pr, P + oo . (Fig. 30.) Streak
olive-green,—brown. Hardness = 3.0. Sp. gr. = 4.2,—
4.6.
Description.—Principal colour olive-green, also yellow,
brown, and white. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in con¬
cretions which are scopiform fibrous, angulo-granular, and
curved lamellar; massive and in drusy crusts. Lustre
ranges from splendent to glimmering, and is resinous, in¬
clining to pearly, or pearly. Ranges from transparent to
opaque.
Constituent Parts. — Oxide of copper 50.62, arsenic
acid 45.00, water 3.50. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
copper-mines of Cornwall.
2. Diprismatic Olivenite or Phosphate of Copper of Libe-
then.
Diprismatischer Oliven-Malachit, Mohs.
Specific Character.— Prismatic. Pr = 1110 58'. P -f- oo
O — O
= 95° 2'. Cleavage + Pr + oo . Pr + go , also Pr and
P + oo . Streak olive-green. Hardness = 4.0. Sp. gr.
= 3.6,—3.8.
Description.—Colours grass, olive, leek, and pistachio-
green. Occurs regularly crystallized. Lustre vitreous and
pearly. Fracture conchoidal. Ranges from semitrans¬
parent to translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of copper 63.0, phosphoric
acid 28.7, water 8.4. Berthier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. — Occurs in
drusy cavities in micaceous clay-slate, with quartz and tile-
ore ; sometimes also with copper-pyrites, at Libethen, in
Hungary.
Genus IV.—Blue Malachite, or Blue Copper.
Lazur Malachit, Mohs.
Prismatic. Streak and colour blue. Hardness = 3.5,—
4.0. Sp.gr. =3.5,—3.7,—3.9.
1. Prismatic Blue Malachite.
Prismatischer Lazur Malachit, Mohs. — Kupferlazur,
Werner.—Cuivre carbonate bleu, Haiiy. ^
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Hemiprismatic - =
116° 7'. (P -{- oo )2 =59° 14'. Cleavage (PH-00 )2- Less
distinct P—oo . Traces according to Pr = 99° 32'.
Description.—Colours blue. Occurs regularly ciystal-
vol. xv.
From Xt/jaj, pale, and mohx, dust (the streak).
T
146
MINERALOGY.
Minera- lized in concretions which are scopiform and stellular, ra-
logy. dialed, and also curved lamellar ; massive, globular, bo-
'“’“v"'-"''tryoidal, reniform, stalactitic, and cellular. Lustre ranges
from shining to glimmering, and is vitreo-resinous. Frac¬
ture conchoidal. Ranges from transparent to translucent
on the edges.
A variety, in dull and fine dusty particles, is named earthy
blue malachite, while the other varieties are denominated
radiated blue malachite.
Constituent Parts.—Copper 56.0, oxygen 12.5, car¬
bonic acid 2.5. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in mi¬
neral veins and in beds in gneiss, mica-slate, greywacke,
limestone, and red sandstone. It occurs at the Lead Hills,
and in various English copper and lead mines.
* Velvet Blue Copper.
Kupfersammterz, Werner.
Description.—Occurs in bright blue, short capillary crys¬
tals. Lustre glistening and silky.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It is a rare mi¬
neral ; its only known locality is the Bannat, where it is as¬
sociated with green malachite and brown iron-ore.
Genus V.—Emerald Malachite, or Dioptase.
Smaragd-Malachit, Mohs.
llhombohedral. Colour lively emerald-green. Hard¬
ness = 5.0. Sp. gr. = 3.2,—3.4.
1. Bhombohedral Emerald Malachite, or Dioptase.
Rhomboedrischer Smaragd-Malachit, Mohs.—Kufersch-
maragd, Werner.—Cuivre Dioptase, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron =
126° YJ'. Cleavage rhombohedral. Streak green.
Description.—Colour emerald-green. Occurs regularly
crystallized. Internally shining and pearly. Fracture con-
ehoidal. Translucent, passing into semi-transparent.
Constituent Parts Oxide of copper 45.45, silica
43.18, water 11.36. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Is a very rare
mineral, and has hitherto been found only in the land of the
Kirgies in Tartary.
Genus VI.—Green Malachite.
Habronem-Malachit, Mohs.
Prismatic. Colour or streak bright green. Hardness
= 2.5,—5. Sp. gr. = 3.5,—4.3.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown. Mine
Cleavage, Pr . P + oo = 103° (nearly.) (Fig. 33,30.) Streak
grass or apple green. Hardness = 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr. =
Mi
Ii
3.6,—3.7.
Description.—Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in distinct concretions, which are scopiform, fibrous,
angulo-granular, and wedge-shaped ; also massive, dissemi¬
nated, tuberose, stalactitic, reniform, botryoidal, fruticose,
and cellular. Lustre ranges from shining to glimmering,
and is silky. Fracture uneven, conchoidal, and even.
Ranges from translucent to opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Copper 56.00, oxygen 14.00, car¬
bonic acid 21.25, water 8.75. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
that traverse primitive, transition, and secondary rocks;
also in beds, and disseminated through rocks of different
kinds. The copper-mine of Sand-lodge, in Shetland, for¬
merly afforded fine specimens of the fibrous varieties; and
fine masses are sometimes found in the copper-mines of
Cornwall.
3. Prismatoidal Green Malachite or Muriate of Copper.
Sallkupferez, Werner.—Cuivre muriate, Hauy Ataca-
mite.
Specific Character.—VxxsmoXAC. Pr —107° 10'. P-{-oo
= 67° 15'. Cleavage Pr + go , perfect. Streak apple-green.
Hardness — 3.0,—3.5. Sp. gr. = 4.0,—4.3.
Description—Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in radiated and granular concretions ; massive, dis¬
seminated, and in scaly particles. Lustre shining, glisten¬
ing, and pearly. Translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of copper 76.6, muriatic
acid 10.6, water 12.8 Proust.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
along with ores of copper in Chili, in the form of grains
and scales in alluvial sand in the Desert of Atacama in Peru.
Is also found in fissures of some Vesuvian lavas.
Order V—MICA.
Cleavage montomous, very distinct. Hardness = 1.0,
—4.5. Sp. gr. 1.8,—3.4.
If metallic lustre, the sp. gr. is under 2.2. If no metal¬
lic lustre, the sp. gr. is above 2.2. If the streak is yellow,
the sp. gr. is under 3.2. If the hardness is above 3.0, it is
rhombohedral. If the sp. gr. is under 2.5, it is metallic.
1. Prismatic Green Malachite, or Hydrous Phosphate of
Copper.
^ Prismatischer Habronem-Malachit, T/o/i,?. —Phosphor
Kupfererz, Werner.—Cuivre phosphate, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, Pr + co . Imperfect. (Fig. 30.) Streak eme¬
rald-green. Hardness = 5.0. Sp. gr. — 4.0,—4.3.
description. Colours emerald-green, externally with a
blackish tarnish, or spotted black. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; in scopiform fibrous concretions ; massive, reni¬
form, botryoidal. Lustre ranges from shining to glimmer¬
ing, and is resino-pearly. Fracture uneven. Opaque
Constituent Parfe.—Oxide of copper 62.85, phospho¬
ric acid 21.68, water 15.45. ]
Geognostic and Geographic Situatiom.—Q ccurs at Vir-
neberg, near Rheinbreitenbach, where it is disposed in veins
in greywacke.
2. Hemiprismatic Green Malachite, or Common Ma¬
lachite.
Hemiprismatischer Habronem-Malachit, Mohs. Mala-
chit, Werner.—Cuivre carbonate vert, HaiXy.
Genus I—Copper Mica.
Streak green. Hardness = 2.0. Sp. gr. = 2.5,—2.6.
1. Rhombohedral Copper Mica, or Micaceous Arseniate of
Copper.
Rhomboedrischer Euchlor-glimmer, Mohs Kupfer-
glimmer, Werner—Cuivre arseniate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
— 68° 45'. Cleavage R — co . Streak emerald,... apple-
green.
Description.—Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in granular concretions ; massive, and disseminated.
Internally splendent and pearly. Fracture uneven. Trans¬
lucent and transparent,. Sectile.
Constituent Parts Oxide of copper 39-0, arsenic
acid 43.0, water 17.0. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
copper-mines of Cornwall.
Genus II—Uran-Mica, or Uranite.
Streak green,...yellow. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp.
gr. = 3.0,—3.2.
MINERALOGY.
1. Pyramidal Ur an Mica.
y* Pyramidaler Euchlor-glimmer, Mohs Uranglimmer,
Werner.—Uran Oxyde, Hariy.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid rz 95° 13';
144° 56'. Cleavage, P —oo .
Description.—Colours green and yellow. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized ; seldom massive, in scales, and in angulo-
granular concretions. Lustre ranges from splendent to
glistening, and is pearly. Transparent and translucent.
Sectile. Not flexible. Easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of uran 59.37, phosphoric
acid 14.63, water 14.90. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
copper and tin mines of Cornwall.
* Uran Ochre.—This is the yellow or reddish coloured,
soft, earthy-looking, opaque mineral, occasionally associated
with uran-mica, and also with uran-ore.
Description.—Colours white and grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized; in concretions which are scopiform and
stellular radiated, and also granular. Lustre shining and
pearly adamantine. Translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of antimony 86.0, oxide of
antimony and iron 3.0, silica 8.0. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs in
veins in primitive rocks, along with galena and grey and
red antimony, in Bohemia, France, and Hungary.
* Antimony Ochre.—Spiesglanzocker, Werner.
Colours yellow, brown, and green. Occurs massive,
disseminated, and in crusts. Dull. Earthy. Opaque. Very
soft. J
It always occurs in veins along with grey, and occasion¬
ally with red antimony, as in Cornwall.
Genus V—Blue Iron, or Iron Mica.
147
Minera-
Lgy.
Genus III.—Cobalt Mica, or Red Cobalt.
Kobalt-Glimmer, Mohs.
Prismatic. Colour and streak red. Folia flexible. Hard¬
ness = 2.5. Sp. gr. = 2.9,—3.1.
1. Prismatic Cobalt Mica, or Red Cobalt.
Prismatischer Kobalt-Glimmer, Mohs.—Rother Erd Ko-
balt, Werner.—Cobalt arseniate, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
p _
Combination hemi-prismatic,—. Cleavage, Pr + oo . (Fig.
A
29.) Streak red.
Description.—Colours red, rarely grey, green, and brown.
Occurs regularly crystallized; in stellular and scopiform
fibrous concretions ; massive, disseminated, in crusts, reni-
form, and botryoidal. Lustre ranges from shining to dull,
and is pearly and resinous. Fracture earthy and conchoi-
dal. Sectile. Ranges from translucent to opaque.
Constituent Parts.— Oxide of cobalt 39-0, arsenic acid
37-0, water 22.0. Bucholz.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
in primitive and secondary rocks, and is met with in the
coal-field around Edinburgh, and in the old lead-mines of
Tyndrum in Perthshire.
* Cobalt Ochre.—There are two kinds of this mineral.
1. Black Cobalt Ochre.—Schwarz Erd Kobolt, Werner.
Colours black and occasionally brown. Occurs botryoi¬
dal, reniform, and in crusts. Lustre glimmering or dull.
Fracture earthy and conchoidal. Opaque. Streak shining
and resinous. Very soft, and sometimes friable.
It is a compound of black oxide of cobalt, with arsenic
and oxide of iron.
It occurs at Alderley Edge, Cheshire, in red sandstone.
2. Brown and Yellow Cobalt Ochre.—These differ from
the preceding principally in colour, the tints being yellow
and brown.
Genus IV.—Antimony Mica, or White Antimony.
Antimon-Glimmer, Mohs.
Hardness =2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr. =5.5,—5.6.
1. Prismatic White Antimony.
Prismatiches Antimon-glimmer, Mohs Weiss-spiess-
glaserz, Werner—Antimoine Oxyde, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. Pr — 1 =70° 32'.
(P-f- go ) — 136° 58. Cleavage (Pr + go )2, very perfect.
Pr + go • Streak white or grey.
Eisen-Glimmer, Mohs.
Prismatic. Streak white, grey,...blue. Hardness =2.0.
Sp. gr. =2.6,—2.7.
1. Prismatic Blue Iron, or Iron Mica.
Prismatisches Eisen G\\vamer,Mohs.—Vivianit, Werner.
Fer Phosphate, Hauy.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
"p _
Combination hemiprismatic, - = 119° 4'. Cleavage Pr -j- oc .
(Fig. 29.)
Description.—Colours blue and green. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized; in scopiform and promiscuous fibrous
concretions; massive, disseminated, and thinly coating.
Lustre ranges from splendent to dull, and is pearly, inclin¬
ing to adamantine. Ranges from transparent to opaque.
It sometimes occurs in a friable, or loosely cohering state,
and is then composed of dull dusty particles, forming earthy
blue iron.
Constituent Parts.—Protoxide of iron 47.5, phosphoric
acid 32.0, water 20.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The crystalli¬
zed varieties are found in Cornwall, those in fibrous con¬
cretions in Greenland, and the earthy and friable in our
peat mosses.
Genus VI.—Graphite.
Graphite Glimmer, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Hardness =1.0,—2.0. Sp. gr. =1.8
— 2.1.
1. Rhombohedral Graphite.
Rhomboedrischer Graphit-glimmer, Mohs Graphit,
Werner.—Graphite, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
unknown. Combination dirhombohedral. Cleavage R — oo .
Metallic aspect. Streak black.
Description.—Colour dark steel-grey, inclining to iron-
black. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in granular concre¬
tions; massive and disseminated. Lustre ranges from splen¬
dent to glimmering, and is metallic. Fracture scaly folia¬
ted, uneven, conchoidal, and slaty. Opaque. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Carbon 92.0, iron 8.0. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situ Rons.—It occurs in
beds and imbedded masses, in primitive, transition, and se¬
condary rocks. In Scotland it occurs in gneiss, in Glen
Strath-Farrar, in Inverness-shire; in the coal-formation in
Ayrshire; and in England, in transition rocks near Borro-
dale in Cumberland.
1 This mineral, viewing it according to its whole physical characters, would be beiter placed in the genus Lead Spar.
148 MINERALOG Y.
■^*nera* Genus VII.—Talc-Mica.
logy.
■ Talc-Glimmer, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Prismatic. Streak white, grey,...green.
Hardness = 1.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. =2.7,—3.0. If the streak
is green, the sp. gr. = 2.8 and less.
1. Prismatic Talc-Mica, or Talc.
Prismatischer Talc-glimmer, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P -f- oo = 120°. P + oo
= 120°. Cleavage P — oo . (Fig. 27.) Folia flexible.
Streak white or green. Hardness = 1.0,—1.5. Sp. gr.
= 2.7,—2.8.
Description. — Colours green, sometimes passing into
greenish-black, also greenish-white, grey, and rarely blue.
Occurs regularly crystallized; in granular, fibrous, and pris¬
matic concretions; massive, disseminated, and in amygda-
loidal pieces. Lustre ranges from splendent to dull, and is
pearly or resinous. Fracture slaty, scaly foliated, earthy,
and uneven. Ranges from translucent to opaque.
The dark green varieties, which are generally opaque,
are named chlorite; of those the regularly crystallized are
named foliated chlorite ; the slaty, chlorite slate ; the mas¬
sive, scaly foliated, common chlorite ; the massive in scaly
foliated feebly adhering particles, earthy chlorite ; and the
dull earthy varieties met with in vesicular cavities in amyg¬
daloid, compact chlorite or green earth. The white and
paler green varieties are named talc; of these the most
translucent, and possessing the highest degree of lustre, are
denominated common talc ; while the grey and green va¬
rieties, with slaty fracture and inferior lustre, and inferior
translucency, are named talc-slate or indurated talc.
Constituent Parts—1. Foliated Talc. Silica 62.0, mag¬
nesia 27.0, oxide of iron 3.5, alumina 1.5, water 6.0. Vau-
quelin.
2. Chlorite Slate. Silica 29.5, magnesia 21.4, oxide of
iron, 23.4, alumina 15.6, water 7.4, lime 1.5. Gruner.
3. Green Earth. Silica 52.0, magnesia 6.0, oxide of iron
23.0, alumina 7-0, water 4.0, potash 7.5. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs princi¬
pally in primitive mountains, sometimes forming whole beds,
as is the case with the varieties named chlorite-slate and
talc-slate; other kinds, as common and earthy chlorite,
occur disseminated, in veins, or dispersed through other
minerals, as rock-crystal, felspar, &c., while the compact
chlorite, or green earth, appears principally in secondary
amygdaloid. The most beautiful variety of the species, the
common talc, occurs chiefly in primitive rocks of limestone,
mica-slate, &c. Examples of all the varieties are met with
in the mountainous districts of Scotland and England.
1. Native Magnesia, or Hydrate of Magnesia.—Colours
snow-white, greenish-white, and also grey. Occurs in pris¬
matic concretions that point to the regular six-sided prism,
also in granular concretions, and massive. Cleavage axo-
tomous. Lustre shining and pearly. Semi-transparent in
the mass, and transparent in single folia. Streak white,
and affords on paper a polished pearly trace. Plardness
= 1.0—1.5. Slightly elastic. Sp. gr. 2.13, .Brace; 2.336,
Brewster. It is a pure hydrate of magnesia, the propor¬
tion of the constituent parts being, magnesia 70., water 30.
Occurs in veins in serpentine, in the Shetland Islands, and
in the serpentine of Portsoy, in Banffshire.
2. Ophite, or Precious Serpentine Colours pure leek-
green, seldomer grass and oil green. Occurs massive and
disseminated. Glistening and resinous lustre. Fracture
flat conchoidal, inclining to splintery. Translucent, or
translucent on the edges. Hardness 3.5. Sp. gr. =2.5,
3. TVep/tnte.—Colours green, grey, and white. Massive,
and in rolled pieces. Dull or glimmering. Fracture splin¬
tery. Strongly translucent. Difficultly frangible. Hard- Minera;
ness =7-0. Sp.gr. =2.9,—3.1. logy,
It occurs imbedded in various primitive rocks in Persia, ’
Egypt, and Germany.
4. Steatite or Soapstone.—Colours white, red, and yel¬
low, with frequent dendritic markings of black. Occurs
massive, in crusts, and in false crystals. Fracture splintery
and uneven. Dull or glimmering. Translucent on the
edges. Sectile. Soft. ^Feels very greasy. It occurs prin¬
cipally in serpentine, as in that of the Shetland Islands and
Cornwall.
N. B. The Pimelite of authors appears to be steatite
coloured with nickel or chrome.
5. Figurestone or Algalmatolite.—Colours grey, green,
white, red, and brown. Massive. Dull or glimmering. Frac¬
ture conchoidal, or splintery and slaty combined. Translu¬
cent. Resinous in streak. Feels rather greasy. The finest
varieties are brought to Europe from China.
6. Magnesite.—Colours white, grey, and cream-yellow.
Occurs massive, tuberose, reniform, vesicular. Dull. Frac¬
ture conchoidal. Opaque. Hardness =3.3. Sp. gr. =2.881.
Occurs in serpentine in Moravia, and in the Shetland
Islands.
7. Meerschaum.—Colour-white. Massive. Dull. Frac¬
ture earthy and conchoidal. Opaque or translucent on the
edges. Very soft. Sectile. Adheres strongly to the
tongue. Sp. gr. =0.988,^—1.279* Occurs in serpentine
in Cornwall, Shetland Islands, &c.
8. Lithomarge—Colours white, grey, blue, green, red,
and yellow, and these are sometimes disposed in a veined,
spotted, clouded, or striped manner. Occurs massive, dis¬
seminated, globular, and amygdaloid. Dull. Fracture
earthy and flat conchoidal. Opaque. Shining in the streak.
Soft. Sectile. Adheres strongly to the tongue. Feels fine
and greasy. Sp. gr. —2.4. It occurs in trap, porphyry,
and serpentine rocks, in Scotland and other countries.
9. Mountain Soap.—Colour blackish-brown. Massive.
Dull. Fracture earthy. Opaque. Shining in the streak.
M'rites. Soft. Sectile. Adheres strongly to the tongue.
Feels greasy. Occurs in secondary trap-rock, in the island
of Skye.
10. Bole—Colours brown, yellow, red, and black. Some¬
times spotted, and dendritic. Massive and disseminated.
Lustre glimmering. Fracture conchoidal. Feebly trans¬
lucent. Soft. Feels greasy. Shining streak. Adheres to
the tongue. Sp. gr. = 1.922. Occurs imbedded in secon¬
dary trap-rocks in Scotland.
2. Bhombohedral Talc-Mica.
Rhomboedrischer Talk-glimmer, Mohs.
Specific Character—Regular six-sided prism, distinctly
axotomous. Folia elastic. Streak white. Hardness = 2.0.
•—2.5. Sp. gr. = 2.8,—3.0.
Description.—Colours generally dark green and brown.
Lustre pearly, inclining to metallic on the terminal faces
of the prism. From transparent to opaque. Streak white
or grey. Sectile. Folia very flexible and elastic.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 42.50, alumina 16.05, magnesia
25.97, potash 7.55, oxide of iron 4.93. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs in
primitive districts, and in beautiful crystals in the ejected
masses found on the Monte Somma. The Siberian and the
Vesuvian varieties have been most noticed by mineralogists.
Observation.— Ihe optical characters of the species are
curious.
3. Hemiprismatic Talc-Mica, or Common Mica.
Hemiprismatischer Talk-glimmer, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Oblique rhombic prism, with trans¬
verse sections of about 120° and 60°. Cleavage parallel to
MINERALOGY
mera- the base. Folia elastic. Streak white or grey. Hardness
>gy. = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 2.8,—3.0.
Description—Colours white, grey, green, yellow, red,
brown, and black. Lustre pearly. Transparent and translu¬
cent. Streak white or grey. Sectile. Flexible and elastic.
Constituent Parts—1. From Zinwald. Silica 47.0.
alumina 20.0, potash 14.50, oxide of iron 15.50, oxide of
manganese 1.75, Klaproth. 2. Red or Lepidolite Mica.
Silica 50.35, alumina 28.30, potash 9.04, oxide of manga¬
nese 1.23, fluoric acid and water 5.20, lithion 5.49, Turner.
3. Zinnwald. Silica 46.23, alumina 14.14, potash 4.90, oxide
of iron 17.97, oxide of manganese 4.57, fluoric acid and
water 3.73, lithion 4.21, Gmelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Forms an es¬
sential constituent part of granite, gneiss, and mica-slate;
abounds in many transition districts, and is frequent in
sandstones of the secondary class. Hence its geographic
distribution is universal.
Genus VIII—Pearl-Mica.
Perl-Glimmer, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Hardness =3.5,—4.5. Sp. °t = 3 0
—3.1.
1. Rhombohedral Pearl-Mica.
Rhomboedrischer Perl-Glimmer, Mohs.
Specific Character Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
unknown. Combination dirhombohedral. Cleavage R oo .
Streak white or grey.
Dascription.—Colours white and grey. Occurs massive,
in tables, and in granular concretions. Lustre splendent
and pearly. Fracture foliated. Transparent to translu¬
cent. Streak white.
Constituent Parts—Silica 37.0, alumina 40.5, lime 8.9,
oxide of iron 4.50, natron 1.2, water 1.0. Du Menil.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in beds,
partly intermixed with mica and chlorite, at Sterzing, in
the Tyrol.
Order VI SPAR.
Not metallic. Streak white, grey, brown, or blue. Hard¬
ness = 3.5,—7.0. Sp. gr. = 2.0,—3.7. If tessular, the
sp. gr. = 3.0, and less. If rhombohedral, the sp. gr. = 2.2,
or less, or the hardness = 6.0. If hardness = 4.0 and less,
it is rhombohedral; or cleavagemonotomous,and very dis¬
tinct. If the hardness = 6.0, the lustre is pearly, the clea¬
vage perfect, and sp. gr. less than 2.5, or more than 2.8. If
sp. gr. = 3.3, the combination is hemi or tetarto prismatic;
or the hardness rr 6.0, but no adamantine lustre. If the sp.
gr. = 2.4, and less, it is not without traces of form and clea¬
vage.
Genus I—Schiller-Spau.
Schiller-spath, Mohs.
Prismatic. Cleavage monotomous, perfect. Metallic
pearly lustre. Hardness = 3.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 2.6, 3.4.
1. Diatomous,1 or Common Schiller-Spar.
Diatomer Schiller-spath, A/oA?.—Schiller-stein, Werner.
—Diallage Metalloide, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage prismatoidal. Hardnessrr 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr. =
2.6,—2.8.
Description.—Colours green, grey, and brown. Occurs
in granular concretions; disseminated, and seldom massive.
Lustre shining or splendent, and metallic pearly. Trans¬
lucent on the edges, or opaque. Dull streak.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 43.90, magnesia 25.85, lime
2.64, oxide of iron 13.21, water 12.43. Kohler.
Geognostic and Geographic Situa, ions.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in serpentine in the Shetland Islands, and in secondary
trap-rocks in the middle district of Scotland.
2. Hemiprismatic Schiller-Spar, or Bronzite.
Hemiprismatischer Schiller-spath, Mohs. — Blattriger
Anthophyllite, Werner—Diallage Metalloide, Hauy.
Specific Character—Hemiprismatic. Pyramid unknown.
149
Minera-
i°gy.
Combination hemiprismatic. Cleavage - . Pr + oo . Less
Pr -
perfect, —. Pr + oo . (Fig. 29, 35, 28.) Lustre metallic-
pearly. Hardness =4.0,—5.0. Sp. gr. =3.0—3 3
Description.—Colours brown and grey. Occurs’in gra¬
nular concretions. Lustre shining. Cleavage sometimes
appears fibrous. Translucent on the edges. Streak white
Comtituent Parts—Silica 60.0, magnesia 27.5, oxide of
iron 10.5, water 0.5. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in ser¬
pentine in Shetland; in greenstone in the island of Skye,
and near Portsoy; and in other parts of Scotland.
3. Prismatoidal Schiller- Spar, or Hypersthene.
Prismatoidischer Schiller-spath, Mohs Paulit, Werner.
—Hypersthene, Hauy.
Specific Character Prismatic. P -J- oo — 93° O'.
Cleavage P + <» ; Pr + ao , perfect. Pr + oo , only traces,
(rig. 29, 30, 28.) Lustre metallic-pearly. Hardness = 6.0.
Sp. gr. =3.3,—3.4.
Description—Colours greenish and greyish black; also
copper-red and brown. Occurs in granular and lamellar
concretions and massive. Lustre shining. Opaque or
feebly translucent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 54.25, magnesia 14.00, alu¬
mina 2.25, lime 1.50, oxide of iron 24.50, water 1.0. Kla¬
proth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in green¬
stone in the island of Skye; also in Banffshire and the Shet¬
land Islands.
4. Prismatic Schiller Spar, or Anthophyllite.
Prismatischer Schiller-spath, Mohs Strahliger Antho-
phyllit, Werner.—Anthophyllite, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P-|-oo = 124° 30'.
Cleavage Pr -f- go . Rather less perfect, P + go . Pr + oo ,
least distinct. (Fig. 28, 30, 29-) Lustre metallic-pearly,
inclining to vitreous. Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. =
3.0,—3.3.
Description—Colours yellowish grey and yellowish brown.
Occurs crystallized in reed-like crystals; in scopiform and
promiscuous radiated concretions ; also massive. Translu¬
cent on the edges.
Comtituent Parts—Silica 56.0, alumina 3.0, magnesia
23.0, lime 2.0, oxide of iron 13.0, oxide of manganese 4.0.
Gmelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks near Drimnadrochit, ip Inverness-shire.
Genus II—Kyanite.
Disthen-spath, Mohs.
Prismatic. Cleavage prismatoidal, very distinct. Com¬
mon pearly lustre. Hardness = 5.0,—7.0. Sp. gr. =3.5,
—3.7.
1. Prismatic Kyanite.
Disthen-spath, Mohs.—Kyanite and Rhatizit, Werner.
—Disthene, Hauy.
Specific Character Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
1 From Si*, through, and npiu, I cut; easily cleavable in one direction.
150
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Combination tetarto-prismatic. Cleavage three faces, of
logy- varying degrees of perfection. Inclination of the most per-
fect to the less perfect = 100° 50', to the least perfect =
106° 15'.
Description Colours blue and bluish green. Occurs
regularly crystallized; in distinct concretions, which are
granular and radiated, which latter are sometimes scopiform
and stellular; also massive and disseminated. Lustre splen¬
dent and pearly. Translucent and transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Alumina 64.30, silica 34.33. Arf-
wedson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs in
primitive rocks in the Shetland Islands; also in Banffshire
and Aberdeenshire.
Genus III—Spodumene,
Hardness =6.5,—7.0. Sp. gr. =3.0,—3.1.
1. Prismatic Spodumene.
Spodumen, Werner.—Triphane, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P + oo = 93° 0. Clea¬
vage P + oo . Somewhat more distinct, Pr + oo . Not blue.
(Fig. 30, 29.)
Description.—.Colours greenish white and green. Occurs
massive, and in large granular concretions. Lustre shining,
glistening, and pearly. Fracture uneven. Translucent.
Uncommonly easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 66.49, alumina 25.30, lithion
8.85, oxide of iron 1.45. Arfwedson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks in Sweden and in Ireland.
Genus IV.—Prehmte.
Axotomer Triphan-spath, Mohs—Prehnite, Werner and
Hauy.
Hardness = 6.0—7-0. Sp. gr. = 2.8,—3.0. Not blue.
1. Axotomous Prehnite.
Specific Character. — Prismatic. P + oo rr 99° 30'.
Cleavage P -}- oo . More distinct P —■ oo . (Fig. 30, 27.)
Description—Colours green, grey, and white. Occurs
crystallized; in granular and in scopiform and stellular
fibrous distinct concretions; massive and reniform. Lustre
shining, glistening, and pearly. Fracture uneven. Ranges
from transparent to translucent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 43.60, alumina 23.00, lime
22.33, oxide of iron 2.00, water 6.40. Thomson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The more high¬
ly crystallized varieties have hitherto been found principal¬
ly in primitive rocks, while the fibrous or less perfectly
crystallized varieties occur principally in secondary trap-
rocks. The secondary trap-rocks of Scotland afford many
localities of this miherai
Genus V—Datolite.
Dystom-Spath, Mohs.
Prismatic. Internally, lustre resinous. Colour not blue.
Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. = 2.9,—3.0.
1. Prismatic Datolite.
Prismatischer Dystom-spath, Mohs—Chaux Boratee Si-
liceuse, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Combination hemipris-
P
matic. -=122° O'. P + go = 77° 30. Cleavage P + oo ,
less perfect Pr -}- oo . (Fig. 30.)
Description—Most frequent colours white and grey, sel-
<’om, red> green, and yellow. Occurs regularly crystallized;
also in granular, scopiform, and stellular, fibrous, and curved
lamellar concretions; massive, reniform, and botryoidal.
Lustre ranges from shining to dull, and is resinous or pearly.
Fracture conchoidal, uneven, and earthy. Ranges from
transparent to opaque.
The reniform and botryoidal varieties in fibrous concre¬
tions are named Botryolite ; the earthy-looking and botry¬
oidal Earthy Botryoidal Datolite ; all the others Common
Datolite.
Constituent Parts—Silica 38.51, lime 35.59, boracic
acid 21.34, water 4.60. Du Menil.
Geognosiic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in beds
of magnetic iron-ore, subordinate to gneiss, near Arendal
in Norway, but rarely in other parts of Europe.
Genus VI—Zeolite.
Kouphon-Spath, Mohs.
Tessular, rhombohedral, pyramidal, prismatic. Hard
ness = 3.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. =2.0,—2.5- If pyramidal, is
distinctly axotomous. If hardness = 6.9, is tessular.
1. Trapezoidal Zeolite, or Leucite.
Trapezoidaler Kuphon-spath, Mohs Leuzit, Werner. 
Amphigene, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
dodecahedral, imperfect. Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp. er.
— 2.4, 2.5. °
Description—Colours white and grey. Occurs regular¬
ly crystallized; in granular concretions, and in roundish
grains. Lustre shining or glistening, and vitreo-resinous.
Fracture flat conchoidal. Ranges from transparent to
opaque.
Constituent Parts—Silica54.0, alumina 23.0, potash 22.0.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in im¬
bedded grains and crystals in older lavas, and associated
with garnet, hornblende, quartz, glassy felspar, in the eject¬
ed masses of Monte Somma, and the extinct volcanoes on
the Rhine, afford examples of leucite in both situations.
2. Dodecahedral Zeolite, or Lapis Lazuli.
Dodecaedrischer Kuphon-spath, Mohs Lazurstein,
Werner. Lapis Lazuli, Sodalite, Hauyne, Spinellane,
Nosin, of authors.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage dodecahedral,
perfect. White, green, blue. Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp.gr.
= 2.25,-2.35.
Description.—Colours blue, green, white. Occurs in
rhombohedral dodecahedrons, massive, and disseminated.
Lustre shining and glistening, and vitreo-resinous. Frac¬
ture conchoidal or uneven. Streak white or grey. Trans¬
lucent, or translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts.—1. Lapis Lazuli. Silica 49.0, alu¬
mina 11.0, potash and soda 8.0, lime 16.0, oxide of iron
4.0, sulphuric acid 2.0, water a trace, Gmelin.—2. Soda¬
lite, from Greenland. Silica 36.00, alumina 32.00, soda
25.00, muriatic acid 6.75, oxide of iron 0.25, Eckeberg.—
3. Hauyne. Silica 33.48, alumina 18.87, potash 15.45, lime
12.00, oxide of iron 1.16, sulphuric acid 12.39, water 1.20,
Gmelin.—4. Spinellane. Silica 43.0, alumina 29.5, soda
19-0, lime 1.5, oxide of iron 2.0, sulphuric acid 1.0, water
2.5, Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The Lapis La¬
zuli varieties of this species are found associated with primi¬
tive rocks in China, Persia, Siberia, and Bukhara. The
Sodalite varieties occur in Greenland and Vesuvius; the
Hauyne, in volcanic rocks in Vesuvius and on the banks of
the Rhine ; and the Nosin occurs at the Lake of Laach, near
to Andernach.
3. Hexahedral Zeolite, or Analcime.
Hexaedrischer Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Analcime, Haily.
—Kubizit, Werner.
Specific Character.—* Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral
imperfect. Hardness = 5.5. Sp. gr. = 2.0, 2.2.
,,,
Mine w
log.v;,
MINERALOGY.
pa- Description—Colours white, grey, reddish white. Oc-
k curs regularly crystallized ; in angulo-granular concretions,
^ and massive. Lustre shining, glistening, and vitreo-pearly.
Fracture uneven, or conchoidal. Ranges from transparent
to translucent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 55.07, alumina 22.22, soda
13.71, water 8.22. Connell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in se¬
condary greenstone rocks in Fifeshire, Salisbury Craig, near
Edinburgh, and in the same rock in other parts of Scot¬
land.
4. Paratomous Zeolite, or Cross-stone.
Paratomer Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Kreutzstein, Werner.
—Harmotome, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage P. Pr+co. Pr + oo . (Fig. 29, 28.) Hard¬
ness =4.5. Sp. gr. =2.3,—2.4.
Description—Colours white and grey, sometimes also
yellow and red. Most frequently in regular crystals, which
are frequently twin-crystals; seldom massive. Lustre shin¬
ing, glistening, and vitreo-pearly. Fracture conchoidal
and uneven. Translucent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 47-04, alumina 15.24, baryta
20.85, lime 0.10, potash 0.88, water 14.92. Connell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in ga¬
lena veins in the mines of Strontian in Argyleshire, in se¬
condary trap-rocks in Dumbartonshire, and other parts of
Scotland.1
5. Phombohedral Zeolite, or Chabasite.
Rhomboedrischer Kuphon-Spath, Mohs Chabasie,
Hauy—Schabasit, Werner.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
= 94° 46'. Cleavage rhombohedral. Hardness =4.0,
i —4.5. Sp. gr. =2.0,— 2.1.
Description.—Colour white. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized, seldom massive. Externally splendent, internally
glistening and vitreous. Fracture conchoidal and uneven.
Translucent.
Constituent Parts—Kilmalcolm. Silica 50.14, alumina
17-48, lime 8.47, potash with soda 2.58, water 20.83. Con¬
nell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in va¬
rious secondary trap-rocks, especially amygdaloid, and is
not unfrequent in the trap-rocks of Scotland.
6. Diatomous Zeolite, or Laumonite.
Diatomer Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Laumonite, Werner,
Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P + oc =86°15/. Com¬
bination hemiprismatic. Cleavage, Pr + oo . More per¬
fect, Pr-f-co. (Fig. 28, 29.) Hardness unknown. Sp.gr.
— 2.3, 2.4. 1 0
Description.—Colour white. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized, and in granular distinct concretions. Lustre shining,
glistening, and pearly. When fresh is transparent; but on
exposure to the atmosphere it very soon becomes opaque,
and so soft as to yield to the pressure of the finger. Un¬
commonly easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Isle of Skye. Silica 52.04, alumi¬
na 21.14, lime 10.62, water 14.92. Connell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—This mineral
occurs in secondary trap-rocks in various parts of Scotland
and Ireland.
7. Prismatic Zeolite, or Mesotype.
Prismatischer Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Mesotype, Hauy.
—Fibrous Zeolite, Natrolite.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. A = 143° 20' • ijo°
40/; 53° 20'. P + go = 91° O'. Cleavage P+ go’, very
perfect. (Fig. 30.) Hardness = 5.0 5.5. Sn pt
= 2.0, —2.3. P' g
Description—Colours white, red, yellow, and yellowish-
brown. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in distinct concre¬
tions which are scopiform and stellular fibrous, granular,
and curved lamellar; reniform, coralloidal, in plates and
crusts. Lustre ranging from shining to dull, and is pearly.
Fracture, m some varieties, coarse earthy. Ranges from
nearly transparent to opaque.
The yellow and brown varieties, with striped colour de¬
lineations, and in which the fibrous and granular concre¬
tions are intersected by lamellar, are named Natrolite;
those with earthy fracture and very soft, Pearly zeolite ;
while the other varieties are named Fibrous zeolite.
Constituent Parts—Silica 54.46, alumina 19.70, soda
15.00, lime 1.61, water 9-83. Silica 47.21, alumina 25.60,
soda 16.12, water 8.88, oxide of iron 1.35. Of these two
analyses, the first is of common mesotype, the other of the
natrolite-mesotype.
_ Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs prin¬
cipally in drusy cavities, or in veins in secondary trap-rocks
in many places in Scotland. The natrolite is the rarest
variety in Scotland.
Observation—The natrolite variety is by some consi¬
dered a distinct species.
8. Prismatoidal Zeolite, or Stilbite.
Prismatoidischer Kuphon-spath, Mohs Stilbite, Hauy.
—Strahl-zeolitb, Werner. Radiated zeolite.
Specific Character—Prismatic. P = 190° 15'; 114° O';
96° O'. P + go = 94° 15'. Cleavage, Pr oo , very
perfect; traces according to Pr -f- oo . (Fig. 29.) Hard¬
ness = 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr. = 2.0, —2.2.
Description.—Colour white, sometimes grey, yellow, or
red. Occurs regularly crystallized; in granular, and in
scopiform, and stellular prismatic concretions; also mas¬
sive and globular. Externally splendent. Internally shin¬
ing and pearly. Alternates from transparent to translu¬
cent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 52.50, alumina 17.07, lime
11.52, water 18.45. Thomson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in se¬
condary trap-rocks in many districts in Scotland.
9. Hemi-prismatic Zeolite, or Heulandile. *
Hemi-prismatischer Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Blatter Zeo-
lith, Werner.—Stilbite, Hauy. Foliated Zeolite.
Specific Character.—Hemiprismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Combination, hemiprismatic Cleavage, Pr+oo , very
perfect. (Fig. 29-) Hardness =3.5,—4.0. Sp.gr. =2.0,
 2.2.
Description.—Colours white, grey, red, and brown. Oc¬
curs regularly crystallized ; in granular and lamellar dis¬
tinct concretions. Fracture conchoidal. Externally, lustre
splendent, shining, and vitreous,; internally, shining and
pearly. Ranges from transparent to translucent on the
edges.
Constituent Parts—Silica 59-95, alumina 16.87, potash
7.19, water 15.40. Walmstadt.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in drusy
cavities in secondary trap-rocks in the Hebrides and Main¬
land of Scotland.
10. Pyramidal Zeolite, or Apophyllite.
Pyramidaler Kuphon-spath, Mohs.—Albin Ichthyoph-
tralm, Werner Mesotype epointee, Hauy.
151
Mincra-
logy.
1 Another species is marked by authors under the name PhilUpsite, which differs from Crosstone in having sp. gr, = 2.0,—2.2,
im containing in place of baryta, lime and potash. Hence this mineral is by some named Lime Crosstone.
152
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Specific Character Pyramidal. P r= 104° 2'; 122° O'.
logy- Cleavage P. — oo , very perfect. [P a> ] imperfect.
Hardness =4.5,— 5.0. Sp. gr. r=2.2,—2.5.
Description—Colour white. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in straight and curved lamellar distinct concretions ;
massive and disseminated. Surface of the cleavage strong¬
ly iridescent. Externally splendent, the terminal planes of
the prism pearly; internally glistening and vitreous. Ranges
from transparent to translucent.
Constituent Parts.—From Iceland. Silica 50.76, lime
22.39, potash4.18, fluoric acid trace, water 17.36. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in se¬
condary trap-rocks in the Hebrides and other parts of Scot¬
land : the finest specimens are found in Iceland.
11. Macrotypous Zeolite, Brewsterite.
Specific Character Rhombohedral. R =79° 29/-
Cleavage rhombohedral but imperfect. Hardness =4.0.
Sp. gr. 20,— 2.2.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 58.66, alumina 17-49, Stron-
tia 8.32, baryta 6.75, lime 1.34, oxide of iron, 0.29, water
12.58. Connell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Found in the
lead-mines of Strontian, in cavities of trap at Giant’s Cause¬
way, and in the lead mines of St Turpet near Freyburg in
the Brisgau.
Genus VI.—Petalite.
Petalin-Spath, Mohs.
Prismatic. Hardness =6.0,— 6.5. Sp. g. =2.4,— 2.5.
„ 1. Prismatic Petalite.
Prismatischer Petalin-spath, Mohs.
Specific Character.— Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage P + oo = 95° (nearly). More perfect, accord¬
ing to P r + oo .
Description—Colours red and white. Occurs massive;
internally glistening, shining, and nearly pearly. Trans¬
lucent. Brittle, and rather easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Silica 79.21, alumina 17.22, lithia
5.76. Arfwedson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations It has hitherto
been found only in a mine of black iron-ore in the island of
Uton in Sudermania, associated with spodumene, felspar,
quartz, mica, and tourmaline.
Observations.—It was in this mineral Arfwedson disco¬
vered the alkali name lithia, since met with in other species.
Genus VII—Felspae.
Rhombohedral pyramidal, prismatic. Hardness = 5.0,
6.0. Sp. gr. =2.5,—2.8. If hardness =5.5, and less,
the form is pyramidal, but cleavage not axotomous.
1. Rhombohedral Felspar, or Nepheline.
Rhomboedrischer feldspath, Mohs Nepheline, Hauy
and Werner.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. R = 131° 497
Combination di-rhombohedral. 2 (R) =152°, 44'; 56°
15'. Cleavage, R — 00 . R + 00 . Hardness = 6.0.’ Sp.
gr. =2.5,—2.6. ^
Description.—Colours white and grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized, and massive. Externally splendent, in¬
ternally shining and vitreous. Fracture conchoidal. Trans¬
lucent, passing into transparent.
Constituent Parts—Silica 43.36, alumina 33,49, soda
13.36, potash 7-13. Gmelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in drusy
cavities in granular foliated limestone, with meionite, Ve-
suvian, pleonaste, rhombohedral garnet, mica, &c. in the
ejected masses on Monte Somma, near Naples.
2. Prismatic Felspar, or Common Felspar, Potash Fel- Miners.
spar. logy. ’
Prismatischer Feldspath, Mohs—Orthoclase, Breithaupt.
Ice-Spar Amazonstone.—Potash Felspar.
Prismatic. Pyramid = 134° 26/; 126° 52/; 72° 32'.
P
P + oo =81° 47/. Combination - = 126° 52'. Cleavage
Pr + oo. Both very perfect. Less distinct (Pr
+ 00 )3 = 120°. Sometimes only one of the faces. (Fig.
44.) Hardness = 6.0. Sp. gr. =2.5,— 2.8.
Description—Colours white, grey, green, blue, red, and
brown; and sometimes with pearly opalescence, and beau¬
tiful changeability of colour. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in distinct concretions, which are angulo-granular
and lamellar; massive and disseminated. Lustre ranges
from splendent to glistening, and even to dull, and is vitreo-
pearly, or vitreous. Fracture conchoidal, splintery, slaty,
and earthy. Ranges from transparent to opaque.
The transparent and translucent white-coloured varieties,
with the silvery or pearly opalescence, are named adu-
laria, also moonstone ; the white and grey transparent va¬
rieties usually in small crystals, which are traversed by
numerous rents, are named glassy felspar p the translu¬
cent varieties, with various shades of colour, such as white
and red, are the most abundant, and hence are named
common felspar; the blue and green varieties are named
amazonstone; the dark-grey varieties, with the beautiful
changeability of colour, from Frederickswarn, are named
Norwegian Labrador felspar ; the feebly translucent com¬
pact varieties, with splintery fracture, are named compact
felspar ; the slaty varieties, with feeble lustre and translu-
cency, are named slaty felspar or clinkstone; the varieties, in
a comparatively loose state of aggregation, and without lustre
and transparency, according to the degrees of compactness,
are named porcelain earth, earthy felspar, and claystone.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Potash-felspar is
one of the most abundant minerals in nature, as it occurs in
most of the principal rocks in primitive and transition moun¬
tains. It abounds in the alpine districts of Scotland, Eng¬
land, and Ireland, in granite, syenite, gneiss, porphyry, and
quartz rocks.
3. Tetarto-prismatic Felspar, Albite or Soda Felspar.
Cleavelandite. Tetartin, Breithaupt.—Soda felspar.—
Some so called Adularias.
Specific Character.—
20'; ofr(il^i2to 1
A
Inclination of
(P + 00)2_
2 “
— to Pr + oo = 93°
A
121° 38'. Combina¬
tion tetarto-prismatic.
Cleavage
Pr
2 ’
Pr + 00, very per¬
fect. Hardness = 6.0. Sp. gr. =2.6,—2.68.
Description—Colour generally white, sometimes grey,
green, or red. Massive, and disseminated. Lustre upon
faces of cleavage pearly, in other directions vitreous. Trans¬
parent, but more frequently translucent on the edges.
Streak white. Brittle.
Constituent Parts—From Chesterfield in America. Si¬
lica 70.68, alumina 19-80, soda 9-06, lime 0.23, Stromeyer.
from Arendal. Silica 68.84, alumina 20.53, soda 9-12.
Lime a trace. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Forms a con¬
stituent part of the greenstone rocks so abundant around
Edinburgh. Is associated with epidote and garnet in gneiss
rocks at Arendal in Norway. Transparent crystals are
found along with pearl-spar in the Tyrol. In the granite
Glassy I elspar has been lately described as a distinct species under the name Ryakolite.
MINERALOGY.
nera- of the Mourne mountains in Ireland it is associated with
gy. common felspar.
153
4. Polychromatic or Labrador Felspar. Lime Felspar.
Polychromatischer feldspath, Mohs.
O
Pr -
Specific Character—Inclination of to P r + oo
— 93° 20'. Combination tetarto-prismatic. Cleavage
Pr
_ —, very perfect; P + oo , less perfect. Hardness zz6.0.
Sp. gr. 2.69,— 2.76.
Description—Colour grey, with splendent changeability
of colour, exhibiting patches of brilliant blue, green, yel¬
low, red, and pear-grey colours. Occurs massive and
disseminated. Lustre pearly on the perfect cleavage faces.
The beautiful changeability of colour seen to greatest ad¬
vantage upon particular faces of the mass. Translucent,
or nearly opaque.
Constituent Parts—Silica 55.75, alumina 26.50, lime
11.0, soda 4.0, oxide of iron 1.25, water 0.50.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This beautiful
mineral was first noticed on the coast of Labrador as a con¬
stituent part of syenite, hence its name Labradorite. Sir
Charles Giesecke found it also in Greenland. It has also
been met with in different parts of Europe.
5. Pyramidal Felspar, or Scapolite, Meionite.
Pyramidaler Feldspath, Mohs—Meionite Scapolith,
Schmelzstein. Werner.—Paranthine, Meionite, Wernerite,
Dipyre, Haiiy.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid zz 136Q 7';
63° 48'. Cleavage P — oo . More perfect, P + oo .
[P + go ]. Hardness zz5.0,— 5.5. Sp. gr. =2.5,— 2.8.
Description.—Colours white, grey, green, red, and black.
Occurs regularly crystallized; in distinct concretions, which
are scopiform, fibrous, or radiated, and angulo-granular;
massive and disseminated. Lustre ranges from splendent
to glimmering, and is pearly, resino-vitreous, and resino-
pearly. Fracture conchoidal, uneven. Ranges from trans¬
parent to opaque.
The white and more transparent and highly crystallized
varieties are named Meionite, while the others have recei¬
ved the names Scapolite, Paranthine, Wernerite, Dipyre,
and Schmelzstein.
Constituent Parts—1. Meionite. Silica 45.53, alumina
32.73, lime 24.25, potash and soda 1.82, protoxide of iron
0.18. Stomeyer.—‘1. Scapolite. Silica 43.83, alumina 35.43,
lime 18.96, water 0.03. Nordenshiold.—3. Wernerite. Si¬
lica 50.25, alumina 30.00, lime 10.45, potash and soda 2.00,
protoxide of iron 4.45, water 2.85. John 4. Dipyre: Si¬
lica 60.0, alumina 24.0, lime 10.0, water 2.0. Vauqudin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The meionite
varieties are found in drusy cavities in granular foliated
limestone, along with nepheline, augite, mica, pleonaste,
garnet, and calcareous spar, on Monte Somma, near Na¬
ples ; scapolite and Wernerite varieties occur in beds of
magnetic ironstone and iron-pyrites, in gneiss, along with
quartz, felspar, mica, hornblende, epidote, garnet, augite,
&c. at Arendal in Norway; the paranthine varieties in
limestone quarries in Wermeland ; the dipyre varieties in
the torrent of Mauleon in the Western Pyrenees.
Observations.—Breithaupt describes a felspar under the
name Perecline, nearly allied to albite, but distinguished
from it by its inferior specific gravity, it being only 2.54,
—2.56 ; and Rose describes another species under the name
anorthite, but the limited nature of this article prevents us
noticing them more particularly.
Genus VIII—Augite.
Prismatic. Lustre not metallic-pearly. Hardness z= 4.5,
—7.0. Sp. gr. zz 2.7,—3.5. If the hardness is above 6.0,
VOL. xv.
the sp. gr. _ 3.2, and more. If the sp. gr. is under 3.2, Minera-
le cleavage is very perfect, and, in obliquely intersecting logy,
directions, parallel to the axis. ^ —— vi—
1. Paratomous Augite.
Paratomer Augit, Mohs—Augit, Werner.—Pyroxene
Haiiy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid zzl52° 12'-
120 ; 61 27 P+ co = 510 19'. Combination hemi-
prismatic . — = 120°. Cleavage, (Pr + oo .)3 — 87° 42',
O _ p
Pr + oo . Pr + oo . Sometimes -. (Fig. 32, 29, 28, 38.)
Hardness = 5.0,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 3.2, 3.5.
Description*—^Colours green, black, and brown; also
grey and white. Occurs regularljr crystallized ; in granu¬
lar and fibrous concretions ; massive and disseminated.
Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmering, and is vitreo-
resinous, resino-pearly, and resinous. Fracture conchoidal
and uneven. Ranges from transparent to translucent on
the edges.
Those varieties in which the colours are white and pale
green, generally crystallized, with a vitreous external, and
pearly internal lustre, and translucent, are named Diopside,
Musite, Alalite, and by some Baikalite; those, again, in
which the colours are darker green and muddy grey, less
frequently crystallized, but disposed in straight, lamellar,
and granular concretions, with a shining, vitreous, or pear¬
ly lustre, and translucent on the edges, are named Sahlite,
Pyrogome, Fassaite, Malacolite, and by some Baikalite ;
other varieties, in which the colours are black and dark
green, with conchoidal and uneven fracture, resinous lustre,
and opaque or faintly translucent on the edges, are named
Conchoidal Augite and Common Augite ; those varieties
in which the colours are principally leek-green and green¬
ish-black, generally in loosely aggregated angulo-granular
concretions, with a shining vitreo-resinous lustre, uneven
fracture, and ranging from translucent to opaque, are named
Coccolite and Granular Augite ; and, lastly, the fibrous
varieties have been described as Amianthus.
Constituent Parts 1. White Varieties. Silica 54.83,
lime 24.76, magnesia 18.55, alumina 0.28, protoxide of iron
0.99* Bonsdorf.—-2. Green Varieties. Silica 54.08, lime
23.47, magnesia 11.49, protoxide of iron 10.02, manganese
0.51. Rose.—3. Black Varieties. Silica 53.36, lime 22.19,
magnesia 4.19, protoxide of iron 17.38. oxide of manganese
0.09. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The diopside
varieties are found imbedded in serpentine, and associated
with magnetic iron-ore in Piedmont: the sahlite in beds
of primitive trap, limestone, and magnetic iron-ore, subor¬
dinate to gneiss and mica-slate in Scotland, Ireland, and
Scandinavia; the conchoidal augite and common augite
occur principally in secondary trap-rocks ; and the cocco¬
lite and granular augite in the iron mines of Arendal, in
Norway, in gneiss.
2. Hemiprismatic Augite, or Hornblende.
Hemi-prismatischer Augit-spath, Mohs.—Hornblende,
&c., Werner.—Amphibole, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid = 151° 8';
148° 39'; 42° 22' . P + oo = 87° 11'. Combination
P °
hemiprismatic, —=148° 39'. Cleavage, (Pr + co )3 =
124° 34'. Less distinct, Pr + oo . Pr + co . (Fig. 32,
29, 28.) Hardness = 5.0,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 2.7,—3.2.
Description*—Colours green, white, black, grey, blue,
and brown. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in fibrous, ra¬
diated, and granular distinct concretions. Lustre ranges
from splendent to feebly glimmering, and lustre vitreo-
u
154
MINERALOGY.
Minera- pearly, pearly, or vitreous, and vitreo-resinous. Fracture
logv- conchoidal, uneven, and slaty. Alternates from transpa-
rent to opaque.
The varieties with dark green and black colours, in gra¬
nular and fibrous concretions, and in which the lustre ranges
from splendent to shining, and is pearly or pearly-vitreous,
and the transparency from transparent to translucent on
the edges, are named Hornblende and Carinthine ; the va¬
rieties with light green, and also greenish-grey, and some¬
times brown and yellow colours, rarely crystallized (and
then generally in reed-like crystals), more frequently mas¬
sive, and in radiated, fibrous, and granular concretions, with
a pearly or vitreous, splendent, shining, or glistening lustre,
and transparency varying from transparent to opaque, are
named Actynolite and Calamite ; the white and blue va¬
rieties, disposed in fibrous, radiated, and granular concre¬
tions, with a lustre which is shining, or glistening and pear¬
ly, or vitreo-pearly, and ranging from translucent to trans¬
lucent on the edges, are named Tremolite ; other varieties,
in which the colours are white, green, yellow, blue, and
brown, and disposed in flexible, shining, silky, fibrous con¬
cretions, are named Flexible Asbestus or Amianthus;
others, which are of a white colour, or grey colour, and dis¬
posed in minute promiscuous fibrous concretions, and so
light as to swim in masses in water, are named Mountain
Cork ; those in which the colours are generally green, and
disposed in straight, shining, pearly, rigid, fibrous concre¬
tions, are named Rigid or Common Asbestus ; and, lastly,
those varieties in which the colour is wood-brown, and in
general aspect much resembling fossil-wood, are named
Rockwood or Ligneous Asbestus.
Constituent Parts—White. Silica 60.31, magnesia 24.23,
lime 13.66, alumina 0.26, protoxide of iron 0.15, fluoric
acid 0.94, water and foreign matter 0.10. Bonsdorf.—•
Green. Silica 46.26, magnesia 19.03, lime 13.96, alumina
14.48, protoxide of iron 3.43, protoxide of manganese 0.36,
fluoric acid 1.60, water, &c. 1.04. Bonsdorf.—Black. Silica
45.69, magnesia 18.79} lime 13.85, alumina 1.18, pro¬
toxide of iron 7.32, fluoric acid 1.50. Bonsdorf.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The hornblende
varieties abound in primitive and transition rocks, and are
also met with in those of the secondary class ; those named
actynolite and tremolite scarcely occur in secondary rocks,
being confined principally to those of the primitive class ;
while the asbestine varieties are principally met with in the
serpentine rocks of primitive and transition mountains. Nu¬
merous localities of this species occur in Scotland, England,
and Ireland,
2. Prismatoidal Augite, or Epidote.
Prismatoidischer Augit-spath, Mohs.—Epidote, Hauy.
Specific Character.'—^Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Combination hemiprismatic. Cleavage, two faces, of which
one is more distinct than the other. Incidence = 114° 37'.
Hardness = 6.0,—7.0. Sp. gr. z= 3.2,—3.5.
Description—Colours green and grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized; in granular, fibrous, and prismatic con¬
cretions. Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmering, and
is resino-pearly. Fracture conchoidal, uneven, splintery,
and sometimes nearly earthy. Ranges from transparent to
translucent on the edges. Brittle, and easily frangible.
The green varieties are named simply epidote, or pista-
. cite ; while the grey and less perfectly crystallized varieties
are named zoisite.
Constituent Parts.— 1. Pistacite, or Green Varieties.
silica 37.0, alumina 27.0, lime 14.0, oxide of iron 17.0,
oxide of manganese 1.5. Descostes.—2. Grey Variety,
or Zoisite. Silica 45.0, alumina 29-0 lime 21.0, oxide of
iron 3.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs prin¬
cipally in primitive rocks, such as gneiss, mica-slate, syenite,
&c. Inverness-shire, Ross-shire, the Shetland Islands, and Minera.
other parts of Scotland, afford many varieties. %
4. Prismatic Augite, or Wollastonite.
Prismatischer Augit-spath, Mohs—Schaalstein, Werner.
 Spath en Tables, Hauy. Table Spar.
Specific- Character. — Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, P + a> = 105° (nearly). Pr + co . Pr + co .
Sp. gr. = 2.7,—2.9. Hardness = 4.5,—4>.0.
Description Colour white. Occurs in granular and
lamellar concretions ; also massive and disseminated. Lus¬
tre ranges from shining to glistening, and is pearly-vitre¬
ous. Fracture splintery. Translucent. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—.Silica 51.45, lime 47.41, oxide of
iron 0.40. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks in the Bannat, in Norway, Finland, and in
rocks of the same description in the island of Ceylon.
Genus IX.—Azure-Spar.
Colour blue. Prismatic. Hardness = 5.0,—6.0. Sp.
gr. =r 2.8,—3.1.
1. Prismatic Azure-Spar.
Lazulit, Werner Lazulite, Hauy—Prismatischer La-
zure-Spath, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Cleavage P + oo (im¬
perfect). Colour lively. Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp gr.
= 3.0,—3.1.
Description Colour blue. Occurs massive. Fracture
uneven. Opaque. Very feebly translucent on the edges.
Easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—Phosphate of lime 41.81, alumina
35.73, magnesia 9*34, silica 2.10, protoxide of iron 2.64,
water 6.06. Fuchs.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in quartz in the district of Vorau, in Stiria.
2. Prismatoidal Azure-Spar, or Blue Spar.
Blauspath, Werner.—Feldspath, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Cleavage prismatoidal,
imperfect. Colour pale. Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp. gr.
= 3.0,—3.1.
Description.—Colour blue. Occurs massive and disse¬
minated. Lustre glistening. Fracture splintery. Feebly
translucent. Yields a greyish-white streak.
Constituent Parts Alumina 34.50, phosphoric acid
43.32, magnesia 13.56, silica 6.50, oxide of iron 0.80,
water 0.50. Brandes.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks at Krieglach in Stiria.
3. Uncleavable Azure-Spar, or Calaite—Mineral Tur-
quois.
Specific Character.—No cleavage. Hardness = 6.0.
Sp. gr. = 2.8,—3.0.
Description—Massive. Disseminated. Blue. Streak
white. Feebly translucent on the edges, or opaque. In¬
ternally dull. Fracture conchoidal.
Constituent Parts.—According to Berzelius it consists of
phosphate of alumina and phosphate of lime with silica, the
oxides of iron and copper, and a little water. John, the
Russian chemist, on the contrary, found it composed of
alumina 73.0 ; copper 4.5 ; oxide of iron 4.0 ; water 18.0.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This beautiful
mineral occurs in small veins in a slate-clay in Persia, where
it is much prized as an ornamental stone.
Observation The Bone-Turquois is not true Calaite,
but bone coloured with oxide of copper.
Order VII GEM.
Not metallic. Streak white or grey. Hardness == 5.5.
MINER
nera- —10.0. Sp. gr. = 1.9,—4.7. If hardness = 6.0, and less,
•s'y. the sp. gr. = 2.4, and less, and no traces of form or clea-
vage. If sp. gr. is less than 3.8, there is no pearly lustre.
Genus I.—Andalusite.
Prismatic. Cleavage, not prismatoidal. Hardness — 7.5.
Sp. gr. == 3.0,—3.2.
1. Prismatic Andalusite.
Prismatischer Andalusit, Mohs—Andalusit, Werner 
Feldspath apyre, Haiiy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, P + oo. Pr + oo. Pr + oo. (Fig. 30, 29,
28.)
Description.—Colours red and grey. Occurs regularly
crystallized and massive. Lustre shining, glistening, and
vitreous. Fracture uneven. Feebly translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Alumina 60.5, silica 36.5, oxide of
iron 4.0. Bucholz—Alumina 52.0, silica 28.0, oxide of
iron 2.0, potash 8.0. Vauquelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in gneiss
in the Shetland Islands, and in slate rocks in Banffshire.
* Fibrolite—Bournon.
Prismatic. P + oo = 100°. Cleavage imperfect. Hard¬
ness more considerable than quartz, and sp. gr. = 3.214.
Constituent Parts—According to Chenevix consists of
silica 33.0, alumina 46.0, oxide of iron 13.0. Occurs in
the Carnatic and in China.
* Chiastolite. Holspath, Werner.—Made, Hauy.
Prismatic. P + oo = 84° 48. Pr zz 120 nearly. Cleav-
O —
age, P + 00 . Pr + 00 . Pr + oo . All of them imper¬
fect. Hardness = 5, — 5.5. Sp. gr. zz 2.9, — 3.0.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 68.49, alumina 30.17, mag¬
nesia 4.12, oxide of iron 2.7, water 0.27.—Landgrabe.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in
clay-slate near Keswick in Cumberland, and near Bala-
hulish in Argyllshire.
Genus II—Corundum.
Tessular, rhombohedral, prismatic. Hardness zz 8.0.
— 9.0. Sp. gr. zz 3.5, — 4.3. If prismatic, the sp. gr. zz
3.7, and more, and hardness zz 8.5. If colour red, and sp.
gr. zz 3.7, and more, the hardness = 9.0.
1. Dodecahedral Corundum, or Spinel.
Dodecaedrischer Corund, Mohs—Spinel and Zeilanit,
Werner.—Spindle and Pleonaste, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage, octahedral,
but obtained with difficulty. Hardness zz 8.0. Sp. gr. zz
3.5,—3.8.
Description—Colours red, and sometimes green, black,
blue, yellow, brown, and white. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized. Lustre splendent and vitreous. Fracture conchoi-
dal. Ranges from transparent to translucent on the edges.
The dark green and black varieties, which are only trans¬
lucent on the edges, are named ceylanite ; the other va¬
rieties spinel or spinel-ruby.
Constituent Parts.—Red Spinel. Alumina 74.50, sili¬
ca 15.56, magnesia 8.25, oxide of iron 1.56, lime 0.75.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—The ceylanite
varieties occur in the sand of rivers in Ceylon; the others
also in Ceylon, Pegu, and other countries.
2. Octahedral Corundum or Automolite.
Octaedrischer Corund, Mohs Automalite, Werner.—
Gahnite. Spindle Zincifere, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage, octahedral,
and easily obtained. Hardness zz 8. So. gr. zz 4.1,—
4.3.
Description.—Colour muddy dark-blue, passing into
A L O G Y. 155
blackish-green. Occurs regularly crystallized. External Minera-
lustie pearly, inclining to semimetallic, internally shining logy*
and resinous. Fracture conchoidal. Opaque or faintly
translucent on the edges.
Constituent Parts—Alumina 60.00, oxide of zinc 24.25,
oxide of iron 9.25, silica 4.75. Eckeberg.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in talc, and associated with lead-glance at Fahlun in
Sweden, also in New Jersey in the United States of America.
3. Rhombohedral Corundum. Sapphire. Oriental
Ruby, fyc.
Rhomboedrischer Corund, Mohs.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
zz 86° 6'. Cleavage R — oo . More perfect R. Hard¬
ness z: 9.0. Sp. gr. zz 3.0, —4.05.
Description—Colours blue, red, grey, white, green,
yellow, brown, and black. Occurs regularly crystallized,
also massive. Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmer¬
ing, and vitreous, or vitreous sometimes inclining to ada¬
mantine. Fracture conchoidal and uneven. Ranges from
transparent to feebly translucent on the edges.
The transparent blue varieties are named sapphire ; the
transparent red varieties, oriental ruby ; the massive, near¬
ly opaque, grey and blackish varieties, emery; the trans¬
lucent, massive, and crystallized varieties, common corun¬
dum ; and the brown faintly translucent varieties, adaman¬
tine spar.
Constituent Parts.—Sapphire. Alumina 98.5, oxide of
iron 1.0, lime 0.5. Klaproth.—Emery. Alumina 86.0,
silica 3.0, oxide of iron 4.0. Tennant.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The finest
sapphires and oriental rubies are found in alluvial soil in
Ceylon and Pegu, and other eastern countries; the emery
occurs in primitive talc-slate in Saxony; the common co¬
rundum and adamantine spar in granite, syenite, and other
similar rocks in India and China.
4. Prismatic Corundum, or Chrysoberyl.
Prismatischer Corund, Mohs—Krysoberyll, Werner.—
Cymophane, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid zz 139° 53';
86° 16'; 107° 29'. P + oo zz 128° 35'. Cleavage zz
Pr + co . Less perfect Pr -4- oo . (Fig. 29, 28.) Hard¬
ness zz 8.5. Sp. gr. zz 3,65, — 3.8.
Description.—Colour green, and often exhibits a milk-
white opalescence. Occurs regularly crystallized, and in
blunt edged pieces. Lustre splendent and resino-vitreous.
Fracture conchoidal. Semi-transparent and transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Alumina 76.75, glucina 17-79, pro¬
toxide of iron 4.49, moisture 0.48. Thomson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs im¬
bedded in granite veins in America, in alluvial soil in Cey¬
lon, and apparently in the granite of Aberdeen.
Genus III Diamond.
Tessular. Hardness zz 10. Sp. gr. zz 3.4, — 3.6.
1. Octahedral Diamond.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Description Its colours are more numerous than in
most other minerals, and of the various tints the grey and
white are the most frequent; it exhibits also beautiful red,
yellow, and blue varieties. Occurs regularly crystallized, and
in roundish grains. The lustre splendent and adamantine.
Fracture conchoidal. Transparent and semi-transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Consists of pure carbon, and is
completely volatilized at a temperature of 14°, Wedge-
wood, affording with oxygen, carbonic acid gas.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It has hitherto
been found principally loose in alluvial soil, in the warmer
regions of the earth, as Brazil, Borneo, the Peninsula of
15(j MINERALOGY.
Minera- India, and lately is'reported to have been discovered in
logy. Siberia.
Genus IV.—Topaz.
Prismatic. Cleavage axotomous. Hardness — 8. Sp.
gr. — 3.4,—3.6.
1. Prismatic Topaz.
Prismatischer Topaz, Mohs.—Topaz. Physalit. Piknit,
Werner Silice Fluatee Alumineuse, i/awy. ^
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid = 141° 7';
101° 52'; 90° 55'. P + oo = 124° 19'. Combination,
sometimes with different planes on opposite ends. Cleav¬
age, P +co . (Fig. 27.)
Description.—Colours yellow, green, blue,, red,, grey,
white. Occurs regularly crystallized; also in prismatic
and granular concretions, and massive. Lustre ranges from
splendent to glistening, and is vitreous and resinous. Frac¬
ture conchoidal and uneven. Ranges from transparent to
translucent on the edges. Easily and uncommonly easily
frangible. , .
The highly crystallized and transparent varieties are
named precious topaz ; those in prismatic distinct concre¬
tions, with a slight degree of translucency on the edges,
and which are uncommonly easily frangible, schorlous to¬
paz ; and those in coarse granular concretions, with a low
degree of lustre, and feeble translucency on the edges,
physahte.
Constituent Parts.—1. Precious Topaz. Alumina 5 7.45,
silica 34.24, fluoric acid 7-75. Berzelius—2. Schorlous
Topaz. Alumina 51.00, silica 38.43, fluoric acid 8.84.
Berzelius.—3. Physahte. Alumina 57.74, silica 34.36,
fluoric acid 7-77. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Precious topaz
occurs in alluvial soil in the upper parts of Aberdeenshire,
in primitive rocks in Cornwall, in granite in the Mourne
Mountains in Ireland; schorlous topaz is said also to occur
in Aberdeenshire; and the physalite in granite, at Finbo
in Sweden, and at Altenberg in Saxony. The Uralian and
Altain Mountains in Asiatic Russia, and those of Brazil in
the New World, afford rich and beautiful varieties of this
gem.
Genus V Emerald.
Rhombohedral. Prismatic. Cleavage rhombohedro-
axotomous and peritomous, or prismatoidal. Hardness =
7.5,—8.0. Sp. gr. 2.6,—3.2.
1. Prismatic Emerald or Enclose.
Euclase, Werner.—Prismatischer Smaragd, Mohs.—Eu-
clase, Hang.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
P
P -|- qo = 133° 26'. Combination hemiprismatic
Description Colours green, blue, yellow, and grey. Minera.
Occurs regularly crystallized, and in thin prismatic con- ^ l°gy.
cretions. "Lateral planes longitudinally streaked or smooth." , -
Lustre ranges from splendent to glistening, and is vitreous.
Fracture conchoidal. Ranges from transparent to trans¬
lucent on the edges. Easily frangible.
The varieties, with emerald-green colours, in short,
smooth, transparent, and translucent prisms, with rough
terminal planes, are named precious emerald, while the
others, in which the colours are green, blue, yellow, and
grey, and crystallized in long longitudinally streaked prisms,
are named beryl, or common emerald.
Constituent Parts 1. PteciousEmerald. Silica 68.50,
alumina 15.75, glucina 12.50, lime 0.25, oxide of chrome
0.30, oxide of iron 1.00. Klaproth—2. Beryl, Siberia.
Silica 66.45, alumina 16.75, glucina 15.50, oxide of iron
0.60. Klaproth 3. Beryl, Broddbo. Silica 68.35, alu¬
mina 17.60, glucina 13.13, oxide of iron 0.72, oxide of
tantalum 0.27. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—The precious
emerald is found in mica-slate and clay-slate; the ancients
obtained their emeralds from Mount Zalora in Upper
Egypt, but at present the finest varieties are those import¬
ed from Peru. The beryl, or common emerald, occurs in
Aberdeenshire, in the Mourne mountains in Ireland, the
United States, &c.; but nearly all the varieties met with
in trade, are brought from Russia.
2
Cleavage, Pr + oo . Very distinct. Hardness rr 7*5. Sp.
gr. = 2.9, — 3.2.
Description.—Colours green, white, and blue. Occurs
regularly crystallized. Lustre splendent. Fracture con¬
choidal. Transparent and translucent. Very easily fran¬
gible.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 43.22, alumina 30.56, glucina
21.78, oxide of iron 2.22, oxide of tin 0.70. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situation?,.—This beautiful
and rare mineral has been hitherto found only in Peru and
Brazil.
2. Bhombohedral Emerald.
Rhomboedrischer Smaragd, Mohs—Emeraude, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral, R — 104° 28'.
Combination dirhombohedral. 2 (R) = 138° 35' : 90.
Cleavage, R — oo . Less perfect, P + oo . Hardness =
7.5, — 8.0. Sp. gr. = 2.6, — 2.8.
Genus VI—Quartz.
Rhombohedral prismatic. Cleavage not axotomous.
Hardness = 5.5, — 7.5. Sp. gr. = 1.9, — 2.7-
1. Prismatic Quartz, or lolite.
Prismatischer Quarz, Mohs.—lolith. Peliom, Werner.
—lolithe, Hauy.—Dichroite. Cordierite. Steinheilite,
Auct.
Specific Character Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage, P + oo = 120° nearly. Pr + oo . (Fig. 30,29.)
Hardness = 7.0, — 7*5. Sp. gr. =2.5, —.2.6.
Description.—Colour blue. Of an indigo blue colour,
when viewed in the direction of the axis, but viewed per¬
pendicular to the axis, is brownish-yellow. Occurs rarely
crystallized, generally massive and disseminated. Lustre
shining and vitreous. Fracture uneven and conchoidal.
Translucent in the direction of the axis, and transparent at
right angles to it.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 48.54, alumina 31.73, mag¬
nesia 11.30, oxide of iron 5.69, oxide of manganese 0.70,
water or loss 1.65. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in gra¬
nite and gneiss; Abo in Finland, Arendal in Norway, St
Gothard in Switzerland, and Granatillo in Spain, Ujond-
lersok in Greenland, are localities of this mineral.
2. Rhombohedral Quartz.
Quartz, Werner.—Rhomboedrisher Quarz, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron =
75° 55'. Combination, hemirhombohedral and hemidi-
rhombohedral. R + w and (P + w') , with inclined planes,
and P + n" with parallel planes. Cleavage, P = 133° 44';
103° 35'. P + qo • Hardness = 7-0. Sp. gr. = 2.5, —
2.7.
Description.—Colours white, grey, rarely black, blue,
green, yellow, red, and brown. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; in granular, fibrous, prismatic, and lamellar concre¬
tions ; also massive, disseminated, in plates, stalactitic, re-
niform, botryoidal, globular, specular, vesicular, and cellular.
Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmering, and is vitreous.
Fracture conchoidal, even, uneven, and splintery. Ranges
from transparent to opaque. Brittle, and easily frangible.
MINERALOGY.
tfinera- The transparent and highly crystallized varieties are
logy, named rock-crystal. The pyramidal, translucent, and
-y—transparent varieties, having generally a violet-blue colour,
and disposed in prismatic, fibrous, and lamellar concretions,
are named amethyst. The massive, strongly translucent,
rose-red, and milk-white varieties, are named rose quartz.
Those varieties which have generally grey or white colours,
the pyramidal form, and occur massive, disseminated, and
in the various particular external forms enumerated above,
with a low degree of translucency, are named common quartz.
The leek-green translucent varieties, with a resino-vitreous
lustre, and conchoido-splintery fracture, are named prase.
The cats eye is a variety, with a beautiful opalescence, like
the light of the eye of the cat. Those opaque varieties, in
which the colours are red, brown, and yellow, and the lustre
shining externally, and glistening internally, and vitreo-
resinous, and fracture small conchoidal, are named iron-
flint. Those varieties which exhibit grey, yellow, brown,
red, and green, generally muddy colours, and which occur
massive, and in extraneous external shapes, with a splintery
or conchoidal and dull or glimmering fracture, and are
opaque or translucent on the edges, are named hornstone.
The grey, brown, and black varieties which generally occur
massive, and in various particular and extraneous external
forms, and exhibit a glimmering lustre, conchoidal fracture,
and feeble translucency, are named flint. The semi-trans¬
parent and translucent varieties, in massive and various
particular external forms, with an even and dull fracture
surface, are named common calcedony. The beautiful ap¬
ple-green strongly translucent varieties are named chryso-
prase. The grass-green varieties, with glimmering lustre,
conchoidal fracture, and strong translucency, are named
plasma. The semi-transparent and strongly translucent
varieties, with glistening or shining vitreous lustre and
conchoidal fracture, and with various tints of red, brown,
yellow, green, and white, are named carnelian. The beau¬
tiful variety, named heliotrope, is well characterized, on a
general view, by its green colour, and disseminated spots
of red and yellow jasper. Those varieties, in which the
colours are red, brown, and black, and seldomer yellow or
green, which occur massive and disseminated, with a frac¬
ture ranging from conchoidal to earthy, and lustre from
glistening to dull, and are opaque, are named jasper. And,
lastly, the white and grey varieties, which are so porous
and light, as to swim on the surface of water, are named
spongiform quartz, or floatstone.
Constituent Parts—1. Rock-crystal. Silica 99.37,
trace of alumina and oxide of iron. Bucholz 2. Amethyst.
Silica 97.50, alumina 0.25, oxide of iron a trace, manganese
0.75. Rose—3. Common Quartz. Silica 97.75, alumina
0.50, water 1.00. Bucholz.—4. Red Iron-flint. Silica 76.8,
alumina 0.25, oxide of iron 21.66, volatile matter 1.00.
Bucholz—5. Carnelian. Silica 94.00, alumina 3.50, oxide
of iron 0.75. Bindheim.-—6. Chrysoprase. Silica 96.16,
alumina 0.08, lime 0.82. Klaproth—7. Common Flinty
Mate. Silica 51.84, alumina 15.43, lime 9.42, oxide of
iron 9*96. Dumeril.
Gcognostic and Geographic Situations.—-Quartz is very
Universally distributed, and, as far as we know at present,
!s the most abundant mineral in nature. It occurs in every
rock, from granite to the newest secondary formation; and
every country, every district in the world, afford examples
ot this mineral.
157
3. Uncleavable Quartz or Opal.
Untheilbarer Quarz, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Ileniform. Massive. No cleav-
age. Hardness = 5.5,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 1.9,—2.2.
escription.—Colours white and grey, also green, yel-
ow, brown, red, and black, and sometimes displays a beau-
1 ul play of colour. Occurs massive, and in various parti¬
cular external forms. Lustre ranges from splendent to Minera-
glistemng, and is vitreous, or vitreo-resinous. Ranges from Wv.
transparent to opaque. —
The grey and white varieties, with glistening and shining
pearly lustre, and translucent on the edges, or translucent
nu t le 1|naS.S’1 are, name(l quartzy sinter, or pearl-sinter.
Ihe yellowish and greyish white varieties with the botryoi-
dal and other particular external forms, conchoidal fracture,
and vitreous lustre, and which are strongly translucent,
are named hyalite. Ihe milk-white varieties, with the
beautiful play of various rich and pure colours, are named
precious opal. The transparent varieties, with the beauti-
ml carmine-red and apple-green iridescence, are named
jire-opal. Those varieties which are milk-white, and fre¬
quently dendritic, with a pearly, shining, or glistening
lustre, conchoidal fracture, and complete opacity, are named
mother-of-pearl opal, or cacholong. The common opal
differs from the precious, principally in wanting the play of
colour. The feebly translucent varieties, with conchoidal
fracture, and glistening vitreo-resinous lustre, and white,
grey, and brown colours, are named semi-opal. Those
varieties, in which the colours are red, yellow, and grey,
with a shining vitreo-resinous lustre, conchoidal fracture,
and opacity, are navacHjasper-opal. Those varieties which
occur in various vegetable forms, and are really vegetables
impregnated, or petrified with opal, are named wood-opal.
And lastly, the brown and yellowish grey tuberose varie¬
ties are named menilite.
Constituent parts 1. Precious Opal. Silica 90.0,
water 10.0. Klaproth—2. Fire-Opal from Mexico.
Silica 92.60, water 7.75, oxide of iron 0.25. Klaproth 
3. Common Opal, Hungary. Silica 93.5, water 5.0, oxide
of iron 1.0. Klaproth—4. Semi-Opal. Silica 82.75,
water 10.00, oxide of iron 3.00, alumina 3.50. Stucke.
—5. Hyalite. Silica 92.00, water 6.33. Bucholz 6.
Menilite. Silica 85.5, water 10.0.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This species
has a comparatively limited geognostic and geographic dis¬
tribution. The quartzy sinter occurs in the vicinity of hot-
springs, as in Iceland and other countries; the hyalite in
secondary trap-rocks in Scotland, Germany; and the vari¬
ous opals are found prindpally in secondary trap, and in
porphyry rocks in Hungary, Germany, Scotland and other
countries.
4. Fusible Quartz, Obsidian, Pitchstone, Pearlstone,
Pumice.
Empyrodox Quarz, Mohs.
Specific Character—In grains...Massive. No cleavage.
Hardness =r 6.0,—7-0. Sp. gr. = 2.2,—2.4.
Description—Colours black, green, and grey ; also
brown, blue, red, yellow, and white. Occurs in globular,
lamellar, and prismatic concretions; massive, vesicular,
and porous. Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmering,
and is vitreous, resinous, and pearly. Ranges from trans¬
parent to opaque.
The varieties, with splendent and vitreous lustre, con¬
choidal fracture, and ranging from transparent to translu¬
cent on the edges, are named obsidian, and marekanite;
those again in which the lustre is shining and resinous,
and are translucent on the edges, are named pitchstone ;
the beautiful varieties in globular and concentric lamellar,
shining, pearly, translucent concretions, are named pearl-
stone ; and lastly, the white and grey varieties, which are
vesicular and fibrous, with a vitreous or pearly lustre, and
often so light as to swim on water, are named pumice.
Constituent Parts 1. Obsidian, from Mexico. Silica
78.0, alumina 10.0, lime 1.0, potash 6.0, oxide of iron 3.6.
Vauquelin.—2. Marekanite. Silica 81.00, alumina
9.50, lime 0.33, natron 4.50, potash 2.70, water and oxide
of iron 1.00. Klaproth.—3. Pitchstone. Silica 72.80,
158
MINERALOGY.
Minera- alumina 11.50, natron 2.85, lime 1.20, oxide of iron 3.03,
logv. water and bituminous matter 0.50.—4. Pearlstone. Silica
  ^   77.0, alumina 13.0, potash 1.5, lime and natron 2.7, oxide
of iron and manganese 2.0, water 4.0. Vauquelin.—b. Pu ¬
mice. Silica 77.50, alumina 17.50, natron and potash 3.00,
oxide of iron with manganese 1.75. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. Pitchstone
is found on the mainland of Scotland as in Dumfriesshire ;
in the Islands of Arran, Egg, Rum, and Skye; pearl-
stone occurs in great beauty in Hungary and Iceland, and
both pumice and obsidian are productions of Iceland, the
Lipari Islands, and Mexico.
Genus VII—Axinite.
Hardness = 6.5. Sp. gr. Miner
Jogv!
Cleavage imperfect. Colour not inclining to yellow.
Perfect vitreous lustre. Hardness = 6.5,—7-0. Specific
gravity = 3.0,—3.3.
1. Prismatic Axinite.
Prismatischer Axinit, dfo/is.—Thumerstein, Werner—
Axinite, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Combination tetarto-prismatic. Cleavage, two faces, the
one more distinct than the other. Incidence =101° 30'.
Description Colours brown, blue, and sometimes grey
and black. Occurs regularly crystallized; in curved la¬
mellar concretions, and massive. Lustre externally splen¬
dent, internally glistening or shining, and vitreous. Ranges
from transparent to feebly translucent. Brittle, and very
easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 45.00, lime 12.75, alumina
10.00, oxide of iron 12.25, oxide of manganese 9.00, bo-
racic acid 2.00. Wiegmann.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. Occurs in beds
and veins in gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, and hornblende-
slate. It occurs in small quantities in Cornwall, but no
where else in Great Britain.
visible. Colours yellow, brown
= 3.15,-3.25.
Description.—Colours straw, ochre, honey, orange, pass¬
ing into hyacinth-red and yellowish-brown. Occurs in
imbedded grains in small massive pieces, and in longish
granular distinct concretions. Lustre vitreous. Fracture
imperfect conchoidal. Translucent.
Constituent Parts.—Magnesia 54.00, silica 32.66, fluoric
acid 4.08, oxide of iron 2.33, potash 2.10, water LOO.
Seybert.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in calc
spar and granular limestone in the parish of Pargas in Film¬
land ; also in granular limestone, associated with graphite,
at Newton in New Jersey, United States, at Lochness, and
in granular limestone in Kincardineshire.
Genus IX—Boracite.
Tessular. Hardness = 7. Sp. gr. = 2.8,—3.0.
1. Octahedral Boracite.
Octaedrischer Borazit, Mohs.—Borazit, Werner—Mag-
nesie Boratee, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Combination semites-
sular of inclined planes. Cleavage octahedral but imper¬
fect.
Description.—Colours white and grey. Occurs in cubes
and dodecahedrons. Internally shining, and nearly ada¬
mantine. Fracture conchoidal. Translucent and trans¬
parent.
Constituent Parts.—1. Boracic acid 54.55, magnesia30.68,
oxide of iron 0.57, silica 2.27. Pffaff.—Z. Boracic acid
69*95, mangnesia 30.04.—Arfwedson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in gypsum, in the Kalkberg, in Hanover, and in the
Segeberg, near Kiel, in Holstein.
Genus VIII—Chrysolite.
Prismatic. Colour green, brown, both inclining to yel¬
low, yellow. Pure vitreous lustre. H = 6.5,—7.0. Sp. gr.
= 3.15,—3.5.
1. Prismatic Chrysolite.
Prismatischer Chrysolithe, Mohs.—Peridot, Hauy.——
Krisolith and Olivin, Werner.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 80° 53', (P + co )2
= 130°2/. Cleavage Pr 4- 00 . Traces in the direction
Pr + 00. Colour green. Hardness = 6.5,—7.0. Sp.gr.
= 3.3,—3.5.
Description Colour green. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized. Lustre splendent and vitreous. Fracture conchoi¬
dal. Transparent.
The varieties in granular distinct concretions, and which
have a lower degree of transparency and lustre than the
more highly crystallized kinds, are those generally described
under the name olivine.
Constituent Parts.—1
 — — ..Chrysolite. Silica 39.0, magne¬
sia 43.5, oxide of iron 19-0. Klaproth—2. Olivine from
TTnkel. Silica 50.0. magnesia 38.5. oxide of iron 12.0.
Unkel. Silica 50.0, magnesia 38.5, oxide of iron 12.0.
Klaproth 3. Olivine from Meteoric Iron. Silica 38.18,
magnesia 48.82, oxide of iron 11.19. Stromeyer.—Traces
of Nickel were observed.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The mineral
occurs principally in secondary trap-rocks. The olivine
variety is not unfrequent in some of the middle and western
districts of Scotland. The chrysolites of commerce are
brought from the Brazils and Upper Egypt.
2. Hemiprismatic Chrysolite or Chondrodite.
Brucite. Maclureite.
Specific Character.—Hemiprismatic. Cleavage scarcely
Genus X Tourmaline.
Rhombohedral. Hardness = 7.0,—7.5. Sp. gr. = 3.0
—3.2.
1. Rhombohedral Tourmaline.
Rhomboedrischer Turmaline, Mohs.—Tourmaline, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
= 133° 26'. Combination hemirhombohedral, the opposite
ends differently formed. Cleavage, R. P + go , imper¬
fect. ,
Description.—Colours black, brown, green, blue, red,
and white. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in prismatic and
granular distinct concretions, massive and disseminated.
Lustre ranges from splendent to glistening, and is vitreous.
Fracture conchoidal and uneven. Ranges from transparent
to opaque. Brittle and easily frangible.
The black coloured opaque varieties, with uneven frac¬
ture, are named schorl; all the others are ranged under
the title tourmaline.
Constituent Parts.—1. Black or Schorl of Rabenstein.
Silica 34.48, alumina 34.75, soda 1.75, potash 0.48, oxide
of iron 17.44, oxide of manganese 1.89, boracic acid 4.02,
magnesia 4.68. Gmelin.—2. Blue Tourmaline, Uton. Si¬
lica 40.30, alumina 40.50, oxide of iron 4.85, oxide of man¬
ganese 1.50, boracic acid 1.10, lithion 4.39. Arfwedson.—-
3. Green Tourmaline, Brazil. Silica 39.16, alumina 40.0 ,
oxide of iron 5.96, oxide of manganese 2.14, boracic acid
4.59, lithion 3.59 Gmelin—4. Red Tourmaline, Siberia.
Silica 39.37, alumina 44.00, potash 1.29, oxide of manga¬
nese 5.02, boracic acid 4.18, lithion 2.62. Gmelin.
Gmelin.
,0^   ---'•'7    •
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—It occurs im¬
bedded in granite, gneiss, mica-slate, talc-slate, chlorite-
slate, dolomite, topaz-rock, and quartz-rock ; also in felspar,
mica, talc, &c. and in alluvial strata. The schorl varieties
occur in various primitive rocks in the alpine districts 0
Scotland, and the purer varieties, or tourmaline, properly
[inera- so called, are met with in Siberia, Spain, and many other
logy, countries.
Genus XL Garnet.
Tessular, pyramidal, prismatic. Lustre not pure vitre¬
ous. Hardness = 6.0,—7.5. Sp. gr. rr 3.1,—4.3. If
colour red, the sp. gr. = 3.7, and more. If colour black,
sp. gr. = 3.9, and less. If hardness 7.5, the colour is red
or brown. If sp. gr. less than 3.3, is tessular.
1. Pyramidal Garnet or Vesuvian.
Pyramidaler Granat, Mohs—Vesuvian and Egeran,
Werner Idocrase, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 129° 29';
74° 14'. Cleavage, P — go. P + qo. [P + oo]. Hard¬
ness = 6.5. Sp. gr. = 3.3,—3.4.
Description—Colours green and brown, and rarely blue.
Occurs regularly crystallized; in granular distinct concre¬
tions; massive, and disseminated. Externally splendent,
and internally feebly shining and vitreo-resinous. Frac¬
ture uneven, inclining to small conchoidal. Ranges from
transparent to translucent in the edges.
Constituent Parts—Silica 38.85, alumina 21.93, lime
33.61, oxide of iron 5.40. Kobell.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks in Ireland, also in Scotland ; and on the con¬
tinent of Europe the most beautiful varieties are there
found in the ejected masses in Somma, near Naples, where
they are associated with granular limestone, garnet, horn¬
blende, mica, chlorite, augite, meionite, nepheline, magne¬
tic iron-ore, &c.
2. Tetrahedral Garnet, or Helvine.
Helvin, Werner.—Tetraedrischer Granat, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Combination semi-
tessular of inclined planes. Cleavage octahedral, but im¬
perfect. Hardness =r 6.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 3.1,—3.3.
Description.—Colours wax-yellow, inclining to yellowish-
brown or siskin-green. Occurs regularly crystallized, in
tetrahedrons, truncated on the angles, and in granular dis¬
tinct concretions. Lustre ranges from splendent to glis¬
tening and vitreo-resinous. Fracture uneven. Translu¬
cent, or translucent on the edges. Streak white.
Constituent Parts—Silica 35.27, alumina 1.45, oxide of
iron 7-99, oxide of manganese 29.44, sulphate of manganese
14.00, glucina 8.03. Gmelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in a
bed in gneiss, associated with fluor-spar, slate-spar, chlorite,
quartz, blende, and copper-pyrites, near Schwarzenberg,
in Saxony, also in brown ironstone, near Brei'tenbrun, also
in Saxony.
3. Dodecahedral Garnet.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage dodecahedral,
imperfect Hardness zr 6.5,—7.5. Sp. gr. zz 3.5,—4.3.
Description—Colours red, brown, green, black, grey,
and yellow. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in angulo-gra-
nular concretions, and massive. Lustre ranges from splen¬
dent to glimmering, and is vitreous inclining to resinous,
resino-vitreous, and resino-adamantine. Fracture con-
choidal, splintery, uneven. Ranges from transparent to
opaque.
The asparagus-green varieties in leucite formed crystals
are named grossulare ; the greyish-black dodecahedral opa¬
que varieties, which externally have a metallic-like aspect,
pyrenaite ; the velvet-black, dodecahedral opaque varieties,
nielanite; the green, brown, and grey massive varieties,
with glimmering lustre, and feeble translucency on the
edges, allochroite ; the brown and red varieties in granular
concretions, with resino-adamantine lustre, colophonite;
the red highly crystallized transparent varieties, precious
MINERALOGY.
159
garnet; the yellow nearly transparent varieties, topazolite Minera-
or yellow garnet; the brown and green varieties, in crys- logy,
tals often rounded on the edges, in granular concretions, ■'v—
and translucent, or translucent on the edges, common gar¬
net; the deep blood-red variety in roundish and angular
grains, and completely transparent, pyrope ; and the hya¬
cinth and orange-yellow varieties, in granular distinct con¬
cretions, and massive, with resino-vitreous lustre, conchoi¬
dal fracture, and transparent or translucent, are named
Essonite or Cinnamon Stone.
Constituent Parts 1. Grossulare. Silica 40.55, alu¬
mina 20.10, lime 34.86, oxide of iron 5.00, oxide of man¬
ganese 0.48. Wachtmeister—2. Pyrenaite. Silica 43.0,
alumina 16.0, lime 20.0, oxide of iron 16.0, water 4.0.
Vauquehn.—3. Melanite. Silica 35.5, alumina 6.0, lime
32.5, oxide of iron 25.2, oxide of manganese 0.4. 4. Al¬
lochroite. Silica 35.0, alumina 8.0, lime 30.0, oxide of
iron 17.0, oxide of manganese 3.5. Vauquelin 5. Colo¬
phonite. Silica 37-0, alumina 13.5, lime 29.0, oxide of
iron 7.5, oxide of manganese 4.8, magnesia 6.5, water 1.0.
Simon.—6. Precious Garnet. Silica 35.75, alumina
27.25, oxide of iron, 36.00, oxide of manganese 0.25.—
Klaproth.—7. Pyrope. Silica 40.0, alumina 28.5, lime
3.5, oxide of iron 16.5, oxide of manganese 0.3, magnesia
10.0, chromic acid 2.6.—8. Essonite or Cinnamon Stone.
Silica 38.80, alumina 21.26, lime 31.25, oxide of iron 6.50.
Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This mineral
occurs principally in primitive rocks, either disseminated,
or forming an ingredient in the composition of subordinate
beds; it is comparatively rare in transition rocks, and is
still less frequently met with in secondary formations. In
Scotland the precious garnet is common in several High¬
land districts in Perthshire, Aberdeenshire, &c.; the pyrope
variety occurs in secondary trap-rocks in Fifeshire; the
cinnamon stone or essonite in gneiss in Kincardineshire; the
melanite or black garnet is found in Vesuvius, and in the
neighbourhood of Rome ; the grossulare is met wdth near
the river Willui in Siberia; the pyrenaite in the Pic Eres
Lids, near Bareges, in the Pyrenees; the co/qpAomYechiefly
at Arendal, in Norway ; allochroite in the neighbourhood
of Drammen, in Norway ; and the finest cinnamon stones
are the produce of Ceylon.
4. Prismatoidal Garnet, or Grenatite.
Prismatoidischer granat, Mohs.— Granatit, Werner.—
Staurotide, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid z= 121° 54';
80° 43'; 124° 48'. P + oo zz 129° 30'. Cleavage,
Pr -f- oo , perfect. Traces in direction (P + oo )2. (Fig.
29.) Hardness zz 7.0,—7.5. Sp. gr. zz 3.3,—3.9.
Description.—Colour reddish-brown. Occurs regularly
crystallized. Internally the cleavage is shining and splen¬
dent ; fracture glistening and glimmering, and resino-vitre¬
ous. Fracture uneven. Ranges from semi-transparent to
opaque. Streak white.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 33.00, alumina 45.00, lime
3.84, oxide of iron 13.00, oxide of manganese 4.00. Vaw-
quelin.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks in the Shetland Islands, in Aberdeenshire, and
other parts of Scotland.
Genus XII—Zircon.
Pyramidal. Hardness zz 7.5. Sp. gr. zz 4.5,—4.7.
1. Pyramidal Zircon.
Pyramidaler Zircon, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid zz 123° IS7?
84° 20'. Cleavage, P. P + ® •
160
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Description Colours grey and hyacinth red ; also white,
logy, green, brown, and rarely yellow, blue, and red. Occurs
~v ' regularly crystallized. Lustre splendent, shining, and ada¬
mantine-resinous and resino-vitreous. Fracture conchoidal.
Ranges from transparent to opaque.
Those varieties in which the cleavage is very distinct,
and which have frequently a hyacinth-red colour, are named
hyacinth, the other varieties common zircon.
Constituent Parts—1. Zircon. Zirconia 69-0, silica 26.5,
oxide of iron 0.5. Klaproth—% Hyacinth. Zirconia 70.0,
silica 25.0, oxide of iron 0.5. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in
syenite, granite, gneiss, primitive trap, in secondary trap,
and ejected masses of Somma. The syenite rocks of Gal¬
loway, the gneiss rocks of Inverness-shire, and of the Shet¬
land Islands, alford examples of this mineral. The most
esteemed varieties of zircon, are from the Island of Ceylon.
Order VIII.—ORE.
Streak not green. Hardness = 2.0,—7,0. Sp. gr.
= 3.4,—7.4. If metallic, the colour is black. If not me¬
tallic, the lustre is adamantine or imperfect metallic. If
at Skeppsholm, one of the islands on which Stockholm is
built, also at Lindenaes, in Norway, and in Greenland. It
was named in honour of the late Mr Thomas Allan, one of
our best mineralogists, and distinguished as an accurate
and judicious geologist.
Genus II—Titanium-Ore.
Pyramidal, prismatic. Streak white, or very pale brown.
If the
sp.
Hardness = 5.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 3.4,—4.4.
gr. less than 4.2, the streak is white.
1. Hemiprismatic Titanium-Ore, or Sphene.
Prismatisches Titan-erz, Mohs—Gelb and Braun, Ma-
nak-erz, Werner Titane Siliceo-calcaire, Hauy—Hemi-
prismatisches Titan-erz, Haidinger.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid = 1110 12';
88° 47'; 131° 16'. P + oo =103° 20'. Combination
hemiprismatic.
- = 111° 12'.
Zi
Cleavage, -. (Fig. 37).
Streak white. Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. = 3.4,—3.6.
Description Colours brown, yellow, green, grey, and
white. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in granular and la¬
mellar distinct concretions, and massive. Lustre ranges
streak yellow or red, the hardness equal 3.5 and more ; and from Sp]enjent t0 glistening, and is adamantine. Fracture
"" 1     Tf hrnwn nr h1ark- thp Wf1- nchoidal. Ranges from transparent to opaque.
One set of varieties, in which brown is the predomina¬
ting colour, is named common sphene, or brown titanium-
ore ; and another, in which the principal colours are yel¬
low, and the cleavage distinct, is named yellow titanium-
ore, ox foliated sphene.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of titanium 33.0, silica 35.9,
lime 33.0, trace of manganese. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This mineral
occurs imbedded in syenite in Inverness-shire, Perthshire,
Galloway, and many other quarters of Scotland ; it also oc¬
curs in syenite rocks in England.
2. Octahedral Titanium- Ore, or Pyrochlore.
Octaedrisches Titan-erz, Mohs—Pyrochlor, Wohler.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage scarcely per¬
ceptible. Streak pale brown. Hardness == 5.0. Sp. gr.
= 4.2,—4.25.
Description Colour dark reddish-brown, passing into
blackish-brown. Streak pale brown. Occurs massive, dis¬
seminated, and in small octahedrons. Lustre shining and
vitreo-resinous. Fracture conchoidal. From translucent
on the edges to opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Titanic acid 62.75, lime 12.85, pro¬
toxide of uranium 5.18, oxide of cerium 6.80, protoxide of
manganese 2.75, oxide of tin 0.61, oxide of iron 2.16, wa¬
ter 4.20. Wdhlar.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs imbed¬
ded in syenite at Laurvig and Frederickswiirn, Norway;
also in Greenland.
3. Peritomous Titanium-Ore, or Putile.
Peritomes Titan-erz, Mohs.—Titan-oxyde, Hauy.—Ru-
til. Nigrine, Werner.—Titan schorl. Sagenite.
Specific Character—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 117° 2';
95° 13'. Cleavage, P + cc . [P + oo ]. Streak pale
brown. Hardness — 6.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. =4.2,—4.4.
Description.—Colours brown, red, yellow, and sometimes
nearly velvet black. Occurs regularly crystallized, mas¬
sive, disseminated, in angular grains and in flakes. Lustre
metallo-adamantine and adamantine, and ranges from splen¬
dent to glistening. Fracture conchoidal. Ranges from
transparent to opaque.
The dark brown and black opaque varieties are named
nigrine ; the others rutile.
Constituent Parts.—The pure varieties contain of tita¬
nium 56.05, and oxygen 33.35 ; the black varieties, named
sp. gr. 4.8 or more. If streak brown or black, the hard- conc]loi(jai_
ness is equal to 5.0 or more, or 2.5 and less; or single dis¬
tinct cleavage. If hardness is 2.5 or less, the specific gra¬
vity is under 5.0. If hardness is 4.5 or less, the streak is
yellow, red, or black. If hardness equal to 6.5 or more, and
streak uncoloured, the specific gravity equal 6.5 and more.
Genus I.—Melane-Ore.
Prismatic. Black. Streak greenish and brownish-grey.
Hardness = 5.5,—7.5. Sp. gr. = 3.2,—4.3.
1. Prismatic Melane-Ore or Gadolinite.
Gadolinite.—Mohs, Hauy, and Haidinger.
Specific Character.—Indistinct crystals which are prisms
of about 109° 28'. Colour greenish-black. Streak greenish-
grey. Hardness = 6.5 —7.0. Sp. gr. = 4.2,—4.3,
Description Colours black, or greenish-black. Occurs
massive ; in granular and prismatic concretions. Internally
shining, and lustre resino-vitreous. Fracture conchoidal,
seldom uneven. Opaque, or very faintly translucent on the
edges.
Constituent Parts—Yttria 45.93, protoxide of iron 11.34,
protoxide of cerium 16.90, silica 24.16. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in beds
of felspar, or mica-slate at Ytterby, and in granite at Finbo,
in Sweden; also in Disco Island in Davis’ Straits, and in
granite in the Island of Ceylon.
2. Anorthitic Melane-Ore or Allanite.
Anorthisches Melan-Erz including Orthite, Haidinger.
Specific Character.—Tetarto-prismatic. Prism = 115°
—deeply truncated on the obtuse edges. Cleavage imper¬
fect. Greenish and brownish-black. Streak greenish and
brownish-grey. Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp.gr. = 3.2,—3.6.
Description.—Colours black, inclining to green, grey, or
brown. Occurs massive or in acicular crystals. Lustre im¬
perfect, metallic. Fracture conchoidal. Opaque. Streak
greenish or brownish-grey.
Constituent Parts—1. Allanitic Melane-Ore. Oxide
of cerium 33.9, oxide of iron 25.4, silica 35.4, lime 9.2,
alumina 4.1, water 4.0. Thomson.—2. Orthitic Melane-
Ore. Silica 32.00, lime 7.84, alumina 14.80, oxide of ce¬
rium 19*44, protoxide of iron 12.44, oxide of manganese
3.40, yttria 3.44, water 5.36. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The Allanite
varieties occur at Alluk, near the southern extremity of
Old Greenland. The varieties named Orhite occur in
quartz at Finbo, near Fahlun, in Sweden, and in granite
MINERALOGY.
16J
Ifinera- nigrine, contain oxide of titanium 84.0, oxide of iron 14.0,
logy- oxide of manganese 2.0.
-v—^ Geognostic and Geographic Situations—The rutile va¬
rieties occur in the granite of Cairngorm ; at Killin, and
in Ben-Gloe, in quartz-rock. The nigrine varieties are
met with at Ely, in Fifeshire, and also in Bohemia and
Transylvania.
4. Pyramidal Titanium or Anatase.
Pyramidales Titan-erz, Mohs.-—Octaedrit, Werner 
Titane, Anatase, Haiiy.—Oisanite, Lameth.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid z= 70° 56';
136° 22'. Cleavage, P — oo . P. perfect. Streak white.
Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 3.8,—3.9.
Description.—Colours blue and brown. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized. Lustre splendent and adamantine, in¬
clining to semi-metallic. Translucent and transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Is a pure oxide of titanium.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in small
veins in primitive rocks, as greenstone, gneiss, mica-slate,
clay-slate, granite, in Dauphiny, Spain, Norway, and Brazil.
5. Prismatic Titanium-Ore, or Brookite.
Prismatisches Titan-erz, Haidinger.—Brookite, Levy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Prism = 160°. Co¬
lour hair-brown. Streak yellowish-white. Hardness = 5.5,
—6.0. Sp. gr. unknown.
Description. — Colour hair-brown, inclining to dark
orange-yellow and red. Streak yellowish-wRite. Lustre
metallic, adamantine. Translucent or opaque. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Chiefly composed of oxide of tita¬
nium.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs along
with quartz and anatase at Bourg d’Oisans in Dauphiny,
the Tete-Noire in Savoy, and in the mountain of Snowdon
in Wales.
Genus III.—Zinc-Ore, or Red Oxide of Zinc.
Prismatic. Streak orange-yellow. Hardness =4.0,—
4.5. Sp. gr. = 5.4,—5.5.
1. Prismatic Zinc-Ore.
Prismatisches Zink-erz, Mohs and Haidinger.—Red
Oxyd of Zink, Zinc Oxide Ferrifere Lamellaire Brun-
Rougeatre, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Cleavage in the direc¬
tion of a rhombic prism of about 120° and its shortest dia¬
gonal.
Description.—Colour between blood-red and aurora-red.
Streak orange-yellow. Massive, disseminated, and in granu¬
lar concretions. Lustre adamantine, and shining. Trans¬
lucent on the edges. Fracture conchoidal. Brittle.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of zinc 92.0, oxides of iron
and manganese 8.0. Bruce.—Oxide of zinc 88.0, oxides
of iron and manganese 12.0. Berthier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This important
ore has hitherto been found only in America, where it oc¬
curs along with calcareous spar, and Franklinite at Sparta,
in New Jersey.
Genus IV.—Red Copper-Ore.
Tessular. Streak brownish-red. Hardness = 3.5,—
4.0. Sp. gr. = 5.6,—6.1.
1. Octahedral Red Copper-Ore.
Octaedrisches Kupfererz, Mohs.—Roth Kupfererz, Wer-
ner—Cuivre oxydule and Cuivre oxide rouge, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Description—Colours red, particularly cochineal-red.
Occurs crystallized, frequently the cubo-octahedron; in
granular distinct concretions; massive, disseminated, and
in flakes. Lustre ranges from shining to glimmering, and
VOL. xv.
is adamantine, inclining to semi-metallic. Fracture uneven. Minera-
Ranges from translucent to opaque. Brittle. logy.
I he varieties with cleavage are named foliated red cop-
per-ore ; those which are massive, glistening, and opaque,
compact red copper-ore ; and the varieties in capillary crys¬
tals, capillary red copper-ore.
Constituent Parts.—Copper 88.5, oxygen 11.5. Che-
nevix.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
in. gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, and greywacke ; also in
veins and beds in secondary rocks. The copper mines of
Cornwall afford fine examples of this beautiful ore.
Genus V—Tin-Ore.
Zinn-erz, Mohs.
Pyramidal. Streak not black. Hardness = 6.0, 7.0.
Sp. gr. =6.3,—7.1.
1. Pyramidal Tin-Ore.
Pyramidales Zinn-erz, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 133° 26';
67° 59'. Cleavage P -f- oo . [P -f- go ]. Streak white or
pale brown.
Description.—Colours brown, black, green, white, yel¬
low, and red. Occurs regularly crystallized, very general¬
ly in four-sided prisms acuminated with four planes, and
often in twin crystals; also reniform, botryoidal, and glo¬
bular, and in delicate fibrous concretions. Externally splen¬
dent ; internally ranges from splendent to glimmering, and
is adamantine, inclining to resinous. Fracture uneven.
Ranges from semi-transparent to opaque.
The varieties in fibrous concretions are named wood-tin,
the others common tinstone.
Constituent Parts.— Oxide of tin 95.0, oxide of iron
5.0. Descotils.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in gra-
nite, gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, porphyry, and in allu¬
vial depositions. The mines of Cornwall afford all its va¬
rieties.
Genus VI.—Wolfram-Ore.
Scheel-erz, Mohs.
Prismatic. Streak dark reddish-brown. Hardness = 5.0,
—5.5. Sp.gr. =7.1,—7.4.
1. Prismatic Wolfram.
Prismatisches Scheel-erz, Mohs Wolfram, Werner.—
Scheelin ferrugine, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Oblique prism =105°
5', and 78° 56'. Cleavage Pr + oo , perfect. (Fig. 29.)
Description—Colour brownish-black. Occurs regularly
crystallized, and massive. Lustre ranges from splendent
to glistening, and is adamantine, inclining to semi-metallic.
Fracture uneven. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Tungstic acid 78.77, protoxide of
manganese 6.22, protoxide of iron 18.32, silica 1.25. Ber¬
zelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in pri¬
mitive rocks in the island of Rona, one of the Hebrides, in •
Cornwall, in the Saxon and Bohemian tin-mines, &c.
Genus VII—Tantalum-Ore.
Tantal-erz, Mohs.
Prismatic. Streak brownish-black. Hardness = 6.0.
Sp. gr. 6.0,—6.3.
1. Prismatic Tantalum-Ore.
Prismatisches Tantal-erz, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Cleavage prismatoidal.
Description Colour black. Occurs regularly crystal¬
lized ; massive and disseminated. Lustre shining and glis-
x
162
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
tening, and semi-metallic-adamantine. Fracture uneven,
or conchoidal. Opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of tantalum 67-6, oxide of tin
8.7, oxide of iron 7.6, oxide of manganese 5.9, oxide of
scheelium 8.7, lime 1.5. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in gra¬
nite in Finland ; in granite, along with beryl, iolite, uran-
mica, and iron-pyrites, at Bodenmais in Bavaria, also in
North-America.
Observations.—Berzelius mentions a variety of this spe¬
cies with a pitch-black streak, and of rather higher specific
gravity, which he thinks may prove a new species.
Genus VIII—Fergusonite.
Fergusonite, Haidinger.
Pyramidal. Colour brownish-black. Streak pale brown.
Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 5.8,—5.9.
1. Pyramidal Fergusonite.
Specific Character Pyramidal. Terminal edge = 100°
28', edge of base — 128° 27/.
Constituent Parts.—Columbic acid 47.75, yttria 41.91?
oxide of cerium 4.68, zirconia 3.02, oxide of tin 1.00, oxide
of uranium 0.95, oxide of iron 0.34. Hartwcdl.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. This interest¬
ing mineral occurs in quartz, at Kikertausak, near Cape
Farewell, in Greenland, where it was found by Gieseke.
It is named in honour of an excellent mineralogist, Mr Fer¬
guson of Raith.
Genus VIII Uranium-Ore.
Uran-erz, Mohs.
Form unknown. Streak black. Hardness =5.5. Sp.gr.
= 6.4,—6.6.
1. Uncleavable Uranium-Ore.
Untheilbares Uran-erz, Mohs—Uran-pecherz, Werner.
—Uran oxydule, Hauy.
Specific Character Uncleavable, reniform, and mas¬
sive. No cleavage.
Description.—Colour greyish-brown and velvet-black.
Occurs massive, and reniform. Lustre shining, and ada¬
mantine, inclining to semi-metallic. Fracture conchoidal,
passing into uneven. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Protoxide of uranium 86.5, prot¬
oxide of iron 2.5, silica 5.0, sulphuret of lead 6.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in veins
in primitive rocks, along with native silver, red silver, iron
and copper pyrites, galena, blende, and brown-spar, in Sax¬
ony, Bohemia, and Flungary. The only British locality is
Cornwall.
Genus IX—Cerium-Ore.
Cerer-erz, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Streak white. Hardness = 5.5. Sp. gr.
= 4,9,—5.0.
1. Rhombohedral Cerium-Ore.
Rhomboedrisches Cerer-erz, Haidinger.
Untheilbares Cerer-erz, Mohs—Cerer-erz, Werner 
Cerium oxide silicifere. Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Low regular six-
sided prisms. Massive. Traces of cleavage.
Description—Colours red and brown. Occurs massive
and disseminated. Internally glimmering and adamantine.
Fracture splintery. Opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Oxide of cerium 68.59, silica 18.00,
oxide of iron 2.00, lime 1.25, water and carbonic acid 9*60.
Hisinger.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in a bed
of copper pyrites in gneiss, near Ridderhyttan, in West-
mannland, in Sweden.
* Cerine. Minera,
Cerium Oxide Siliceux Noire, Hauy. ^ kgy.
Colour brownish-black. Prismatic. Cleavage prisma-
toidal. Streak yellowish-grey. Hardness = 5.0.—60. Sp.
gr. = 4.1, 4.2. Found in Sweden.
Constituent Parts.—Silica 30.17, alumina 11.31, lime
9.12, oxide of cerium 28.19, oxide of iron 20.72.
Genus X.—Chrome-Ore.
Chrom-erz, Mohs.
Tessular. Streak brown. Hardness = 5.5. Sp. gr.
= 4.4,—4.5.
1. Octahedral Chrome-Ore, or Chromate of Iron.
Octaedrisches Chrom-erz, Mohs. —Chrom-eisenstein,
Werner Fer chromate, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral,
but imperfect.
Description Colour iron-black or brownish-black. Oc¬
curs regularly crystallized; also in granular distinct con¬
cretions ; massive and disseminated. Internally shining and
glistening, and imperfect metallic. Fracture uneven.
Opaque.
Constituent Parts Oxide of chrome 60.04, protoxide
of iron 20.13, alumina 11.85, magnesia 7-45. Abich.
k Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in im¬
bedded masses, and in veins in serpentine, porphyry, and
secondary trap. In Scotland it occurs principally in ser¬
pentine rocks, and more abundantly in the Shetland Islands
than in any other quarter.
Genus XI—Iron-Ore.
Eisen-erz, Mohs.
Tessular, rhombohedral, prismatic. Streak red, brown,
black. Hardness = 5.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 3.8,—5.3. If
the streak is brown, the specific gravity is equal to 4.2, and
less, and form prismatic ; or = 4.8, and more. If the streak
is black, and the specific gravity = 4.8, and more, it acts
on the magnet. If the specific gravity is under 4.3, and the
colour black, the streak is not shining.
1. Octahedral Iron-Ore Black or Magnetic Iron-Ore.
Octaedrisches eisenerz, Mohs—Fer oxydule, Hauy.—
Magnet-eisenstein, Werner.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage octahedral.
Streak black. Hardness = 5.5,—6,5. Sp. gr. = 4.8,—5.2.
Description.—Colour iron-black. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; in granular distinct concretions; and in loose
grains; massive and disseminated. Lustre ranges from
splendent to glistening, and is metallic. Fracture uneven,
or conchoidal. Opaque. It is magnetic.
The variety in grains is named iron-sand. The other
varieties, common magnetic iron-ore.
Constituent Parts—It contains 28.22 per cent, of oxygen.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in beds,
often of vast thickness and great extent, in rocks of the
older formations, as gneiss, mica-slate, hornblende-slate,
clay-slate, and primitive greenstone; also variously disposed
in granite, syenite, serpentine, and chlorite-slate; less fre¬
quently in transition-rocks, in veins, beds, and imbedded
masses, as in transition porphyry; and still less frequently
in secondary trap-rocks. The serpentine, chlorite, and
gneiss-rocks of the Shetland Islands afford examples of this
ore; the same is the case on the Mainland of Scotland,
both in primitive and secondary rocks. The great beds of
iron-ore at Arendal in Norway, and nearly all the iron-
mines in Sweden, are of magnetic iron-ore.
2. Rhombohedral Iron-Ore—Iron-Glance.—Red Iron-
Ore.—Red Hematite.
Rhomboedrisches Eisen-erz, Mohs.—Fer oligiste, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
MINERALOGY.
Minera- = 85° 58'. Cleavage R, sometimes R—8. Streak red,...
logy, reddish-brown. Hardness = 5.5,—6.5. Sp.gr. =4.8,—5.3.
-"Y""-’' Description—Colours dark steel-grey bordering on iron-
black, iron-black, and brownish-red. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; in granular, lamellar, and fibrous distinct concre¬
tions; massive, disseminated, reniform, botryoidal, sta-
lactitic, and globular. Lustre ranges from splendent to
dull, and is metallic and semi-metallic. Fracture conchoi-
dal or earthy. Ranges from translucent to opaque.
The dark steel-grey and iron-black varieties, which are
generally more or less regularly crystallized, are named
specular iron-ore, or iron-glance; the red varieties are
named red iron-ore.
Constituent Parts—Specular iron-ore” is a peroxide of
iron, the proportion of metal to that of oxygen being
as 69-34 to 30.66. Red hematite affords of peroxide of iron
94.0, silica 2.0, lime 1.0, water 3.0. Daubuisson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The specular
iron-ore occurs in gneiss, granite, mica-slate, transition
clay-slate, greywacke, and less frequently in secondary
rocks. The island of Elba affords the richest and most
beautiful varieties of specular iron-ore, and specimens of
considerable beauty are met with in Fitful-head in Shet¬
land, and near Dunkeld in Perthshire. The red iron-ore
occurs also in primitive rocks, but less frequently than in
those of the transition class, as greywacke and transition
clay-slate; and considerable depositions of it are met with
in secondary limestone districts. Ulverstone, in Lanca¬
shire, and other parts of England, afford beds and veins of
this ore.
3. Prismatic Iron-Ore.
Prismatisches Eisen-erz, Mohs.—Braun Eisenstein, Wer¬
ner.—Fer oxyde, Hauy.—Fer Hydrate, Daubuisson.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pr rr 117° 30'. P + oo
= 130° 14'. Cleavage = P -J- qo . Streak yellowish-brown.
Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. = 3.8,—4.2.
Description—Colours brown and yellow. Occurs re¬
gularly crystallized; in granular, fibrous, and lamellar dis¬
tinct concretions; massive, stalactitic, coralloidal, reniform,
botryoidal, tuberose, cylindrical, and fruticose. Lustre
glimmering and semi-metallic, inclining more or less to
adamantine. Fracture uneven, even, conchoidal, or earthy.
Translucent on the edges, or opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Hematitic or fibrous variety. Per¬
oxide of iron 82.0, water 14.0, oxide of manganese 2.0, silica
1.0, Daubuisson.—Compact variety. Peroxide of iron 84.0,
water 11.0, oxide of manganese 2.0, silica 2.0, Daubuisson.
It is thus a hydryated peroxide of iron; the proportion of
peroxide of iron and water being as 85.30 to 14.70.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins,
beds, lenticular masses, and mountain masses, in primitive,
transition, and secondary rocks in Great Britain, Germany,
and other countries.
* Dog Iron-Ore.
Limonit. Fer Oxyde, des Lacs des Marais, Sic.—Rasen-
eisenstein, Werner.
Description.—Colour brown. Occurs massive, vesicu¬
lar, corroded, amorphous, and tuberose. Some varieties are
friable. Lustre ranges from glistening to dull, and is semi-
metallic-resinous. Fracture earthy or conchoidal. Opaque.
Yields a yellowish-grey streak. Brittle, and easily frangi¬
ble. Sp. gr. from 2.6 to 3.0.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of iron 66.0, phosphoric acid
8.0, water 23.0, oxide of manganese 1.5. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs in
alluvial soil and in peat-mosses in various places in the
mainland of Scotland, and also in the Orkney, Shetland,
and Western Islands.
4. Diprismatic Iron-Ore, or Lievrite.
Fer Calcareo-siliceux, Haiiy.
Specific Character—Pyramid =139° 37'j 117° 38;
77° 16'. P + a, = 112® 37'. Cleavage Pr = 113° 2'; Iv^ra-
P + CO ; P — oo ; Pr + oo . The whole, but particularly s^—-v—~
the first, imperfect. Streak black, sometimes inclining to
green and brown. Does not affect the magnet. Hardness
= 5.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. =3.8,—4.1.
Description—Colour black, blackish-green. Occurs re¬
gularly crystallized; also in distinct concretions, which are
scopifbrm radiated, or straight radiated. Lustre glistening
and semi-metallic. Fracture uneven. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Oxide of iron 52.24, silica 29.28,
lime 13.78, oxide of manganese 1.58, water 1.27. Strom-
eyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs asso¬
ciated with epidote, garnet, magnetic iron-ore, and arsenic-
pyrites, in limestone, in the island of Elba, and has also
been found in Norway and West Greenland.
Genus XII—Manganese-Ore.
Mangan-erz, Mohs.
Pyramidal. Prismatic. Streak dark-brown, black. Does
not affect the magnet. Hardness = 2.0,—6.5. Sp. gr.
= 4.0,—4.9. If streak brown, the sp. gr. = 4.7, and
more; or hardness = 4.0, and less. If hardness above
4.0, sp. gr. = 4.2, and less ; if the streak is black, it is
shining.
1. Pyramidal Manganese-Ore, or Black Manganese-Ore.
Hausmannite.
Pyramidales Mangan-erz, Mohs—Schwarzer Braunstein,
Werner—Manganese oxyde hydrate, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 105° 25';
117° 54'. Cleavage P — go . Traces in the direction of P
and P — 1 = 114° 51'; 99° 11'. Streak brown. Hard¬
ness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. = 4.7,—4.8.
Description.—Colour brownish-black. Occurs regularly
crystallized; also massive, globular, in longish external
forms. Lustre glimmering, glistening, and imperfect me¬
tallic. Fracture conchoidal and uneven. Opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Red oxide of manganese 98.10,
oxygen 0.21, water 0.43, baryta 0.11, silica 0.34. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
in porphyry, in Thuringia, the Hartz, and the United States.
2. Bractypous Manganese- Ore, or Braunite.
Specific Character.—Pyramidal. P = 109° 53'—108°
39'- Cleavage P, perfect. Streak black, slightly inclining to
brown. Hardness = 6.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 4.8,—4.9.
Description.—Colour dark brownish-black. Occurs re¬
gularly crystallized; also massive. Lustre imperfect me¬
tallic and shining. Opaque. Streak black, inclining but
slightly to brown. Fracture uneven. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Protoxide of manganese 86.94, oxy¬
gen 9.85, water 0.95, and baryta 2.26. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
traversing porphyry, at Ochrenstock, near Ilmenau, also at
St Marcel, in Piedmont.
Observations.—Named Braunite, in honour of Mr Braun
of Gotha.
3. Uncleavable Manganese-Ore, or Psilomellane.
Untheilbares Mangan-erz, Mohs.—Schwartz-eisenstein,
Werner. — Fasriger and Dichter Schwartz - braunstein,
Hausmann.—Dichter Schwarz Mangan-erz, Leonhard.—
Manganese Oxide-Hydrate Concretionne, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Reniform, botryoidal, massive, un¬
cleavable. Streak brownish-black and shining. Hardness
= 5.0,—6.0. Sp. gr. = 4.0,—4.2.
Description.—Colour black, passing into dark steel-grey.
Occurs massive, in roundish and longish extended forms.
Lustre imperfect metallic, shining or glimmering. Frac¬
ture compact and fibrous. Opaque.
Ml
164
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
Constituent Parts—Red oxide of manganese 69-79, oxy¬
gen 7-36, baryta 16.36, silica 0.26, water 6.22. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This, ore of
manganese occurs in veins and in nests in primitive, tran¬
sition, and secondary rocks, very frequently associated with
brown iron-ore and grey manganese-ore. In Devonshire
and Cornwall, it occurs in botryoidal and stalactitic masses.
It is one of the ores found at Ilefeld, in the Hartz, and is
well known in other mining districts in Germany.
4. Prismatoidal Manganese- Ore, or Grey Manganese- Ore.
Prismatoidisches Mangan-erz, Mohs—Grauer Bran-
stein, Werner Manganite, Haidinger—Manganese oxy-
de, Hauy. —
Specific Character. — Prismatoidal. Prismatic. I r z=
114° 19'; P + oo r= 99° 40'. Cleavage, Pr + go , very per¬
fect. P oo , P + oo , less perfect. Streak brown. Hard¬
ness = 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr. = 4.3,—4.4.
Description.—Colour dark steel-grey, inclining to iron-
black. Occurs regularly crystallized; in granular, fibrous,
and radiated distinct concretions. Lustre shining, glimmer¬
ing, and metallic. Fracture conchoidal and earthy. Brit¬
tle. Opaque.
Constituent Parts.—Red oxide of manganese 86.84, oxy¬
gen 3.05, water 10.10. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
and imbedded masses in primitive, transition, and secon¬
dary rocks. Its chief locality in Scotland is the vicinity of
Aberdeen. Occurs in different parts of England, and also
in Ireland. The finest crystallized varieties are found at
Ilefeld in the Hartz.
5. Prismatic Manganese-Ore, or Pyrolusite.
Prismatisches Mangan-erz, Mohs.—Anhydrous Peroxide
of Manganese. Turner.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P + co — 93° 40'.
Cleavage P + oo , Pr + oo , Pr + oo . Streak black. Soils.
Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 4.6,—4.9.
Description Colour iron-black, sometimes inclining to
bluish-black. Occurs massive, reniform. Lustre metallic.
Opaque. Streak black. Soils.
Constituent Parts.— Red oxide of manganese 84.05,
oxygen 11.78, water 1.12, baryta 0.53, silica 0.51. Turner.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This valuable
ore is extensively employed in the arts on account of the
large quantity of oxygen it affords. Occurs in Devonshire
and Cornwall, and is well known in the mines of Saxony,
France, Hungary, and other countries.
Order IX.—NATIVE METAL.
Metallic. Not black. Hardness = 0.0,—5.0. Sp. gr.
= 5.7,—20.0. If grey, it is sectile, and sp. gr. rr 7.4, and
more. If the hardness is above 4.0, it is malleable.
Genus I—Arsenic.
Rhombohedral. Colour tin-white. Hardness = 3.5.
Sp. gr. = 5.7,—5.8.
1. Rhombohedral Arsenic.
Gediegen Arsenik, Werner and Mohs.—Arsenic natif,
Hauy.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Cleavage R—oo .
Description Colour tin-white, which, on exposure, soon
tarnishes to black. Occurs massive, in plates, reniform,
botryoidal, reticulated, and with impressions. Lustre glis¬
tening, glimmering, and metallic. Fracture uneven. Emits,
when struck, a ringing sound, and an arsenical odour.
Constituent Parts Arsenic 97.0, antimony 2.0, iron
and water 1.0. John.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—It occurs in
metalliferous veins, particularly where they cross each other,
in gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, and porphyry; seldomer in
transition and secondary rocks ; rarely in beds, and never Mineni
in large quantity. The mines of Germany, Norway, France, %
and Russia, afford examples of this mineral. v-’
Genus II—Tellurium.
Rhombohedral. Tin-white. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5.
Sp. gr. = 6.1,—6.2.
1. Rhombohedral Tellurium.
Gediegen silvan, Werner.—Gediegen tellur, Hausmann.
 Tellur natif ferrifere et aurifere, Hauy.
Specific Character Rhombohedrah R zr 71° IP.
P — 130° 4'; 115° 12'. Cleavage, R — oo .
Description Colour tin-white. Occurs in granular dis¬
tinct concretions, massive, and disseminated. Lustre shin¬
ing and metallic. Rather brittle, and easily frangible.
Streak unchanged.
Constituent Parts—Tellurium 92.55, iron 7.20, gold
0.25. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in grey-
wacke, in Transylvania.
Genus III—Antimony.
Rhombohedral. Prismatic. Colour vrhite, but not in¬
clining to red. Not malleable. Hardness = 3.0,—3.5.
Sp. gr. = 6.5,—10.0.
1. Rhombohedral Antimony, or Native Antimony.
Rhomboedrisches Antimon, Mohs—Gediegen Spiesglas,
Werner Antimoine natif, Hauy.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. R 117° 15'.
Cleavage R — co , very perfect; traces according to R + 2
and P + oo . Hardness — 3.0,—3.5. Sp. gr. = 6.5,—6.8.
Description.—Colour tin-white. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; in granular and lamellar concretions; massive,
disseminated, and reniform. Lustre splendent and metal¬
lic. Rather brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Consists of antimony, with small
portions of iron, silver, and arsenic.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in me¬
talliferous veins in primitive rocks in Sweden, and in the
mountains of Hanover, Dauphiny, Hungary, Brazil, and
Mexico.
2. Prismatic Antimony, or Antimonial Silver.
Prismatisches Antimon, Mohs.—Spiesglas Silber, Wer¬
ner.—Argent antimonial, Hauy.
Specific Character Prismatic. P -J- co = nearly 120°.
Cleavage, P — oo . Pr. Less distinct P + co . (Fig. 27,
34, 30.) Hardness = 3.5. Sp. gr. =r 8.9,—10.0.
Description.—Colour between silver and tin-white. Oc¬
curs regularly crystallized, and massive. Lustre splendent
and metallic. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Silver 77.0, antimony 23.0. Kla¬
proth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in veins
in primitive and transition rocks in Furstenberg, Salzburg,
Hartz, and Spain.
Genus IV Bismuth.
Tessular. Easily cleavable. Silver-white, inclining to
red. Hardness 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 9-6,—9.8«
1. Octahedral Bismuth.
Octaedrisches Wismuth, Mohs.— Gediegen Wismuth,
Werner.—Bismuth natif, Hauy.
Specific Character. Octahedral. Tessular. Combina¬
tion semi-tessular, with inclined planes. Cleavage octohe-
dral, perfect.
Description.—Colour silver-white. Occurs regularly
crystallized ; massive, disseminated, dentiform, and in leaves
with a plumose streaked surface. Lustre splendent and
metallic. Malleable.
MINERALOGY.
inera- Constituent Parts—It is the pure metal, sometimes
ogy. containing a small quantity of arsenic.
' Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
in primitive rocks, as gneiss, granite, mica-slate, and ciay-
slate, in Cornwall, Germany, France, Norway, &c.
Genus Y.—Mercury.
Tessular, liquid. Not cleavable. Not malleable. White.
Hardness = 0.0,—3.0. Sp. gr. = 10.5,—15.0.
1. Liquid Native Mercury.
Fliissiges Mercur, Mohs.—Gediegen Quecksilber, Wer¬
ner.—Mercur Natif, Hauy.
Specific Character—Liquid. Colour tin-white. Hard¬
ness = 0. Sp. gr. = 12.0,—15.0.
Description.—Colour tin-white. Liquid. Splendent and
metallic. Opaque.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Rarely in pri¬
mitive and transition rocks. More frequently in rocks of the
secondary class, as sandstone. Deux-Fonts, Idria, and other
European mining districts, afford examples of this metal.
2. Dodecahedral Mercury, or Native Amalgam.
Dodecaedrisches Mercur, Mohs.—Natiirlich Amalgam,
Werner—Mercur Argental, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Silver-white. Hard¬
ness = 1.0,—3.0. Sp. gr. = 10.5,—14.0.
Description.—Colour silver-white. Occurs regularly
crystallized. Lustre shining and metallic. Fracture un¬
even. When pressed between the fingers, or cut with a
knife, it emits a creaking sound, like artificial amalgam.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in
Deux-Ponts, and other mercury mines, along with cinnabar.
Genus VI Silver.
The gold-yellow varieties are named gold-yellow gold;
the brass-yellow varieties, brass-yellow gold ; those varie¬
ties in which the brass-yellow verges on steel-grey, are
named greyish-yellow gold ; and, lastly, the pale brass-yel¬
low, inclining to silver-white, varieties, are named electrum
or argentiferous gold.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins,
and disseminated in granite, syenite, gneiss, mica-slate,
hornblende-slate, porphyry, greywacke, clay-slate, &c. ;
also in various alluvial deposites. The mines of Germany,
Hungary, and America, afford examples of the various mine-
ralogical and geological relations of this important mineral.
Genus VIII—Iridium.
Rhombohedral. Easily cleavable. Colour pale steel-grey.
Ductile. Flardness = 4.5,—5.0. Sp. gr. zr 11.5, 12.5.
1. Rltombohedral Iridium.
Rhomboedrisches Iridium, Mohs Osmium-Iridium,
Leonhard.—Iridium Osmie, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Cleavage R — oo ,
perfect.
Description.—Colour pale steel-grey. Occurs in grains,
rarely in six-scaled prisms. Lustre metallic. Cleavage
easily obtained. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Osmium 24.5, iridium 72.9, iron
2.6. Thomson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations It occurs along
with platina in the province of Choco in South America. It
is found also in the Uralian Mountains.
Genus IX.—Palladium.
Tessular. Colour steel-grey. Ductile. Hardness z=4.5,
—5.0. Sp. gr. zz 11.5,—12.5.
165
Minera-
Iogy-
Tessular. Uncleavable. Silver-white. Malleable. Hard¬
ness = 2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr. 10.0,—11.0.
1. Hexahedral Silver.
Hexaedrisches, Silber, Mohs.—Argent Natif, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. No cleavage.
Description—Colour silver-white, and silver-white in¬
clining to brass-yellow. Occurs regularly crystallized, mas¬
sive, disseminated, dentiform, filiform, reticulated, and in
leaves. Lustre metallic, and ranges from splendent to
glimmering. Fracture hackly. Opaque.
The yellow varieties are named auriferous native silver,
from their containing a portion of gold ; the other varieties
common native silver.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Common na¬
tive silver occurs in veins, generally occupying their mid¬
dle or upper parts ; and those veins traverse granite, gneiss,
mica-slate, clay-slate, hornblende-slate, syenite, and por-
phyry> in primitive mountains, and greywacke in transition
mountains. It rarely occurs in secondary rocks, as in sand¬
stone. The mines of Cornwall, Saxony, Hungary, Mexi¬
co, afford this mineral in all its forms. The auriferous na¬
tive silver was formerly found in the mines of Konigsberg
m Norway; and, at present, in those of Schlangenberg in
Siberia.
Genus VII—Gold.
Tessular. Gold-yellow. Hardness 2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr.
= 12.0,-20.0.
1. Octahedral Palladium.
Octaedrisches Palladium, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Uncleavable.
Description. — Colour steel-grey. Occurs in grains.
Lustre metallic. Ductile, and very malleable.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs along
with platina and iridium in Minas Geras, in Brazil.
Genus X.—Platina.
Tessular. Uncleavable. Colour steel-grey. Ductile.
Hardness = 4.0,—4.5. Sp. gr. = 16.0,—20.0.
1. Hexahedral Platina.
Gediegen Platin, Werner—Hexahedrisches Platina,
Mohs.—Platin natif, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. In grains.
Description—Colour steel-grey. Occurs in small flat
or angular grains, seldomer in blunt-edged pieces. Lustre
metallic, and shining. Fracture hackly. No cleavage,
Ductile.
Constituent Parts Grains from Columbia. Platina
84.30, rhodium 3.46, palladium 1.06, iridium 1.46, osmium
1.03, copper 0.74, iron 5.31. Berzelius.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—It occurs in
blunt-edged pieces and grains along with iridium, palla¬
dium, gold, magnetic iron-sand, &c. in the alluvial depo¬
sites of Brazil, Choco, and Barbaco in South America. It
also occurs, and rather abundantly, at Joetsk in the Go¬
vernment of Perm in Siberia.
1. Hexahedral Gold.
T ^exaedrisches Gediegen Gold, Mohs Gediegen Gold,
Werner—Or natif, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. No cleavage.
Description— Colours gold-yellow and brass-yellow.
Occurs regularly crystallized, massive, disseminated, in
flakes, in leaves, reticulated, capillary, dentiform, and in
grains. Lustre shining, glistening, and metallic. Frac¬
ture hackly. Opaque.
Genus XI—Iron.
Tessular. Colour pale steel-grey. Hardness 4.5. Sp.
gr. = 7*4,—7.8.
1. Octahedral Iron.
Octaedrisches Risen, Mohs—Gediegen Eisen, Werner.
 Fer natif, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. No cleavage.
Description Colour pale steel-grey. Occurs ramose,
166
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
and disseminated in meteoric stones. Lustre glimmering,
glistening, and metallic. Fracture hackly.
Constituent Parts 1. Atacama. Iron 93.40, nickel
6.62, cobalt 0.53. Turner—2. Siberia. Iron 98.5, nickel 1.5.
Klaproth 3. Agram. Iron 96.5, nickel 3.5. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—It is a meteo¬
ric production, and has been observed to fall from fireballs
in Europe, Asia, and America.
Genus XII—Copper.
Tessular. Colour copper-red. Hardness = 2.5,—3.0.
Sp. gr. = 8.4,—8.9.
1. Octahedral Copper.
Octaedrisches Kupfer, Mohs.—Gediegen Kupfer, Wer¬
ner Cuivre natif, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. No cleavage.
Description Colour copper-red. Occurs regularly
crystallized; massive, dendritic, capillary, botryoidal, and
ramose. Lustre glistening and metallic. Fracture hack¬
ly. Ductile. Streak shining and unchanged.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in gra¬
nite, gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, primitive limestone, sye¬
nite, serpentine, greywacke, secondary limestone, sand¬
stone, and generally in small veins; also in grains, and
sometimes in blocks many pounds weight, in alluvial dis¬
tricts. It occurs in serpentine in Shetland, and in the cop¬
per mines of Cornwall. Large masses are met with in al¬
luvial districts in the northern parts of North America.
Order X.—PYRITES.
=122° 26'. Cleavage P — oo , perfect. Less Pr = 86°
10'. Traces in direction of P + <x> • (Fig. 27, 30). Hard- v 0^'
ness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. r= 7.1,—7.4. 'mr'C*
Description Colour pale steel-grey. Occurs massive.
Lustre metallic and shining. Streak greyish-black. Frac¬
ture uneven. Brittle.
Constituent Parts—It is a compound of arsenic and iron.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs with
copper-nickel in Styria, with serpentine in Silesia, and also
in Hungary.
2. Prismatic Arsenic Pyrites.
Prismatischer Arsenik-kies, Mohs.—Arsenik-kies, Wer¬
ner.—Fer Arsenical, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr.— 1 =145° 26';
P + oo , 1110 53'. Cleavage?—oo . (Pr+oo )3 lllol9/.
(Fig. 27, 32.) Hardness = 5.5,—6.0. Sp. gr. —5.7,—6.2.
Description Colour silver-white, inclining to steel-grey.
Occurs regularly crystallized; in prismatic concretions,
massive and disseminated. Lustre ranges from splendent
to glistening, and is metallic. Fracture uneven. Opaque.
Brittle. Streak greyish-black.
Constituent Parts—Iron 36,04, arsenic 42.88, sulphur
22.08. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This mineral
occurs in a variety of metalliferous formations in primitive
mountains, and also in those of the transition and secondary
classes. In Scotland it occurs in secondary rocks in Stir¬
lingshire, and in considerable quantity in the mines of Devon
and Cornwall.
Metallic. Streak black. Hardness = 3.0,—6.5. Sp. gr.
= 4.1,—7-7. If hardness = 4.5 and less, the sp. gr. is less
than 5.3. If sp. gr. =5.3 and less, the colour is yellow or red.
Genus I Nickel Pyrites, or Copper-Nickel.
Prismatic. Colour copper-red. Hardness = 5.0,—5.5.
Sp. gr. = 7.5,—7.7.
1. Prismatic Nickel Pyrites.
Prismatischer Nickel-kies, Mohs.—Kupfer-Nickel, Wer¬
ner.—Nickel Arsenical, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Cleavage very imperfect.
Description.—Colour copper-red. Rarely crystallized ;
in granular distinct concretions ; massive, disseminated, re¬
ticulated, dendritic, fruticose, globular, and botryoidal.
Lustre shining and metallic. Fracture conchoidal. Brittle.
Constituent Parts. — Nickel 44.21, arsenic 54.73.—
Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in sil¬
ver and cobalt veins in gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, and
syenite ; also in veins in secondary rocks, particularly bitu¬
minous marl-slate. In Scotland it is met with at Leadhills
and Wanlockhead, and in the coal-field of West Lothian.
* Nickel Ochre.—Colour apple-green. Occurs as a thin
coating, seldom massive, and disseminated. Dull. Frac¬
ture uneven or earthy. Opaque, or translucent on the
edges. Soft. Feels meagre. It occurs in mineral Veins
along with copper-nickel at Alva in Stirlingshire, in Lin¬
lithgowshire, and at Leadhills.
** Black Nickel.—Colour black. Occurs massive, dis¬
seminated, in crusts. Dull. Fracture earthy. Opaque.
Soft. Shining in streak. Soils slightly. It occurs in veins
in bituminous marl-slate at Reichelsdorf.
Genus II.—Arsenic Pyrites.
Prismatic. Colour not inclining to red. Hardness = 5.0,
—6.0. Sp. gr. = 5.7,—7*4. If colour white or grey, the
sp. gr. under 6.3, or above 7.0.
1. Axotomous Arsenic Pyrites.
Axotomer Arsenik-kies, Mohs—Arsenik-kies, Werner.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pr = 51° 20'. P + oo
Genus III—Cobalt Pyrites.
Tessular. Colour white, inclining to steel-grey or red.
Hardness = 5.0,—5.5. Sp. gr. = 6.0,—6.6.
1. Hexahedral Cobalt Pyrites, or Silver White Cobalt.
Hexaedrisches Kobalt-kies, Mohs—Glanz Kobold, Wer¬
ner.—Cobalt gris, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Combination semi-tessu-
lar, of parallel faces. Cleavage hexahedral and perfect. Co¬
lour white, inclining to red. Hardness = 5.5. Sp. gr.
= 6.1,—6.35.
Description.—Colour silver-white, inclining to copper-
red. Occurs regularly crystallized ; in granular distinct
concretions, massive, disseminated, and reticulated. Lustre
shining, glistening, and metallic. Fracture uneven or con¬
choidal. Brittle. Easily frangible. Streak greyish-black.
Constituent Parts.—From Modum. Cobalt 33.10, arsenic
43.46, iron 2.23, sulphur 20.08. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in beds,
in mica-slate, associated with iron and copper-pyrites, mag¬
netic iron-ore, anthophylite, tourmaline, felspar, &c. in the
parish of Modum, in Norway, also at Tunaberg, in Swe¬
den. In some transition districts it is found in veins along
with various ores of iron and copper.
2. Octahedral Cobalt-Pyrites, or Tin-White Cobalt.
Octaedrischer Cobalt-kies, Mohs.—Weisser Speis-ko-
bald, Werner.—Cobalt Arsenical, Hauy.
Specific Character Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
octahedral, dodecahedral, but indistinct. Tin-white, in¬
clining to steel-grey. Hardness = 5.5. Sp. gr. = 6.4,—6.6.
Description.—Colour tin-white, inclining to steel-grey.
Occurs regularly crystallized, and the faces of the crystals
frequently cracked; in lamellar and granular concretions;
massive, disseminated, reticulated, fruticose, specular. Lus¬
tre shining, splendent, and metallic. Fracture uneven.
Brittle and easily frangible. Streak greyish-black.
Constituent Parts—Riechelsdorf. Cobalt 20.31, arsenic
74.21, iron 3.42, copper 0.15, sulphur 0.88. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
in primitive and transition rocks; also in old red sandstone,
MINERALOGY.
nera- and in copper-slate. Cornwall, Hessia, Thuringia, Hartz,
gy. &c. afford many localities of this mineral.
' ^ 3. Isometric Cobalt-Pyrites.
Isometrisher Cobalt-Kies, Mohs—Cobalt-Kies, Haus-
mann.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
perfect. Colour white, inclining to red. Hardness = 5.5.
Sp. gr. = 6.3,—6.4.
Description—Colour white, inclining to red. Occurs mas¬
sive, in granular concretions, and in cubo-octahedral crystals.
Lustre metallic. Fracture uneven or imperfect conchoidal.
Constituent Parts.—Musen, in Nausau Siegen. Cobalt
53.35, sulphur 42.25, iron 2.30, copper 0.97. Wernekink 
2. Ridderhyttan, Sweden. Cobalt 43.20, copper 14.40,
iron 3.53, sulphur 38.50. Hisinger.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. Occurs in
gneiss, associated with hornblende and copper-pyrites at
Bastnais, near Ridderhyttan, in Sweden, and at Musen,
near Siegen, with heavy spar and sparry iron.
4. Eutomous Cobalt-Pyrites., or Nickeliferous Cobalt-Py¬
rites.
Eutomer Kobalt-kies, Mohs. Nickelspiesglasserz,
Hausmann—Nickel Arsenical Antimonifere, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
perfect. Colour pale steel-grey. Hardness = 5.0,—5.5.
Sp. gr. = 6.4,—6.5.
Description—Colour pale steel-grey, sometimes on ex¬
posure becoming blackish. Colour of the streak darker.
Occurs massive, disseminated, and in cubo-octahedral crys¬
tals, and in granular concretions. Lustre metallic. Frac¬
ture uneven. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Nickel 36.60, antimony 43.80, sul¬
phur 17.71, iron and manganese 1.89. Stromeyer.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
of ironstone and lead-glance, in transition rocks along with
sparry iron, cobalt-pyrites, grey copper, and copper-pyrites,
in Nassau Siegen in the Westerwald.
Genus IV.—Iron-Pyrites.
Tessular, rhombohedral, prismatic, Yellow, partly in¬
clining to copper-red. Hardness = 3.5,—6.5. Sp. gr. —
4.4,—5.05.
1. Hexahedral Iron-Pyrites.
Hexaedrischer Eisen-Kies, Mohs.—Gemeiner Schwefel-
Kies, Werner.—Fer Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Combination semi-tessu-
lar of parallel planes. Cleavage hexahedral and octahedral.
Bronze-yellow. Hardness z= 6.0,—6.5. Sp.gr.rr4.9,—5.05.
Description.—Colour bronze-yellow, sometimes inclin¬
ing to steel-grey. Occurs regularly crystallized in various
tessular forms ; in granular concretions; massive, dissemi¬
nated, globular, and cellular. Lustre ranges from shining
to glimmering, and is metallic. Fracture uneven and con¬
choidal. Opaque. Brittle.
Constituent Parts—Iron 47.85, sulphur 52.15. Hatchett.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The cellular
varieties are rare, and hitherto have been met with princi¬
pally in Saxony; while the others occur in all countries,
and more or less extensively distributed through rocks of
every description, from those of the oldest primitive, to the
newest alluvial formations.
2. Prismatic Iron-Pyrites or Radiated Iron-Pyrites.
Prismatischer Eisenkies, Mohs.—Fer Sulphure Blanc,
167
Kam-kies. Leber-
Hauy—Wasser-Kies. Strahl-Kies.
Kies. Spar-Kies. Zell-Kies.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr r= 114° 19'. Pr
— 106° 36'. P -j- co = 98° 13'. Cleavage Pr, traces ac-
cor mg to P -j- co . (Fig. 30.) Colour bronze-yellow.
Hardness = 6.0,—6.5. Sp. gr. = 4.65, 4.9.
Description—Colour bronze-yellow, inclining sometimes Minera-
to steel-grey, or to brass-yellow. Occurs regularly crys- logy,
tallized ; in radiated, granular, and lamellar concretions ;
massive, dendritic, reniform, globular, stalactitic, botryoi-
dal, fruticose, and with impressions. Lustre varies from
glistening to glimmering, and is metallic. Opaque. Brit¬
tle. Easily frangible.
The varieties in radiated concretions are named radiat-
ed-pyrites; those in which the colour inclines to brass-
yellow, and which, on exposure to air, acquire a brown
tarnish, are named hepatic-pyrites ; those in spear-shaped
twin and triple crystals, spear-pyrites; and lastly, those
in which the crystals are so aggregated as to have the form
of the comb of the cock, are named cockscomb-pyrites.
Constituent Parts—Iron 45.66, sulphur 54.34. Hatchett.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This species
of iron-pyrites occurs more frequently and abundantly in
newer than in older formations. The newest secondary
formations, and those of the alluvial class, both in this
island and on the continent of Europe, afford numerous
localities of the radiated varieties. The spear-pyrites is met
with in Bohemia and Saxony; and the cockscomb-pyrites
in veins in Derbyshire, and in some mines in Saxony.
3. Rhombohedral Iron-Pyrites, or Magnetic-Pyrites.
Rhomboedrischer Eisenkies, Mohs.—Magnetkies, Wer¬
ner—Fer Sulphure Ferrifere, Hauy.
Specific Character—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
unknown. Combination di-rhombohedral. Cleavage,
P — oo , perfect. Less distinct P -j- <x>. Colour bronze-
yellow, inclining to copper-red. Hardness = 3.5, 4.5. So.
gr. 4.4,—4.7. . V
Description—Colours intermediate between bronze-
yellow and copper-red. Occurs rarely crystallized; in
granular concretions, also massive and disseminated. Lus¬
tre ranges from splendent to glistening, and is metallic.
Fracture conchoidal and uneven. Opaque. Brittle. Easily
frangible.
Constituent Parts—Iron 63.5, sulphur 36.5. Hatchett.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This mineral
occurs disseminated in primitive and transition rocks, and
also disposed in beds in rocks of the same classes, in Scot¬
land, England, Saxony, &c.
Genus V—Copper-Pyrites.
Pyramidal. Hardness = 3.0,—4.0. Sp. gr.
Tessular.
= 4.1,—5.1.
1. Pyramidal Copper-Pyrites, or Yellow Copper-Pyrites.
Pyramidaler Kupfer-kies, Mohs—Kupfer-kies, Werner.
—Cuivre pyriteux, Hauy.
Specific Character—Pyramidal. Pyramid 109° 53';
108° 40'. Combination hemi-pyramidal, of inclined planes.
Cleavage, P + 1 101° 49'; 126° 11'. Colour brass-
yellow. Hardness = 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr. = 4.1, 4.3.
Constituent Parts.—Copper 33.12, iron 30.00, sulphur
36.52, silica 0.39, Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This species of
pyrites is found in all the great classes of rocks, not only in
veins, but also in beds, and in vast imbedded masses. The
copper-mines in England afford it in great variety and abun¬
dance ; it occurs also in Scotland, but in smaller quantities.
2. Octahedral Copper-Pyrites, or Variegated Copper.
Bunt Kupfererz, Werner.—Cuivre-Pyriteux-hepatique,
Haily.
Specific Character Tessular. Cleavage octahedral,
very imperfect. Colour copper-red. Hardness = 3.0.
Sp. gr. = 4.9,—5.1.
Description.—Colour between copper-red and pinchbeck-
brown, but soon acquires a variegated tarnish. Occurs in
cubes truncated on the angles; also massive. Lustre shin¬
ing and metallic. Fracture conchoidal.
168 MINERALOGY.
Minera-
Constituent Parts.—From Killarney. Copper 6l.07>
sulphur 23.75, iron 14.00, silica 0.50. Phillips.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in pri¬
mitive, transition, and secondary rocks. The finest British
specimens are from the coppermines of Cornwall. Rosslsland
in Killarney in Ireland, also affords this ore, as do copper
mines in Norway, Hessia, Silesia, the Bannat, and Siberia.
Order XL—GLANCE.
Metallic. Colour and streak grey, black. Hardness
— 1.0,—4.0. Sp. gr. = 4.2,—7-6. If cleavage monoto-
mous, and sp. gr. below 5.0, the colour is lead-grey. If
hardness = 2.5 and less, the sp. gr. is above 5.0, or the
colour is lead-grey. If the sp. gr. is above 7-4, the colour
is lead-grey.
Genus I Copper-Glance.
Tessular, prismatic. Colour blackish lead-grey ; steel-
grey, sometimes inclining to yellow ; black. Cleavage im¬
perfect, not axotomous. Hardness = 2.5,—4.0. Sp. gr.
= 4.3,—5.8.
1. Tetrahedral Copper-Glance.
Tetradrischer Kupfer-Glanz, Mohs—Fahlerz. Schwarz-
erz, Werner Cuivre gris, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Combination semi-tes-
sular of inclined planes. Cleavage octahedral. Colour
steel-grey,...iron-black. Hardness = 3.0,—4.0. Sp. gr.
= 4.5,—5.2.
Description Colour steel-grey, and iron-black. Occurs
regularly crystallized, massive, and disseminated. Lustre
externally splendent and metallic, internally shining, or glis¬
tening, and metallic. Fracture conchoidal or uneven.
Opaque, brittle, and easily frangible.
The grey varieties are named grey copper ; the black,
black copper.
Constituent Parts—Fahlerz. Copper 48.0, arsenic
14.0, sulphur 10.0, iron 25.5, silver 0.5. Klaproth.
Schwartzerz. Copper 40.25, arsenic 0.75, antimony 23.00,
sulphur 18.50, iron 13.50, silver 0.30. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—.The grey va¬
rieties occur in veins in transition granite, and syenite, at
Fassney Burn, in East Lothian ; at Airthrie, in Stirling¬
shire ; in Ayrshire, and in Devonshire. The black varie¬
ties are found in transition rocks, at Clausthal in the Hartz.
2. Prismatoidal Copper-Glance.
Prismatoidischer Kupfer-glanz, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
O
Cleavage, Pr + ® • (Fig. 29.) Colour blackish lead-
grey. Brittle. Hardness = 3.0. Sp. gr. =5.7,—5.8.
Description.—Colour blackish lead-grey. Crystals in
oblique four-sided prisms. Lustre shining and metallic.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs along
with sparry iron at St Gertraud, near Wolfsberg, in the
valley of Lavan, in Carinthia.
3. Prismatic Copper- Glance, or Vitreous Capper.
Prismatischer Kupfer-Glanz, Mohs Kupferglas, Wer¬
ner.—Cuivre Sulphure, Hauy.
O y
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 119° 35'. (P+oo .)2
a
= 63° 48'. Cleavage Pr. Colour blackish lead-grey.
Very sectile. Hardness = 2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr.= 5.5,—5.8.
Description—Colour blackish lead-grey. Occurs re¬
gularly crystallized, also in granular concretions, and mas¬
sive. Lustre glistening, glimmering and metallic. Frac¬
ture conchoidal and uneven. Opaque. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Copper 84.0, sulphur 12.0, iron 4.0.
Chenevix.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—Occurs in veins
at Fassney Burn ; in the rocks of Fair Isle ; in Yorkshire,
Caernarvonshire, and Cornwall.
4. Diprismatic Copper-Glance, or Boumonite. Miner
Schwarz-Spiesglaserz, Werner—Diprismatischer Kup- logy,
fer-Glanz, Mohs Plomb Sulphure Antimonifere, and An-
timoin Sulphure Plombo-Cuprifere, Hauy.—Endellione.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 93° 40'; Pr— 1
= 87° 8'; (P oo )2 = 96° 31'. Cleavage Pr + oo ;
Pr + qo . First the more perfect of the two. Colour
steel-grey, inclining to lead-grey or iron-black. Brittle.
Hardness = 2.5,—3.0. Sp. gr. = 5.7,—5.8.
Description Colour steel-grey, inclining to lead-grey,
or iron-black. Occurs massive and regularly crystallized.
Lustre splendent and metallic. Fracture conchoidal or
uneven. Opaque. Streak unchanged. Brittle and very
easily frangible.
Constituent Parts.—From Endellion. Lead 42.62, an¬
timony 24.23, copper 12.80, iron 1.20, sulphur 17.00.
Hatchett.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The finest
specimens of this mineral are found in the mines of Neudorf,
in the Hartz ; it was, we believe, first found in the parish
of Endellion, near Redruth, in Cornwall, and was described
by Bournon under the name Endellionite, but we, in com¬
pliment to Bournon, named it Bournonite.
5. Hexahedral Copper-Glance.
Zinnkies, Werner.—HexadrischerKupfer-Glanze, Mohs.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
dodecahedral. Colour steel-grey, inclining to brass-yellow.
Brittle. Hardness = 4.0. Sp. gr. = 4.3,—4.4.
Description Colour steel-grey, inclining more or less
to brass-yellow. Streak black. Occurs massive and crys¬
tallized in cubes. Lustre metallic. Fracture uneven.
Brittle. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Tin 24.0, copper 36.0, iron 2.0,
sulphur 25.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—It has hitherto
been found only in metalliferous veins in Cornwall, prin¬
cipally at Huel Rock, in the parish of St Agnes, where it
is associated with blende, copper-pyrites, and other minerals.
* Tennantite, Phillips.
Description Colour blackish lead-grey. Streak dark-
reddish grey. Tessular. Cleavage dodecahedral, but im¬
perfect. Lustre metallic. Fracture uneven. Brittle.
Hardness = 4.0. Sp. gr. = 4.3,-—4.4.
Constituent Parts Copper 45.32, arsenic 11.84, iron
9.26, sulphur 28.74, silica 5.00. Phillips.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Hitherto this
mineral has been found only in Cornwall, where it occurs
in copper veins, that traverse granite and clay-slate, in the
mines near Redruth and St Day.
Genus II Silver-Glance, or Vitreous Silver.
Silber-Glanz, Mohs.
Tessular. Blackish lead-grey. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5.
Sp. gr. = 6.9,—7.2.
1. Hexahedral Silver-Glance.
Hexaedrischer Silber-glanz, Mohs—Glaserz, Werner.—
Argent Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage dodecahedral,
but very impesfect. Malleable.
Description—Colour blackish lead-grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized, most frequently in cubo-octahedrons;
massive, disseminated, in plates, dentiform, filiform, capil¬
lary, reticulated, dendritic, stalactitic, and with impressions.
Lustre shining, glistening, and metallic. Fracture uneven
or conchoidal. Completely malleable. Flexible, but not
elastic.
Constituent Parts—Silver 85.0, sulphur 15.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—-It is one of the
most common of the ores of silver. It was formerly met
MINER
Miners- with at Airthrie in Stirlingshire, and is still found in the
logy, mines of Cornwall.
Genus III.—Galena, or Lead-Glance.
Tessular. Colour pure lead-grey. Hardness — 2.5.
Sp.gr. = 7.4,—7.6.
1. Hexahedral Galena, or Lead-Glance.
Hexaedrischer Bleiglanz, Mohs Bleiglanz, Werner. 
Plomb Sulphure, Haiiy.
Specific Character—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
perfect.
Description.—Colour lead-grey. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized, frequently in cubes and cubo-octahedrons ; in gra¬
nular, prismatic, and lamellar concretions ; massive, disse¬
minated, specular, reticulated, botryoidal, and corroded.
Lustre splendent to glimmering and metallic. Fracture
even, or flat conchoidal. Fragments cubical. Sectile.
Uncommonly easily frangible.
The variety with glimmering lustre, and even or con¬
choidal fracture, is named compact galena.
Constituent Parts—Lead 85.13, sulphur 13.02. Thom¬
son. A good series of analysis of this ore much wanted.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This mineral,
the species from which all the lead of commerce is obtain¬
ed, occurs in every lead mine, whether in primitive, tran¬
sition, or secondary rocks.
Genus IV—Tellurium-Glance, or Black Tellurium.
Tellur-Glanz, Mohs.
Pyramidal. Colour blackish lead-grey. Cleavage mo-
notomous, perfect. Hardness = 1.0, 1.5. Sp. <>r =
7.0,—7.2. ^ *
1. Pyramidal Tellurium-Glance.
Pyramidaler Tellur-Glanz, Mohs.—Nagyagerz, Werner.
—Tellure Natif Auro-Plombifere, Hauy.
Specific Character—Pyramidal. P = 96° 43'; 140° O'.
Cleavage P — oo . Blackish lead grey.
Description.—Colour blackish lead-grey. Occurs regu¬
larly crystallized; massive, disseminated, and in leaves.
Lustre splendent and metallic. Sectile. Folia flexible.
Constituent Parts.—Tellurium 32.2, lead 54.0, gold 9.0
silver 0.7, copper 1.3, sulphur 3.0. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
that traverse porphyry, in Transylvania.
Genus V—Molybdena, or Molybdena-Glance.
Molybdan-Glanz, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Colour pure lead-grey. In thin leaves,
easily flexible. Hardness = 1.0,—1.5. Sp. gr. = 4.4, 4.6.
1. Rhombohedral Molybdena.
Rhomboedrischer Molybdan, Mohs Wasserblei, Wer¬
ner—Molybdene Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Combination di-
rhombohedral. Cleavage R — oo , very perfect.
Description—Colour fresh lead-grey. Occurs regular¬
ly crystallized; massive, disseminated, and in plates; in
granular concretions. Lustre splendent or shining and
metallic. Sectile, approaching to malleable.
Bucht1^671* ^artS'—MoIySdena 60.0, sulphur 40.0.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs imbed-
aed in granite and syenite at Peterhead; in chlorite-slate
nf T 61 ’ *n £rande and syenite in Corybuy, at the head
ocn Creran, and in various mines in Cornwall.
* Molybdena Ochre.
m sulPhur-yell°w mineral which sometimes incrusts
moiybdena is named molybdena ochre.
Genus VI.—Bismuth-Glance.
2.5Pr™ticr pure lead-grey. Hardness =2.0,—
vOL. XV.
A L O G Y.
1. Prismatic Bismuth-Glance.
Prismatischer Wismuth-Glanz, Mohs Wismuth-Glanz,
Werner—Bismuth sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character Prismatic. Pyramid unknown.
Cleavage P—oo ; P + go , imperfect. Pr + a>. Pr 4- go
larger, more perfect. (Fig. 30, 29, 28.)
Description—Colour pale lead-grey. Occurs regularly
crystallized; in granular and radiated concretions; massive
and disseminated. Internally splendent and metallic. Frac¬
ture foliated or fibrous. Soils. Streak unchanged. Brittle
inclining to sectile. Easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Bismuth 80.98, sulphur 18.72. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
in Cornwall; associated with molybdena and apatite at
Caldbeck Fell, in Cumberland.
* Bismuth-Ochre.
Wismuth-ocker, Werner.
• The yellow, grey, or green mineral which sometimes ac¬
companies bismuth-glance, is the bismuth ochre of mine¬
ralogists.
Genus VII—Antimony-Glance.
Antimon-Glanz, Mohs.
Prismatic. Colour lead-grey, not blackish ; steel-grey.
Cleavage perfect. Hardness = 1.5,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 4.2,
—5.8. If the specific gravity is less than 5.3, the hard¬
ness = 2.0 ; easily broken when in thin plates. If sp. gr.
is above 5.3, the colour is steel-grey.
1. Prismatic Antimony -Glance, or Graphic Tellurium.
Prismatischer Antimon-glanz, Mohs Schrift-erz, Wer¬
ner.—Tellure natif auro-argentifere, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. P + oo = 94° 20'.
O _
Cleavage Pr + oo , perfect. Less distinct Pr -f- oc . (Fig.
29, 28.) Colour pure steel-grey. Hardness = 1.5, 2.0.
Sp. gr. = 5.7,—5.8.
Description.—Colour steel-grey. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; massive, disseminated, and in leaves. Externally
splendent, internally glistening, and metallic. Fracture
uneven. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Tellurium 61.35, gold 28.36, silver
10.29. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in por¬
phyry veins in Transylvania.
2. Prismatoidal Antimony-Glance, or Grey Antimony.
Grau Spiesglaserz, Werner—Prismatoidischer Antimon-
Glanz, Mohs—Antimoine sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. P = 109° 16'; 108° 10';
110° 59'. P + go = 90° 45'. Cleavage Pr + oo, perfect.
Less distinct, P — 00. P + go. Pr + oo. (Fig. 29, 27,
30,28.) Lead-grey. Hardness = 2.0. Sp.gr. =4.2, 4.7.
Description.—Colour lead-grey. Occurs regularly crys¬
tallized ; in radiated, fibrous, and granular distinct concre¬
tions. Lustre ranges from glistening to splendent, and is me¬
tallic. Fracture even and uneven. Rather brittle, and easily
frangible.
Constituent Parts—Antimony 74.06, sulphur 25.94.
Davy.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
that traverse greywacke, at Westerhall, in Dumfriesshire,
and in Banffshire in primitive rocks. Being the ore from
which the antimony of commerce is obtained, it occurs in
all antimony mines.
3. Axotomous Antimony-Glance, or Jamesonite.
Axotomer Antimon-Glanz, Mohs. — Triple Sulphur^
d'Antimoine, Plomb et Cuivre; Endellione, Bournon.—
Antimoine Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character Prismatic. P-f-00 = 101° 20'.
Cleavage P — 00 , very perfect. P + 00, Pr + 00, imper.
Y
169
Minera-
logy.
■
170
Minera¬
logy-
MINERALOGY.
feet. (Fig. 27.) Colour steel-grey. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5.
Sp. gr. = 5.5,—5.8.
Description.—Colour steel-grey. Occurs massive, and
in parallel or scopiform prismatic concretions. Lustre ex¬
ternally shining, internally glistening and metallic. Frac¬
ture uneven or conchoidal. Opaque. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Antimony 34.40, lead 40.75, sul¬
phur 22.15, iron 2.30, with traces of zinc and copper. Bose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations. It was first no¬
ticed in veins traversing clay-slate in Cornwall, and since
in Hungary and Siberia.
4. Peritomous Antimony-Glance.
Peritomer Antimon-Glanz, Mohs.—Argent Sulphure
Antimonifere et Cuprifere, Levy.—Sulphuret of Antimony
and Silver. Phillips.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Pr 130° 8'. P+<» =
100° O'. Cleavage P + 00, perfect. Colour pale steel-
grey. Hardness ~ 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. rr 5.5,—5.6.
Description Colour pale steel-grey, inclining to silver-
white. Occurs massive. Surface striated longitudinally.
Lustre metallic.
Constituent Parts Conjectured to be a compound of
antimony, sulphur, silver, and copper.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in the
Himmelsfurst mine, near Freyberg, in Saxony, also at Kap-
nick, in Transylvania.
Genus VIII.—Melane-Glance.
Prismatic. Colour iron-black. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5.
Sp. gr. = 5.9,—6.4.
1. Prismatic Melane-Glance, or Brittle Silver-Glance.
Prismatischer Melan-Glance, Mohs.—Sprodglaserz, Wer¬
ner.—Argent Antimoine-Sulphure Noire, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. P zz 130° 16'; 104°
18'; 96° 7'. Pr zz 115° 39. (P + 00 )1 2 zz 72° 13' Clea¬
vage (P + oo )2, Pr + go . Imperfect. (Fig. 30, 29-)
Description.—Colour between iron-black and dark lead-
grey. Occurs regularly crystallized and disseminated.
Lustre externally splendent, internally shining, and metal¬
lic. Fracture conchoidal, and uneven. Streak unchanged.
Opaque. Sectile.
Constituent Parts.—Silver 68.54, antimony 14.68, cop¬
per and arsenic 0.64, sulphur 16.42. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in veins
in primitive rocks in Hungary, Saxony, Bohemia, Peru,
and Mexico.
Order XII.—BLENDE.
Streak green, red, brown, white, grey. Hardness zz: 1.0,
—4.0. Sp. gr. zz 3.9,—8.2. If metallic, is black. If not
metallic, is adamantine. If streak green, the colour is iron-
black. If streak brown or white, the sp. gr. is be¬
tween 4.0 and 4.2; tessular, cleavage perfect. If streak
red, the sp. gr. zz 4.5, and more ; hardness zz 2.5, and less.
If sp. gr. zz 4.3 and more, the streak is red.
Genus I—Manganese-Blende.
Glanz-Blende, Mohs—Manganese-Blende, Werner.—
Manganese Sulphure, Hauy.
Tessular. Streak green. Hardness zz 3.5,—4.0. Sp. gr.
, — 3.9,—4.05.
regularly crystallized; in granular concretions, massive, and
disseminated. Lustre splendent, shining, and metallic, in- logy,
dining to imperfect metallic. Slightly brittle. Opaque.
Constituent Parts—Protoxide of manganese, 62.6, sul¬
phur 37.0. Arfwedson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This rare mi¬
neral occurs in Cornwall and in Transylvania, in primitive
and transition rocks.
Genus II Zinc Blende, or Garnet-Blende.
Tessular. Streak grey, white, reddish-brown. Hard¬
ness zz 3-5,—4.0. Sp. gr. zz4.0,—4.2.
1. Dodecahedral Zinc-Blende.
Dodecaedrishe Granat-Blende, Mohs.—Blende, Werner.
—Zinc Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character Tessular. Combination semi-tes-
sular of inclined planes. Cleavage dodecahedral, very per¬
fect.
Description Colours brown, yellow, grey, green, red,
and black. Occurs regularly crystallized, also in granular
and fibrous distinct concretions, massive, and disseminated.
Lustre ranges from specular splendent to glimmering, and
is adamantine. Ranges from transparent to opaque. Brittle,
and easily frangible.
The varieties in which the yellow colours predominate
are named yellow zinc-blende ; those in which the brown
colour predominate, brown zinc-blcnde ; and, lastly, those
in which black is the characteristic colour are named black
zinc-blende.
Constituent Parts.—Zinc 65.50, iron 1.37, sulphur 32.63.
Thomson.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Beautiful yel¬
low varieties are met with in the old lead-mines of Tyn-
drum, in Perthshire; the brown, or common blende, in
every lead-mine in England and Scotland; while the black
variety, which is the rarest, occurs in small quantity in
Saxony, and some other mining countries on the Continent
of Europe.
Genus HI.—Antimony-Blende, or Purple Blende.
Purpur-Blende, Mohs.
Prismatic. Streak cherry-red. Hardness zz 1.0,—1.5.
Sp. gr. zz 4.5,—4.6.
1. Prismatic Antimony-Blende, or Purple Blende.
Prismatische Purpur-Blende, Mohs.—Roth Spiesglas-
erz, Werner.—Antimoine Oxide Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Prismatic. Combination hemipris-
matic. Cleavage prismatoidal, very perfect.
Description Colour cherry-red, frequently with a tem¬
pered steel tarnish. Occurs regularly crystallized; in gra¬
nular, scopiform, and stellular fibrous concretions. Lustre
shining and adamantine. Opaque, or translucent on the
edges.
Constituent Parts.—Antimony 67-5, oxygen 10.8, sul¬
phur 19.7. Klaproth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Occurs in small
quantity in primitive rocks, in Saxony, France, and Hun¬
gary.
Genus IV.—Ruby-Blende.
Rubin-Blende, Mohs.
Rhombohedral. Prismatic. Streak red. Hardness =
2,0,—2.5. Sp. gr. zz 5.2,—8.2.
1. Hexahedral Manganese Blende.
Hexahedrische Glanz-Blende, Mohs.—Manganese Sul¬
phure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Tessular. Cleavage hexahedral,
perfect.
Description—Colour iron-black, which, on exposure,
becomes brownish-black. Streak greenish-grey. Occurs
1. Rhombohedral Ruby-Blende, or Red Silver.
Romboedrische Paibin-Blende, Mohs.—Rothgiltigerz,
Werner.—Argent Antimoine Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron =
108° 18'. Combination sometimes with different planes on
opposite extremities. Cleavage rhombohedral. Streak co¬
chineal-red. Hardness zz 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. zz 5.4—5.9*
MINERALOGY.
Description—Colour between cochineal-red and dark
lead-grey, and sometimes inclining to carmine-red. Occurs
regularly crystallized ; massive and disseminated. Lustre
ranges from splendent to glimmering, and is adamantine.
Fracture uneven or conchoidal. Ranges from opaque to
transparent.
Constituent Parts.—Silver 58.95, antimony 22.84, sul¬
phur 16.61. Bonsdorf.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations In some silver
mines it is an abundant ore; in this country it has been
hitherto found only in Cornwall.
2. Hemiprismatic Ruby-Blende.
Hemiprismatische Ilubin-Blende, Mohs Rothgilti-
gerz, Werner.
p
Specific Character—Hemiprismatic. — = 128° 59/.
2
P -J- oo = 86° 4/. Cleavage
|Pr + 2
171
Pr + oo , imperfect.
— 117° 4t9'. Cleavage Pr + oo , perfect. Streak lemon-
yellow. Hardness = 1.5,—2.0. Sp. gr. = 3.4, 3.6.
Description—Colour lemon-yellow. Occurs regularly
crystallized; in granular and concentric lamellar concre¬
tions ; massive, disseminated, stalactitic, reniform, botry-
oidal, and in crusts. Lustre splendent, between adaman¬
tine and semi-metallic. Translucent. Sectile. Flexible,
but not elastic.
Constituent Parts.—Arsenic 61.86, sulphur, 28.14. Lau-
gier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
in various metalliferous formations in primitive and secon¬
dary rocks in Hungary and Germany.
2. Hemiprismatic Sulphur, or Red Orpiment.
Hemiprismatischer Schwefel, Mohs. ~ Rothes-Rausch
gelb, Werner—Arsenic Sulphure Rouge. Haily.
Specific Character Hemiprismatic. - — 130° 1'.
Minera-
iogy.
Streak dark cherry-red. Hardness = 2.0,.—2.5. Sp. gr.
= 5.2,—5.4.
Description—Colour iron-black. Streak dark cherry-
red. Occurs in crystals more or less regularly formed.
Lustre intermediate between metallic and adamantine.
Fracture conchoidal and concealed foliated. Very sectile.
Opaque, but when viewed by transmitted light, thin splin¬
ters shew a deep blood-red colour.
Constituent Parts—Antimony 39.14, silver 36.40, sul¬
phur 21.95, copper 1.06, iron 0.62. Rose.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations This very rare
mineral occurs along with argentiferous arsenic pyrites, in
one of the mines of Braunsdorf, near Freyberg in Saxony.
3. Peritomous Ruby-Blende, or Cinnabar.
Rubin-Blende, Mohs.—Mercure Sulphure, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Rhombohedral. Rhombohedron
= 71° 47'. Cleavage R -}- <x>, very perfect. Streak scar¬
let-red. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 6.7, 8.2.
Description—Colours cochineal and scarlet-red, and
sometimes inclines to dark steel-grey. Occurs regularly
crystallized; in granular and globular concretions; massive,
disseminated, and dendritic. Lustre ranges from splendent
to glimmering, and is adamantine, verging on semi-metal¬
lic. Fracture uneven, conchoidal, and earthy. Ranges
from transparent to opaque. Sectile, and easily frangible.
The dark-coloured varieties, inclining to steel-grey, are
named hepatic cinnabar, the others common cinnabar.
Constituent Parts—Mercury 84.50, sulphur 14.75. Kla¬
proth.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Cinnabar is
named “ the ore of mercury,” because the mercury of com-
merce is obtained from it. The principal mines of this
mineral are Almaden in Spain, and Idria in Carinthia.
It also occurs in the Palatinate, Carinthia, Transylvania:
Japan, Mexico, and Brazil. The formations in which it is
contained are gneiss, porphyry, greywacke, limestone, the
coal formation.
P + go = 74° 30'. Cleavage = 66° 44', P -f oo,
A
o
Pr + go , imperfect. (Fig. 36, 30, 28.) Streak orange-yel¬
low... aurora-red. Hardness = 1.5,—20. Sp. gr. = 3.5,
—3.6.
Description.—Colour aurora-red, inclining sometimes to
orange-yellow. Occurs regularly crystallized; massive,
disseminated, and in flakes. Lustre shining, and adaman¬
tine. Fracture uneven. Translucent and semi-transpa¬
rent. Brittle, and easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Sulphur 30.43, arsenic 69.57. Lau-
gier.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs in veins
in primitive rocks, also in transition, secondary, and vol¬
canic rocks. Germany, Hungary, Bohemia, TEtna, and
Vesuvius, are localities.
3. Prismatic Sulphur, or Common Sulphur.
Prismatischer Schwefel, Mohs—Naturlicher Schwefel,
Werner.—Soufre, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. P = 106° 38; 84° 58';
143° 17'. P + oo = 101° 59'. Cleavage P, P-f- oo, imper¬
fect. (Fig. 30.) Streak white or sulphur-yellow. Hardness
= 1-5,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.9,—2.1.
Description—Colours yellow, brown, and grey. Occurs
regularly crystallized; in granular distinct concretions;
massive, disseminated, stalactitic, vesicular, and corroded.
Lustre ranges from shining to glimmering, and is between
adamantine and resinous. Fracture uneven, splintery, or
conchoidal. Translucent and transparent. Brittle, and
easily frangible.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations Occurs most
abundantly in secondary, tertiary, and volcanic rocks; is
met with also in transition and primitive rocks. Important
localities are Sicily, Italy, Spain, and the island of Iceland.
CLASS III.
Order XIIL—SULPHUR.
Not metallic. Colour yellow, red, brown. Prismatic.
Hardness = 1.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.9,—3.6. If monoto¬
nous, the sp. gr. — 3.4, and more ; if sp. gr. above 2.1, the
streak is yellow or red.
Genus I—Sulphur.
Prismatic. Hardness = 1.5,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.9,—3.6.
1. Prismatoidal Sulphur, or Yellow Orpiment.
Ihismatoidischer Schwefel, Mohs—Gelbes-Rauch gelb,
erner. Arsenic Sulfure jaune auripigment, Hauy.
Specific Character—Prismatic. Pr = 83° 37. P +oo
Specific gravity under 1.8. If liquid, the smell is bitu¬
minous. If solid, is tasteless.
Order L—RESIN.
Hardness = 0.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 0.7,—L6. If sp. gr.
= 1.2, and more, the streak is white or grey.
Genus I.—Mellite, or Honey-Stone.
Melichron-Resin, Mohs.
Pyramidal. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.4,—1 6.
1. Pyramidal Mellite, or Honey-Stone.
Pyramidales Melichron-Harz, Mohs.—Honigstein, Wer¬
ner.—Mellite, Hauy.
172
Minera¬
logy.
Specific Character—Pyramidal. Pyramid = 118° 4';
 930 22'. Cleavage pyramidal, but imperfect.
Description Colours yellow or red. Occurs regularly
crystallized and massive. Lustre shining or splendent, and
vitreo-resinous. Fracture conchoidal, semi-transparent, or
translucent. Brittle.
Constituent Parts.—Alumina 14.5, mellitic acid 41.4,
water 44.1. Wohler.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations—This rare and
remarkable mineral has hitherto been found only at Artern
in Thuringia, where it is associated with brown coal.
MINERALOGY.
Order II.—COAL.
Streak brown, black. Hardness = 1.0,—2.5. Sp. gr.
= 1.2,—1.6.
Genus I.—Mineral Coal.
Amorphous. Hardness — 1.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.2,—1.6.
— Solid. Colour yellow....white.
Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. =
Genus II Mineral-Resin.
Erd-harz, Mohs.
Amorphous. Hardness = 0.0,—2.5. Sp. gr. = 0.8,—1.2.
1. Yellow Mineral Resin, or Amber.
Gelbes Erd-harz, Mohs—Bernstein, Werner—Succin,
Haiiy.
Specific Character,
Streak white or grey.
1.0,—1.1.
Description Colours yellow and white. Occurs mas¬
sive and disseminated; often incloses insects, leaves, and
other parts of vegetables, also corals, &c. Lustre ranges
from splendent to glistening, and is resinous. Fracture
conchoidal. Transparent and translucent. Brittle, and
easily frangible.
Constituent Parts—Carbon 70.68, hydrogen 11.62, oxy¬
gen 7.77. Ure.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—This beautiful
mineral occurs imbedded in alluvial and tertiary formations.
The finest masses are those found in the low, flat, and al¬
luvial countries on the shores of the Baltic. It is occa¬
sionally met with on the coasts of Scotland and England.
2. DlacK Mineral-Resin.
Schwarzes Erd-harz, Mohs—Bitume, Hauy.
Specific Character.—Solid...liquid. Colour black,brown,
yellow, grey. Streak black, brown, yellow, grey,
ness = 0.0,—2.0. Sp. gr. 0.8,—1.2.
Description Colours white, grey, yellow, brown, and
black. Occurs massive, disseminated, globular, reniform,
stalagmitic, and liquid. Lustre resinous, and ranging from
splendent to glimmering. Fracture earthy, conchoidal, and
slaty. Ranges from transparent to opaque.
The yellowish-white, yellowish-grey, and wine-yellow,
liquid transparent varieties are named naphtha; the black¬
ish brown, liquid, and translucent or opaque varieties are
named mineral ore, or petroleum '; the blackish-brown so¬
lid varieties, with earthy fracture, are described under the
name earthy mineral-pitch ; the pitch-black varieties, with
splendent shining lustre and conchoidal fracture, are the
slaggy mineral-pitch, or asphaltum of authors; and lastly,
the brown, massive, curved slaty, and elastic varieties are
named elastic mineral-pitch, elaterite, or mineral caou¬
tchouc.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations The naphtha
1. Bituminous Mineral-Coal.
Harzige Stein-kohle, Mohs.—Braunkohle, and Schwartz-
kohle, Werner.—Houille. Jayet, Hauy. -
Specific Character.—Colours black and brown. Resi¬
nous lustre. Bituminous smell. Peat smell. Hardness =
1.0—2.5. Sp. gr. = 1.2,—1.5.
Description Colours brown, black, and grey. Occurs
massive, ligniform, and rarely in columnar concretions.
Lustre ranges from splendent to glimmering, and is resi¬
nous. Fracture earthy, conchoidal, slaty, and uneven.
Opaque. Streak shining. Sectile or brittle. Easily fran-
gible.
Those varieties of bituminous coal, in which brown is the
predominating colour, with feeble lustre, more or less of the
woody texture or form, easily frangible, with peat smell,
are named brown-coal, under which division is included
Axe. fibrous, earthy, aluminous, conchoidal, and trapezoidal
brown-coal of authors. The varieties in which the - black
colour predominates, and the resinous lustre is considerable,
which are harder than the brown varieties, and give out on
burning a bituminous smell, are named black-coal, of which
the following kinds are enumerated by mineralogists, viz.
slate-coal, cannel-coal, foliated-coal, coarse-cool, and pitch-
coal.
Constituent Parts 1. Brown-Coal. Carbon 77.10,
oxygen 19-35, hydrogen 2.54, earthy parts 1.00. Karsten.
—2. Best Newcastle Coal. Carbon 84.99, hydrogen 3.23,
oxygen 11.78.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—The brown
coal occurs principally along with rocks of the tertiary
class; the coal of Bovey in England may serve as an
example of it in this island; the black-coal never occurs in
tertiary formations, always in beds in secondary rocks, and
Hard- principally in that group or series of strata and beds named
the coal formation. The principal coal-mines in Scotland
and England are situated in the coal formation.
2. Glance-Coal. Blind Coal. Kilkenny Coal.
Harzlose Steinkohle, Mohs—Anthracite, Hauy—Glanz-
kohle, Werner.
Specific Character.—Colour black. Imperfect metallic
lustre. No bituminous smell. Hardness = 2.0,—2.5. Sp.
gr. = 1.3,—1.6.
Description.—Colour generally iron-black. Occurs in
fibrous and columnar distinct concretions; massive, vesicu¬
lar, and disseminated. Lustre ranges from splendent to
glimmering, and is imperfect metallic or silky. Fracture
conchoidal, uneven, and slaty. Opaque. Some varieties
soil. The varieties with splendent lustre and conchoidal
fracture are named conchoidal glance-coal; those with
slaty structure slaty glance-coal; the columnar varieties
columnar glance-coal; and the fibrous and soiling varieties
and mineral-oil flow from rocks of limestone and of the coal fibrous glance- coal or mineral charcoal.
formations. The finest varieties of the former are found
on the shores of the Caspian, the latter occurs at St Catha¬
rine’s, in the vicinity of Edinburgh, and in several other
places in Scotland and England. The earthy mineral-pitch
is a rare mineral, and has been hitherto found principally in
the Hartz; the slaggy mineral pitch is met with imbedded
in the limestone, ironstone, and sandstone of the coal for¬
mation in the middle district of Scotland ; and the elastic
mineral-pitch has been hitherto found chiefly in the lead-
mine called Odin, to the north of Castletown in Derbyshire.
Constituent Parts.—1. Kilkenny, 97 percent, of carbon.
—2. Rhode Island, 94 per cent of carbon.
Geognostic and Geographic Situations.—Glance-coal,
like black-coal, occurs in beds in the coal formation in the
secondary class of rocks. Kilmarnock, Saltcoats, and San¬
quhar, may be mentioned as localities; it also occurs in
veins and imbedded masses in secondary trap, as in the
Calton-Hill at Edinburgh. It differs from the other kinds
of coal, by its occasional appearance in rocks of the primi¬
tive class.
All the figures referred to after No. 26. are contained in Plate CCCLXIII.
173
MINERALOGY.
II.—GEOLOGY.
OBJECTS OF GEOLOGICAL SCIENCE.
eology. The reasoning employed in geology is, for the most part,
analogical. Observation of the phenomena which now take
place in nature, gives us the characteristic effects of mo¬
dern agencies or causes ; comparison of these phenomena
with those produced in ancient geological periods, deter¬
mines the agreement or disagreement in their respective
the object of sound geology is to combine the
causes
whole series of observed phenomena and inferred causes or
agencies into one general history of the successive condi¬
tions of our globe, and the changes which have happened
to it since the epoch when the present laws of organic and
inorganic nature were appointed. We cannot assume that
these laws have always been operating under the same cir¬
cumstances as now, but we are justified in admitting, as a
basis of reasoning, that similar natural circumstances in past
and present times were consequences of similar preceding
agencies, and productive of similar subsequent effects. It
is evident that, in proportion to our knowledge of the cha¬
racteristic effects of modern agencies, separate and com¬
bined, will be the power of referring to their proximate
causes the phenomena of ancient nature ; the more correct
and complete this knowledge, the more exact and exten¬
sive is the basis of geological theory. The influence of a
right view of existing nature is also sensible in directing
the researches of observers towards the most important and
characteristic circumstances of the phenomena which are
to be explained.
The laws of nature are constant, but so adjusted to the
material world that the effects they produce are proportion¬
ed to quantity and kind of matter, situation and direction
of action, and other circumstances. A precise knowledge
of the effects, and a correct view of all the agencies con¬
cerned, will lead us to the determination of the conditions
under which the laws operated. In no other way than this
has any one of the problems of organic and inorganic Na¬
ture, as we now behold her, been solved ; no other process
can possibly lead to real knowledge of the prior conditions
of the globe. Geology can only pretend to the rank of
science in proportion as it proceeds upon the principles of
t e Inductive Philosophy, and is aided by the advance of
collateral inquiries. The history of a science is the de¬
scription of its real progress ; but if geology could have no
existence before the phenomena of chemistry, zoology, and
mechanics were studied in relation to laws of nature, its an¬
cient history must be of small importance. Born in our own
ays, based on modern observations,—interpreted by mo-
ern philosophy,—why should we seek rational geology in
e monstrous systems of astronomy and cosmogony, which
once satisfied Greece and Egypt ? why attempt the vain
task of tracing the various errors of those writers of later
days) who, knowing nothing of chemical or vital laws, and
utt e of mechanical science, proposed hypotheses instead of
co ecting facts, and referred phenomena, which they had
not correctly observed, to forces which they had never
u y ascertained; resigned the beautiful monuments of
ancient life, the fossil remains of animals and plants, to a
p astic orce of Nature, and attributed the regular and order-
y s ucture of our planet to a general destruction and ruin
of an earlier sphere ?
PROGRESS OF GEOLOGY.
• ?Xa?ly ProPortion to the progress of collateral science
f e .awning geological inquiry. The improvement
or mechanical science effected by Galileo and Newton
pened, after a long interval, the minds of Mitchell and
aussurc to a perception of the effects of great convulsions
e crust of the globe ; the progress of chemical philo¬
sophy awakened, amongst the mining schools of Sweden rpnW
and Saxony, these zealous efforts to develope the history of' 
the mineral constituents of the globe which led to the
ernerian system of Geognosy ; but it was reserved to
modern days and more refined knowledge of natural his¬
tory, to establish sound general principles of investigation
concerning organic remains, and to unfold the successions of
hvmg nature, which constitute the basis of the truths esta¬
blished by Smith and Cuvier.
The very essence of geology, then, is such, that its conclu¬
sions can only be established in consequence of the general
progress of the natural sciences ; on the other hand, it
makes no step without consolidating and enlarging our
knowledge of existing nature; and thus it is inseparably
united with the general march of the human intellect, and
supported by the sympathy of all those who look with won¬
der and curiosity on the visible works of God.
Those who have taken a narrow view of this great and
growing branch of human knowledge, who have satisfied
themselves with collecting a few fossil shells, naming a few
compound rocks, and constructing a few sections and maps,
may possibly be startled at the mighty circle of perpetual
research in which they are unconsciously engaged ; yet as,
in every blanch of natural science, the generalizations which
are the object of inquiry can only be based on accurately
ascertained facts, every one who is really employed in in¬
vestigating any of the phenomena of nature, must be hail¬
ed as a useful coadjutor to geology. The time is come
when enough of general truth is known in geology to di¬
rect the labours of observation into right and fertile chan¬
nels ; and those who are best acquainted with the actual
state of the science, and most sensible of its many deside¬
rata, will be most likely to devise the best means of sup¬
plying them. This consideration should diminish the dis¬
trust which men of exact observation feel for the researches
of theorists. Theory and useful obseryation must proceed
or be retarded together; a man who is not taught how to
observe, and instructed what to observe, is just as likely to
mislead by his descriptions of phenomena, as a theorist who
leaves the true path of inductive philosophy, substitutes hy¬
pothesis for inference, and contends for the ideal specula¬
tion instead of working out the true law of nature.
W/iae is possible to be known—All human knowledge
is limited ; but who has reached the boundary in any
direction ? Doubtless there are geological problems which
can never be solved, many recondite laws which can
never be disclosed by investigation of visible phenomena ;
but yet the progress of the human mind, or rather the
combination and mutual irradiation of ascertained truths,
continually removes farther and farther the visible barrier
of knowledge, and renders possible many problems once
despaired of.
1 he province 0*1 &\xec\.geological observation is limited to
a small depth below the surface of the globe, and nothing but
the progress of a higher science could give us any information
as to the interior. But even those dark and unapproachable
regions are not wholly hidden from the astronomer; some 1
material properties of the central regions of our planet are
already revealed by refined mathematical interpretation of
the phenomena of the universe ; and though we may never
know what are the chemical qualities of the substances more
than a few miles below the surface of the earth,—never be
able, in ordinary language, to say what sort of matter com¬
poses the interior, yet many of its most important proper¬
ties, as weight, density, temperature, may be at least par¬
tially ascertained, and their state of rest or motion, fluidity
or solidity, made the subject of probable inference.
Direct observation may fail to give us complete informa¬
tion concerning the many previous conditions of the sur-
MINERALOGY.
face of our planet, because it is not certain that monuments
remain of all the changes which have occurred, and, it
they do remain, it is not probable, or possible, that we can
examine them all; a minute and continuous history ot the
physical revolutions of the globe is therefore not to be at¬
tempted, at least for a long time to come ; but, just as from
the incomplete history of the human race, principles are
derived which shed a clearer light on the darkness of an¬
tiquity, determine the epochs of its changes, and discover
more certainly the true relative condition of the existing
races of men,—so the general rules of geology contribute
in some way or other, its parts must be yielding and dis-’
placeable, fluid or loose. If the globe was formerly, or is '
now fluid within, wholly or in great measure, the spheroidal
figure is a direct and necessary consequence, and this is
the view generally adopted ; but it has been imagined that
even a solid globe whose superficial parts were displaceable,
might, in the eternal round of natural changes, be worn
down by rains and waves from a perfect sphere to a sphe¬
roid of revolution. According to this supposition the for¬
mer state of the globe was very different from the present;
the rotating sphere must have become very elevated land
Geology,
‘'“T °f sicS in ite monumental his- aUtepolel Ind totally drowned in water 'along an equa-
continually to fill llPt^ 0fPnhvsical changes performed torial band; into this equatorial sea, from the north and the
tory, to determine the amount of south, must have been poured the waste of the high polar
in particular geo ogica Pe™° s’ nrpsPTlt ]ands so as to form strata thickest under the equator ; the
cress of such changes, and thus to characterize the present
aspect of nature by reference to many previous ascertained
conditions of it. . „ . , . »
General data.—The most important of all the data tor
c-eological theory are derived from other and very distinct
branches of science. It is to astronomy and general physics
that we are indebted for the establishment oi some leading
principles which must ever be observed in reasoning on the
revolutions of the globe, and in fact form the only general
basis for such reasoning. The singular prejudices which
yet prevail, among good observers in geology, as to the real
objects and aims of the science, apply even to the facts fur¬
nished by astronomy for the guidance of geology ; and sure
consequences legitimately drawn from considerations of the
figure and density of our planet are often confounded, by
what are called practical men, with mere speculation ; and
they imagine they give proof of exceeding wisdom when
they reject en masse the independent conclusions of higher
science, and the local and limited inferences from undoubted
facts, as if these partial truths were mere hypotheses. No¬
thing is more common than to hear persons who have never
qualified themselves to judge of the question, complaining
of the prevailing tendency ot geologists to indulge in theories;
as if that most enormous and yet unattempted labour,—the
construction of a general theory of the earth, was a mere
morning’s amusement; as if the combination of individual
facts into limited generalizations, and the attempt at elicit¬
ing laws of phenomena, which in every other branch of natu¬
ral science is hailed as the first proof of real progress made,
should in geology alone be condemned as dangerous and
delusive; as if the search after general truths, which in
every other science is known to be the real object, aim,
and end of the inquiry, should be in geology alone the thing
of all others to be deprecated.
On the other hand, it seems no less necessary to offer a
short caution to those who, seeing - the great accession of
local truths and partial laws of phenomena which has of
late so rapidly been added to geology, are anxious to antici¬
pate time, and think it more useful to construct a perishable
hypothesis than to add to the durable foundation of theory.
Figure of the Earth The figure of the earth is known
by direct measurement of arcs, and by experiments with the
pendulum, to be a spheroid with its polar diameter about
shorter than the equatorial; the former being 7899,170 miles,
the latter 7925,648 miles ; the difference, commonly called
the compression, 26,478 (Herschel—Astronomy). This pe¬
culiar figure is a consequence of the centrifugal force of the
superficial parts of the globe removed from the poles ; for
this diminishes the influence of gravitation, and permits the
equatorial parts, where the velocity of rotation is greatest,
to recede further from the axis than any other parts, till
the equilibrium is obtained, and the curves over all parts of
the globe correspond to a spheroid of revolution. The
earth, then, has acquired its present figure under the joint
influence of gravitation to its present centre, and rotation
on its present axis ; but if the mass of the globe were solid,
this exact accommodation of dimensions could not take
place ; we must therefore add a third condition, viz. that,
lands so as to form strata thickest under the equator ; the
poles should still be land:—but nothing of the kind appears.
On the contrary, the distribution of land and water is ex¬
cessively irregular, the surfaces of stratified rocks have no
peculiar relation to the equator, the poles are in the midst
of water, and the equatorial regions include some of the high¬
est mountains on the globe. This hypothesis is therefore
entirely gratuitous, and we must look to the interior of the
earth for the displacement of substance which allowed it to
assume a spheroidal figure.
Here little difficulty presents itself; it cannot be doubted
that, if the interior of the globe were fluid, a spheroidal ex¬
ternal figure must necessarily result from rotation on an
axis, and the internal surfaces of equal density be also sphe¬
roidal ; and both these conditions be retained whether it
continued fluid or not; if it continued wholly fluid, the
figure might continually adapt itself to any change of form
corresponding to a variation of the ratio of central and
tangential forces; if it became wholly solid, the rocks would
upon such change of ratio be put in a state of strain; if
internally fluid and externally solid, the crust might upon
such change yield in various directions, and produce local
irregularity in the distribution of land and water : finally,
if the solidification of the surface were to proceed at a cer¬
tain rate, compared with that of the change of ratio of the
forces governing the figure, the form oncc vacquired might
be almost invariably preserved.
Of all the conditions stated above,'-which corresponds
best to wffiat is known concerning the earth ? That its in¬
ternal surfaces of equal density, are situated symmetrically
with respect to the external spheroid is supposed to be true,
in consequence of investigations concerning certain irregu¬
larities of the moon’s motions, which depend on the figure
and density of the earth. This would prove that the earth
has been freely yielding within; the irregularities of the pen¬
dulum experiments appear sufficient to justify a belief that
the solidification of the surface has gone to some consider¬
able depth ; the irregular distribution of the land and water
appears to indicate the co-existence of a solid crust and
yielding interior, accompanied by a change of form. This
irregularity of land and water is the effect of great con¬
vulsions of the crust of the globe belonging to many geo¬
logical periods, some of them subsequent to the existence
of the present races of animals and plants. It is therefore
very probable that the interior of the globe has formerly
been wholly fluid ; and we are not entitled hastily to reject
the supposition that it is partially so at this moment.
Density of the Earth Taking water at a temperature
of 60° as the unit of comparison, we find the specific gra¬
vity of the superficial parts of the globe, as judged of by
weighing the most prevalent rocks, to be about 2’5.
By direct experiments, and comparison of the local at¬
traction of mountains and insulated masses of matter with
the general attraction of the globe, the mean density of
our planet has been inferred to be about five times that ot
water. This result is found sufficiently in accordance
with astronomical considerations to allow us to adopt it for
geological reasoning.
Hogy. The interior parts of the globe must therefore be hea-
.y-w'vier than the exterior rocks.
From the influence of the earth on the moon’s motions,
it is inferred that the internal mass of our planet augments
in density towards the centre ; the surfaces of equal density
being symmetrical with the external spheroidal surface.
The materials of the earth have therefore collected round
the centre in obedience to the laws of gravitation and ro¬
tatory movement, and the internal substances, as having
fallen to the lower place when freedom of motion was ab
lowed, would probably be heavier under the same circum¬
stances than the superficial substances. In their present
situation, their weight is augmented by the effects of the
general pressure towards the centre; if the laws of com¬
pression observed among metals, stone, fluids, and gases,
at the surface of the earth, obtained in the inner parts of
the earth, without some counteracting cause, steel would
be compressed into one-fourth, and stone into one-eighth
of its bulk at the centre. Water, according to Leslie, would
be as heavy as quicksilver at 362 miles depth, and air as
heavy as water at thirty-four miles. (Somerville— Connex¬
ion of Physical Science?) Now, though we cannot pre¬
sume that the law of compression would hold in these
bodies to such an extent, enough is known to justify a con¬
fident belief that the mean density of our planet would be
very much greater than it is, were not the tendency to
enormous condensation in the central masses counteracted
by some powerful agent of expansion, such as heat, or neu¬
tralized by some peculiar and unknown constitution of the
substances themselves.
TEMPERATURE OF THE GLOBE.
It becomes, therefore, necessary to inquire into the sub¬
ject of the earth’s temperature. The superficial heat of
the earth's surface is subject to several known, and proba¬
bly to other unknown, influences; of the known causes of
variation, the following are the most worthy of the notice
of geologists:—
1st, The influence of the sun.
. 2d, The influence of the distribution of land and water,
and the nature of the surface.
3d, Elevation above the mean level of the sea.
4th, The temperature of the circumambient space.
5th, The temperature of the interior of the globe.
1. The solar rays are the principal source of heat on the
surface of the globe; the temperatures vary in relation to
the amount of those rays ; the mean temperatures conse¬
quently decrease continually trorn the equator toward the
poles, nearly in the simple proportion of the cosines of lati¬
tude.^ (Mayer’s formula of the square of the cosine appears
very inaccurate both at the equator and toward the poles.)
At every point of the earth’s surface the temperature changes
with the period of the year, nearly in proportion to the varia¬
tion of altitude and duration of solar irradiation : it changes
a so with day and night. No proposition is more certain
an the fundamental dependence of the temperature of the
surface of the globe on the solar influence.
It is, therefore, very important for geologists to inquire
whether this be variable or constant; whether the amount
ot solar heat communicated to the earth is and has always
Deen the same in every annual period, or what latitude the
a^f. °T^e planetary movements permit in this respect.
feir John Herschel has examined this question in a satis-
ac ory manner, in a paper read to the Geological Society
o ondon. The total amount of solar radiation which de-
rmines the general climate of the earth, the year being of
invariable length, is inversely proportional to the minor
axis ot the ellipse described by the earth about the sun, re¬
ft F f6 aSj s~°w y variable; the major axis remaining con-
n , and the orbit being actually in a state of approach to
circ e, and consequently the minor axis being on the in-
MINERALOGY. 175
crease, it follows that the mean annual amount of solar ra- GeoW.
diation i eceived by the whole earth must be actually on the s ^
ecrease. The limits of the variation in the eccentricity
of the earths orbit are not known; it is therefore impossi¬
ble to say accurately what may have been, in former pe-
nods of time, the amount of solar radiation; it is, however
certam, that, if the ellipticity has ever been so great as that
of the orbit of Mercury or Pallas, the temperature of the
earth must have been sensibly higher than it is at present.
But the difference of a few degrees of temperature thus oc-
casioned, is of too small an order to be employed in ex¬
plaining the growth of tropical plants and corals in the po¬
lar and tenjperate zones, and other great phenomena of
geology.
2. Nature of the Surface—The heatin^ effect of the
sun’s rays varies with the nature of the surthce on which
they fall: the colour, texture, capacity for heat, and other
circumstances affecting the absorbent and reflective powers
of the substances, influence, accordingly, the amount of
heat absorbed and retained. The reflective surfaces of
snow which cover so large a portion of the polar land, while
they refuse admission to the solar heat, and contribute to
warm the upper air, prevent also the dissipation of terres¬
trial warmth. Sandy and rocky tracts reverberate heat
into the air; grassy plains and cultivated fields freely ab¬
sorb heat by day, and freely radiate it by night.
Though these circumstances are little sensible in regis¬
ters of annual, monthly, or diurnal temperature, they affect
very seriously the growth of plants and animals, and con¬
stitute a very important character of local climate which
ought to be more attended to. The large forests of equa¬
torial regions maintain, in their ample shade, a permanent
coolness, favourable to vegetation; in the temperate cli¬
mates of Europe, their destruction has perhaps mitigated
the periodical severity of cold. But the most important of
this class of phenomena is derived from the unequal distri¬
bution of land and water upon the globe. The climate of
the ocean is very different from that of the land, less ex¬
treme in its variations with season, and limited within nar¬
row ranges over the whole watery surface. This is, in
a great degree, owing to the movement of the particles of
water upwards and downwards, according to the variation
of temperature at the surface, and the movement of the
tidal and other great oceanic currents. Thus the fluctua¬
tions of heat are not merely confined to the surface, but
diffused through great depths and breadths of water, and
the climates of remotest regions mixed and mutually miti¬
gated by the beneficent movements of the sea.
On the land a similar, but less regular and continuous,
influence is performed by the winds, which, by appointed
laws, change and fluctuate in their paths, and cause alter¬
nation rather than gradation of climate, a variable succes¬
sion of different and often extreme temperatures; so that the
range of variation of heat is greater at any one point on the
land than in the sea, and the difference of temperature in
different latitudes is greater.
The warmest band of the ocean is that running up the
Atlantic; the coldest points of the globe are in the north¬
ern part of the land of Asia and America. If, instead of
so much land round a polar basin, we had broad equatorial
continents and small polar isles, the temperature of the
globe would have been more uniform than at present; the
excessive cold of the polar circles would be reduced; some
slight general augmentation of heat in the polar sea might
be experienced, but not so great an addition of heat as to
account for the phenomena of the growth of coral in the
sea, and tree ferns on the islands.
The distribution of land and water is a variable element
of importance in the question of the former temperature of
the surface of the globe, but its variations must not be ima¬
gined equal to cause a change of more than a few degrees.
3. Elevation above the mean level of the sea, is another
170
Geology, important circumstance affecting local climate, and the g -
 'neral amount of heat on the earth and in the1air/al])?>ut *t-
The atmosphere surrounding the earth is not heated by the
sun’s rays passing through it; it freely transmits them.
Clouds, and particles of all kinds in it, must arrest some
heat as it radiates from the sun or from the earth, but
the main supply is derived from the earth by conduction
mineralogy.
monstrous and insufferable doctrine; as if it were some-
thing utterly unreasonable that the centre of a planet should
be asserted to have a temperature very different from that
of its surface. Much of the declamation against central
heat as it is incorrectly termed, has no better foundation.
But how is it to be known whether the exterior of the
earth may be very hot or very cold, or synthermal with the
fnTiie higher of’aSria, Ltainly is difficuMmt not impossible, and i, is fraught
currentTwhfch rather alternate than mingle, we find the with the highest interest.  
currents which latiici ^° . t • • c
temperatures decrease as the density of the air diminis es,
so that, at moderate heights, a diminution of 1 Fahrenheit
corresponds to about 323 feet elevation. (Forbes.)
This settled law of atmospheric heat reacts on the ele¬
vated land, and causes a reduction of the mean temperature
of the higher stations, exactly of the same nature, and as
regularly calculable, as that depending on latitude.
4. Temperature of the Planetary System.—The tempo
i . J! i-V. ^ r*fV* nnot" HP nOtl.P
It has been proved by FouriePs mathematical investiga¬
tions on the theory of heat, that the temperature of the
surface of our planet being, as we know it to be, wholly
dependent on the solar radiation, the interior of the mass
may have any temperature whatever, any extreme of heat or
cold, without producing any sensible effect on the surface.
The reason of this is very simple ; the conduction of heat,
by the substances near the surface of the earth, is so ex-
4. Temperature of the Planetary , hotte‘ ceedingly slow, that ages might pass before there could be
rature of the space surrounding the ear ot be anv sensible warmth communicated from even intensely
raiure ui uic ~ ~
than the coldest point on the surface of the globe: for, since
the globe is continually receiving heat from the sun, and
radiating it into space, the cooling process can only pro¬
ceed so far as to reduce the surface temperature to an equi¬
librium with that of surrounding space.
The lowest temperature on the globe (Melville Island)
being taken at 50° cent, below zero, we may be sure that
the ethereal spaces have not a higher temperature. In
fact, Fourier and Swanberg agree in adopting this as the
real temperature of the planetary spaces. The opinion,
daily gaining strength, of the universal diffusion ot an
elastic ether, renders probable the conclusion that the im¬
mense regions in which the planets move have a definite
temperature; if the ether vary in density about different
any sensible warmth communicated from even intensely
hot masses placed at a moderate depth.
It appears from the mathematical theory, and it is fully
established by experiment, that the fluctuations of the
solar heat are experienced only to a certain depth, below
which the temperature of any one point is invariable; this
depth is not every where the same, but, as far as yet ap¬
pears, nowhere exceeds 100 feet. The temperature at this
depth is constant, and generally corresponds, at least nearly,
to the mean annual temperature of the surface. The tem¬
peratures below this depth can only be known by experi¬
ment. Before stating the results of these, it may be useful
to advert to the simple reasoning which must be employed
in drawing conclusions from them. If it be found that the
temperature ; if the ether vary in density ^ “ent J ^ the zone of fluctuating heat continually
centres or systems, wh.ch ^as "ot mprobabLe the p ** interior parts of the earth
statical temperatures may vary also with situation ; but, as
far as we have yet learned of the solar system, there is no
reason to imagine the temperature is sensibly variable with
time; not even if the planets are continually losing heat.
5. Temperature of the Interior of the Globe.—Hitherto
we have considered the globe as merely a recipient of heat
from the sun, measured in quantity, and distributed in a
particular manner. This heat is again partly dissipated
into the atmosphere and ethereal spaces, so that there is no
superficial accumulation of heat derived from the sun: the
climates on the earth appear to be constant, except by the
interference of some of the variable circumstances previ¬
ously adverted to.
But we must not bind our views to the surface; the
state of the interior of our planet, in relation to the inten¬
sity, constancy, and circulation of the heat there, is of the
greatest possible importance.
There can scarcely be found a more striking example of
the beneficial influence of geology on collateral science,
than the impulse it has created toward the cultivation of
the curious and delicate inquiry into the theory of internal
terrestrial temperature, both among mathematicians and ex¬
perimentalists. What a contrast is offered by the wild spe¬
culations of Burnet and others, concerning the constitution
of the interior of the globe, and the profound conclusions
of Fourier, which every succeeding experiment appears to
render more certain.
But for a geological necessity, so to speak, the beautiful
mathematical researches of Fourier and the experiments of
Humboldt, Cordier, and others, would never have been
made; and even philosophers might have been content,
with the uninstructed vulgar, to have no thoughts on the
matter of the earth’s proper heat. There is a singular pre¬
judice on this subject, which is worth notice, as an exam¬
ple of the difficulties often attending the promulgation of
novel truths. Some persons are startled at the very idea
of the interior of the earth being hot; as if it were some
diminish, it is evident that the interior parts of the earth
are colder than the surface, and that there is no reason to
imagine the earth to have any other source of heat than
solar radiation; but if the contrary be found true, the
earth has a proper temperature, derived from internal
sources. If the augmentation be merely a local phenome¬
non, local chemical action may perhaps explain it, but it
it be a general fact, we must appeal to a corresponding
general cause. . .
Experiments on the temperature of the interior ot the
globe require great attention, and must be interpreted with
caution. In mines, collieries, &c., the influence of lights,
respiration, &c., is considerable ; in these, and almost all
situations, chemical processes go on which must be con¬
sidered ; there are local sources of heat to be allowed for,
as mineral waters, the augmented density of air, &c. Into
the examination of these points it is not necessary to enter
further. The reader must suppose that they have been
attended to by M. Cordier, M. Arago, and others, both in
selecting experiments and drawing inferences. The 10 -
lowing examples include single and continued observations
in different situations and under varied circumstances.
1. Single experiment in the deepest colliery in Great
Britain at Monkwearmouth, near Sunderland, soon after the
sinking of the shaft (Phil. Mag. 1834). Depth of the pit
to the place of observation, 528 yards; depth below the
level of the sea, 500 yards; mean annual temperature,
47.6. Observed temperature of air at surface on the day
of experiment (15th November 1834), 49°—of air at the
bottom of the pit, 62°—near the forehead (or end of the
drift), 64°—close to the coal, 68°. Temperature of water
collected in the pit bottom, 67°—of salt water issuing from
a bore hole made on the same morning, 70.1—of similar
water as it first gushed out, 71.4—of gas bubbles issuing
through the water, 72°.6. Temperature of the front ot
the coal, 68°—of the interior, 71 °.A thermometer left
in a bore-hole for a week, indicated 71°.2.
MINERALOGY.
177
■eology.
If invariable temperature be supposed to commence at
100 feet, and the mean annual temperature of the place be
taken at 47^6, then 72.6—47.6 = 25° in 1484 feet, or 1°
F. in twenty yards English, nearly. The pit has since
been sunk deeper, and the temperature is found to have
risen still higher.
2. Continued Experiments on Subterranean Springs.
Countries
Authors.
Saxony
B rittan
Cornwall
Mexico
Daubuisson,
1802.
Gairdner, 1
1820. j
Daubuisson,
Sept. 1802.
Fox, 1821.
Humboldt.
Lead and silver mine 1
of.Iunghohe Birk J
Do. Beschertgliick
Do. Do.
Do. Himmelfahrt .
Do. Kurprinz,
Do. Poullauen,
Do. Do.
Do. Do.
Do. Huelgoet,
Do. Do.
Do. Do.
Do. Do.
Dolcoath mine
Guanaxato silver mine
256
712
840
735
634
128
246
459
197
262
394
755
1440
1713
48.9
54.5
56.8
57.9
80.1
53.4
53.4
58.3
54.
59.
59.
67.5
82,
98.2
46.9
46.4
52.7
51.8
50.
,68.8
102.4
87.
80.7
63.9
18.8
182.0
351.0
82.0
89:5
36.4
54.7
48.4
45.0
45.8
In a well at La Rochelle, depth 369J feet, temperature observed,
18.12 C.; mean annual temperature of surface, 11.87 C.; depth for
1° F. 33 feet.
3. Continued Experiments in Rock.
Countries.
Authors.
J I
Mines.
First Series. In rock near the surface.
Saxony
VonTrebra,
1805-6-7.
Mine of Beschertgliick
Do.
Do.
Do.
Do.
Do.
Second Series. In loose matter near the face
of rock.
591
853
52.2
59
II
§ O
$
46.4
Cornwall
Fox, 1821. United copper mines |
Cordier, Carmeaux. Coal-pit 1
1821. of Ravin . J
Coal-pit of Castellan
Littry. Coal-pit of)
St Charles . j
Decise. Coal-pit of)
St Jacobi . j
Do.
236! 47.7
552 55:
880 59.
1246 65.7
Third Series.
Three feet three inches in the
rock.
Cornwall I Fox, 1820,
Register
Saxony
kept for 18
months.
Reich.
Oct. 1829 to
Oct. 1830.
> Dolcoath
)
Lead and silver mine'
of Kurprinz .
Do! ; ! ;
Do. . . .
1142
1201
597
630
325
351
561
1381
• 18
1 413
I 686
1063
87.4
88.
62.8
67.1
61.
64.
71.7
75.6
50.
52.
52.
50.
101.
67.
174.7
63.7
69.8
64.4
30.5
31.1
55.3
40.8
36.1
29.2
28.5
54.
51.8to46.4
59.6
62.5
67.7
31.3
42.6
49.9
Varia¬
tion.
15.8
3.3
0.2
1.0
4. Artesian Wells (by M. Arago).
Geolotrv.
Metres
deep.
Dffoif.
Temp.
Metres
to lu C1
Paris.
Mean temperature of the surface, .
Fontaine de la Garde St Ouen
Dept, du Garde et des Pas de Calais.
Mean temperature of the surface,
Fontaine Artesienne de Marquette,
Fontaine Artesienne d’Aire,
Fontaine Artesienne de St Yenant,
Sheerness, a* the mouth of the Medway.
Mean temperature of the surface, .
  —   of the deep well,
Tours.
Mean temperature of surface, ,
of Artesian Well,
10.6
12.9
10.3
12.5
13.3
14.0
10.5
15.5
11.5
17.5
66
56
63
100
110
140
23.
22.2
3.
37.
29.0
25.5
21.
27.
22.
23.?
Mean result of the six observations, 24.6 metres to 1° C.
~~ — — — 13.66 metres to IV F.
~~ 45 feet to l^F.1
The results from artesian wells, the water being pure, are
probably as much to be depended on as those from mines:
it is remarkable that the two classes of results coincide,
for Monsieur Cordier’s previous conclusion from the latter
phenomena is, that the temperature augments one degree
of Fahrenheit in forty-five feet English. The ratio is, how¬
ever, certainly not uniform at different places, as might be
anticipated from the unequal conducting power of the rocks.
It appears, then, fully ascertained, that, in situations far
removed from volcanic action, in different kinds of rocks
with very different chemical relations, water, air, and rocks
continually grow warmer as we descend in the earth. With¬
out a single exception, the interior of the globe is warmer
than the surface, and the heat augments constantly with the
depth. Combining this result with the mathematical infe¬
rences of Fourier, and the generalizations concerning the
state of the central parts of the globe, we shall find that it
is not without reason the distinguished mathematician above
named has favoured the hypothesis that the earth is a cool¬
ed globe, very hut within, and still cooling slowly ; so slow¬
ly, indeed, that the effects of the contraction due to this
refrigeration have not been perceived by astronomers in the
alteration of the length of the day, which must inevitably
have occurred if the diameter of the globe had sensibly di¬
minished. For all short periods of time, that is, for a thou¬
sand or two thousand years, the globe may now be suppos¬
ed to be in a statical condition, both as to interior and su¬
perficial heat, magnitude, and figure.
The hypothesis of a cooling globe, thus brought fairly
under our notice, can only be changed into theory by its
accordance with geological phenomena of very ancient
date, wdiich can in no other wTay be so wrell explained.
DEPTH OF THE OCEAN.
A knowledge of the probable depth of the ocean is of
importance in limiting the range of some speculations in
geology. In questions concerning the relative areas of
land and water, and the change of level of land and sea, it
is desirable to have some notion of the quantity of water
on the globe. Its area w7e know, but its mean depth is
uncertain. Laplace and the astronomers appear to be sa¬
tisfied with believing that the depths of the sea balance
the elevations of the land ; so that the extreme depths may
not be very great, and the mean depth only a small num¬
ber of miles. If we were to suppose the depths of the sea
proportioned to the heights of the land, in the ratio of the
VOL. xv.
1 See Annutxire, and Jamesoris Journal, 1825.
z
178
MINERALOGY.
Geology, respective areas, and similar inequalities of level to prevail,
the greatest depths might be taken at about fifteen miles,
and the mean depth would not exceed from one to five
miles, according to the supposed form of the oceanic bed.
From the investigations of Mr Whewell on the velocity
of the tide-wave (Phil. Trans.), some exact knowledge on
this subject is already gathering for geology. According
to the supposition of Lagrange, this velocity is a function
of the depth of the channel, without regard to other condi¬
tions ; the velocity is in fact that which a heavy body would
acquire by falling through half the depth. According to
this view, the depth of the sea on the east coast of England
is 120 feet, on that of Scotland 360 feet, of the Atlantic
coast of Ireland 2600 feet, of the Atlantic (in its middle
part) 50,000 feet, or above nine miles. These depths,
judging from the soundings on the east coast of England,
are good approximations ; and inspection of Mr Whewell’s
maps of the cotidal lines seems to forbid our imagining the
sea to be any where for great breadths very much deeper
than the Atlantic.
On this subject Mrs Somerville observes,—“ The sea
has little influence on the variation of the length of the
arcs of the pendulum or on gravitation, neither does it
much affect the lunar inequalities. The mean depth of the
ocean is very small. There may be profound cavities in
the bottom of the sea, but its mean depth probably does
not much exceed the mean height of the continents and
islands above its level.”—(Connexion of Phys. Science.)
EXTENT OF THE ATMOSPHERE.
The quantity of gaseous matter floating above the earth
is known by direct weighing with the barometer ; analysis
resolves this airy ocean into its constituent elements, and
shews us the proportions of oxygen and nitrogen, which,
with carbonic acid, aqueous vapour, and other variable ad¬
mixtures, make up the whole mass. Is the quantity of the
atmosphere constant ? its composition invariable ? or what
are the sources and limits of variation ? In the present
state of meteorology these questions admit of no satisfactory
answer. It is true that, within the short period of baro¬
metric measurement, no phenomena have given reason to
suppose any alteration of atmospheric pressure, and that, in
every case of well conducted analysis, the atmosphere has
every where and always been found similarly constituted.
But when we know by how many operations the air is de¬
composed, fixed, and released in chemical and vital combi¬
nations, how much gaseous matter is daily poured from the
earth into the air, it is clearly beyond our power to affirm
that the quantity and quality of the air may not be now un¬
dergoing a slow and determinate change. If study of the
planetary bodies of our system appears to shew that atmo¬
spheres are not necessary accompaniments of such bodies,
how can we feel confident that our own atmosphere must
ever retain one peculiar quality and quantity? It is evi¬
dently possible that the sources of variation which are daily
in action may not exactly reciprocate their influence, or if
they do now (which no one can affirm), who shall prove to
us that they have always done so ? or rather, who that con¬
siders the composition of the most abundant rocks in the
crust of the globe, and remarks the immense quantity of
oxygen contained in them all, even to the half of their
weight, can avoid imagining the liberation of that gas, and
a corresponding enlargement and chemical change of the
atmosphere ? We cannot, however, philosophically assume
that the atmosphere is changeable in quantity or quality,
except in virtue of well founded inferences from pheno¬
mena pointing specially to such a supposition. A case sup¬
posed to be of this description will hereafter come under
discussion.
If the dimensions of the earth or the mean temperature
of its surface have been changed, the quantity and quality
of the atmosphere might remain the same, and yet its vital Geolo;
effects would be greatly altered. s—v-
GEOLOGICAL DATA.
Materials of the Globe.—The solid substances compos¬
ing the external parts of the globe, with which alone we can
become acquainted by specific observation, may be con¬
sidered in several points of view, according to the object
of the reasoning; but for the fundamental researches of
geology, they may be all subjected to the following process
or formula.
Rocks, or very considerable component masses of the
globe, are composed of particular mineral substances, which
are resolved by chemical analysis into their proximate con¬
stituent parts, these being further resolvable, in many in¬
stances, into elementary or undecomposable molecules.
Some rocks are simple, that is, composed of one kind of
mineral substance, as limestone ; others compound, or form¬
ed of two or more kinds of minerals, as granite ; some rocks,
apparently simple, as certain kinds of slate, sandstone, &c.
are really composed of several minerals, minutely and equal¬
ly mixed. In this respect the nomenclature of geology
(and mineralogy in a less degree) is not always accurate.
As examples of the processes whereby we record these dif¬
ferent characters, we may place in the same table granite
and limestone.
Names of the
Rock.
Granite.
Limestone.
Names of the
Mineral In¬
gredients.
Quartz.
Felspar.
Mica.
Limestone.
Their Proximate
Constituent Parts.
Silica.
Silica. '
Alumina.
Potash.
Lime.
Oxide of Iron
Silica.
Alumina.
Magnesia.
Oxide of Iron.
Potash.
Lime.
Carbonic Acid.
The Elementary Constitu¬
ents.
Silicium + oxygen.
Silicium + oxygen.
Aluminum 4- oxygen,
Potassium + oxygen.
Calcium + oxygen.
Iron -1- oxygen.
Silicium + oxygen.
Aluminum + oxygen.
Magnesium +oxy gen.
Iron + oxygen.
Potassium + oxygen.
Calcium -b oxygen.
Carbon + oxygen.
It is found that nearly all the solid, liquid, and gaseous
substances which occur in or upon the globe in a natural
state are compound; particular metals occur pure in na¬
ture, other substances, especially gaseous matter, are ren¬
dered so for a short time by vital and chemical operations;
but it is a fact that about half the ponderable matter of those
parts of the globe which we are acquainted with by exact
observation, is composed of oxygen.
In the present temperature and pressure of the atmo¬
sphere, oxygen can only exist separately as an expanded
gas, about ^^th part of the weight of water ; but in the
solids and liquids of the crust of the globe it is condensed
to an astonishing degree. In water, it is joined with the
light gas hydrogen, condensed 2000 times, and in the same
or a greater proportion in the oxides of metals.
The consideration of the laws regulating the combina¬
tion of the elementary and proximate constituents belongs
to Chemistry ; the study of the inorganic compounds thus
formed constitutes Mineralogy ; the history of the great
masses of mineral substances which enter into the crust of
the globe constitutes the principal or fundamental part of
Geology, which, however, cannot be completely investi¬
gated without including many general considerations aris¬
ing from the former branches of knowledge.
There are fifty-four substances known to chemists which
have never been proved to be compound, and are, therefore,
provisionally ranked as elementaty sorts of matter. Of
MINERALOGY.
Oology, these, five, when they occur in a separate state (in the or-
dinary temperature and pressure), are in the state of gas,
viz. hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen or azote, chlorine, fluorine.
Five are volatile non-metallic bodies, viz. bromine (fluid),
iodine, sulphur, phosphorus, selenium. Two are fixed (or
incapable of being volatized) non-metallic bodies, viz. car¬
bon, boron. The remaining substances are metallic or metal-
loidal. Seven of them are earthy metals or metalloids, which,
by combination with oxygen, yield the earths, viz. silicium,
aluminum, magnesium, yttrium, glucinum, zirconium, tho¬
rium. Six are alkaline metals, yielding alkalies with oxy¬
gen, viz. potassium, sodium, lithium, calcium, barium,
strontium. Fifteen are metals which retain oxygen at high
temperatures, viz. lead, tellurium, copper, bismuth, tita¬
nium, cobalt, cerium, uranium, antimony, columbium, tung¬
sten, chromium, vanadium, molybdenum, arsenic. Nine are
metals which part with oxygen at high temperatures, viz.
mercury, silver, gold, platinum, palladium, rhodium, iridium,
osmium, nickel. Five absorb and retain oxygen at high
temperatures, and decompose water at a red heat, viz. tin,
iron, zinc, cadmium, manganese.
Most abundant substances—The most abundant (and
on that account the most important to the geologist) of the
elementary substances enumerated are oxygen, hydrogen,
chlorine, sulphur, phosphorus, carbon, silicium, potassium,
sodium, calcium, magnesium, aluminum, iron, manganese.
Most abundant minerals.—The minerals formed by the
combination of the several ingredients among one another
are doubtless very numerous ; already several hundred spe¬
cies have been recognised, but of these many are exceed¬
ingly rare, and others occur only in particular situations, so
that the principal rocks of the globe are formed of only a
small number of mineral substances. The geologist is not
absolutely required, except for particular trains of reasoning,
to be an accomplished mineralogist; but it seems unwise
to countenance the neglect of mineralogy, which appears to
have become not unusual among those who have been fore¬
most to cultivate the zoological principles of geology. We
must not grant to the lovers of organic remains that a per¬
son may be too good a mineralogist to be a good geologist.1
It will be scarcely possible to make any useful progress
in examining or describing rocks, unless the student is able
to recognise and distinguish the following minerals.2
Quartz,
Felspar,
Mica,
Hornblende,
Actynolite,
Augite,
Hypersthene,
Diallage,
Schorl,
Chiastolite,
Chlorite,
Green earth,
Talc,
Steatite,
Garnet,
Carbonate of lime,
Carbonate of magnesia,
Sulphate of lime,
Chloride of sodium,
Bitumen,
Iron, oxide of,
sulphuret of,
Granite,
Sienite,
Melaphyre,
Greenstone,
Wacke,
Basalt,
Hypersthene rock,
Diallage rock,
Serpentine,
179
Ckystone°Ck’ 1 a!’ ,0.caI|y por- Gcolt^
Hornstone, } ■’hynt!c, . ’
Pitchstone, J ““ygdaloidal.
Gneiss,
Mica schist,
Chlorite schist, *
Quartz -rock,
Hornblende schist.
Supposing that at least some knowledge has been acquir¬
ed of these substances, the student of geology may quickly
obtain the power of recognising and discriminating the fol¬
lowing simple and compound earthy masses (commonly
called rocks), which are selected as being of frequent oc¬
currence in the crust of the globe.
Limestone, including crys- Shale,
tallized, compact, chalky, Slate,
volatile, earthy, &c. calca- Chert,
reous rocks, Flint,
Sandstone, Coal,
Clay, Ironstone,
Construction of the Crust of the Globe It cannot with
truth be said that the arrangement of materials in the crust
of the globe has ever been entirely unknown, because the
operations of mining, however ignorantly begun and con¬
ducted, must infallibly have led to correct, though very
limited, information concerning it. No considerable min¬
ing region in the civilized world has ever been visited by
geologists where the structure of the metalliferous moun¬
tains has not long been partially known. What geologist
has been able to add to the knowledge of this kind possess¬
ed by the old miners of Aldstone Moor ? In what coal dis¬
trict have the workmen been found wholly ignorant of the
succession of the sandstones, shales, and coal i-n which their
operations are conducted ?
The great step made by modern geology has been, to
unite this scattered information into general truths; and
it appears unnecessary to go farther back than to Werner
for the proposal of correct views on this subject in Ger¬
many ; to Saussure in Switzerland; and Smith in England.
In the latter country, it is true that Mitchell had made
some correct researches, more general than could be ex¬
pected at the period, and Whitehurst shewed himself pos¬
sessed of enlarged views; but it is undoubtedly to Werner
and Smith that the modern system of geology, founded on
correct observations of the arrangement of rocks, owes its
rapid advances.
The essential principles admitted by both these eminent
men are very simple; they affirm that the materials in the
crust of the globe are generally stratified, and that the
strata succeed one another in a particular order or series.
This is nothing more than asserting generally what is in
very many instances found to be true locally by the expe¬
rience of miners, colliers, well-sinkers, quarrymen, and
others.
For the purpose of shewing more clearly the state of
knowledge on this fundamental point, we shall suppose five
independent observers engaged in inquiring into it, with
all the aids of local knowledge furnished by mines, collieries,
and other excavations made by men, and abundance of
cliffs, ravines, and mountain slopes where nature displays her
works. One of them may be situated in the vicinity of
London, another in Oxfordshire, another in Yorkshire, a
fourth in the region of the English lakes; a fifth in the
Highlands of Scotland.
Neglecting the variable and irregular covering of soil,
gravel, sediment from rivers, &c.; the deep wells, and other
excavations in the neighbourhood of London, will prove to
the first observer that similar materials lie below the sur¬
face for a considerable breadth of country, that they are
stratified or collected into masses which have a very great
horizontal extension, and small comparative thickness ; that,
taken on a great scale, the series of beds is reducible to
three leading terms, thus :—
Great clay of London and the vicinity at the top.
Series of sands and clays of different kinds in the mid¬
dle.
Chalk at the bottom.
1 See on this subject Whewell’s Report on Mineralogy to the British Association, 1832.
s See Jameson’s Mineralogy, MacCulloch on Rocks, Phillips’ Guide to Geology, &c.
I
180
Geology.
MINERALOGY.
The Oxfordshire observer in the same manner finds
that the rocks of the county are all stratified, or widely ex¬
tended in nearly horizontal masses, and laid one upon an¬
other, so that the following is a general type of the series,
including some parts of Warwickshire :
Chalk at the top.
Clay and sands.
Oolitic limestones, clays, and sands.
Blue clays, blue limestones, &c.
Red clays, and red sandstones at the bottom.
The Yorkshire observer finds the rocks stratified, of
definite thickness, and lying in the following order:
Chalk at the top.
Clays.
Oolitic limestones, &c.
Blue clays and limestones.
Red clays and red sandstones.
Magnesian limestone.
Coal wfith sandstones and shales.
Limestone, &c.
Argillaceous slate rocks at the bottom.
In the district of the lakes, the stratification of some
rocks is certain, of others obscure, and some are not strati¬
fied. The series of the stratified rocks, ascertained with
great difficulty, is thus recorded:
Red clay and sandstone.
Coal, Sec.
Limestone, &c.
Slate-rocks.
Limestone.
Slate rocks.
Red argillaceous rocks.
Slate-rocks.
Gneiss and mica schist.
Below all these is granite, which does not appear to be
stratified.
Finally, the observer in the Highlands finds it often dif¬
ficult to say whether the rocks are wholly, partially, or not
at all stratified. After infinite labour, he decides that some
are, and others not. The series of predominant stratified
rocks is,
Red conglomerate and sandstone,
Argillaceous slate.
Chlorite schist, &c.
Mica schist, &c.
Gneiss, See.
And under these is granite, which nowhere appears to
be really stratified.
Thus we have two classes of rocks, stratified and unstra¬
tified, which will require distinct examination.
Stratified Rocks.—In each of the localities specified,
the series of strata is found to be constant, not that every
particular stratum is everywhere observed ; but the order
in which they succeed one another when present togethery
is never reversed. This is consistent with all experience.
It is found by actual observation, that the chalk, which is
the lowest mass of strata noticed in the vicinity of London, is
continuous with, and forms a part of, that chalk which is'at
the top of the Oxfordshire series. It is also found that
this same chalk is actually traceable, with little interruption,
in a very clear and satisfactory manner, from Oxfordshire
into Yorkshire, where also it forms the top of the section ;
that the oolitic rocks, the blue clays and limestones, the
red clays and red sandstones are in the same way continued
from Oxfordshire to Yorkshire. The same stratified rocks
then occur in very distant situations in the same order of
succession, having certain rocks above them. If, now, we
compare the Yorkshire and Cumbrian, and afterwards the
Cumbrian and Scottish series of rocks, we shall find several
common terms in similar parts of the series, and thus be Geolo^j
able to unite all the five sets of observations into one gene-
ral view.
The continuity of the strata near the surface of the
earth, and the constancy of their order of succession being
thus shewn to be capable of exact proof, we may suppose
not five but many thousand points and lines in the surface
of the British islands to have undergone a scrupulous exa¬
mination, with a view first to test the laws, and afterwards
to exemplify their application. In consequence, they are
unequivocally established, and the following is a general
arrangement of the groups of strata, discovered in the Bri¬
tish islands, proceeding from the surface downwards. It is
supposed that all the alluvial and detrital covering of the
surface is removed.
Table of British Stratified Rocks. *
Names of Forma¬
tions or Groups
of Strata.
Crag,
Fresh - water )
group, . |
London clay
■1
Chalk,
Green-sand,
Wealden,
Upper or
Portland
oolite.
i:
Thick¬
ness in Subdivisions adopted,
yards.
Remarks.
Tertiary Strata.
le¬
ss.
200
to ■
600
Upper or red crag,
Lower or coralline \
crag, . . i
Upper fresh-water 1
beds, . . J
Estuary marls, .
Lower fresh-wateri
beds, . . j
London clay,
Plastic clay and)
sands, . . J
Shells, pebbles, sand, &c.
Shells and corals in sand
or limestone.
Fresh-water shells in marl
or limestone.
Estuary shells in marl.
Fresh-water shells in marl
or limestone.
Shelly clay with Septaria.
Coloured sands and clays
with or without shells.
Secondary Strata.
Cretaceous System.
2001
Upper chalk,
Lower chalk, .
Chalk marl, .
J
160
1
Upper green sand,
Gault, . . •
Lower green sand, •
Soft, with flints.
Harder, with or without
flints.
Soft argillaceous beds.
Fossiliferous, often chalky
Blue marl or clay, fossili-
ferous.
Often ferruginous, fossili¬
ferous.
Oolitic System.
300-
Middle, or
Oxford 00
.1
lite,
100 (
to J
200 (
ISO/
Weald clay, .
Hastings sands,
Purbeck beds, . |
Portland oolite, -j
Sand,
Kimmeridge clay,
Upper calcareous d
grit, . . }
Coralline oolite,
Lower calcareous ^
grit, . . j
Oxford clay, . |
Kelloways rock,
Clay, with fresh - water
shells.
Sandstone, with plants, &c.
Clay and limestone, with
fresh-water shells.
Limestone.often cherty and
fossiliferons.
Sand.
Blue clay, with shells.
Sandstone, often shelly.
Shelly oolite and coral
beds.
Shelly sandstone.
Clay, with shells and sep¬
taria.
Sandstone, with shells.
JgJ-
MINERALOGY.
Table of British Stratifif.d Rocks—continued.
Names of Forma¬
tions or Groups
of Strata.
Lower,
Bath
lite
r, or "I
thOo- l
Lias,
New Red
Sandstone,
Magnesian
Limestone
A
Thick¬
ness in
yards.
Subdivisions adopted.
Oolitic System—continued.
150 (
/ Clay,
Cornbrash,
Sand, .
Forest marble,
Clay,
Bath oolite,
Fuller’s earth,
Inferior oolite,
Sand, .
fj Upper lias shale,
Marl-stone, .
(Middle lias shale,
Lias Limestones,
I (Lower lias shale,
Generally with few shells.
Coarse shelly limestone.
With concretionary sand¬
stone.
Shelly limestone.
Thin blue clay.
Shelly compact and sandy
oolite.
Calcareous and argillaceous
beds.
Shelly and oolitic.
Shelly calcareous sand.
Blue clay or aluminous
shale, shelly.
Sandy limestone, &c., shel-
!y-
Blue clay or shale, shelly.
Blue and white compact
limestone, shelly.
Coloured clays and marls.
Red Sandstone System.
Coal, . .
Millstone grit,3
Carhonife- }
rous Lime- V
stone,4 j
Old Red
Sandstone
•5{
( Variegated marls,
300 J | Variegated sand-1
j stones, . . f
\ (Conglomerate, .
Knottingley lime-")
stone, . . j
Gypseous marl, .
Magnesian lime-1
stone, . . J
Marl slate, . /
Rothetodteliegende,
100<
1000-
300 -
600 <
100 (
to
3300 ^
Contain gypsum and rock-
salt, shells rarely found,
Red, white, &c. sandstones,
no shells.
Pebbly sandstone.
Thin-bedded close-grained
limestone, with few shells.
Red and white clays.
Yellow, with local depo-
sites of shells.
Laminated calcareous
rocks.
Red sandstone, with plants.
Carboniferous System.
Upper,
Middle,
Lower,
Upper,
■Middle,
Lower,
• 1
Yordale rocks,
Scar limestone,
Alternating red
sandstones and (
limestones with T
coal, &c. . ^
Conglomeratesand \
sandstone, . I
Coloured marlsand >
cornstones, . t
(Flagstone beds, J
All consisting of sand¬
stones, shales, &c. with
beds of coal, layers of
ironstone, and deposites
of plants.
Coarse and fine sandstones,
shales, coal, ironstone,
&c. with plants and
shells.
Limestones, grits and
shales, with coal, &c.
and shells.
Very thick limestone, shel¬
ly-
In the north of England.
A locally variable series of
rocks, fossiliferous
the south of England,
Names of Forma-1 Thick- I
tior.s or Groups I ness iu Subdivisions adopted,
of Strata. I yards
Remarks.
Primary Strata.
Silurian System, as it occurs on the border of Wales.
Ludlow Rocks,
Wenlock
Rocks,
Caradoc
Rock s.
M
; }
Llandeilo 1
Rocks, J
660-
600-
830-
400
Sandstones,
Limestones,
Shale,
Limestone,
Shale,
{
{
Shelly limestone,
Shelly sandstone, &c,
Calcareous lami¬
nated beds.
lami- 1
s, . /
Argillaceous sandstone,
shelly.
Shelly and coralloidal.
Abounding in zoophytes,
trilobites, &c.
With trilobites, &c.
Grauwacke System, as it occurs in Wales.
Plynlymmon I
Rocks, J
Bala limestone,
Snowdon rocks,
un- j
known-j
Hard, slaty, fine or coarse
grained rock, with few
or no organic remains-.
Dark, laminated, slaty
limestone, with fossils.
Hard slaty rocks, with
(locally) few organic
remains.
Clayslate System, as it occurs in Cumberland and Westmoreland.
Clay-slate,.
Chiastolite
slate,
Hornblende
slate.
lende 1
> • J
hlorite ^
schist, with V
limestone, J
Mica-schist, "I
with lime- >
stone, . )
Gneiss, with I
limestone, J
unkn.
Mica-schist System.
n.{
unkn..
unkn. ■
Gneiss System.
Softer slaty rocks. No or¬
ganic fossils.
The same, with chiasto-
lite. No fossils.
The same, with hornblende.
No fossils.
Quartz-rock, &c. No or¬
ganic remains.
Quartz rock, &c. No or¬
ganic remains.
Quartz rock, mica-schist,
&c. No organic remains.
In the preceding table several terms have been employ¬
ed which it will be necessary to explain. The whole mass
of known stratified rocks is conceived to be divided into
three great portions, called Primary, Secondary, and Ter¬
tiary, from the respective eras of their production: the
lowest being the oldest or earliest, the uppermost being the
1 This series is from near Bath. In Yorkshire and Sutherland it is different, as will be stated hereafter,
* As it occurs in the North of England. 5 As in Yorkshire, &c. 4 As in the North of England.
5 As in Herefordshire.
182
MINERALOGY.
Geology, newest or latest. These great portions are again subdi-
^ , vided into systems or assemblages, named from the most
characteristic kinds of rock in each ; cretaceous from chalk,
oolitic from oolite, carboniferous from coal, &c. or else from
locality, as Silurian system. The systems are composed of
formations, or groups of stratified rocks, proved to have
many characters in common, so as to indicate many ana¬
logies of origin; thus the chalk formation is obviously of
one general type, the green sand formation contains repe¬
titions of green and irony sands and clays, the oolitic forma¬
tion is a series of oolite, sandstone, and clay in many repe¬
titions ; and so of the others.
The subdivisions of formations are not established upon
similar principles in all cases; the general character of
them ought to be to include each one stratified rock, as
the coralline oolite, or one series of alternations of particu¬
lar strata, as purbeck beds, lias limestones, variegated
marls, &c.
Upon this principle all the formations of the carbonife¬
rous and other lower systems should be more subdivided ;
but this must be left to time, and not rashly attempted
without sufficient data.
Each of the stratified rocks or series of alternations thus
constituting subdivisions of formations contains one or
many strata, layers, or beds; the Bath oolite, the magne¬
sian limestone, &c. are formed of many strata or beds ; and
so of the others. Nor is this the last term of the analysis;
for many strata, as sandstones especially, are composed of
parallel laminae, which are often separable, and bear the
same relation to the stratum that this bears to a stratified
rock.
Formation
or
Group
of
Strata.
Diagram, No. 1.
—
Bed without laminse.
Bed with waved lamina*
Finely laminated rock.
Coarsely laminated.
Obliquely laminated.
With parallel lamina;.
Obliquely laminated.
SCALE OF STBATA IN OTHER COUNTRIES.
The series of strata classed in the preceding table is al¬
ways recognisable, wholly or partially, in every part of the
Bi'itish islands ; that is to say, the stratified rocks occur¬
ring in any situation can be referred to their respective
types in the general table. But the local variations are
considerable ; several of the stratified rocks are only of
limited extent; even whole formations, as the oolitic for¬
mation, change their characters, or, as the millstone grit,
are entirely extinct in particular regions where the groups
above and below them are complete.
This being the case, it is evident that such subdivisions
are too minute and variable to be employed in comparisons
between British and foreign series of strata. We must be
satisfied with comparing formations and systems, and in
some cases omit even these and look only to the succession
of primary, secondary, and tertiary classes of rocks.
This examination has been made in almost all parts of
the world, nowhere, indeed, except in Europe and certain
portions of the other continents completely, yet every
where sufficiently to establish the truth of the following
propositions-.
1. The series of British strata represents very well the
succession of stratified rocks in Europe, parts of Africa,
Asia, and North America; this agreement is most strict
in those parts which are nearest to the British islands, and
becomes more vague and indefinite as the distance in¬
creases. In France and Germany, for instance, as far as
the Pyrenees and the Alps, not only the greater divisions,
but nearly all the formations, most of the smaller groups,
and many of the particular rocks, are well exemplified.
Bound the shores of the Mediterranean analogies to the GeoW
same type continually present themselves. In the basin of v«-vv
the Indus and on the slopes of the Himalaya mountains
some of the secondary strata of Great Britain have been
recognised. What is known of Australia offers less exact
analogies of the same kind. In North America not only
are secondary and tertiary strata known corresponding in
general characters to those of Europe, but several of the
European formations have been satisfactorily identified.
2. In all parts of the globe where a considerable extent
of country has been surveyed stratified rocks have been
found ; but many small portions of the terrestrial surface
are devoid of them. Stratification is, therefore, not an
universal, but yet it is the most general form in which the
rocky materials of the globe are accumulated.
The three great divisions of stratified rocks appear to
hold the same relative position in all parts of the globe. In
very distant localities the successive formations are identi¬
cal, similar, or analogous, and it is evidently not unreason¬
able to expect from the union of observations, conducted
upon one general plan, that a general history may at last
be formed of all the stratified rocks in the crust of the
globe, and according to the relative periods of their pro¬
duction.
The unstratified rocks of Great Britain, though nume¬
rous and individually variable, can yet be generally refer¬
red to a few leading divisions, according chiefly to their
constituent minerals. This classification will be given
hereafter; we shall now content ourselves with noticing
two predominant groups of these rocks, remarkably con¬
trasted in the circumstances of their occurrence—granitic
and basaltic rocks—the former lying in great masses below
all the strata, frequently in the centre of a mountain dis¬
trict ; the latter occupying fissures in them or spreading ir¬
regularly over their surface.
Few parts of the globe except some of its vast plains and
deserts are entirely deficient of rocks which are not strati¬
fied, though the surface which they occupy is not nearly so
great as that covered by the strata. Granitic and basaltic
rocks compose generally the greater portion of the unstra¬
tified masses, as in Britain, and lie in the same relations to
the strata. For granitic rocks, throughout the globe, are
the most frequent axes or centres of mountain groups, and
basaltic rocks fill dykes and spread in irregular cappings
over the strata. It is evident, therefore, that the structure
of the exterior parts of the globe, though full of local di¬
versity, is all formed upon one general plan, and produced
by similar agencies.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE STRUCTURE OF THE CRUST
OF THE GLOBE.
An observer stationed on any of the widely extended
plains, which occupy so large a proportion of the surface of
the earth, finds, beneath the soil and loose materials, the
different rocks almost universally stratified, lying in a set¬
tled order of succession, and nearly horizontal, or gently
inclined in some one direction.
On the other hand, the high mountain districts generally
exhibit in the central points, or along their axes, granitic
and other unstratified rocks under all their strata, which
slope away on all sides at high angles of inclination, descend
to lower and still lower ground, and finally pass under the
plains and more level regions, and are there covered up
and buried under other superimposed strata. Very few
parts of the world offer real exceptions to this general state¬
ment. The narrow mountain chains and groups occupy
far less space than the wide plains which they divide, and
were the surface of the continents lowered only a thousand
feet, most of them would form small islands in prodigiously
wide seas, liet they are really connected together, and
G isogy. all united into one system beneath, both by the unstratified
rocks of the axis, and the strata of the slopes.
Let the diagram (No. 2.) be supposed a section through
two mountain ranges and one intervening plain ; it will be
seen that the sloping strata of each mountain group are
continued beneath the plain to unite with those on the
other side; the strata lying in the lower countries are
higher in the scale than those which rise against the moun¬
tains, and thus it happens that a person proceeding from
low regions towards high districts finds strata which lay
deep below gradually and successively emerge towards the
mountains, and the lowest of all rise to form the highest
crests and loftiest ridges. Hence also it happens that the
strata are seldom quite horizontal, but generally have an
inclination depending on some mountain axis. Hence also
the term basin, so much used in geology, to express the
sloping of strata in several directions toward a centre, a
circumstance which seldom happens unless the country
also agrees in geological features with the basin of the hy-
drographers. To discover in the plain countries the strata of
the mountains, we must penetrate the earth by deep pits; but
man’s power is soon limited in this direction, and a much
easier method is at hand for obtaining the complete section
of strata existing together in any one great geological basin.
Proceeding from the point where the uppermost stratum
is found, towards the borders of the basin, the country ris¬
ing gradually or by undulations, the strata a, b, c, &c. com¬
ing out successively, may be successively examined and
measured, and a section be drawn representing the whole
series, till we reach the axis of the mountains composed of
unstratified rocks g, visible in one mountain ridge, but
covered in another.
Diagram, No. 2.
MINERALOGY.
183
In this diagram, the stratified masses ed may be con¬
ceived to be primary strata, cb secondary, and a tertiary;
£ may shew one of the irregular overlying masses of basal¬
tic and some other rocks. The reader will understand
from this, how it happens as a general rule that the lowest
strata rise to the highest ground, and the contrary.
In comparing the sections of different geological basins,
a very striking general similitude prevails, but differences
perpetually occur ; the whole may be reduced to one ge¬
neral law. The lowest or primary strata, in all the moun¬
tain ranges, and throughout all the basins of the globe, have
very much of a common character; gneiss, mica schist,
ay-slate, quartz rock, with few or no organic remains, are
the most characteristic strata of every country.
The secondary and tertiary strata, recurring mostly in
ower ground, every where exhibit very similar chemical
and mineralogical characters: they are composed of lime¬
stone, sandstone, and clay, with abundance of organic re¬
mains ; but in distinct regions, the formations in which
ey naturally group themselves are rather analogous than
closely related. The primary strata are the effects of al¬
most universal agencies, accompanied by very similar local
conditions; those of later date also agree in some general
eatures, but exhibit diversities of character apparently due
iversity of local circumstances. In this sense, the pri¬
mary deposits are almost universal, those of later date are
more local and limited.
Origin of the Stratified Rocks.—That the stratified masses
° ie globe, resting upon one another in a settled order
0 succession, have been deposited from water in the same
or er as we now see them—the lowest first—the uppermost
last—is a proposition so fully and freely admitted, that it GeoWy.
may seem unnecessary to adduce arguments in its support; v-—
but the iacts which prove the watery origin of the strata
open at the same time a great variety of other truths, and
disclose so clearly the history of many great physical
c langes on the globe that a full examination of them is
essential to the acquisition of right fundamental views in
geology.
Nature of the Rocks—Viewed generally, the most abun¬
dant stratified rocks may be referred, according to their
chemical constitution, to one of three great groups, viz.
biliceous rocks, Sihceo-aluminous rocks, Calcareous rocks.
. „ s^ondary and tertiary series of strata consist prin¬
cipally of alternating strata of these qualities, and the same
is less obviously true of the primary strata. If we consider
on what mineralogical characters this general result de¬
pends, we find the siliceous rocks have almost universally
a preponderance of the mineral quartz ; the siliceo-argil-
laceous rocks consist ot quartz with distinct or indistinct
admixtures of felspar, mica, chlorite, or other minerals,
containing alumina. Distinct mixtures of these minerals
occur both in the primary and later classes of strata, but
there is a great difference in the appearances of the com-
pounds. Gneiss, mica-schist, &c. in the primary series,
have very much the air of crystalline aggregation; the
secondary and tertiary sandstones are clearly mechanical
j yet upon more close scrutiny, this difference
diminishes or vanishes. Several sandstones are almost
crystalline, the particles of gneiss are really fragmentary ;
in both the parts are truly crystallized as to the interior tex¬
ture, but in neither of them entirely free from the effects
of some mechanical movement. The mica of gneiss is not
often perfectly hexagonal as in granite, the quartz has
generally lost its exact prismatic shape, the felspar its pro¬
minent angles. Exceptions to this occur certainly, but it
is quite true as a general rule, and when fully investigated
leads to a positive conclusion that nearly all the noncalca-
reous primary and secondary strata have been subjected,
but in very different degrees, to mechanical agencies, like
those concerned in the accumulation of common sandstone.
Now the least examination of sandstone rocks, and compa¬
rison of them with the sandy and argillaceous deposits from
rivers, in lakes, and on the borders of the sea, leaves no
doubt that they have experienced the agitation of water ;
in fact, that they were sedimentary deposits.
Some limestones do and others do not yield evidence of
similar agitation ; they are often to be considered as aggre¬
gations of particles of carbonate of lime, slowly collected
from chemical precipitation in water.
ORGANIC REMAINS IN THE STRATA.
The contents of many of the stratified rocks leave no
doubt of their watery origin, and inform us besides of
many circumstances concerning the condition of the waters.
We find almost all the tertiary and secondary strata, and
some (the upper portions) of the primary strata, rich in or¬
ganic fossils of the animal and vegetable kinds ; some, as
zoophyta, Crustacea, and mollusca, abound in particular
rocks, so as to form a large part of their substance. Ex¬
amined with care and all the advantages of modern science,
marine, freshwater, and terrestrial plants and animals are
found disposed with great regularity in the different strata,
just as at the present day we find in the sandy bed of the
sea and in lakes, the shelly remains of the marine and
freshwater mollusca, and other creatures; and, scattered
amongst them or lying distinct, some of the vegetable spoils
of the land.
If we had witnessed the elevation of a part of the bed
of the sea or a lake, by the force of an earthquake, and
wished to remove any doubt in the minds of those who
had not seen it, should we not triumphantly appeal to the
MINERALOGY.
184
Gcolorrv presence of marine exuviae in the one, and lacustrine shells
\_‘yin the other, for confirmation of the statement? Would
not the argument be equally strong, the fact of the former
submersion of one part under the sea, and of the other under
fresh water, equally certain, from this circumstantial evi¬
dence alone, a hundred years after the occurrence ?
This is the reasoning employed in modern geology : we
find the greater part of the strata composing the known por¬
tion of the crust of the globe, full of the remains of marine
exuviae, exactly as we should find the stratified bed of the
sea at this day filled with the exuviae of now existing or
lately perished animals, and we conclude, without hesita¬
tion, that the strata were deposited in the sea when the
earth was in some different condition ; that in fact the
whole terrestrial surface of the globe was formed under
water, and has since been laid dry by some natural process.
Upon this clear and impregnable basis rests the whole of
geological science—this is the first of its grand and impres¬
sive truths. Derived from observations over all the globe,
it has been fully established in modern times, yet was not
wholly overlooked in remote antiquity.
Notions of the displacement of the ocean from lands of
great extent which it once covered, occur in Ovid and
Strabo ; the perception of its importance became general
on the revival of learning in Europe, and gave rise to many
hypotheses in Italy, France, England, and Germany. It is
the great truth which supports the Wernerian and Hut-
tonian theories, as well as the otherwise baseless fabrics of
fancy proposed by Burnet, and Woodward, and others of
our countrymen.
Besides the proof thus offered that our continents were
formed under the ocean, and only recovered from it after
the deposition of many strata, enclosing the remains of
many races of beings, we find more limited indications of
the existence of fresh water and dry land contemporane¬
ously with the production of some of the marine strata.
How is this known ? By the alternation of strata contain¬
ing freshwater shells and other products, or land plants,
with those containing marine exuviae. Thus it is certain
that while the whole or greater part of the terrestrial sur¬
face we now behold lay unborn on the bed of the prime¬
val deep, some land did exist, some lakes or rivers held
fresh water, and the air nourished vegetables and animals
as well as the sea.
But the greater proportion of organic remains found in
the earth is clearly of marine origin. They are incredibly
numerous, often perfectly preserved, and can be directly
compared with existing species of mollusca, Crustacea,
zoophyta, &c. so as perfectly to determine their affinity and
diversity. The progress of philosophical zoology and bo¬
tany is here of the highest importance: these sciences
enable us in many instances to state the degree of the ana¬
logy or difference observed, and to draw some important
inferences not otherwise attainable. The comparison of
recent and fossil species has now gone far enough to justi¬
fy some remarkable deductions.
EXTINCT GENERA AND SPECIES.
Of many thousand species of marine zoophyta, mollusca,
Crustacea, fishes, &c. very few can be exactly paralleled
in the system of living nature, most of them are extinct,
and only to be understood by the application of laws de¬
rived from the study of the most similar existing races.
The amount of resemblance between the fossil and the
recent tribes is extremely variable; a few are perfectly
identical; a considerable proportion so far similar as to be
referred to the same genera ; a still greater proportion can
be included in the same great families; almost all can be
referred to the same great classes of the animal and vege¬
table kingdoms. The differences of form and structure are
thus known to be of the same order as those which at the
present day belong to the productions of different climates Geology,
and different local conditions. Thus, while some veryw^
large groups of fossils have only a very faint resemblance
to existing forms of life, strike us with surprise and awaken
a curiosity which can only be partially gratified,—the gene¬
ral effect of the whole investigation is to prove a unity of
design pervading the fossil and living creations,—one gene¬
ral system is discerned,—and the variations are referred to
differences of circumstances. To reduce these differences
of condition to some general law, let us next attend to the
distribution of organic remains in the earth.
DISTRIBUTION OF ORGANIC REMAINS IN THE EARTH.
The stratified masses of the earth containing organic
remains are of different antiquity, as indicated by their
relative position, of different chemical and mineralogical
nature, and the situations in which they occur upon the
globe are various ; these three circumstances influence the
distribution of organic remains. In the existing economy
of nature we know that marine life varies with geographi¬
cal situation, and changes with the nature of the oceanic
bed. But the present races of beings which become en¬
gaged among the sediments of the ocean characterize only
one period : the organic remains belong to many different
successive ages of the world. Thus we must examine their
distribution in the earth with reference to three points,—
1. The different periods when they lived.
2. The geographical situation of the locality.
3. The different rocks which enclose them—(other
things being similar).
The bare proposal of such problems for discussion is
enough to prove what real progress has been made in in¬
vestigating the structure of the earth ; and it is scarcely
beyond truth to say, that as much is already known of the
laws which govern the distribution of organic remains in
the earth as of those which define the limits of life in the
sea. Nevertheless, we must not imagine this subject so
fully examined as to confer more than a provisional charac¬
ter upon the conclusions which follow ; for accurate results
on the subject are yet collected from a very small part of
the surface of the globe.
1. The relative antiquity of the stratified rocks is found
to be, throughout most parts of the world, the circumstance
of principal influence in limiting the occurrence of organic
reliquiae. In every restricted tract of country, as the north
or south of England, the fossil zoophyta, shells, and Crus¬
tacea are different in the different systems of formations,
and sometimes even in all the successive stratified rocks.
Thus in the north of England the Silurian system, the car¬
boniferous system, the red sandstone system, the oolitic
system, and the cretaceous system, all contain organic re¬
mains, and mostly in great plenty. Two things are here
observed, first, that all the fossil shells, &c. are clearly
and completely distinct from any known recent species;
secondly, that with hardly one exception, all those of one
system are distinct from all those of another.
2. In each system of strata lie entombed the exuviae of
entirely different races of beings, all successively buried in
marine sediments on the same geographical area; a senes
of monuments which mark the numerous changes of orga¬
nic and inorganic nature. Each stratum is thus proved to
have been in its turn the bed of the sea. After the depo¬
sition of a certain number constituting a formation or sys¬
tem of strata, all the phenomena were changed, sediments
of a different nature were deposited, enclosing the remains
of different races of living beings. Thp same things are
true of equal districts in the south of England, in trance,
Germany, and America. It is therefore adopted as an
axiom sufficiently demonstrated to be of general application,
that in a limited district particular species of organic re¬
mains are distributed in certain assemblages of strata aC"
G iogy. cording to their relative antiquity. Certain races oforga-
^^ nic remains are of higher antiquity than others.
To the discovery of these sure truths Mr W. Smith has a
just and recognised claim. His labours date from 1790;
yet we must not omit to observe that not only Werner, but
Whitehurst, Mitchell, and Lister, and others, had some
knowledge of a similar kind, more, perhaps, than can be
inferred from the short notices left in their works, or in the
memory of their pupils.
3. But these are local truths. The attention of modern
geologists, resolved to follow out the masterly researches of
Mr Smith, are directed to ascertain their generality. The
law just expressed may be universally true, and prove every
where changes of organic life proportioned to the time
elapsed, and yet not permit us to infer that these changes
were contemporaneously similar over all or even a great
part of the globe, unless the organic contents are every
where similar in the same or contemporaneous formations
or systems of strata. The facts yet collected on this sub¬
ject are too fewr to allow of very precise inferences ; yet it is
too important to be lightly passed over. It is found that
particular species of fossils have rarely, even in the same
stratum, an universal diffusion. Not even over the conti¬
nent of Europe can many particular species be traced at all
the points of a particular rock. One certain belemnite
(B. mucronatus) is almost never absent from the European
chalk, and is found in no other rock ; a particular trilobite
( Calymene Blumenbachii), and a certain coral ( Catenipora
Lam.) has been found not only in most localities of the
silurian limestones in Europe, but also in America; but
these are rare cases. Particular genera and families are
more widely distributed along the strata to which they be¬
long ; for example, belemnites and gryphaeee occur every
where in the cretaceous and oolitic systems, and rarely or
not at all in any other systems. Orthoceratites and gonia-
tites occur every where in the silurian and carboniferous
systems, and in none which lie above. Finally, each sys¬
tem of strata, as far as is yet known, appears, wherever it
occurs, to exhibit in its organic contents identity, affinity,
or analogy with those found with it at other points nearly
in the ratio of the proximity of the situations. Hence, as
a general rule, it is found that the marine organic contents
of each system of strata are the remains of successively
created and destroyed races of animals, each of which lived
through particular periods of time, and no longer; that the
amilies and genera living at one epoch were very widely
diffused, but that each species existed only in a definite and
mostly very narrow geographical area.
4. Nature of the rocks.—In the modern ocean we know
that the distribution of many mollusca and Crustacea is in¬
fluenced by the nature of the bed or shore of the sea.
ysters love a muddy bank, cockles delight in sandy shores,
obsters seek subaqueous rocks. The same dependence
appears amongst organic remains; for it is too remarkable
to escape ordinary attention, that the ostrea deltoidea is col-
ected in immense oyster beds in the Kimmeridge clay;
that an analogous genus, the gryphaea, lies in excessive
abundance in the Oxford clay, and the argillaceous lias
shales and limestones.
But zoophytes, as lamelliferous corals, echinida, and
crmoidea, generally, are almost unknown in argillaceous
rocks, unless when they are associated with calcareous por¬
tions, while they abound in many, if not all, the fossiliferous
limestones.
This kind of dependence of certain races of fossil shells,
c‘ nature of the enveloping rocks, can be well
studied in the oolitic and carboniferous limestone forma-
ions, where limestone, sandstone, and shales continually
ternate. There is a general accordance between the dif-
erent oolitic limestones in the number and general charac •
ter, and often peculiar species of fossils which they contain,
n respect of the fossils, the limestones differ more from
VOL. XV.
MINERALOGY.
185
the sandstones and argillaceous strata than from each other. Geoloer.
t he same things are true in the mountain limestone series,1
with this addition, that the fossils are principally confined
to the limestone portions of the strata.
It would appear, therefore, that the conditions of exist-
ence of certain species of fossils occurred periodically, and
coincided with the deposition of particular strata, as if the
dictum of Cuvier were true,—as if the oceanic fluid had
changed its nature, and its depositions and inhabitants
c anged in proportion. But before we adopt this conclu¬
sion, we must assure ourselves of the truth of what has in¬
deed been long taken for granted by geologists, that the
marine animals lived on or near the spot where their re-
mains he imbedded. This does not require long discus¬
sion. I he general perfection of the delicate ornaments on
the surfaces of shells, echini, &c., the complete state of con¬
servation of fishes, Crustacea, &c., proves them to have un¬
dergone little or no violence, such as transporting from a
distance in oceanic currents would necessarily occasion.
In some cases the fossil shells, &c. have experienced the
usual agitation of the shores of the sea, as in the forest
marble group near Bath, the top of the oolite at Stamford,
&c.; and this is of great importance in reasoning; but gene-
rally we may conclude that the doctrine is sufficiently exact
which fixes the local residences of the animals near the
place of sepulture of their shelly or osseous remains.
COMPARISON OF THE STRATIFIED AND UNSTRATIFIED
ROCKS.
The arguments on which we rely for the proof of the
subaqueous origin of all the stratified rocks may be thus
summed up.
-The stratified structure is that which is always assumed
by successive depositions of sediments in water.
1 he materials (clay, sand, limestone, &c.) composing the
strata of the crust of the globe, are exactly similar and in
the same condition, or else very analogous, to deposits now
forming under water in various parts of the globe, and si¬
milarly associated.
I he organic contents of the rocks are such as admit of
no other explanation, for they are mostly of marine or fresh
water origin, and the few terrestrial reliquiie which occur in
them shew, by various circumstances, that they were drifted
from the land or overwhelmed by the sea. By combining
all these considerations, we arrive at the positive conclu¬
sion that all the really stratified rocks are of aqueous origin.
But when we turn to the unstratified rocks the same
conclusion does not apply. Independent of the universal
want of this unequivocal mark of watery action (except
under particular cases not really exceptional, as will appear
hereafter), the following circumstances are decisive.
The materials of which the rocks are composed are
neither similar to those now deposited by water nor in a
similar condition. They are not composed of sands, clays,
or limestone, but of a variety of crystallized minerals, many
of them the same or very similar to those produced by vol¬
canic agency, or the artificial heat of a furnace.
I he association of these minerals into rocks is the same
or very similar to the grouping of similar minerals in volca¬
nic rocks. In several instances the products of volcanos
and ancient unstratified rocks are identical. The variations
of the different groups of rocks follow similar laws, and they
occur under similar relations to the stratified rocks.
In these unstratified rocks organic remains do not occur
(sometimes, indeed, portions of strata containing such re¬
mains are enveloped in unstratified rocks); and from the
whole evidence no doubt remains of the igneous origin of
the crystallized and other unstratified rocks.
It is very conceivable that, in particular circumstances,
the effect of watery and igneous agency may be evident in
the same rock. These agencies may have been contem¬
poraneously or successively exerted; and thus combined,
2 A
186
Geology*
MINERALOGY.
successive or confused results of two entirely different
agencies may occasionally lead even the experienced geo¬
logist into error. But this does not affect the principle;
inaccuracies of detail must often occur in descriptions and
reasonings on natural phenomena, which involve various
conditions and measures of force. Already, indeed, the
clew is probably obtained for elucidating the differences as
well as the agreements of geological phenomena, and it is
not necessary to say that no natural science can pretend to
have made greater progress than this; for to know the
causes of general agreement, and to discover the causes of
partial diversity, is the whole problem of physical science.
Original Position of Strata.—The leading and funda¬
mental fact of geology is the submarine origin of the strati¬
fied rocks ; and the partial desiccation of the bed of the an¬
cient sea is the general truth upon which all geological
theory must be based; for in fact our examination of the
structure of the existing land is nothing more than the ex¬
amination of the successive deposits in the ancient ocean,
varied by the effects of subterranean movements. One of
the first questions which presents itself to the mind on con¬
sidering this subject is this, Do we see these stratified
rocks in their original state and place, or have any displace¬
ments and derangements happened to confuse their order
and symmetry ? The theoretical considerations connected
with this question w ill come before us hereafter, but, for the
sake of the descriptions of rocks which are to follow, it is
necessary to settle the facts.
In this, fortunately, there is no great difficulty. By an
investigation of the circumstances under which modern de¬
posits happen in water, we find as a very general result, ad¬
mitting of few, and those local exceptions, that these depo¬
sits ever tend to assume horizontal surfaces. Wherever
the lateral influence of waves and currents agitates broad
surfaces of water to a considerable portion of its depth, the
earthy sediments (sand, clay, &c.), and chemical precipi¬
tates (carbonate of lime) are diffused by the movements with
so much uniformity as to produce very regular strata, with a
decided tendency to horizontal surfaces. Thus, all round the
British islands, the very moderate slope of the bed of the
sea is extremely characteristic ; between the Humber and
the Elbe, a distance of 4° longitude, the greatest depth is
about 200 feet. (Whewell on Tides, Phil. Trans.) And,
as Mr de la Beche has shewn, if the British islands and
the bed of the sea around them wrere raised only 600 feet
above their actual level (as compared with the ocean), they
would be joined to the continent of Europe, and surrounded
on all hands by a vast area of flat, or rather gently inclined,
land; for the fall from the coast to the new sea-line would
be generally so gradual as to present to the eye one great
plain, uniting the western coasts of Spain, Ireland, the
Hebrides, and Scandinavia.
The same horizontality of stratified deposits is observed
in the dried beds of ancient and modern lakes; it is seen
in every delta and along all riversides, and even if, like the
stormy Arve, the rivers sweep along large masses of stone
through irregular valleys, and accumulate heaps of detritus,
with much local irregularity, the general result is a plane
surface.
There are indeed exceptions to this general truth. One
of the most interesting is that brought forward by Mr
Yates in his description of the sedimentary deposits in the
lakes of Switzerland. Where a river discharges sediment
into deep and tranquil water, the particles, when released
from the lateral impulse, are in some degree in the same
circumstances as materials thrown from a loaded waggon ;
the coarser matters accumulate into conical heaps round
the point of entrance of the river, while the finer sorts pass
through greater breadths of the water and form more ex¬
tensive and less inclined deposits. (Jameson’s Journal,
1830.) Another case of stratified deposits deviating con¬
siderably from the horizontal, may happen when carbonate
of lime is precipitated from solution, and suffered to fall in Geologr
very tranquil water on a sloping or undulated bed. The
thickness of the strata produced would be greatest in the
deepest parts, and the whole deposit would grow thinner
towards the edges.
Now, in fact, among the stratified rocks which compose
the crust of the globe, examples of these exceptional cases
do occur; instances are really known where coarse mate¬
rials to a limited extent have been deposited in inclined
positions, and carbonate of lime collected in particular forms
and not generally diffused ; but just as in the present eco¬
nomy of nature we find unequivocal evidence of the gene¬
rality of the law of horizontal deposition of strata, so it
certainly was in the older times. We are fully convinced,
that for broad and extensive formations of strata composed
of various successions of sands, clays and limestones va¬
riously stored with organic remains, there can be no risk
of error in assuming, as a fact sufficiently proved, that they
were deposited nearly level.
Position of Strata—Assured of this fact, as a basis of
reasoning, we may proceed to inquire into the actual po¬
sition of strata, as they are seen in the desiccated parts of
the old oceanic bed which now compose our solid land.
The most general condition of the stratified rocks of all
ages is to be not quite level, but inclined to the horizon in
some one direction, and at some certain angle, in each lo¬
cality.
Over immense tracts of the earth’s surface, the angle of
inclination is extremely moderate ; more than f of the sur¬
face of Europe (and probably of the other continents) is
occupied by strata which in common language may be said
to be nearly horizontal. This character of horizontality is
indeed almost exactly merited by the strata around Paris,
in the Great Plains of Northern Germany and Russia, the
Basin of the Danube, Hungary, &c.; but as we proceed in
any direction from such centres and lines of horizontal
stratification, we find the rocks to assume more and more
of some prevalent inclination, so as to permit the subjacent
strata to come to the surface and present escarpments in
particular directions.
These escarpments commonly look toward the nearest
range of mountains; in that direction the inclination of the
strata augments continually, and at length on the slopes,
or in the midst of such mountain range, we find them very
steeply inclined, absolutely vertical, partially retroflexed,
or bent into strange contortions.
Among the Alps and Pyrenees, the strata which, in
every part of their surface, were originally very little in¬
clined, and which, at a distance from the mountains, retain
nearly their original position, are thrown into various dis¬
turbed positions; the local effect of violent convulsions. By
a careful study of the circumstances, we observe that these
indications of disturbance augment continually toward the
axis or centre of the mountain group; and that the direc¬
tion of the movements has there been upwards. There
has, in fact, been a real and violent elevation of the strati¬
fied crust of the globe, corresponding to the centre or axis
of each mountain group.
No. 3.
This truth, sufficiently attested by observation in all parts
of the globe, leads directly to another very important law
of the phenomena of disturbed stratification. The centre
or axis of the mountain group, and consequently of the dis¬
turbing movement, is generally seen to be a mass of un-
stratified rock, such as granite, sienite, &c., which shews, by
a variety of circumstances, that it was not deposited in wa*
MINERALOGY.
187
; gy. ter, but rather crystallized from igneous fusion. Very often,
r—^ indeed generally, proofs of its having been in a state of fu¬
sion at the time of the elevation of the strata, are found in
the extension of veins of the crystallized into the sedimen¬
tary rocks, accompanied by characteristic effects of heat.
We are thus led to associate the phenomenon of the dis¬
turbance of strata, with the eruption of crystallized rock
from beneath ; and though the latter is indeed not exactly
the cause of the former, but rather a concomitant effect of
some general dynamical agency, geologists are not greatly
to be censured who describe the phenomena as they appear,
and speak of the disturbed positions of the strata, as effects
of the elevation of unstratified rocks.
Once acquainted with this relation of the two classes of
rocks, we are in possession of a clew to guide us through all
the mazes of local geology ; for it is equally true of small
elevations of strata, as of all mountain chains, that the most
general condition observable is the mutual dependence of
these disturbances and irruptions of unstratified rocks.
Particular Positions of Strata.—One of the most com¬
mon of the many forms in which the subterraneous move¬
ments alluded to have left the strata, is that of a longitudi¬
nal ridge, from which the strata decline on both sides,
usually at very high angles; this is called an anticlinal axis.
In some cases (Diagram, No. 4.) the strata are continuous
No, 4.
over the axis, as in the Ribblesdale system of faults in York¬
shire ; in others (Diagram, No. 5.) they are removed along
the axis so as to constitute what is called a valley of eleva¬
tion. The southern Cordilleras are in this state.
The longitudinal depression or trough (Diagram, No. 6.)
towards which strata decline, is called a synclinal axis ;
this is frequently placed parallel to an anticlinal axis.
Cases of conical elevation do occur, but rarely ; ellipti¬
cal ridges are more frequent; and the centres and axes of
such being removed more or less completely, make round
or elliptical valleys of elevation. One of the most remark¬
able is that of Woolhope in Herefordshire. (Murchison.)
In some cases, instead of acclinal or declinal slopes to
or from an axis, we have a complete fracture of the mass of
strata along a vertical or inclined plane, parallel to which the
beds on one side are uplifted, and on the other depressed.
This is called a fault or slip ; almost every coal district
and mining region in the world is full of such, though their
number is, upon the whole, very much greatest in elevated
districts, and least in the youngest strata.
The extent of displacement on one side of such fault is
sometimes only a few inches; in other cases 10, 100, or
1000 feet or yards. The great Craven fault and Cross Fell
fault in the north of England1 is complicated with a narrow
Irregular as seems the origin of these fractures (being
occasioned certainly by pressure on planes of unequal re¬
sistance), yet some general laws of phenomena are known
concerning them. The faults in any district range in many
directions ; yet they more specially follow two principal
lines nearly at right angles to one another ; they generally
cross the anticlinal axis, and terminate in a remarkable
master fault or axis of elevation.2
Another law has been long known to miners of the rela¬
tion between the plane of the fault and displacement of the
strata which it traverses ; if the fault forms unequal angles
with the plane of stratification, the strata are almost always
found depressed on that side towards which the plane of
the fault dips or declines from the horizontal. In diagram
(No. 8) A A being a level line, f f the plane of the fault
No. 8.
h   S h
dipping from the horizon on the side D, the strata 1, 2, 3,
&c. are found (relatively) thrown down on the side D, and
(relatively) elevated on the side E. Not as in the next
diagram (No. 9), which represents rare and exceptional
cases with the same letters.
Both the anticlinal axis and the fault are, without impro¬
priety, often called axes of (relative) elevation.
When the violence of the disturbing agencies has been
extreme, the strata are not only thrown into high angles of
inclination towards or from an axis, but sometimes actual¬
ly rendered vertical (as in the Isle of Wight), or even re-
troflexed (as in the Malvern Hills). Even a more remark¬
able case is common among the Alps, as in the Lake of the
Four Cantons, and in the Valley of Lauterbrun, where the
limestones are bent into the utmost conceivable variety of
curvatures, evidently caused by great lateral and vertical
pressure upon yielding materials. (Diagram, No. 10.)
Areas of Deposition The study of the various circum¬
stances under which disturbances of the strata are mani¬
fested, has assumed a very high degree of importance since
the speculations of M. de Beaumont recalled attention to
*
1 See Phillips and Sedgwick in Geol. Trans. ,• also Geol. of 1 orkshire, vol. ii.
* See Gcol. of Yorkshire, vol. ii., and Hopkins in Cambridge Transactions.
188
MINERALOGY.
Geology, their connexion with general theory. It had been long
known that the dislocations of the strata were of unequal
antiquity. Even as early as 1791, Mr Smith found proof
of the faults in the coal strata of Gloucestershire and
Somersetshire, being anterior to the new red marl, for the
horizontal beds of that formation lie level over the inclined
and broken planes of the coal system. In the north of
England, the coal-works from Nottingham to Aberford as
well as those in Durham and Newcastle, indicate the same
truth ; but yet it is to M. de Beaumont that we owe the
impulse which has given the investigation of the ages of
disturbances a distinct station in geological science.
The data required for determining the geological age of
a convulsion or disturbance of strata are simple, yet they
cannot always be had with sufficient exactness. We must
know what strata are, and what are not, displaced by the
disturbance in question. If, for example, it be found that
along any axis of elevation, the set of rocks included in the
gneiss, mica-slate, clay-slate, and greywanke slate sys¬
tems, are dislocated, but that none of the strata belong¬
ing to the carboniferous or other more recent systems have
participated in the movement, the conclusion is plain, that
the disturbance happened before the deposition of the lat¬
ter rocks, but after the production of the former. If the
undisturbed strata D, E, F be consecutive with the disturb¬
ed rocks A, B, C, the geological data of the occurrence is
accurately fixed ; but if there be any chasm in this respect
as A B—*—* E F, the limits of error are known, but the
age of the fault is only approximately fixed.
No. 11.
Diagram, No. 11.
See Diagram Geology,
The principal difficulty, however, lies in the procurement
of any really satisfactory data. If the disturbed strata be
covered along the axis of movement by undisturbed de¬
posits-, the data must be correct, though incomplete, and
the conclusion must be admitted ; but this is a rare case;
most frequently the observations are individually indecisive.
Certain older strata are seen to be dislocated with reference
to a certain axis; other newer beds occurring in the vicinity
are not seen to be disturbed; if the observations can be re¬
peated at many localities, not far removed from the axis,
the negative may sometimes be sufficiently established.^ In
such a case it generally happens that the disturbed strata
are somewhere or other found unconformed in dip or in
direction on the surface to those which are presumed to be
undisturbed; on such evidence of unconformity, we might
safely infer the geological dates of several great disturbances
which have affected the Cumbrian slate district and other
tracts in the north of England.
DESCRIPTIVE GEOLOGY.
LEADING DIVISIONS.
The history of the successive formation of the crust of
the globe is so far like a narration of human events, that it
admits of being placed in chronological order, and classed
in periods more or less characteristic. Those periods are
not at present reducible to the scale of historical time which
is measured by the earth’s rotation and revolution ; yet the
sequence of events is in many cases perfectly ascertainable,
and something like a scale of relative time may be com¬
posed.
The basis of geological chronology is the succession of
stratified rocks ; the lowest are the oldest, and the upper¬
most are the most recent. Unstratified rocks present no
such series; yet, by their connexion with the others, these
also may frequently be referred to their true dates. On
this account, the section of strata in any country is the
foundation of all true and philosophical knowledge of its
geological history.
Sufficient time has elapsed since the promulgation of the
views of Werner and Smith on this subject to allow' of a
just estimate of their respective merits ; both are amongst
the brightest names in geology. The principle of geologi¬
cal time was very firmly adopted by both of these eminent
men ; both produced sections of strata to form the scale of
geological time ; Smith analyzed the English strata with
masterly accuracy,—Werner grouped the rocks of Ger¬
many into large and comprehensive systems : the one esta¬
blished the practice of local and exact research, the other
encouraged a hope of arriving at general truths. Both of
these are included in modern geology.
The series of strata in Germany was grouped by Wer¬
ner, who in this was guided by earlier writers, under the
heads of Primitive, Transition, and Floetz or Secondary
rocks, terms which have been immeasurably censured, with¬
out sufficient reason.
The primitive, or most ancient of the knowm strata, were
supposed to be of crystalline origin, and to contain no or¬
ganic remains ; the secondary rocks to be mostly of sedi¬
mentary origin, and to abound in organic exuviie; the
transition rocks were defined by intermediate characters.
At a later period, Cuvier and Brongniart’s researches round
Paris, shewed the necessity of adding an upper term to this
series of systems, viz. the Tertiary strata, which Werner
had little opportunity of knowing.
The Wernerian hypothesis of the origin of the strata
may, without hesitation, be rejected as entirely useless; but
his view's of the leading groups of strata has had, and will
long have, a decided and permanent influence in geology,
The term Primitive rocks, as implying more than we know,
is replaced by Primary ; and Du Halloy and others have
united w ith these the cognate Transition rocks of Werner.
Thus we have at present three well understood divisions,—
primary, secondary, and tertiary strata,—between which are
many transition strata, linking the whole into one compre¬
hensive succession, w'hich contains all the monuments of
mechanical, chemical, and vital phenomena open to the
scrutiny of man.
In the following pages we shall attempt to exhibit the
progress made in decyphering these monuments in the or¬
der of their inscription : this, indeed, is not the progress of
investigation, which rather begins with the things best
known, proceeds from the recognised facts and laws of
diurnal geology, and gradually encounters the increasing
difficulties which beset the inquiry into the ancient revolu¬
tions of nature ; but our object is to state results in the
smallest compass and most convenient order; and this is
only to be attained by following the stream of time.
PRIMARY STRATA.
Primitive and great part of the Transition rocks of Wer¬
ner. Inferior order of strata, Conybeare. Agalysian
rocks, Brongniart.
Base of the Brimary Strata Inferiorly the primary
strata rest on unstratified, generally granitic rocks, so situat¬
ed as to cut off all possibility of observation at greater
depths. This granite floor,—this universal crystalline basis
to the stratified rocks,—appears in many instances (Glen
Tilt in the Highlands, Skiddaw in Cumberland, Land’s
G logy,
MINERALOGY.
^ End in Cornwall, &c.) to have undergone fusion since the
deposition of strata upon it, for veins pass from it into the
fissures of these rocks j this may even be considered one of
the most general truths yet ascertained in geology. Some
theorists have proposed the hypothesis, that granite is only
a fused mass of stratified rocks. To this we shall again ad¬
vert, and at present shall only observe, that, whether that
notion be true or false, it is enough for our present purpose
that it recognises the general truth of the stratified rocks
which are the products of water, resting universally on un¬
stratified crystalline rocks, which, through whatever previ¬
ous conditions their particles may have passed, have assum¬
ed their present characters from the agency of heat.
Igneous rocks, then, rest below all the aqueous de¬
posits.
Nature of the Primary Strata—The rocks included in
this division may be referred to three principal types :
Siliceous, Argillaceous, and Calcareous rocks. The most im¬
portant siliceous rocks are gneiss, composed of the minerals
called quartz, felspar, and mica (with or without horn¬
blende, garnets, &c.) ; mica-slate, consisting of quartz and
mica (with or without felspar, garnets, hornblende, &c.) ;
quartz-rock, composed chiefly of grains of quartz aggluti¬
nated in various degrees (with or without mica, &c.) ;
chlorite-slate, which, when highly quartzose, may be re¬
ferred to this division, but, when passing to clay-slate, more
naturally ranks with the next. Hornblende-slate has the
same double relation. Sandstones occur in the upper
parts. 1 *
The argillaceous rocks are less varied: Clay-slate, a fine
grained, apparently simple, mass; greywacke-slate, of a na¬
ture intermediate between this and common sandstone ;
greywacke, a conglomerate of quartzose and other frag¬
ments in a basis of clay-slate ; various shales.
The calcareous portions are somewhat remarkable among
limestones, for their generally crystalline character; even
the fossiliferous rocks have much of this feature, and all
the older beds are really crystallized. (Garnet, mica, talc,
hornblende, augite, quartz, &c., sometimes occur in those
portions.)
Induration or consolidation to a high degree, is a gene¬
ral property of these strata. There is, in fact, no sand, no
clay, no marl, in the whole series.
Succession of the Primary Strata. The different rocks
named are naturally associated in particular groups, ac¬
cording to geological time, and consequently admit of be¬
ing usefully combined in artificial arrangements which pro¬
ceed on the same basis. Thus, amid many local variations,
it is certainly true that rocks of the general type of gneiss
and mica-slate lie most frequently and abundantly at the
base of the whole series, and contain no organic remains ;
that the coarser argillaceous, sandy, and calcareous rocks,
become more abundant in the upper parts of the series,
and yield stores of organic exuviae, both of plants and ani¬
mals. Between these extremes are found the deposits of
clay-slate, chlorite-slate, &c. In consequence we have
the following series of systems, or great assemblages of
strata, in the primary division {numbered according to their
geological date, but placed so as to represent their relative
superposition).
3. Silurian system, sandstones, limestones, shales, &c.
with many fossils.
2. Clay-slate, and greywacke-slate system, with some
limestones and a few fossils.
1. Mica-slate, and gneiss system, with crystalline lime¬
stones, and few or no fossils.
1. GNEISS AND MICA-SLATE SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent—Hardly any of the lofty mountain
ranges on the face of the globe are entirely devoid of rocks
of this system, uplifted upon an axis of unstratified granitic
189
masses, so as to be inclined at high angles to the horizon. Cenlrwrv
t he great European basin is defined by irregular elevations' *
of this kind from the Frozen Sea to the Atlantic ; by the
Urahan and Caucasian chains, the ranges of Asia Minor,
Greece, South Italy, and the Atlas ; the irregular west¬
ern border of Spain, Ireland, the north of Scotland, and
Scandinavia, is of similar structure. Within this area, the
Sienas of Spain, the Pyrenees, the Alps, and many minor
mountains, shew the extremely wide expansion of this old¬
est known system of stratified rocks.
In the British Isles it is little known in England and
Wales (about Snowdon and Skiddaw); but, in the Isle of
Man, in all the very mountainous parts of Ireland (Derry,
Donegal, Galway, the south-western and south-eastern
districts), in the Western Isles, Zetland, and all the High¬
lands of Scotland, it is the predominant class of rocks.
Succession and Thickness of the Strata In the High¬
lands of Scotland the expansion of the gneiss and mica-
slate system is extremely great, and the following general
formula may be stated of the succession of the component
rocks, it being always remembered that local variations oc¬
cur, which cannot always be reduced to a regular scale in
a country where no organic remains can be employed to
verify the inferences from mineral character. The thick¬
ness of these rocks is very great, even to miles, but cannot
be accurately stated.
Upper series. Chlorite-slates, apparently uniting the
clay slate and mica-slate deposits. No organic re¬
mains. It ranges on the whole south-east border
of the Grampians, from near Aberdeen to Argyle-
shire.
Middle series. Mica-slates, primary limestone, quartz-
rock, in various combinations, the former by far the
most predominant, the others only locally import¬
ant ; the limestone occurs in different parts of the
series. That of Loch Earn, Inverary, and Bala-
hulish, is in the upper part, approaching to chlo¬
rite-slate ; that of Glen Tilt, and the vale of Loch
Tay, is in the lower part. No organic remains.
This occupies a great part of the eastern and south¬
ern Highlands, north-west of Ireland.
Lower series. Gneiss, with primary limestone, quartz
rock, hornblende-slate, &c. Gneiss is the predo¬
minant rock, and varies much in all respects; the
others are of local occurrence. Mica-slate alter¬
nates with Gneiss. No organic remains. The gneiss
series occupies nearly all the Hebrides, and very
large tracts of the northern and north-western
Highlands.
Primary Stratification.—The stratification of primary
rocks is sometimes very evident and indubitable, as in the
gneiss beds about Loch Sunart in Argyleshire, the lime¬
stones of Loch Earn and Balahulish, the mica-slate of
Glen Croe, the chlorite-slate of Loch Lomond: but, in
many cases, it is extremely difficult to pronounce a candid
and just opinion whether a particular mass of such rocks is
stratified or not. This arises from the causes which are
found to produce partial embarrassment even among rocks
of the secondary age. These are ox\f\x\‘A peculiarities <f
stratification, and subsequent change of structure by mole¬
cular aggregation (under the influence of heat or other ge¬
neral agency).
The laminar and bedded structure of gneiss, mica-slate,
chlorite-slate, and primary limestone, is always more or
less proportioned to the admixture of ingredients, just as in
common sandstones, which are changed to flagstone by
abundance of mica, but aggregated into masses of great
thickness where this is absent. Besides this cause of varia¬
tion, common to all siliceous and argillaceous rocks, there
is a singularity in the lamination of gneiss, and the schistose
lUU
w
MINERALOGY.
190
Geology, rocks analogous to it, which seems to indicate that some
' v ' peculiar agency different from the ordinary diffusive influ¬
ence of water was concerned in producing it. Contortions
in the laminae of these rocks are so prevalent, as even al¬
most to be exclusively characteristic of them. It is easy
to see how such peculiar arrangements of the surface of
lamination, and the occasional entire extinction of those
surfaces, may, in fact, render it extremely doubtful whe¬
ther the rock is in any respect stratified, because, in many
instances, where the beds or strata are very thick, no other
clew is to be found than that afforded by the lamina:, which
generally are, but yet (as in common sandstone) often are
not parallel to the planes of stratification.
There are, however, yet other causes which tend to con¬
fuse the evidence of stratification. In the neighbourhood
of igneous rocks (granite, porphyry, &c.) the gneiss, and
other similar rocks, seem to have undergone some altera¬
tions. MacCulloch assures us, that the contortion of the
laminae of the rocks augments near the granite veins, quartz
veins, &c., and our own observations in Argyleshire lead to
a partial adoption of this view. Another thing of importance
has been noticed by Mr Weaver (Geol. "Irans.) concerning
alternation of really granitic, beds with ordinary gneiss in
Ireland. Whether these be altered gneiss, or interposed
granite, is not material to the present, discussion, if there
be, from whatever cause, such alternations of really crys¬
tallized and sedimentary rocks, the result must be a blend¬
ing of the characters of the two classes of rocks, and the
stratified structure may wholly vanish in particular tracts,
through the local influence of heat.
Another very general cause of difficulty in determining
the stratification of primary rocks arises from the changes
of structure introduced among them since their deposition.
The contraction of these, as well as of other rocks, has oc¬
casioned the production of a multitude of divisional planes
or joints variously related to the surfaces of stratification,
and often, especially in the finer grained and laminated
rocks, assuming an admirable symmetry of direction and
inclination. Thus tabular and other regular structures ap¬
pear in the stratified primary rocks, which arrest the at¬
tention, and add a new cause of embarrassment.
What, then, is the fruit of all this discussion ? It is the
conviction that the gneiss, mica-slate, primary limestone,
quartz-rock, &c. are stratified rocks; the most important
evidence being the alternation of these different rocks, and
the lamination of different substances in them, but that
the causes which tend among all rocks to complicate the
stratification wuth new structures, have gone to the maxi¬
mum in these the oldest of all; the principal of these causes
being heat, either locally exhibited in the neighbourhood
of igneous crystallized rocks, or generally pervading the
whole mass of deposits.
Composition of Gneiss, Mica-Slate, Quartz-Rock, fyc 
The views just advanced of the changes of structure su¬
perinduced on these rocks, lead us to an explanation of
what seems at first an extremely perplexing circumstance
in the history of primary strata,—their crystalline or pseudo¬
crystalline texture. Primary limestone is both stratified
and crystallized. Gneiss and mica-slate are stratified, and
yet they often closely resemble granite, which, because it
is crystallized and not stratified, is ranked among rocks of
igneous origin.
The case of limestone is soon settled. It is known, that,
in contact with igneous rocks, the chalk of Ireland, and
the limestone of Teesdale are turned to crystallized carbo¬
nate of lime ; and experiments in the laboratory have left
no doubt of the propriety of referring this crystallization of
the limestone to the mere agency of heat and pressure.
The primary limestone is therefore crystallized, because
it has been subject to high temperature, pervading, of
course, all the rock with which it is associated. But it oc¬
curs with nearly all members of the mica-slate and gneiss Geclopy
systems. All those rocks then have suffered the influence ''-"yvv
of heat.
In like manner, experimental proof has been offered by
the chemist, that quartz-rock is merely sandstone altered
by heat, as had been inferred from phenomena at the con¬
tact of such rocks, with the basalt and greenstone in Salis¬
bury Craigs, Teesdale, and Shropshire; and thus we find
reason to believe that some of the characters by which
gneiss and mica-slate approach to granite, are owing to
their having experienced considerable influence of heat.
It is not, however, necessary to attribute to this heat more
than the cementation of the grains of mica, quartz, felspar,
&c., just as happens in quartz-rock. Some minerals may,
perhaps, have been really generated by the heat (as happens
to garnet near trap-dykes); but, in general, examination of
the ingredients of gneiss, mica-slate, &c., shews the mi¬
nerals to be really worn and fragmented crystals not very
different from those in common sandstones, which have in¬
deed regular internal structure, but not a regular external
geometrical form. Six-sided tables of mica can seldom be
seen in gneiss or mica-slate; the pyramids of quartz have
lost their angles, and the prisms of felspar their edges.
Sometimes, it is true, the degree of wearing which the
particles have suffered is very slight, and many considera¬
tions render it probable that the circumstances under which
they were accumulated, differed materially from those
which produced the sediments of the secondary geological
era. According to these views, then, gneiss, mica-slate,
&c. &c., though really stratified rocks, present greater re¬
semblance than others to the granite rocks, because they
are composed of granitic detritus, which has been only par¬
tially water-worn, and aggregated under the influence of
high temperature, which has given a peculiarity to the mo¬
lecular constitution, generated new minerals, and introduced
symmetrical structures, which complicate or predominate
over the traces of laminar and stratified aggregation.
Absence of Organic Remains The opinion, early intro¬
duced into geology, that the lowest stratified rocks are de¬
ficient in organic remains still holds its ground, and still
appears to support the rather questionable separation of the
gneiss and mica-slate system from the superior slate de¬
posits, under the name of primitive rocks.
MacCulloch, indeed, states that organic remains ( Ortho-
cerata) occur in limestone lying in the gneiss tract of Loch
Eribol, in Sutherland; and in the German translation of
De la Beche’s Manual (by Von Dechen), we find examples
quoted from Hoffman of fossils occurring among gneiss and
mica-slate in the Erzgebirge and Fichtelgebirge.
The fossils lie, indeed, in greywracke ; but this is stated
to be really and clearly inclosed between beds of gneiss,
mica-slate, &c.
A particular view on this subject has been gradually in¬
troduced into geological hypothesis, viz. that the mineral
and structural character of gneiss, mica-slate, &c. is pro¬
ducible by long continued action of heat upon siliceous
and argillaceous strata of any age. Thus in the Col de
Balme the lias is supposed to have been metamorphosed
into chloritic and micaceous rocks, analogous to those of
the mica-slate. Those who adopt such views find it easy
to escape from the difficulty presented by MacCulloch’s and
Hoffman’s observations ; but without entering on the sub¬
ject at present, it is right to mention that the researches of
Sedgwick and Murchison on the spot indicated by MacCul¬
loch failed to confirm his testimony, and that in the moun¬
tainous border of the basin of Bohemia, as in every such
range, apparent enclosures of fossiliferous greywache, be¬
tween gneiss and mica-slate, is hardly a case of sufficient
importance to negative the universal result of direct re¬
searches, which all go to establish as a fact the total ab¬
sence of organic remains from the whole of the gneiss and
Thickness in the Cum ■
MINERALOGY.
logy, mica-slate systems. Is this absence of all traces of orga- North Devon, Charnwood Forest.
" nic life to be admitted as proof that the globe was at that brian tract 3000 feet at least
period unfurnished with the beautiful and wonderful va- Z«o^._Dark, s'laty, calcareous rock, various-
nety of plants and animals adapted to the land, the air, and ly associated with the slate, and locally rich in organic re-
the sea, or may we suppose such did exist, but that their mains, both in Wales and Westmoreland. Limestone of
reliquiae were never entombed in the rocks, or if there de- Ilfracombe and North Devon ? of the Harz Norway
posited, have been destroyed by subsequent alterations of Brittany, &c.? Thickness in Westmoreland 100 feet
their molecular constitution? . Snowdon Rocks.-In this division are rocks of various
Igneous Rocks— Veins—-Besides the irregular granitic colours, green, blue, purple, &c., and fine or coarse grain,
floor upon which all the gneiss and mica-slate system rests, Good roofing-slate abounds, and the peculiar fissility called
and from which at many points veins or interspersed beds cleavage, on which it depends, is very o-eneral in "all the
pass up into these strata, many other masses of pyroge-
nous rock have been forced among the gneiss and mica-
slate, so as to constitute dykes or irregular masses of large
extent. Thus porphyry, greenstone, basalt, and other
crystallized rocks are found mixed with the gneiss and
mica-slate in various parts of the Highlands, Hebrides, and
Zetlands. Of these the most frequent is porphyry, which
indeed forms a very large region in the vicinity of Ben
Nevis and Glen Coe, and is also abundant in Ben Cruachan,
both in great masses and in dykes variously associated with
granitic veins. It is perhaps not proper to describe the
serpentine of Portsoy as forming dykes, for its vertical
masses appear conformable to those of the mica-slate,
quartz-rock, limestone, &c. so as rather to correspond with
the notion of an interposed bed.
Metalliferous veins occur, but not plentifully, in the
gneiss of the Highlands. At Strontian the lead veins
have been long celebrated ; they range east and west and
north and south : copper also occurs in the vicinity. Such
veins appear still less common in the mica-slate.
2. CLAY-SLATE SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent.—Few mountainous districts are
wholly devoid of argillaceous primary rocks; but these
mass of rocks, which are some thousand feet thick both in
Wales and Cumberland. In both districts also the sedi¬
mentary rocks are much intermixed with porphyries and
greenstones, both in seeming beds and dykes, and many
parts of the slaty rocks themselves are really amygdaloidal,
or else composed of fragments of porphyry and other ig¬
neous rocks. No organic remains have been found in the
Cumbrian district, but they occur in Snowdon. Thickness
in Cumberland 3000 feet at least.
Lower Group, or Cumbrian Rocks (Sedgwick').
Clay-Slate—This is a singularly uniform mass of lami¬
nated argillaceous rock, of a dark colour and smooth tex¬
ture, with vertical cleavage and symmetrical joints. It is
devoid of organic remains.
Chiastohte-Slate differs hardly at all from the preceding,
except by including crystals of chiastolite and hornblende.
Hornblende-Slate.—This is very different from the rock
so named in Glen Tilt, for its basis is clay-slate with inter¬
mixed crystals of hornblende or actynolite.
These three divisions may be above 3000 feet thick in
Cumberland.
Stratification.—This structure is very evident in some
deposits are not at all to be compared in extent with the system’ .in„0Aers-
older mica-slate and gneiss formations. If we look to the * U~ " J
continent and islands of Europe we shall find a singular re¬
ciprocity in the distribution of these members of the fa¬
mily of primary rocks. The gneiss and mica-slates of the
Alps, Pyrenees, and mountain borders of Bohemia, are not
indeed entirely unaccompanied by such argillaceous depo¬
sits, any more than the Scandinavian and Highland chains,
and the north-western primary tract of Ireland ; but the
principal masses of the clay-slate system lie apart in the
Harz and the Ardennes, in Brittany and Cornwall, the
Welsh and the Cumbrian mountains, and the ranges of the
Lammermuir and Donegal; yet under all these slate tracts
lies the fundamental granite, and similar veins pass from it
into the argillaceous covering. In some parts, as in Cum¬
berland (Skiddaw), and in the Isle of Anglesea, slight
traces of older rocks separate the clay-slate from the gra¬
nites, but the general fact appears to be that the deposition
of the two systems was influenced by different physical
conditions related to different geographical centres.
Succession and Thickness The districts of Britain in
which the clay-slate system unfolds into the greatest va¬
riety of formations are the Cumbrian region and North
Wales. The recent researches of Sedgwick and Murchi¬
son in Wales permit us to unite the sections of the princi¬
pality with those of Cumberland, and thus to offer a nearly
complete series of the members of this great mass of deposits.
As before we place the groups in the order of superposition.
Upper Group, or Cambrian Rocks (Sedgwick),
consisting of
Plynlymmon Rocks—Hard, fine, sandy, or coarse grey-
wacke and greywacke- slate (without organic remains ?),
which is locally productive of roofing slates, and generally
traversed by an extraordinary abundance of symmetrical
fissures. Wales, Cumberland, and Westmoreland, the Lam¬
mermuir Mountains, Donegal Ranges, borders of Dartmoor,
Thus in Cumberland it would be a difficult thing to say
what were the planes of stratification in the Skiddaw
slates, but for the assistance of the chiastolite slates be¬
neath, and the red argillaceous rocks of Derwentwater
above. The planes of stratification thus judged of appear
to rise to the north-west toward an axis passing from
Caldbeck Fells south-west to Egremont. The same direc¬
tion and dip of strata is to be inferred from the interposed
limestone beds of Coniston Water Head (Bala limestone),
and it is confirmed by minute examination of the alterna¬
tion and gradation, of the different sorts of slate.
But, certainly, on a general view of the country, the
stratified structure is far from evident; so that many per¬
sons, impressed by the remarkable structure called cleavage
which traverses nearly in vertical planes the surfaces of
stratification, and the symmetrical joints which divide the
rock into prismatic masses almost of geometrical regularity,
leave the district under the impression that it is not at all
stratified.
The same remarks apply to the slaty tracts of Cornwall
and Wales, in which, especially the latter, both cleavage
planes and symmetrical joints predominate over the strati¬
fication. That these structures are of later date than the
stratified structure, is evident when we compare primary and
secondary districts, for in the latter symmetrical joints
pass through imbedded organic remains, and through many
alternating sedimentary strata.
They are in fact superposed structures, and from what is
known of the introduction of similar structures into ordi
nary clays and shales by the side and in the vicinity of
igneous rocks, independent of general considerations, such
as the high degree of induration of these rocks, there is
little doubt that the agency of heat is the general cause of
these phenomena of structure. Argillaceous slaty rocks
deposited from water, like common clays and shales, still
retain traces of their original stratification, but they have
fr
192 MINER
Geology, undergone generally those changes depending on pervading
heat, which later secondary rocks of similar original nature
have experienced locally near the granitic region of the
Col de Balme, near the Whin-Sill of Teesdale, and the whin-
dyke of Coley Hill.
The Chemical and Mineralogical composition of these
rocks is very analogous to that of common clays and shales ;
but the frequent admixture of igneous rocks, both in inter¬
posed beds and dykes, and the local metamorphism of the
slate rocks, so as to assume amygdaloidal (Cumberland) and
porphyritic (North Wales, Cornwall) structures, renders
their exact origin a very interesting and unsettled subject
of speculation.
Organic Remains, as previously observed, are (except in
Snowdon and at Tintagel in Cornwall) almost confined to the
limestones which interlaminate the slates. These are yet
very imperfectly known. In the Cumbrian limestone oc¬
cur calamoporae, lithodendra, cyathophylla, orbicula, and, we
believe, a much greater variety in the limestone of Bala.
Some organic remains also occur in the coeval limestones of
Devonshire. The Norwegian limestones, probably coeval,
are by far richer in the zoophyta, crinoidea, and conchifera.
Igneous Rocks, Veins, §c.—Granites, sienites, porphy¬
ries, and greenstones, are plentifully associated with the
slaty rocks of Cumberland and Westmoreland, about Hel-
vyllyn, High Pike, Borrowdale, Wastwater, Ennerdale, &c.,
the granitic rocks, generally in great masses, which have
burst through the slates,—the porphyries and greenstones
often interposed in partially conformable layers or passing
through the rocks in dykes. Similar facts occur in the
Lammermuir, in the Snowdon ranges, and the slates of
Cornwall and Brittany ; and in many cases the porphyritic
beds have been subjected to the same disturbances as the
slates in which they are interpolated.
The mineral veins of the Cumberland district pass gene¬
rally east and west (rarely north and south), and yield sul-
phuret, carbonate, phosphate, arseniate, &c. of lead; sul-
phuret, carbonate, arseniate, &c. of copper: ores of iron,
zinc, manganese, &c.
Those of Cornwall and Brittany have generally east and
west courses, and north and south cross courses, with in¬
termediate or quarter point veins. Ores of copper, tin,
lead, silver, cobalt, antimony, bismuth, &c. abound in the
rich tract of Cornwall. Similar statements apply to Brit¬
tany. The Snowdon and Cardiganshire chains yield lead
and copper ores, also in east and west veins principally.
The Harz is also a very metalliferous range.
It appears to be true as a general rule, that it is the
Snowdon series or lower division of the Cambrian group
which in Wales and Cumberland is the most highly metalli¬
ferous. In Cornwall, the lower portions are the richest,
but nowhere, we believe, is the uppermost series of Plyn-
lymmon rocks remarkably rich in metallic veins ; for ex¬
ample, the Lammermuir, the south-east of Westmoreland,
Charnwood Forest, the middle of Wales, part of the upper
slates of Cornwall and Devon.
3. SILURIAN SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent—It is to the labours of Mr Mur¬
chison, in South Wales and the bordering counties, that we
are indebted for a clear knowledge of the relations of this
great mass of rocks, which were but partially noticed, and
never consistently arranged by preceding writers. It is
still to the district which he has worked, and specially to
the counties of Hereford, Radnor, Brecon, Carmarthen,
and Pembroke, that we must look for the most complete
development of it yet made known. It does occur in
Westmoreland and the Craven district of Yorkshire, and
probably also in the southern primary tract of Ireland, be¬
tween Waterford and Bantry Bay. There appears good
reason to believe that part of the slaty rocks and limestones
^ L o G Y.
I fit
of the Harz and Nomay, as well as the Eifel limestones, Geol y
belong to it. Judging from organic remains which we have
seen, it appears not unlikely that large tracts in the northern
parts of the United States and Canada belong to this system.
Succession of Deposits and Thickness Mr Murchison’s
views on this subject, after mature reflection, appear finally
to have settled into the following intelligible classification,
which, however, can only be considered as locally applica¬
ble until the more extensive investigation which these rocks
deserve in other districts, shall determine the general cha¬
racters of the deposits. The order is that of superposition.
Upper silurian system, consisting of—
The Ludlow rocks, 2000 feet in thickness, which are
composed of three groups, viz.
h. Upper Ludlow rock, an assemblage of slightly mica¬
ceous, grey, thin bedded limestones and shaly beds,
containing a very great abundance of fossil shells,
chiefly belonging to brachiopoda; some trilobites
occur in it.
g. Aymestry limestone, a subcrystalline grey and blue
argillaceous limestone, full of pentamerus Knightii,
and other brachiopoda ; some corals also occur.
/. Lower Ludlow rock, a series of sandy, liver, and dark-
coloured shale and flag, with concretions of earthy
limestone ; the organic remains are various and nu¬
merous.
The Wenlock rocks, &c. 1800 feet thick, including—
e. Wenlock limestone, a highly concretionary grey and
blue subcrystalline limestone, singularly rich in par¬
ticular genera of corals and crinoidea, brachiopoda;
certain gasteropoda and polythalamic cephalopoda,
and trilobites, are very plentiful in the Welsh, Sa¬
lopian, and Dudley limestone, the same species
occurring also in the Eifel and partially in the Harz,
Norway, Russia, Brittany, and North America.
d. Wenlock shale, a liver and dark grey-coloured rarely
micaceous shale, with nodules of earthy limestone;
trilobites, brachiopoda, orthocerata, &c. occur in it.
Lower silurian system, consisting of—
The Caradoc rocks, 2500 feet thick.
c. Thin bedded, impure, shelly limestone, and finely
laminated, slightly micaceous, greenish sandstone;
with pentameri and other brachiopoda.
b. Thick bedded, red, purple, green, and white freestone,
conglomeritic quartzose grits, sandy and gritty lime¬
stones, brachiopoda, trilobites, &c.
The Llandeilo rocks, 1200 feet thick.
a. Dark coloured flags, mostly calcareous, with some sand¬
stone and slate. Asaphus Buchii, and other trilobites.
In tracing from Shropshire and Radnorshire the courses
of these various rocks to the west, it is found that the lime¬
stones lose their thickness and importance, and the dis¬
tinctions of the several groups becomes, from that and
other causes, less easily followed. This variation of nu¬
merical division is common to all the systems of stratified
rocks : it leads us to doubt the applicability of minute sub¬
divisions, however well conceived and locally exact, except
for small geographical areas. In searching for the conti¬
nuity of such systems we may conveniently follow rather
such leading divisions as upper and lower Silurians, though
it is very probable that these will be often undistinguish-
able, especially as the development of the limestones (which
in this, as in all other stratified systems, offer the most de¬
cided characters) is unequal and irregular.
STRATIFICATION AND ORGANIC REMAINS.
At this stage in the series of deposited rocks, all doubts
and difficulties as to the fact of their complete stratification
vanish entirely. In the alternation of sandstones, shales,
and limestones, many of them fossiliferous, the fossil shells
MINERALOGY.
Ge<
and Crustacea, &c. differing in the different groups, what
do we recognise but the very same principle as that which
was detected by Mr Smith’s researches among the oolites of
Bath ? It is this close analogy between deposits so far dis¬
tant in geological date as the superior primary and middle
secondary rocks, which constitutes the great interest of Mr
Murchison’s researches. We, who have known, step by step,
the whole progress of his researches, claim the results as be¬
ing peculiarly illustrative of the modern school of geology,
which in all its investigations strives to detect, by a close in¬
quiry into certain classes of phenomena among rocks of diffe¬
rent ages, the unchangeable influences of nature. But there
is another point of view in which the silurian system demands
our especial attention.
It appears highly probable that the organic remains of
this ancient system are sufficiently numerous to justify sa¬
tisfactory inferences on points of the greatest importance
in the philosophy of geology.
In the first place, we must observe that these reliquiae,
though perhaps specifically different from those in the older
limestones and other fossiliferous rocks of the clay-slate
system, are mostly congeneric, of analogous structure, and
similarly distinct from existing forms of life. There is
evidently such an agreement of mineral and organic cha¬
racters between the silurian and clay-slate systems, that
both must be admitted to have been deposited under cir¬
cumstances depending on the same or very similar physical
conditions. That system is so linked with the mica-slate
and gneiss, that the whole mass of primary strata may be
conceived to be the result of physical conditions, gradually or
periodically variable, but not suddenly interrupted. It
appears that, in the deposition of the subsc ystalline gneiss
and mica-slate rocks, mechanical agitation of the ocean was
rare and slight; and that, tin the contrary, in the highest
group of the primary strata, the sandstones and conglome¬
rates indicate frequent and considerable watery disturbance.
Nearly in the same ratio, the monuments of organic life
appear and grow numerous, the limestone bands become
more regular and continuous, the stratification less com¬
plicated by superimposed structures, and the characters of
secondary strata appear.
It was therefore not unphilosophical in Werner to pro¬
pose for these formations, and some of those already rank¬
ed in the clay-slate system, the term Transition rocks: such
in truth they are; yet the term will probably fall into dis¬
use, because the enlarged views of modern geologists have
led them to recognise in all the varied mass of stratified
rocks, only one long, though locally interrupted, series,
every term of which is really transitive, connecting the
earlier and later formations. Of this abundant proof
will be found by every inquiring geologist.
The organic remains of the silurian system are most
abundant in the limestones (e. g. Wenlock and Aymestry
limestone) ; in calcareo-argillaceous layers {e. g. Builth and
Llandeilo flags); or in layers of shale and sandstone asso¬
ciated with such calcareous deposits. The same is true
(in a general sense) in the secondary strata, and, as far as
examples can be quoted, it is also true in the lowest pri¬
mary strata. The remains of polypiferous zoophyta, occur
almost exclusively in the limestones; this is true for all
the primary strata. The corals of the Wenlock and Dudley
limestone, and those of the contemporaneous limestone of the
Eifel, are aggregated in such forms as to suggest, though per-
naps not to establish, the notion of these rocks being in fact
ancient coral reefs. Crinoidea are less plentiful in these lime¬
stones than in some of later date: the brachiopoda and other
mollusca, and also the trilobites, occur in the calcareous, ar¬
gillaceous, and arenaceous rocks. Remains of fishes have
been observed, even abundantly, but no traces of reptiles.
The character of induration or consolidat ion is less remark¬
able in these strata, than in all the rest of the primary rocks.
VOL. xv.
193
The sandstones are, however, seldom soft ; the argillaceous
beds are shaly or slaty, and the limestones still subcrystalline.
Igneous rocks are associated with different parts of the
silurian system, under circumstances of great interest,
though the geological date of their irruption can seldom
be determined exactly. Mr Murchison, in describing them,
adopts the convenient plan ol referring them to their seve-
ral parallel anticlinal or disruptive axes, and characterizing
the nature of the igneous rocks and their effects upon the
neighbouring strata. North of the Severn, Lilleshall Hill,
the Wrekin, Charlton Hill, &c. mark parallel axes ranging
from N.E. to S.W. and piercing through beds chiefly of
the Caradoc rocks, the sandstones of which are converted to
quartz-rocks at the point of junction of the trap. The ridge
of Caer Caradoc contains many varieties of felspar rock, gra¬
nite, and greenstone, and actynolitic amygdaloid.
On the flank of this axis of violent elevation, sandstones
are converted to quartz-rocks, and particular strata occur
composed of the materials of igneous rocks, the origin of
which the author ascribes to subsidence of volcanic matter
in water, and calls volcanic sandstone.
The mining district of Shelve, is an isolated tract sepa¬
rated from the Linley and Longmynd Hills by the remark¬
able ridge of quartz-rock, called the Stiperstones. It is
made up of parallel ridges of trap and alternating depres¬
sions in the lower silurian rocks. Some of these trappean
rocks alternate conformably with the stratified deposits,
and are supposed to be of contemporaneous origin, and
partly of the nature of the volcanic sandstone previously
noticed; others are of the ordinary character of irrupted
trap. Veins of lead-ore occur in the greywacke, near the
junction with the trap.
The Breiddin Hills are formed in ridges running from
E.N.E. to W.S.W. The eastern, or chief ridge, contains
compact felspar rocks, slates, porphyries, greenstone, &c.
they burst through upper silurian rocks. The other main
ridge contains chiefly columnar greenstone.
The Old Radnor group contains abundance of hypers-
thene, and passes from this to a fine grained greenstone.
Near Old Radnor church, the upper silurian rocks are dis¬
located, and bands of imperfect serpentine occur between
the trap and the limestone, which near the contact is wholly
unstratified, crystalline, and hard ; the shale is also harden¬
ed to a slaty substance: coatings and nests of anthracite,
with minute metallic veins, appear near the junction.
Other groups of trap, near Builth, range from N.E. to
S.W., and resemble in many respects the rocks of the
Shelve district. Other occurrences are noticed in Breck¬
nockshire aud Caermarthenshire, and from the whole in¬
vestigation, we find in the rocks which have been irrupted
into these silurian strata, in their effects on the surround¬
ing strata, in the alternation of pseudo-volcanic sand¬
stones, and in the mineral springs which accompany the
ridges of trap, not only the usual analogies to the effects of
heat, but special resemblances to that form of the igneous
action which is exemplified in volcanos. The facts are
generally of the same order as those noticed among the
older slates of the Lammermuir, Cumbria, Snowdonia, but
more exactly and definitely traceable.
The circumstance of the dependence of the metallic veins
on the axis of igneous rocks, in the Shelve district, is an ex¬
ample on a small and distinct scale of what is seen in Cumber¬
land, Snowdonia, and most of the great mountain chains of
Europe (of all geological ages). For it is a general truth, that
metallic veins abound in proportion to the proximity of the
situation to axes of dislocation, and irruptions ofpyrogenous
rock—a view first positively advanced by M. Necker.
GENERAL VIEW'S CONCERNING PRIMARY STRATA.
The primary formations have so much of parallelism to
each other, so much conformity of position, as to indicate
2 B
194
Geology, long periods undisturbed by great convulsions. It is true,
that among the old slates of Cumberland, between the
Skiddaw and Snowdon series, a red conglomerate rock
occurs, and seems to prove local disturbance ; but this soli¬
tary exception rather suggests the commencement of that
volcanic agency which in the period of the deposition of
the Borrowdale and Langdale slates was very frequently
exerted. Among the silurian rocks, conglomerates also
occur, and seem to imply that part of the older Snowdonian
and other slaty rocks were previously raised up to be ex¬
posed to atmospheric action ; but yet the conformity of the
silurian and Plynlimmon rocks, seems to forbid the notion
of any great convulsions, though it may not at all affect the
question of gradual elevation of part of the older rocks.
However, it is certain, that in the later part of the
primary period, or perhaps after its close, great and general
disturbances happened, which in many parts altered the
aspect of the globe, by raising up large tracts of land, and
dividing the expanded ocean by a multitude of mountain¬
ous islands. Without entering into a wide field of inexact
discussion, we may dwell on some facts of this nature which
have come to light concerning the ancient hydrography of
the British islands.
It is remarked of the Grampians, that their elevated
ranges no where include any masses of secondary strata,
though round their flanks these rocks spread very widely
and on all sides; they rest on the gneiss of Sutherland,
mica-slate of Argyleshire, chlorite slates of Perthshire, &c.
and in general appear in such relations to the ancient rocks
as to indicate that these had stood up above the ocean in
which the carboniferous system was afterwards formed.
In studying the Lammermuir ranges, which are com¬
posed of slaty rocks less ancient than any in the Highland
chains, the same old red sandstone border is found as that
which encircles the Grampians, and under the same rela¬
tions. These mountains, then, were also raised, though
not to their present elevations, before the commencement
of the carboniferous era. Now, it is very remarkable, that
the Grampians and Lammermuirs are nearly parallel, both
ranging nearly north-east: both are prolonged (across the
channel) into Ireland, the former reaching Donegal, and
the north-western projection of Ireland, the latter entering
by Donaghadee on the eastern coast of Ireland, and pro¬
ceeding inland to Cavan. In Ireland these prolonged
ranges also shew the same independence of the carbonife¬
rous deposits; and the same results apply to the south¬
east border of the island.
Again, the same north-east range accompanies the slaty
rocks of the Isle of Man, and it is recognised in a very dis¬
tinct manner in the insulated and romantic district of the
English Lakes. The axis of these slaty tracts passes north¬
east and south-west; and the nearly circular mass of pri¬
mary strata is begirt by a belt of later red standstone, lime¬
stone, &c., all evidently unconformed to the axis of the
slates. The date of one of the elevations of the Cumbrian
slates is thus probably fixed before the commencement of
the carboniferous era.
MINERALOGY.
tion of convulsive movements, some regular laws are dis¬
coverable. In fact, if we were to be satisfied with one in-'
stance, this north-east direction among so many presumed
contemporaneous elevations, would establish the truth of Elie
du Beaumont’s hypothesis, which would have us recognise,
as a principle capable of practical application, that parallel
mountain ranges belong to the same era, and the same exer¬
tion of disturbing forces. This must be, however, subjected
to further and more rigorous trials before it can be adopt¬
ed among the admitted generalizations of inductive geology.
Though it thus appears evident that many of the most
marking characters of British physical geography have so
old a date as disturbances anterior to the carboniferous
system, yet, on the continent of Europe, this is by no
means the case ; for the Alps, Pyrenees, Carpathians, and
Apennines, are of more recent date, and, at tbe time when
the Grampians sent streams and detritus to straits where
now the valleys of the Forth and Clyde meet, the greater
part of Europe was a wide ocean.
The state of the globe during the period of the produc¬
tion of the primary strata may never be fully disclosed by
geological inquiries, aided by higher departments of know¬
ledge : yet, as a view of the successive conditions of the
globe, however imperfect, constitutes the very essence of
philosophical geology, it is necessary to ascertain what pro¬
gress has been made in this dark research into some of the
earliest natural records of creation. It is remarkable that
the lowest of all the known systems of stratified deposits
should be at once the most extensive, the most nearly uni¬
versal, the most uniform in mineral character, the only one
from which organic life appears to be totally excluded,
and in which the character of mechanical aggregation is
the most obscure. Most of the circumstances are original,
though the latter has been apparently influenced by super¬
posed structures, due to subsequent agencies. Can we
hesitate to admit that the globe was then in a condition
which has never since occurred to it ? Does it not strike
the mind as a reasonable hypothesis, that the ocean was,
during the period when gneiss and mica-slate were form¬
ed, unfitted, by some peculiarity of condition, for the sup¬
port of living beings ? Such peculiarity, to judge from the
deposited rocks, was not of a chemical nature; for these
are not of a description to countenance such an opinion, on
the contrary, the gradual introduction of fossil exuviae in the
superior strata, till at length, as we ascend in the scale of
rocks, they are unfolded in great abundance, seems to point
to some slow change of a pervading physical condition.
In accordance with the undoubted truth of the general
expansion of rocks of igneous origin below all the stratified
masses, we naturally inquire if the agency of subterranean
heat is of a kind to account for the phenomena observed.
It is obvious that, when and wherever the supposed high
subterranean temperature was applied most directly to
the base of the ocean, so high a temperature would be
maintained therein, as to be incompatible with the exist¬
ence of organic beings ; changes would be produced upon
the igneous rocks in an expanded thermal (agitated) ocean,
The slaty ranges of North Wales have the same direc- quite different from those occasioned by lateral movements
tion, north-east and south-west; they are also, probably, in later times through narrower channels of cooler water,
or rather certainly, anterior in elevation to the commence- It does not appear improbable that a hydrothermic ac-
ment of the carboniferous epoch; and, finally, the axis of tion, of the nature suggested, may be found sufficient to
the Cornish and South Devon slates has the same general account for the remarkable resemblance between the (pri-
direction, and these rocks, probably, were elevated before
the deposition of the carboniferous system.
Most of these mountains have an axis of granite and
other pyrogenous rocks. Thus, a great number of parallel
mountain ranges were produced by disturbing movements
within one geological period, the result being, in each case,
one, or a number of anticlinal axes, in each physical re¬
gion, parallel to each other. It is impossible not to be
struck with the probability thus arising, that, in the direc-
mitive) granitic, and the (derivative) gneiss rocks,—their
almost universal diffusion,—the singular undulated lamina¬
tion, rather than stratification, which belongs to so many of
the older primary rocks,—and the absence of organic life;
while, as the form of the globe was changed by subter¬
ranean disturbances, and mechanical agencies arose to im¬
portance, the sea received partial. deposits from emerging
lands into its contracted and variously ramified basins, and
the communication of heat from below was sufficiently re-
Ge,(gy. tarded by the intervention of solid rocks (gneiss, &c.) to al-
wv—'low, at least partially, temperatures suited to particular races
of animals. It appears somewhat in favour of this view that
the races of animals are, for the most part, very peculiar, 
their association with abundance of corals seems to justify a
belief that they were suited to a warm climate,—and the dis¬
appearance of nearly all these genera and families, after pass¬
ing through a few more formations and systems of strata, is
at least in harmony with the conditions assumed.
But this hypothesis, suggested by consideration of the
phenomena, assumes quite another character, when com¬
pared with deductions from the admitted fact of the former
igneous fluidity of the mass of the globe. From that im¬
portant truth, as we deem it, it seems to follow necessarily
that the globe should pass through many stages and changes
before, in any part of the surface, the conditions could be
obtained, within which the Almighty Architect of the uni¬
verse has seen fit to restrict the exhibition of organic life.
One of the most direct and important of these, and the
most obviously influential on mechanical, chemical, and
vital phenomena, is the diminution of surface temperature:
this having arrived, locally or generally, at a certain point,
the unchangeable laws of nature relating to organic life,
which are but the expression of the will of God, began to
operate; and it is not one of the least curious of the ad¬
justments of the terrestrial creation, that the diminution of
the surface temperature is limited. A certain point once
reached, the prescribed conditions of organic life once at¬
tained, they assume a character of stability,—a regularity
of effects which enables a finite but intelligent being to
trace them back toward their origin.
SECONDARY STRATA.
Base of the Strata—In consequence of the disturbing
movements already alluded to, which have broken up the
primary rocks into various irregular masses, and in places
thrown them off entirely from granitic nuclei and axes, the
secondary strata have not always, nor indeed generally,
their surfaces parallel to those of the primary age. On
the contrary, the two classes of rocks are unconformed to
each other; so that the same secondary strata may rest in
some part of their range on gneiss, in other parts on clay-
slate or Silurian rocks, or, without any such intervention, on
granite, according as these rocks, after the convulsive dis¬
placement of the crust of the globe, formed respectively the
bed of the sea.
As a general but not universal fact, it is found that in
the vicinity of elevated mountain masses the secondary
strata are more nearly horizontal than the primary; hence
they were included by Werner in his class of floetz or flat-
ying rocks: but this classification, founded on a geologi-
1 cal accident, is not satisfactory, though in fact it agrees
nearly with the modern divisions.
Nature of the Secondary Strata—They consist of three
sorts of rocks, deriving their most prominent characters
10m three particular substances, viz. Siliceous, Argillaceous,
and Calcareous rocks. On comparing them respectively
with the corresponding forms of the primary series, little
i any chemical difference can be established between the
two classes. In the constituent minerals of the siliceous
an argillaceous rocks also a great resemblance prevails,
t is still quartz which constitutes the great bulk of the
masses. Mica interlaminates many sandstones, and felspar
vanes the substances of others. Some clays are but a finer
an more argillaceous kind of sandstone, just as some clay-
s ates are not obviously distinct from an argillaceous form
o mica-slate. But yet, on a close comparison, we find
e condition of these mineral ingredients somewhat diff’er-
en * tle grains of quartz, mica, and felspar are in fact more
worn on the surfaces, more broken and fragmentary in the
secondary than in the primary strata. Also the aggrega-
MINERALOGY.
195
tion of them is so far different, that the influence of sedi- GeoWy
mentary aggregation is extremely evident in all the secon- ' JL
dary strata. lhe degree of consolidation of the mass is
generally much less than in the primary groups; soft as
well as hard sandstone, clay as well as shale, soft as well as
hard limestones, occur continually. And just as in the
primary strata the induration and subcrystalline aspect of
the rocks was at a maximum in the older systems, so in
these the contrary characters, softness and earthiness of
texture, become the most conspicuous in the upper or most
recent groups. 11
Thus it is evident that the consolidation and molecular
aggreg3dions of the rock masses of similar chemical and
mineral nature are dependent on general influences, such as
pressure and heat, whose effect would naturally be greatest
m the oldest rocks, because these have been not only ex¬
posed the longest time to their influences, but also submit¬
ted to the highest degrees of their action.
Succession of Secondary Strata.—characters are
employed in establishing the classification of secondary
strata; first, their mineral constitution ; second, their respec¬
tive conformity or unconformity ; third, the nature of their
organic contents; in many instances these coincide re¬
markably ; where they differ the classification is embar¬
rassed. All the classifications, however, are to be suppos¬
ed only locally true ; for it is already ascertained that none
of even the larger assemblages of secondary strata are uni-
versal or even very general in their distribution, nor very
uniform in any one of their characteristics, except for
limited areas. The most convenient classification for the
European basin is, however, found to be sufficiently appli¬
cable to all the Mediterranean and Transatlantic regions,
part of Central Asia, and the basin of the Indus.
The British series of secondary strata is one of the most
complete in Europe, and sufficiently developed, even in the
parts where it yields to the German type (red sandstone
system), to serve as a general basis of comparison. T1 e
following is a concise scheme of the arrangement usually
adopted in Great Britain :—
Names of Formations.
7. Cretaceous System,
Thickness,
1 000
6. Oolitic System,
5. New Red Sand¬
stone, Saliferous
Poecilitic System
ld->
or V
> 3
4. Carboniferous Sys¬
tem,
3,000
1,200'
6,000
to
16,000
Composed of soft white limestones
and argillaceous and siliceous
rocks, all conformable in stra¬
tification, and containing similar
groups of organic remains.
A complex or polymeric series of
calcareous, argillaceous, and are¬
naceous strata, associated in se¬
veral rather similar groups of
three terms each (limestone,
sandstone, day). The organic
remains of the whole system
somewhat similar, yet in fact
differing in each group, and in
each term of the groups.
Arenaceous, argillaceous, and cal¬
careous strata, intimately asso¬
ciated in several repetitions.
Red colour very predominant.
Organic remains few and local.
Calcareous, arenaceous, and argil¬
laceous strata, with beds of coal
. and ironstone. The limestones
usually low in the series, the coal
most abundant above. Many land
plants with the latter, the for¬
mer with marine exuvire consi¬
derably analogous to those of
the silurian system.
1
MINERALOGY.
19(5
Geology. 4- CARBONIFEROUS SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent.—This valuable series of strata, to
which Great Britain owes so much of her commercial
prosperity, is extended irregularly over the basin of Eu¬
rope, in North America, Australia, &c. It occupies large
breadths in Scotland, Ireland, England and W ales, and lies
in patches in various quarters of France, Germany, Poland,
and Russia. Commonly it is found at the foot or on the
flanks of primary mountains which had been previously up¬
lifted, so that its stratification is not in accordance with
theirs. In particular regions, how ever, there is no such break
in the continuity of deposition, but, as in Herefordshire, the
passage is gradual from the upper silurian sandstones and
shales and limestones to the limestone, shales, and sand¬
stone, and coal of the carboniferous systems. In such a
district it might be quite reasonable (since the organic re¬
mains, though minutely different, are often generically si¬
milar) to unite the upper primary and lower secondary
rocks; but this local practicability must yield to general
convenience.
Succession and Thickness of the Strata.—The variations
in the development of the carboniferous system are consi¬
derable, and its occurrence is often in detached portions :
it is therefore requisite for obtaining a general section, to
combine the results of different and independent observers.
The most complete view of the lower part of the system is
found on the border of Wales adjoining the silurian rocks.
The middle and upper portions are most fully exhibited in
the north of England. There are tliree great formations
included in the carboniferous system.
Upper Formation, or Goal Measures ; three thousand feet
thick in the north of England, consisting of abundance of
sandstone and shales, layers of ironstone, and beds of coal.
Of these are many alternations, constituting a series of many
nearly similar terms, usually containing at least the three
substances,—coal, sandstone, and shale. Scarcely any lime¬
stone occurs in this upper coal-measure series. One bed is,
however, found in the Yorkshire coal-field, containing marine
shells, while in all the rest of the strata nothing but fresh-w^ater
and terrestrial exuviae occur. A limestone bed with estuary
shells is found in Shropshire, and near Manchester.
The coal seams, twrenty or thirty in number, amount in
all to a thickness of about sixty feet, in a mass of shales
and sandstones at least 3000 feet. Nearly the same thick¬
ness of coal occurs in the coal-fields of Newcastle, South
Wales, &c. though the earthy substances enclosing the ve¬
getable products vary in nature and thickness. The thick¬
est coal-seams in Staffordshire and Ayrshire, ten or fifteen
yards, are in fact composed of many beds of different qua¬
lities aggregated together. The quality of coal is partly
dependent on the plants of which it was Originally compos¬
ed, and partly on subsequent changes produced by subter¬
ranean movements, effects of heat, &c. The principal dif¬
ferences arise from the variable quantity of gaseous mat¬
ter. In the stone coal (blind coal or culm) of South Wales,
Kilkenny, and Virginia, which burns like coke, there is
little or nothing but carbon and earthy admixtures. The
box or cannel coal of Lancashire and Yorkshire, which
blazes like a candle, contains nearly half of its weight of
gaseous matter. There is but little coal, and that in the
lower part of tha, series, in Ireland.
The ironstones of a coal district lie generally in layers of
nodules, each frequently enclosing a leaf or shell, or some
other nucleus of molecular attraction.
The shales are bituminous or sandy ; the sandstones la¬
minated or massive, micaceous, argillaceous, subcalcareous,
oi felspathic, very rarely of a red colour, though blue, yel¬
low, brown, white, and other tints prevail. Chalybeate Geolo^r
springs are general, and salt springs not uncommon in the
northern coal tracts.
The Mountain Limestone Formation is best examined
in the north of England1 in the region between Pendle
Hill and the Tyne. The whole series undergoes great
changes, so as to afford northern and southern types appli¬
cable to all parts of the mountain limestone formation yet
known in Europe.
The Southern Type, complete in Derbyshire and the
south of Yorkshire, is composed of three terms, viz—
Upper Term Millstone grit, a coarse sandstone, in one,
two, or three masses, with shales and bad coal.
Middle Term.—(Limestone shale), a thick mass of bitu¬
minous shale, in wdiich locally black limestone bands
and nodules of ironstone occur.
Lower Term Limestone of Derbyshire (Lower Scar
limestone of Sedgwick and Phillips), a great mass of
calcareous rocks almost entirely free from arenace¬
ous and argillaceous admixture.
To this type all the south of England mountain lime¬
stones, as well as those of Ireland, Belgium, Dusseldorf,
and Silesia are to be referred.
In the Northern Type the same three terms are com¬
pounded and otherwise varied.
The upper group is composed of three millstone grit rocks,
alternating with shales, laminated sandstones, coal
seams, ironstones, chert beds, and thin limestones.
The middle group consists of shales alternating with
sandstones mostly laminated, ironstones, coal seams,
chert beds, and five or more limestone rocks, each
from ten to eighty feet thick. (The name of Yore-
dale rocks is given to this group in Yorkshire.)
The lower group consists of limestone, alternating with
shales and some sandstones, coals, &c.
To this type belong all the Northumberland limestones,
and those of the basins of the Forth and Clyde. The lime¬
stone of Burdiehouse, near Edinburgh, is maintained by
DrHibbert to be of fresh-water origin.
The lower part of the group, round the Cumbrian moun¬
tains, and along the Penine escarpments, from Brough to
Brampton, contains alternating red sandstone beds, thus
constituting a real transition to the next or old red sand¬
stone formation.
The old red sandstone formation varies in its character so
as to offer little that is really of general application except
its colour, and the absence of coal, and rarity of limestone.
Along the flanks of the Grampian, Lammermuir, and Cum¬
brian mountains, it is chiefly a rude conglomerate of peb¬
bles torn by violent floods from the neighbouring high
ground ; but on the borders of the Welsh slates it is a com¬
plicated mass of arenaceous, calcareous, and argillaceous stra¬
ta, graduating to the upper silurian system. Mr Murchison
has thus classed the beds 10,000 feet in thickness, which he
ascribes to the old red sandstone of the Welsh border:—•
Upper part.—Red quartzose conglomerate, overlying
thick bedded sandstone. (Without or¬
ganic remains.)
Middle part.—Red and green (mottled) concretionary
limestones, with spotted argillaceous marls
and beds of sandstone. (Singular fishes,
Cephalaspis of Agassiz.)
Lower part Flaggy, highly micaceous, red and green
sandstone. (With shells.)
In the Geology of Yorkshire, vol. ii. is the following
conspectus of the whole carboniferous group:—
1 See Gcoloyy of lorkshiret vol. ii, and Sedgwick’s Memoirs in Geological Proceedings and Transactions.
MINERALOGY.
G ogr.
Coal Formation
Transition Series
Carboniferous Lime,
stone Formation
Transition Series
Old Red Formation
North of England and
Scotland.
Coal, shale, grit, and
ironstone
Millstone grit, coal
shale
l! {
/ Limestone,
Yoredale 1 Gritstone,
rocks. 1 Shale, and
(Coal
Lower Scar limestone
group
Alternations of red
sandstone and lime¬
stone . .
Red sandstones and red f
conglomerates .
Derbyshire, North and
South Wales.
Coal, shale, grit, and/
ironstone . 1
Millstone grit, or fare¬
well, rock shale ,
Limestone shale’
Mountain limestone
Alternations of
sandstone and lime
stone
red l
ime- -<
Red sandstone and con¬
glomerates
Belgium and South of
England.
Coal, shale, grit, and)
ironstone
Millstone grit, or fare-/
well rock, shale . j
Limestone and shales
Alternations of red
sandstone and lime,
stone .
Red conglomerates
Ireland.
Coal, shale, grit, and ironstone.
Kvlkeagh grit.
Kulkeagh shale.
Kulkeagh limestone.
Loch Earn shales and grits.
Enniskillen limestone.
Alternation of red sandstone and
limestone.
Red sandstone and conglomerate.
STRATIFICATION.
This varied series of rocks shews, in all its parts, the
clearest proof of successive deposition ; laminae, beds, strata,
whole rocks, and groups of rocks, are here seen to be gene¬
rally parallel. It is, however, very true, that in each kind
of rock the phenomena indicative of successive deposition
are so far different as to admit of definition. The argilla¬
ceous members are universally laminated, but it is rare to
see the laminae aggregated into beds. In a thickness of a
few hundred feet, are many thousand laminae, but no real
beds; in a mass of limestone, forty to eighty feet, are no
lamince, but many beds ; in micaceous sandstone, are both
laminae, and beds ; and in some block sandstones are oblique
laminae and irregular oblique or waving beds. Does not
this shew the imperfection of the nomenclature commonly
used, which confounds all those various structures of depo¬
sition under one vague term of stratification ? Yet, on the
other hand, how full of instruction are those different phe¬
nomena : are we not clearly informed by them of the dif¬
ferent conditions of the aggregation of the different chemi¬
cal substances ? Is it not apparent that the deposition of the
argillaceous beds was subject to only minute and short inter¬
ruptions ; that the limestone rocks were formed at intervals;
and the sandstones accumulated w ith much irregularity ?
The deposition of limestone is of an oceanic character;
its maximum thickness and purity is in one direction, while
that of the arenaceous and argillaceous rocks lies in another,
and marks the agitation of the sea along its ancient shores,
where rivers and inundations brought sediments to be swept
away by the tides and currents.
The organic remains of the carboniferous system are
extremely numerous: upwards of four hundred species of
animal exuviae have been figured from the mountain lime¬
stone alone; probably 200 species of plants belong to the
coal measures, and it is certain that in both these formations
considerable additions will yet be made : a few remain to
be added from the old sandstone. The following short sum¬
mary of British species is all that our limits allow us to in¬
troduce ;—.
No. 12.
A
Plants
Marine .
Terrestrial .
Zoophyta—Polyparia
Crinoidea
Echinida
Mollusca—Conchifera
Plagimyona
Mesomyona
Brachiopoda
Gasteropoda
Cephalopoda Monoth
Polythal
Crustacea—Trilobites, &c.
Fishes .
Coal
Measures.
1
150
10
4
1
3
10?
Mountain
Limestone.
41
40
3
36
24
110
95
10
78
10
a few.
Old Red
Sandstone.
a few.
a few.
a few.
1 he account of plants is derived from comparison of the
works of Brongniart, Lindley, and Hutton, &c. and from
private sources ; the other parts are chiefly taken from the
Geology of Yorkshire and Sowerby’s Mineral Conchology.
SYMMETRICAL STRUCTURES.
The jointed structure of rocks of the carboniferous sys¬
tem has been minutely investigated. In the Geology of
Yorkshire, vol. ii. it is shown, from eighty-five observations
in the carboniferous system, that in the mountain lime¬
stone and coal tracts of Yorkshire, the long joints affect
certain principal directions, so that two positive axes in
which these divisional planes are most frequent, are traced
at right angles to one another; and two negative axes in
which no long joints have been observed, also at right
angles to each other. The axes of frequent joints run
N.N.W. and S.S.E., and E.N.E. and W.S.W.; the nega¬
tive axes are N.E. by N., and N.W. by W. This singular
result of observation harmonizes with the principal direc¬
tions of mineral veins in the district bordering on the great
Crossfell and Craven faults; it also bears a close analogy
with the deductions from mechanical theory of Mr Hopkins,
(Cambridge Trans. 1836), as to the production of planes
of fissure at right angles to each other, in cases of continu¬
ous pressure being applied to large areas of the earth’s
lamellar crust.
The directions above named of the positive axes, obtain
in newer strata (oolitic and red sandstone systems), and
in situations at great distances from the Penine faults, and
it appears probable that the joint planes are due to ex¬
tremely general agency.
These researches should be followed up in other districts,
and in other systems of strata. The following table is
extracted from the work above named, and it refers to
diagram, No. 12.
MINERALOGY.
Table of the Directions of Long Joints in Yorkshire.
Names of Formations.
Magnesian Limestone
Coal . .
Millstone Grit .
Chert Group .
Yoredale Series
Scar Limestone .
Old Red Sandstone
Whin Sill
No. of Obs.
in
Yorkshire.
4
3
13
57
35
15
1
1
89
23
9i
9|
12
Geology,
Igneous rocks are of frequent occurrence in the carboni¬
ferous system of the British islands, especially in the
northern parts of England and southern parts of Scotland.
It is very deserving of attention, that they are principally
of the augitic and hornblendic family of igneous rocks.
Greenstones and basalts are the prevalent rocks which lie
in interposed beds, or fissures in the stratified limestones,
shales, and limestones.
While among the slates of Cumberland and the Lam-
mermuir prophyritic rocks of many kinds abound, the coal-
measures and limestone rocks, not far removed, have only
basaltic or greenstone masses mixed with them.
The porphyry of the Cheviot and some other points
along the Tweed, may indeed be ranked as exceptions.
In Northumberland, Cumberland, and the northern part of
Yorkshire, a stratiform mass of greenstone and basalt (whin
sill) is interposed in the midst of the limestone series, ap¬
parently originating in several submarine lava currents.
In Derbyshire, a somewhat analogous rock (“ toadstone”)
interlaminates the limestone; in the Clee Hill, a mass of
basalt (“jewstone”) has overflowed the coal. More com¬
monly, through all the coal-field of Durham and Newcastle,
and not unfrequently in the coal-basins of Scotland, rocks
of the same kind have been injected in the fluid state into
open fissures of the sandstones and shales, constituting whin-
dykes. At the point of contact of these crystallized rocks
with the coal, the latter is converted to coke (North of
England), or to anthracite (Old Cumnock) ; earthy lime¬
stone is converted to crystalline (Teesdale) ; shale and
sandstone are hardened to jasper (Salisbury Crags, &c.);
garnets are generated in the shales of Teesdale. It is
worthy of remark, that the ‘ whin-dykes ’ of the North of
England are often unaccompanied by dislocation.
Mineral veins abound in particular parts of the carboni¬
ferous rocks, chiefly in the limestone districts, and near to
some considerable dislocations or axes of distinct elevation.
Scarcely a single mine in the British islands is worked in
the old red sandstone, or true coal-measures ; very few are
established in districts which, like a large part of the Irish
limestone, are removed from axes and centres of disturb¬
ance. But the dislocated mountain limestone of Cumber¬
land, Durham, Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Flintshire, Mendip,
and South Wales, and partially that of Belgium and Silesia,
is characterized by prevalence of veins of lead, copper, cala¬
mine, and oxide of iron. There is seldom found in these
districts the same great variety of metallic ores as in the
older primary tracts; the vein stuff (matrix of the ore)
differs according to locality—fluor-spar abounds in the
mines of Aldstone Moor, &c—carbonate of barytes in
Derbyshire. It is seldom that the same mining districts,
almost never the same veins, yield copper and lead in
abundance. One might venture to say, there is a peculiar
elective attraction between sulphuret of lead and limestone
rock; and this idea, followed too far, leads to the doctrine
of the metallic contents being secreted from the bordering
rocks. The materials of the veins seem indeed in many
instances to have been transferred by (electric) currents
through solid substances, but they are really diffused from
the veins into cavities of the neighbouring rocks, not col¬
lected from these into the vein fissures.
Most of the veins of fissure are accompanied by disloca¬
tions (“ faults”), sometimes to the extent of several hundred
feet, sometimes only a few inches. They pass through the
stratiform basalt of Northumberland and Yorkshire, and
yield ore in it abundantly; but though the toadstone of
Derbyshire does not, as was once imagined, “ cut the veins
oft’,” they are only feebly traced through it. But this cir¬
cumstance is not peculiar to the igneous rocks; often, and
perhaps generally, the veins in a limestone district are
greatly contracted (“nipped”) and unproductive at the places
where they divide the shales, and grow wider and more pro¬
lific in the limestones and thick gritstones. Pipe veins are
of less frequent occurrence and inferior interest. Ecton is
one of the most remarkable of these.
The same phenomena of some veins crossing and cutting
through others occur in this district as in the older strata,
and the same tendencies to peculiar directions are recog¬
nised; the bearing veins running generally east north-east,
or nearly so, and the cross courses north by west, in the
north of England and Flintshire.
DISTURBANCES OF THE CARBONIFEROUS SYSTEM.
After the deposition of this system, and before at least
any considerable proportion of the superjacent rocks was
formed, very extensive displacement happened in most parts
of the surface of the globe where the carboniferous rocks
had been deposited. Not that such displacements were
limited in geographical extent to the area of this system;
on the contrary, from there hardly being a known coal tract
exempt from this influence, it would appear that convulsive
movements took place of a very general description,
so as to affect very large tracts of the surface of the
globe. In the British islands, every coal district is dis¬
turbed and shaken in every square mile of its breadth
by faults (“gauls, slips, troubles, and dykes”), passing in
many directions, some of them having a great amount of
“ throw,” and consequently affecting the working of the
mines. But these minor effects, though on some accounts
very interesting, lose their importance when we contem¬
plate the gigantic disruption of Tynedale, the Penine chain,
the Craven fault, the Derbyshire elevation, the fault of the
vale of Clwydd, the double synclinal axis of the coal-fields
of South Wales, and the parallel one of Namur. The Pe¬
nine disruptions, ranked by De Beaumont under the title
of the System of the North of England, are on a magnifi¬
cent scale. Three principal lines compose this great sys¬
tem—the northern branch ranges along Tynedale from
Brampton to the sea fifty miles, bending more than once
MINER
jgv. from its average recticlinal course to the east by north ;
' the southern branch passes in a straight line to the east-
south-east thirty miles, and the two are connected by a line
of fault, whose mean direction is nearly north and south, but
it has three several courses in a length of fifty miles. The
Craven, or southern branch of the system, is a double
fault; the Penine line is partly an anticlinal and partly a
fault; the Tynedale branch is one great fault. With refer¬
ence to a point in the middle of the area, enclosed by their
dislocation, their effect is everywhere similar, viz. a mighty
depression of all the exterior country. North of the Tyne¬
dale fault, is a depression or throw of 1000 to 2000 feet;
west of the Penine fault, 2000 or 3000, or perhaps 4000
feet under Crossfell; and south of the Craven fault 3000
feet at least under Ingleborough.
There is no direct connexion between this great Penine
system of faults, and the elevation of Derbyshire ; between
them is a singular system of anticlinal elevations and syn¬
clinal depressions, all chiefly ranging north-east, or north¬
east by east, from the Craven fault, right toward the more
ancient but parallel anticlinals of South Wales. Before,
however, reaching these lofty chains* a transverse break,
almost exactly similar to the Crossfell fault, ranging north
north-west, along the vale of Clwydd (which is a miniature
copy of the vale of Eden), stops the Kibblesdale system of
anticlinals in the south-west, just as the Craven fault, rang¬
ing west north-west, has stopped them on the north-east.
It is from nearly the middle of the Ribblesdale faults that
an anticlinal ridge, ranging south south-east, passes along
the western border of Yorkshire and continues into Der¬
byshire, on the southern side of which county it is appa¬
rently cut off by an east and west fault.
Charnwood Forest is an elevation of slate rocks (on an
axis of sienitic rocks), and the date of its elevation is pos¬
terior to the limestone and coal-field of Ashby, but anterior
to the new red sandstone system, which is seen to lie level
over its vertical and broken slates. The other central
coal-fields of Warwickshire, Staffordshire, and Shropshire,
were dislocated at about the same or perhaps somewhat
later period, for the magnesian conglomerate is disturbed
by the faults of the Coalbrookdale-field. From this field
to the Malvern Hills, a great north and south axis of violent
elevation occurs, which in places actually overthrows the
strata (Murchison in Geol. Soc. Abstracts), and others pro¬
ceed south-west, parallel to Wenlock Edge, till they reach
the vale of the Towey.
Here a new axis of dislocation becomes predominant,
that of the South Wales coal-field, which runs east and west
from St David’s in Pembrokeshire, through the counties of
Caermarthen, Glamorgan, and Monmouth, and may be con¬
sidered to continue into the Mendip Hills and Somerset¬
shire. Parallel to this, and in fact in the line of its pro¬
longation to the east, is the coeval disturbance of the coal
from near Boulogne through Belgium and Westphalia, and
in the south of Ireland. A parallel but perhaps earlier dis¬
turbance ranges along the northern boundary of the grey-
wacke region.
It would be impossible here to investigate all the bearings
of the mass of evidence furnished by these variously direct¬
ed dislocations, on the dynamical principles of geology, but
they are too important to be overlooked. We may, however,
observe, that dislocations of different dates are thus shewn
to be parallel, while others presumed to be coeval range
in different directions.
STATE OF THE GLOBE DURING THE CARBONIFEROUS
PERIOD.
Recollecting the proof already given of the partial eleva¬
tion of our present dry land, we shall be prepared for consi¬
dering the nature of the new conditions introduced into
the geological formula, by this circumstance, and the varia¬
tion of surface temperature, already concluded to be admis-
A L O G Y.
sible as a geological cause. The Grampians and other
mountain chains being raised above the sea, and shore and
deep sea currents established, we shall not be surprised to
find the traces of mechanical movement in the ocean sud¬
denly grow very strong and extensive. We find, in fact,
round all the mountain ranges, which for other reasons
were presumed to have been uplifted before the carboni¬
ferous epoch began, some of the most remarkable con¬
glomerate rocks which occur in the British strata. The
character of these conglomerates, too, varies in direct relation
to the proximity of the mountains-. The composition of the
red conglomerates of the Grampian borders reminds us con¬
tinually of the rocks of the Highlands; those which surround
the Lammermuir Hills are full of pebbles derived from
these mountains (Bone); those which border the Cum¬
brian group contain pebbles of the neighbouring rocks.
W hat is the cause of the universal red colour of these
ancient sediments, is already felt to be an important pro¬
blem, for it appears connected with absence of organic
exuviae in more than one instance. Shall we say that the
local accumulation of the old red conglomerates was a con¬
sequence of the local elevation of the primary strata from
the bed of the sea ?
199
Geology.
During the course of the carboniferous period the sedi¬
ments of the sea underwent a total change, for red sand¬
stones and clays are scarcely seen (except locally) among the
coal-measures, or in the upper parts of the mountain-lime¬
stone series. Shall we say that the dark shales and various¬
ly coloured grits came from regions in different directions ?
The great quantities of those sediments imply, probably,
some great physical changes of land and water in situa¬
tions not far removed. The alternation of these deposits
marks periods of intermitting action, and the circumstance of
the prevalent association of terrestrial exuviae in these, but
not in other strata, seems to instruct us that the earthy
and vegetable materials were swept down from the land by
some such means as a great river or periodical inundation.
If so, the origin of coal and that of the accompanying charac¬
teristic rocks (or “ coal-measures”) is understood, the regu¬
lar thickness and extension of the strata of coal are ascribable
to the watery agitation, which at once permitted the asso¬
ciation of similar earthy particles into shale and sandstone
respectively, and collected the vegetable masses into layers.
De Luc’s notion of the origin of coal from submerged peat
beds is too limited and encumbered with inextricable dif¬
ficulties to be ever adopted as a general doctrine, nor can
the minor analogies observed between the position of the
subterranean mass of vegetables, the vertical trees, and
(often imaginary) roots and branches, be held at all conT
elusive. What can be thought of an hypothesis such as
that just named; when we try to apply it to a case like a
north of England coal-field, with its numerous parallel
seams of coal, ironstone, &c. for every one of which seams
the land must first have been dried and covered with soil,
then submerged to receive oceanic sediments; no fault, no
wrant of conformity in the stratification, no unusual violence
of water being in any case observable to justify the hypo¬
thesis of rising and falling land ? Again, will it be sup¬
ported for a moment in a country where limestone, shale,
gritstone, coal, are repeated many times (as in the dales of
the north of England); yet where the grits and shales
vanish, every trace of coal also disappears ? If there be
any truth in the hypothesis, coal should be found in the
midst of the limestone as well as enclosed in gritstone or
shale ; some independent proof should be given of the ris¬
ing and sinking being limited to certain tracts; or some
reason assigned for the dependence of coal on the occur¬
rence of such sedimentary rocks.
It is evident that the general arguments must prevail,
and the condition of the plants which compose the coal, the
general absence of roots, the fragmentary state of the
stems and branches, the dispersed condition of the separa-
MINERALOGY.
200
Geology, ble organs, the splitting and reunion of coal beds, all the
^phenomena, in fact, really general, confirm the conclusion
that the plants whereof coal consists were swept down from
the land on which they grew by watery currents, often
repeated, and deposited in basins or large estuaries of the
sea, or, perhaps rarely, in lakes of fresh water. The alter¬
nation of a bed of marine limestone in the Yorkshire coal¬
field, and perhaps the broad layers of bivalve shells (Unio),
which appear sometimes in positions indicating that they
lived and died where they are now found, shew an estuary
deposit liable to temporary predominance of salt water. In
the coal-fields of Shropshire and Manchester, the supposed
fresh-water limestone may perhaps be ascribed to the in¬
flux of a river, and other coal deposits probably have hap¬
pened in the deep sea at intervals during the accumulation
of limestone.
What, then, were the circumstances of the dry land
favourable to the growth of the enormous mass of vege¬
table substance which is buried in the coal formation ?
That the atmosphere was warmer, and, by consequence,
moister, may be easily admitted, and in fact what is known
of the structure of the plants goes to confirm this opinion ;
for the most abundant forms are at least analogous to tro¬
pical vegetation. But in addition, it has been conjectured
that the atmosphere might in those early periods have an
unusual dose of carbonic acid gas, and thus be more fit to
supply the carbon requisite for the growth of such vast
forests as then must have encumbered the limited surface
of the land. This speculation of Brongniart appears wor¬
thy of attention; nothing known to the chemist or natural
philosopher is opposed to the notion that the quantity of
carbonic acid gas in the atmosphere may be extremely va¬
riable ; it would not indeed be favourable to the life of ani¬
mals, but what proof have ive of the globe being then tenant¬
ed by terrestrial animals? Moreover, speculation apart, let
any one calculate the quantity of carbon contained in a
single English coal-field, once a part of the living structure
of plants, and add the equivalent volume of carbonic acid
gas to that small quantity which it now holds, the conse¬
quence will be an atmosphere charged with this pabulum
of vegetable life, to a degree perhaps very favourable to
the growth of plants, but certainly detrimental to the life
of animals breathing by lungs. Now, surely, it is worthy
of attention, that after the coal was deposited, reptile life
began to be manifested, and finally, to predominate ; while,
on the other hand, vegetable life, though the land was
much more extensive and apparently not much lowered in
temperature, never yielded again such thick and extensive
carbonaceous deposits.
From the nature of its numerous organic contents, as
well as from the texture and composition of its masses,
there is no doubt of the mountain limestone being truly an
oceanic deposit, diminishing and growing debased toward
the shores, but accumulating in masses of greater purity
toward the deeper seas. It appears to have been a chemi¬
cal precipitate, more or less tranquilly produced ; and if we
may venture here to combine the facts known concerning
the primary and secondary limestone, it will appear the
most probable inference, that a slow decomposition of the
oceanic waters, partly by organic, partly by chemical action,
is the true cause of the production of marine limestone.
NEW RED SANDSTONE SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent.—The irregular expanse of sea
left in the region of Europe by the broken masses of land,
belonging to the uplifted carboniferous rocks, was perhaps
not fully filled by the next succeeding deposit of sandstones,
clays, and limestone, which receives the name of Red Sand¬
stone, or Saliferous or Pcecilitic formation, but it is very exten¬
sively diffused in and beyond this area. It occurs in Ire¬
land, but not abundantly, and only in the north eastern part,
which may be viewed as a dismemberment from the Lam-
mermuir district of Scotland. In Arran, and on the west Geology, ;
coast of Ayrshire, on the south side of the Lammermuirs,^ ,
round Dumfries and Longtowh, is a large tract of these
rocks, spreading into the plain of Carlisle, the vale of Eden,
and against the west face of the Cumbrian mountain lime¬
stone. Small detached parts occur farther south on the
same side of the Lake district, and still smaller on the east,
about Kirby Lonsdale.
But the greatest expansion of these rocks in England
begins in Durham, about the mouth of the Tees, spreads
southward in a narrow tract along the vale of York to Not¬
tingham ; then opens at once into the wide central plain of
England, and occupies the whole breadth from the carbo¬
niferous tract of Lancashire, North Staffordshire, Derby¬
shire and Nottinghamshire, to Shrewsbury and Worcester,
to Leicester and Shipston; then following the Severn to
Bristol, it turns to the west along the south face of the
South Wales coal-field, and is, interruptedly, continued
south from the Bath Avon to the mouth of the Exe.
On the continent of Europe it occupies some space on
the left bank of the Rhine in the district south of the
Ardennes, and parallel to the Vosges; but on the right
bank it is expanded over larger breadths in Wurtemberg,
and occupies a great part of that enormous area included
between Basle, Amberg, Leipzig, and Minden.
Almost universally it fills a low or level country, out of
which arise insulated groups and short ranges of mountains
ot older strata or pyrogenous rocks. Such are Charnwood
Forest, and the central coal-fields of England ; the Vosges,
Schwarzwald, Thuringerwald, Odenwald, Harz, &c., in
Germany. Its highest point in England does not much
exceed 800 feet above the sea.
Succession of Strata This system consists of many
alternations of arenaceous and argillaceous members, with
some less continuous interpositions of limestone, usually
impregnated with magnesia. The best types of the sys¬
tem are those of Germany, the south-east of France, and
north of England. The most complete in all respects is
that of Germany ; but it will be convenient to describe the
English series, and afterwards to present a general con¬
spectus of the whole. It is to Professor Sedgwick (on Mag¬
nesian Limestone, Geol. Trans.) that we owe the most suc¬
cessful classification fo’r England; and the labours of Voltz,
Elie de Beaumont, &c., have ascertained all that is required
for drawing the lines of geological contemporaneity between
England and Germany.
Upper red sandstone formation.—Consisting of variegated
red, white, and other clays, with gypsum; (organic
remains, few and local). Red and white sandstone,
with or without layers of clay ; (few or no organic
remains). Red conglomerate of pebbles derived
from older rocks, imbedded in red sandstone; (no
organic remains).
Magnesian limestone formation.—Consisting of upper
laminated compact limestone of a light or dark grey
or smoky colour. A few organic remains.
Gypseous red and coloured marls.
Lower or magnesian limestone, of a yellow colour, earthy,
granular, crystalline, or concretionary in texture, and
(locally) organic remains in considerable abundance.
Marl slate or calcareous laminated rock, yielding fishes
of the genus Palaeoniscus chiefly.
Lower red sandstone formation.—Red and yellow sand¬
stones with (locally) red and coloured clays, and
plants like those found in the coal series.
The usual arrangement adopted in England unites the
lower red sandstone, with the magnesian limestone forma¬
tion. It is of little importance, however, whether we con¬
ceive the whole system to be but one formation, or divide
it into two or three. On the western side of the north of
England (Plain of Carlisle), the upper red sandstone re¬
tains its usual character; the magnesian limestone is re-
r n
MINERALOGY.
201
^presented by s calcareous conglomerate. Further south layers; where pebbles and sand are mixed fNottineham r T"
1 concretionary Castle), the lavers are ohliene t„ f:“tWm.G~lW
near Manchester, red and greenish marls and concretionary
limestones, both fossiliferous, divide the upper from the lower
red sandstones. In the centre of England (Cheshire, Wor¬
cestershire) salt rocks and springs occur. In all the southern
districts (Shropshire, Gloucestershire, Somersetshire), a cal¬
careous conglomerate represerits the magnesian limestone,
and the lower red sandstone is only locally seen. In the dis¬
trict south of the Ardennes, and along the Vosges, there is
no magnesian limestones, but in the midst of the variegated
marls, lies a thick limestone rock (muschelkalk), in some re¬
spects comparable to the upper laminated limestone of the
north of England, but containing many and different organic
remains. In the variegated clays above the muschelkalk, is a
thin bed of magnesian limestone ; with this series of varie¬
gated clays is associated a variety of sandstones locally
rich in plants, the whole group being in France called
“ roarnes irisees,’ in Germany, ‘ keiiper’.) The red grit of
the Vosges (Gres Vosgien, Volz) is rather a local rock pe¬
culiar to that district, than a part of the lower red sandstone,
which does, however, occur there beneath it. But in the
Thuringerwald and north east of Germany, in addition to
these, we have limestones corresponding to the upper and
lower magnesian limestone, gypseous marl, and marl-slates
of England, under the general name of Zechstein. Thus
the whole is capable of being represented in one formula,
which is well calculated to shew both the agreements and
Castle), the layers are oblique in various drecrnriike th"'
heaps of detritus left by rapid rivers or other sudden violence
u uf ^r’t 16 Imestone beds, if argillaceous, are thinly
bedded; if magnesian, they are often thicker, less regular,
full of sparry geodes, and strings and veins of carbonate
ot lime. Ihese magnesian rocks are also often very con-*
cretionary, sometimes oolitic, in particular parts (Mans-
held, Nottinghamshire) composed of real crystals of the
double carbonate of lime and magnesia. Some beds have
a conglomerate character, and in such, generally, stratifica¬
tion is almost imaginary, and the joints which pass through
he other beds, lose themselves without penetrating; this.
(Shields and Sunderland.)
Organic Remains. South of a line drawn through
Chester and Derby, organic exuviae of plants or animals have
been rarely found in the red sandstone system of England •
none have yet occurred in that of Scotland; but fishes
have been discovered in that of Ireland. (Report of Pro¬
ceedings of British Association at Dublin, 1835.)
In the space north of this line it is only on the western
side of the island that a marine plant has been found in
red sandstone, at Runcorn near Liverpool (Dr Buckland,
1834), marine shells (conchifera and gasteropoda) lie in
the red and white marl, and calcareous bands near Man¬
chester. On the eastern side of the island the lower mag¬
nesian limestone is nowhere entirely destitute of shells and
i '
North-east of Germany
The Vosges.
South of England.
North of England.
Keuper sandstones I
and marls. j
.Muschelkalk.
Bunter sandstone.
ftXd fZftl" m C°mparins diS,ant partS 0f HT’ a “"he
carboniferous rocks : the upper laminated rock has also a
few shells, the lower red sandstone many plants.
In Germany, the rothliegende, zechstein, bunter sand-
stein, muschelkalk, and keuper, all contain organic remains,
and locally even in considerable quantity.
No complete list of the fossils of the English magnesian
limestone has ever been published. Professor Sedgwick,
however, (Geol. Trans.), mentions a considerable number
of the Durham fossils, and M. Agassiz has recently added
to the list of fishes. The following summary includes some
nondescript species now in the cabinet of the writer.
Zechstein.
Rothetodteliegende.
Marnes irisees.
Muschelkalk.
Gres bigarre.
Gres Vosgien
gres.
J Variegated
( marls.
{Red and
white sand¬
stone,
f Calcareous
( conglomerate
Variegated marls,
I Red and white
V sandstone and
) conglomerate.
) Magnesian
f limestone.
\ Lower red
) sandstone.
Salt is associated with the upper parts of this system
m England, France, and Germany, where the muschelkalk
is quite as saliferous as ’ the variegated marls, to which ap¬
parently salt is confined in England. Upon the whole, then,
this red sandstone system is a vast mass of sandy and ar¬
gillaceous sediments ofa peculiar aspect, accompanied more
than any others yet known by salt and gypsum,—generally
deficient in organic remains, and only locally inclosing
strata of limestone, which commonly are characterised by
abundance of magnesia.
. north of Germany the lower beds of it seem de¬
cidedly related to the coal deposits, (as also happens in the
north of England); in fact, the coal is supposed by Hoffman
to be only a local product in a vast mass of red rocks, in-
c u ing the whole series of the old red and new red rocks.
early the same thing takes place in Arran where the di¬
minished carboniferous system is merely a parting in the
enormous thickness of red clays, sandstones, and conglo¬
merates. Thus, it is evident that our best classifications
o e series of stratified deposits can only be locally exact,
an authors ot such arrangements must be prepared to see
cm rejected, as in many cases inapplicable or very incon¬
venient. rx
Stratification—The same laws of phenomena on this
su ject obtain in the red sandstone as in the carboniferous
sys em > the argillaceous masses are laminated, often com¬
posed of alternating white, greenish, and red layers ; the
an stones when very fine are also, in general, thinly b’ed-
’ w lere very coarse they are in ruder and less regular
vol. xv. °
Plants
Zoophyte,
Conchifera,
Gasteropoda,
Cephalopoda,
Fishes,
Reptiles, .
Voltzia ?
Polyparia, .
Crinoidea, .
Plagimyona,
Mesomyona,
Brachiopoda,
3
1
9
6
15
4
2
10?
2 or 3
Igneous Rocks—Basaltic dikes divide the magnesian
limestone of the north of England; and in the Island of
Arran (Jameson, MacCulloch, &c.) these and other dikes
of pyrogenous rocks and interposed beds are extremely
abundant in Corygills, at Tormore, and other points. No¬
thing of the kind is found in the greater part of the Eng¬
lish red marl and sandstone ; but the analogous red con¬
glomerates and porphyritic masses of Exeter (investigated
by De la Beche), appear important, as throwing light on
the analogous, if not strictly coeval, mixtures of porphyritic
and arenaceous rocks common in the north of Germany.
It is chiefly by the occurrence of porphyritic fragments
and pebbles that the mixture alluded to takes place near
Exeter ; it appears a natural supposition that, in the con¬
fined accumulation of the red conglomerate from the action
of violent water-currents, consequent on local displacements
of the crust of the globe which followed the deposition of
the coal-measures, some of the broken masses of igneous
rocks should be retained among the materials then aggregated.
In fact, the country was dislocated near the conglomerate of
Exeter ; and Mr de la Beche notices circumstances tending
2 c
202
MINERALOGY.
Geology, to shew that the porphyritic eruptions did happen, and some-
-Y'"'-'' times overflowed parts of the conglomerate while it was in
process of accumulation.1
On the east side of the Harz the red sandstones and
marls (of the Rotheliegende) rest on a porphyritic conglome¬
rate, of which the porphyritic fragments are not always si¬
milar to the nearest quartz porphyry of Saal, often being
larger in proportion to the distance therefrom. This con¬
glomerate is regular and widely expanded, and none of the
other beds of the red formation contain such porphyry peb¬
bles. (Von Dechen).
Thus, it appears certain that the detritus of igneous
rocks (generated, it appears, in Devonshire at the same
era) furnished the materials of the lower beds of the Ro¬
theliegende ; and we may perhaps hereafter be able to form
a conception as to the extent to which igneous eruptions,
and wasted igneous rocks, may have modified the characters
of the deposition of the whole system, which, in mineral,
structural, and organic characters, offers much that is wor¬
thy of notice, and very alluring to imprudent theorists.
Metallic veins are, in England, very rarely heard of in
the rocks, nowhere worked. Lead veins occur in the marl-
slate near North Shields,—in the magnesian-limestone at
Nosterfield, and Warmsworth, Yorkshire, and Barlborough
Derbyshire ; carbonate of copper is found at Farnhill near
Knaresborough, Newton Kyme near Tadcaster, and Warms¬
worth ; cobalt is found in Alderley Edge, Cheshire.
pected to have caused greater local varieties in the com- Geology,
position of this system than we find. In fact, as a general
rule, the traces of terrestrial admixture in the red sandstone
deposits are remarkable, and unusually few. The shells
and other organic exuviae are marine ; and it is only in a
few places round particular mountain ranges (the Black
Forest especially), that the remains of land plants and rep¬
tiles are at all prevalent. Several reasons might be ad¬
duced to justify an opinion, that the time occupied in the
production of the whole system was comparatively short,—.
such as the general uniformity of its composition, the defi¬
ciency (except in limited regions) of limestones ; the pecu¬
liar chemical and mineral character of these limestones;
the general paucity of organic remains; the frequency of
conglomerates and local admixture of fragments of igneous
rocks,—all these circumstances seem to indicate the pro¬
dominance of an unusual series of agencies.
A notion has gradually been spreading, though it has
perhaps not been distinctly announced, that many of these
circumstances are the result of temporary volcanic excite¬
ment consequent upon the deposition of the coal-measures;
but it is difficult to collect adequate reasons from the vague
data at present known, for clothing this suggestion with the
substantial character of a probable inference.
Concerning climate and other circumstances, the evi¬
dence from remains is of little value further than their
analogy with those of the carboniferous system leads to the
In Germany the slate-beds, which are the equivalent of impression that no remarkable changes had occurred in this
the marl-slate, are loaded with copper about the Harz respect.
Mountains, and contain fishes. They receive the name of oolitic system.
kupferschiefer.
Geographical Extent.—In the British islands, and, we
disturbances of the red sandstone system. may add, in the continent of Europe, this mass of calcare¬
ous rocks is very unequally distributed, yet in particular
The most remarkable example is on the eastern face of regions its course is very persistent, and the different for-
the Vosges Mountains, where the upper beds of the system rnations which compose it follow one another with remark-
lie at the foot of great precipices of the Gres Vosgien. In
England almost nothing of this kind is observable. The
magnesian limestone is divided and dislocated by some of
the faults and basaltic dykes which traverse the coal of the
Newcastle district. One of the anticlinal lines west of
Shrewsbury, which ranges from west south-west to east
north-east, through the Breiddin Hills, has been noticed by
Mr Murchison as continuing in a narrow course through the
red sandstone of the plain of Shrewsbury, and directing itself
toward the elevated coal and gritstone hills near Cheadle.
The red sandstone along this line (at points fifteen or thirty
miles from the Breiddin), is thrown into angular positions,
altered and impregnated with metallic substances; and dykes
of trap occur at Acton Reynolds. The most curious infe¬
rence on the subject is, that the same line has been the
locus of the igneous eruption and disturbing movement du¬
ring the silurian, carboniferous, and red sandstone eras, a
conclusion singularly at variance with the literal statement
of De Beaumont’s hypothesis, though, as being a solitary
instance, it ought not to be too much insisted on. It ap¬
pears from the same author and Mr Prestwich, that some
of the most considerable dislocations of the border of the
coal-fields of Coalbrookdale and Dudley happened after the
deposition of a part of the new red sandstone ; but it is cer¬
tain that those of Sommersetshire and Gloucestershire were
completed before the date of that rock.
state of the globe during the formation of the
NEW RED SANDSTONES.
The greater extent of land, as indicated by the uplifting
of many portions of the coal deposit, might have been ex-
able conformity. Scarcely any traces of it occur in Ireland,
except in the north-eastern part, which contains the chalk
and red sandstone. It is found on the east coast of Scot¬
land at only a few points about the Moray Frith, and along
the Sutherland coast. On the western coast it occurs at
Applecross, opposite to the Isle of Skye, and at several
points in that island, and some of the smaller islets adjacent.
In the same manner, it borders Mull, and is found skirting
the mainland along the Sound of Mull.
But in none of the Irish or Scottish localities is the sys¬
tem completely, or even characteristically, exhibited ; it is,
in fact, more properly an English than a British system of
strata, and there are few tracts of Europe where it is more
expanded or so fully and variously developed. From the
prominent parts of the Yorkshire coast, between Redcar and
Filey, it holds an uninterrupted course, with varying breadth,
through Yorkshire, Lincolnshire,Northamptonshire,Oxford¬
shire, Gloucestershire, Somersetshire, and Dorsetshire, to
the southern coast between Exmouth and the Isle of Pur-
beck, almost everywhere forming a rather high table-land
and dry surface, sloping regularly to the east, and dividing the
eastern and western drainage of the island. It is nowhere
narrower than in a part of Yorkshire near Bishop Wilton,
where, in consequence of unconformity of the chalk, only
the lower part of the lowest member is seen, and its breadth
is only a few yards.
On the contrary, in the middle of the island, as in the
counties of Northampton, Rutland, Gloucester, and Worces¬
ter, its breadth is even as much as forty miles. Toward the
western edge, which is generally a line of bold escarpe-
ment, many outliers, or detached masses, occur, separated
by watery violence or other causes. Of these the most
Proceedings of Geological Society, 1834.
MINERALOGY.
203
G iogy- singular and far removed is the newly discovered basin of rocks, exists very extensively in Kent and Sussex, and this GeoWv
V Yulias (the lowest of the oolitic formations) in the centre of for the sake of making the Bath series general for the south ''
the red marls and sandstones of Cheshire—(Geol. Pro- of England, has been placed in the above scheme of five
ceedings, 1835). Other extensive outliers follow the oolitic formations.
southern border of the South Wales’ coal-field far into Gla- In this alternation of limestones, sandstones, and clays,
morganshire. we behold deposits effected in periods of alternating dis-
On the continent of Europe the oolitic system is largely turbance and quiet, such as might happen not far from the
expanded; in France in a large semicircle round Paris, shores of the ancient sea; and in the uppermost formation
the effects of agitated water predominate.
1 he next type, taken from Yorkshire, shews these littoral
effects carried to extreme, in some parts of the sea, but not
in others. The following is a short view.
from the Ardennes to Normandy. It has a long range in
Wurtemberg and Franconia; occurs in places along the
range of the Carpathians (Poland), and margins, with a
broad band, the north and south slopes of the Alps. It is
supposed to enter into the composition of the Apennines,
and the Dalmatian ridges, and to form a part of the lime¬
stone ranges of Spain, perhaps also of Greece.
The skirts of the Himalaya certainly contain at lea^t its
lower members, and perhaps these are net wholly unknown
in North America.
Succession of Deposits—There are three principal types
of the oolitic system in which its developed characters ap¬
pear considerably unlike ; and it seems possible to ascertain
the proximate influences or causes of the diversity. The
series of oolitic rocks near Bath was the first field of the
successful researches of Mr Smith in analyzing the secon¬
dary strata and determining the relation of organic forms to
the successive stages of geological time. The excellent and
exact arrangement which he here disclosed is the true fun¬
damental standard of comparison for all the localities, not
so much on the account of its being chosen by Mr Smith,
as because it is in fact the most complicated (that is most
fully expanded or developed) series of this system yet
known. The following classification will be found very
convenient for the Bath district.
Names dn Description of Formations.
Constituent Groups.
Wealden Formation : a mass of sandstones
and clays of various descriptions,
irony, calcareous, carbonaceous ;
with layers and nodules of lime¬
stone, generally bearing the as¬
pect of a fresh-water or estuary
deposit,
Upper Oolitic Formation : here imperfectly
seen; composed of oolitic and
other limestones, green and irouy
sands, and blue clays of consider¬
able thickness, with organic re ■
mains. Composed of .
Middle Oolitic Formation: consisting of
coralline and shelly oolites, calca¬
reous sandstones and clays, with
organic remains, • .
Lower Oolitic Formation : a complicated
group of oolitic and shelly and san¬
dy limestones, laminated and con¬
cretionary sandstones, sandy and
tenacious clay, fullers’ earth,
&c. ....
Lias Formation : chiefly argillaceous, with
strata of limestone, all more or
less argillaceous, but rarely ooli¬
tic ; layers of sandy irony rocks,
and septaria; abundance of orga¬
nic remains.
x. The Weald clay.
w. The Hastings sand.
v. The Purbeck beds.
u. Limestone of Swin
don, the Vale of
Wardour.
t. Sands of Swindon, and
s. Clay of the Vale of
Worth Wilts.
r. Thin calcareous grit.
J q. Coral rag and oolite.
Ip. Calcareous grit.
0. Blue clay and septaria.
n. Kelloway sandstone.
m. Blue clay.
1. Cornbrash limestone.
k. Forest marble group,
i. Bath oolite.
h. Fullers’ earth rocks.
p. Superior oolite, and
v f. Sandstone.
e. Thin upper lias clay.
d. Marlstone rocks,
c. Middlelai selay.
it Lias limestones.
a. Lower lias clays, ge¬
nerally passing to
new red marls.
Upon further examination in the country south of Lon¬
don, it is found that a superior formation, the Wealden
The Wealden Formation. Unknown in the North of England.
The Upper Oolitic Formation, represented 1
only by
TheCoralline Formation r PPer §rouP:
is composed nearly as \
in the south of Eng-*'
la“d’ • * * ( Lower
/
s. Thick clay.
, ft
IP-
• f
Upper calcareous grit.
Coralline oolite.
Lower calcareous grit.
Oxford clay.
Kelloway sandstone.
Thin blue clay.
/ /. Cornbrash limestone, thin.
Ar ? Sandstones and clays, with
land plants, thin coal,
&c. ; calcareous sand¬
stone, or sandy, concre¬
tionary, shelly lime¬
stone.
The Lower Oolitic Formation is very dif-i limest«‘le> Af¬
ferent from that of Bath in detail, ' A ? Thlck mass of san(lstone
The Lias Formation is very similar to that
of the south of England, and by adding
the lower members from the Lincoln- /
(often carbonaceous)
and clays, often full of
plants, with coal-beds
and ironstone.
<7 Irony and sandy lime¬
stone.
/. Sand, and concretionary
limestone.
shale (alum
/e. Upper lias
shale).
d. Marlstone, sandy and cal¬
careous layers,
c. Middle lias shale (lower
shale of Yorkshire
coast).
shire section, the whole is a more fully } b' li",e,>tone8 of So"th
expanded series than that near Bath.
Yorkshire and Lincoln¬
shire.
a. Lower lias clays of
the Trent-side (gradu¬
ating to the red marls
below.)
The oolitic series of Sutherland and the Western Isles
of Scotland, investigated by Murchison, agrees nearly with
the Yorkshire type: so does that of the whole northern
line of Westphalian oolites, from Bramsche, by Minden, to
Wolfenbiittel and Helmstadt, but the greater part of the
continental oolites form a series analogous to that of the
south of England. In Normandy there are almost exactly
the same groups (M. de Caumont). On the south of the
Ardennes (M. Boblaye), the clays of the English series
grow less conspicuous, but the series is similar. In Bur¬
gundy (M. de Beaumont), the calcareous character of the
group augments, and the argillaceous members diminish,
so that the several oolitic formations become more difficult
to define than in England. The same is true in a still more
decided degree on the border of Switzerland; in Wurtem¬
berg and Franconia; and generally along the borders of
the Alps.
The general result of all this is, that the type of the oo¬
litic system of the south of Europe is more calcareous ; that
204
MINERALOGY.
Geology, of the north of Europe more arenaceo-argillaceous. The
former has the air of an oceanic or deep-sea deposit, little
disturbed by currents of water; the latter was accumulated
under the predominant influence of littoral agitation. In
most cases, indeed, but not universally, the specially argilla¬
ceous lias formation is distinguishable (even among the Alps
and around Auvergne) from the specially calcareous upper
oolites; the middle part of the system (Bath oolite forma¬
tion) is the most variable, and the uppermost formation
(Wealden rocks) is merely local.
Organic Remains.—It is impossible to say with certainty
over what extent in extra-European countries the oolitic
system spreads, because of the great alterations which mix¬
ed secondary rocks experience near the axes of mountain
elevation. Thus the description of the thick limestone
overlying red sandstones, on the banks of the Lakes of
Como and Lecco (De la Beche, Geol. Manual), would be
insufficient to make us recognise the oolitic system, but for
the additional evidence afforded by certain fossils. The
lias of the Swiss and Austrian Alps could not be satisfac¬
torily understood without their aid (Necker and Murchi¬
son’s Notices); nor could the singular alternations of gra¬
nular limestones, micaceous slate, &c. of the Tarentaise
(M. Brochant), and the problematical rocks of Piedmont
(M. De Beaumont), be referred to the lias, but for the be-
lemnites which occur abundantly among them. It is true,
that here a singular anomaly occurs with respect to the or¬
ganic remains, for the belemnites of the lias are found both
above and below a great number of plants analogous to
those of the ancient coal-measures! But this ought not
greatly to surprise us. There is nothing known in geology
which should forbid an admission that particular localities
of land might enjoy an immunity from the effect of those
causes which wrought periodical changes in the physical
conditions and organic inhabitants of the sea.
The plants of this anomalous series may be viewed as a
remainder of the vegetation of the era of coal deposits,
transferred to a sea full of organic beings of the earliest
oolitic era.
The importance justly attached to the study of organic
exuviae has been overrated by some of the followers of Mr
Smith, and wholly misunderstood by some of the opponents
of his views. We, who have known intimately the princi¬
ples really advanced and acted on by that distinguished
man, may be permitted to say this, and to shew what is
really their nature and meaning, by investigating their ap¬
plication to the geological history of the oolitic rocks, the
consideration of which undoubtedly suggested the whole
doctrine of the identification and discrimination of strata
by their imbedded organic ‘l remains.”
The local truths ascertained by Mr Smith with respect
to the oolitic rocks in the neighbourhood of Bath, as ap¬
pears from his works, “ Stratigraphical System” and “ Strata
identified by organized Fossils,” are these, the nomencla¬
ture being made to suit the modern arrangements :
(1.) The fossils of the oolitic system as a group, viz.
the plants, zoophyta, shells, Crustacea, and fishes, differ
completely from the fossils similarly grouped of the creta¬
ceous system above, and the new red sandstone and coal
systems below.
(2.) The organic remains of the lias formation differ, as
a group, almost absolutely from those of the Bath oolite
formation, and these present points of less general differ¬
ence from those of the coralline oolite formation. Thus all
the formations have characteristic local distinctions in their
organic remains.
(3.) Many of the individual rocks, or masses of analo¬
gous beds and layers, contain particular characteristic fos¬
sils, which never or rarely occur in other rocks.
(4.) The fossils of strata the most similar in their mi¬
neral nature, as the oolite rocks,—the sandstones,—the
clays,—are more frequently similar or identical than those GeoW,
of rocks differing in nature. Thus the same, or similar^—v-w
ec. inida, occur in the Bath oolite and the coralline oolite;
similar, if not the same grypheae occur in the lias clays,
the Oxford clay, and the Kimmeridge clay.
These local truths are found to be applicable in all situa¬
tions where the oolitic series is expanded ; they are repeat¬
ed on the Yorkshire coast (Geol. of Yorkshire), on the
west of Scotland (Murchison), (Dorsetshire (De la Beche),
in Normandy (De Caumont, &c.), south of the Ardennes
(Boblaye), in Central France (Dufrenoy, &c.), in Fran¬
conia (Munster), in the south-east of France (De Beaumont,
Voltz, &c.).
In generalizing these local truths Mr Smith found that,
for a considerable distance north and south, the fossils of
the oolitic system, as a mass (1.), were almost universally
similar, and generally the same, but universally distinct from
those of older or younger systems.
(2.) That the distinction of the several oolitic forma¬
tions was practicable for considerable distances by the same
species, or groups of fossils, which characterized them near
Bath.
(3.) That the several rocks contained, at great distances,
many of the same fossils which occurred in them near
Bath.
Hence arose the impression that, in England, the oolitic
and other strata of the same age contained the same or
similar organic bodies. It was not possible for Mr Smith
to state his laws as general principles universally appli¬
cable, because, originating in observation, generalized by
observation, they were in no sense hypothetical ;—they
were inductive not deductive,—limited to things known,
not extended to things unknown.
In following out Mr Smith’s views, it has been found,
that the proposition (1.) of the entire distinctness of the
whole group of oolitic fossils from the older and newer
fossils, is almost universally true; the exceptional cases
mentioned along the range of the Alps, being, in fact, view¬
ed as singular and difficult anomalies. It has also been
found, that mineral masses of most contrasted types, as the
argillaceous lias compared to the calcareous oolites, re¬
tain the same general features of distinction in organic re¬
mains, wherever they have yet been examined. Whole
groups of the same belemnites and ammonites mark the
lias of Yorkshire, Dorsetshire, and W7urtemberg. It has
also been found that the geological place of several of the
species selected by Mr Smith as characteristic of Bath
rocks, is the same, or nearly so, in very distant situations
(Apiocrinus rotundus, Cidaris florigemma, Avicula echinata,
Terebratula digona, Ostrea delta, Gryphaea dilatata, Ammo¬
nites calloviensis, &c.) ; but it is also certain, that the num¬
ber of these characteristic or monochronic fossils is con¬
tinually diminishing; that the influence of geographical
position is more important than was at one time imagined;
that varying physical conditions exerted corresponding in¬
fluence over the distribution of organic forms; that each
species had a definite range of organic existence; and,
finally, that identity of species is not often to be looked
for at very great distances, though a remarkable general
analogy and similarity of form appears still to be very ex¬
tensively recognised in the same formation at every point
of its range.
The abstractions used in zoological science,—the combi¬
nation of species into smaller groups,—and these into
larger families, are now so much improved, that the seem¬
ing complication of the results of the study of the thousands
of fossil species is fast disappearing. Whole sections of
fishes, ammonites, and belemnites mark the lias, others the
oolites, others the chalk; while groups of terebratulae, gry-
phseae, &c. mark stages more or less definite in the scale ot
oolitic deoosition. Where the rocks come to be aggregated
MINERALOGY.
G ogy. together, the characters of division cease. On comparing
distant regions, only the broader zoological features of the
rocks can be employed with safety. On comparing con¬
temporaneous rocks produced under different conditions,
we find the effects of such conditions in the monuments of
organic life; in the general conformity of organizations
imbedded in contemporaneous deposits, we read the evi¬
dence of similar physical conditions over very large tracts
of the globe; in the successive diversity of these organic
types we see proof of the successive general changes of
these conditions. Who wall say that such results are un-
philosophical, or inconsistent with Mr Smith’s fundamental
doctrine, that the successive strata were successively the
bed of the sea, and contain the remains of the vegetable
and animal creation then existing on the spot or in the
vicinity ?
The first column of the following summary of the or¬
ganic remains in the oolitic system is taken from Mr de
la Beche’s Notes on the Geographical Distribution of Or¬
ganic Remains in the Oolitic Series of England and France
[Phil. Mag. 1830) ; the second column is compiled from
the last edition of his Geological Manual (1833); the
third contains the number of species of oolitic fossils in
Yorkshire, from the second edition of the Geology of
Yorkshire (1835).
205
Vegetable Remains, Marine,
Cryptogamia,
Gymnospermia, &c.
Zoophyta, Polyparia, ,
Crinoidea,
Stellerida, ,
Echinida,
Mollusca, Plagimyona,
Mesomyona,
Brachiopoda,
Gasteropoda,
Cephalopoda,
Annularia,
Crustacea,
Insecta,
Pisces,
Reptilia, .
1
17
21
49
8
2
22
165
110
50
95
138
15
! +
Several
1 +
16+
1
712
3
23
26
172+
32
11
45
200
141
66
112
258
59
15
22+
30+
1
1216
1
35
12+
18
5
1
16
115
66
23
48
83
10+
9
Several
7+
449
The deposition of the oolitic system seems to have fol¬
lowed upon that of the red sandstone rocks without the in¬
tervention of more than local disturbances ; and it appears
that, in general, few such occurrences broke the long uni¬
formity of the periodical agencies exerted in the oolitic
period. Mr Murchison has shewn that the elevation of the
granitic mass of the Ord of Caithness-, took place after the
deposition of most of the oolitic rocks, for these are thrown
into great confusion in the vicinity.
In the north of England, the only igneous rock found
m connection with the oolitic system, is the great dyke
which ranges from the mountain limestone near Middleton
in feesdale, through the coal-measures of Cockfield Fell;
the magnesian limestone of Bolam, in Durham; across the
red sandstone of the Vale of Tees ; the lias of Cleveland;
and the inferior oolite, Bath oolite, and intervening sand¬
stones and clays of Eskdale and the Moorlands, near Robin
Hood’s Bay. In this long course of seventy miles, the
dyke retains so much of a common character,—its con¬
stituent basalt is so similar,—and the line which it describes
so direct, that little doubt can be entertained of the contem¬
poraneity of its whole mass. The effects which it has pro¬
duced on the strata along the whole range are of the usual
kind noticed near pyrogenous rocks : coal is charred; sand¬
stone hardened ; shale bleached and indurated. Nothing
of the kind is known in the south of England.
Disturbances of the Oolitic System. The disturbed state
of the strata, accompanying the elevation of the Ord of Geology
Caithness, has been already noticed. In the north of Eng-'
land, the unconformity of the chalk and oolite indicates a low
au-1S °i?levation’ Posing east and west, under the York¬
shire V\ olds; and other dislocations parallel to this occur
m Eskdale and other part^ of the Yorkshire oolites. A si¬
milar unconformity, and nearly equal amount of disturb-
ance is found in the Dorsetshire oolites, where, besides, are
great faults of a later date. In this district, however, phe¬
nomena have been observed in the Isle of Portland, leading
to the impression that a limited tract of oolites had been
raised into dry land, covered with soil and prolific in trees,
and again quietly submerged, so that the trees were left
standing in attitude of growth, or prostrate in “ the dirt-bed.”
This remarkable deposit has been observed by Mr M^ebster
and other geologists; but it is to Dr Buckland and M. De
la Beche that we owe a full account of the circumstances
and suitable reasoning concerning them.
No. 13.
Section of the Dirt-Bed in the Isle of Portland.
Portland stone.
“We consider a small stratum,” say these geologists,
“ called by the workman ‘ dirt-bed,’ to be by far the most
interesting and remarkable deposit in the district. It
seems to be made up of black loam, mixed with the exuvia?
of tropical plants, accumulated on the spot on which they
grew, and preserved during a series of years in which the
surface of the Portland-stone had for a time become dry
land, and accumulated a soil of about a foot in thickness,
composed of an admixture of earth and black vegetable
matter, interspersed with slightly rounded fragments of
stone, which Mr Webster ascertained to be from the lower
part of the Portland series. These fragments are found to
be almost co-extensive with the ‘ dirt-bed,’ and the fact that
we have yet found with them no admixture of pebbles de¬
rived from the subjacent oolites, or from any other more
ancient rocks, shews that no violent rush of water from any
distant region took place during the period in which these
pebbles of Portland-stone were under the process of be¬
coming slightly rounded.”
This dirt-bed, as Mr Webster has stated, forms the ma¬
trix of the silicified trunks of very large coniferous trees,
which are so abundant in the Isle of Portland, and are found
there coextensive with the upper surface of the Portland-
stone. Wherever the dirt-bed is laid open to extract the
subjacent building stone, it is found to contain these silici¬
fied trees laid prostrate, partly sunk into the black earth,
and partly covered by the subjacent calcareo-siliceous slate;
from this slate the silex, to which the trees are now con¬
verted, must have been derived. A bed of snow falling on
a modern peat-bog, and covering the upper portion of pros¬
trate trees whose lower portion has been sunk by their
weight into the substance of the peat, would represent the
position of the calcareous slate which immediately covers
these fossil trees in Portland.
Some of them extend to a length exceeding thirty feet,
and bifurcate at their upper end ; but the branches are not
continuous to their extremities, and we find no trace of
leaves. The leaves and small branches, and exterior parts
of the trunks, had probably decayed whilst they lay ex¬
posed to air on the surface of the peat.
Amid the prostrate trees, many of which attain three or
four feet in diameter, we find silicified stems of plants close¬
ly resembling the modern Cycas and Zamia; they have been
206
mineralogy.
Geology, described by Professor Buckland under the name of Cyca-
dioideae, and are important as indicating that the tempe¬
rature in which they grew was much higher than that of
our present climate. We find also, at nearly the same in¬
tervals at which trees are found growing in a modern forest,
an assemblage of silicified stumps or stools of large trees,
with their roots attached to the earth in which they grew.
These stumps are from one to three feet long; they are
mostly erect, while a few are slightly inclined. The black
earth which contains their roots seldom exceeds one foot
in thickness ; the upper portions of the stumps, as repre¬
sented by Mr Webstei', project upwards into the substance
of the superjacent stone (called “ soft burr” and “ aish”),
which gives indication of their presence by hemispherical
concretions accumulated around the top of each stump of
wood.
The dirt-bed is found in several places near Weymouth,
and is slightly traceable in the Vale of Aylesbury, at Swin¬
don and Tisbury.
“We consider the dirt-bed as quite decisive in forming
the barrier between the Portland (marine) and Purbeck
(freshwater) deposits. Its accumulation must have proceed¬
ed during a considerable portion of time, antecedently to
which the districts it occupies were entirely submerged be¬
neath the sea, and subsequently to which the water again
returned to overwhelm them, first with a deposit of about
1000 feet of the semilacustrine sediments of a great estu¬
ary (including the united thickness of the Purbeck series,
and the Wealden sands and clays), and afterwards with a
series of marine deposits, amounting to more than 1000
feet of greensand and chalk.
Throughout the entire succession of all these changes,
there is no evidence of any sudden and violent disturbance
causing either elevation or depression of the Portland-stone
or of the subjacent oolites. The present high inclination
of all the beds is uniformly parallel to that of the beds of
Purbeck-stone, greensand, and chalk, and these all seem
to have been raised simultaneously by the same convulsion
which elevated the axis of the Weymouth district, together
with all the inclined strata in Purbeck and the Isle of
Wight.
We have a measure of the duration of the period during
which the surface of the Portland-stone continued in the
state of dry land covered with forest, in the thickness of
the dirt-bed, which has accumulated more than a foot of
black earth, loaded with the wreck of its vegetation. The
regular and uniform preservation of this thin bed of black
earth over a distance of so many miles, shews that the
change from dry land to the state of freshwater lake or es¬
tuary was not accompanied by any violent inundation or
rush of water, since the loose black earth, together with
the trees which lay prostrate on its surface, must inevitably
have been swept away had any such violent catastrophe
then taken place.” 1
Besides the true dirt-bed above described, Professor Hen-
slow found two other argillo-carbonaceous layers lower in
the rock : in one of the lower of these Dr Fitton has re¬
cently found stumps of trees of the same kind as those in
the dirt-bed, apparently in the position and attitude of
growth.
GENERAL VIEW OF CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING THE
DEPOSITION OF. THE OOLITIC SYSTEM.
With this example in our minds of the progress toward
definite knowledge of the local conditions of land and sea
during the oolitiferous era, we may turn to a general con- Geolo*?
templation of the subject. It is apparent from the plants^—
found in the lias of Dorsetshire, the Bath oolite coralline
oolite formations of Yorkshire, and the Portland and Weal¬
den formations in the south of England, that land, to some
extent, existed in several points about the region of the
oolitiferous sea of Europe. The analogy of some of these
plants to the tropical tribes of Zamia and Cycas, is sufficiently
exact to warrant our belief in the analogy of the climate in
which they grew; the case of the dirt-bed seems inexpli¬
cable except on the supposition of alternation of land and
water without violence ; a given large area was subject to
gradual vertical rise and fall to the extent of 1000 feet or
more, so that certainly once (perhaps thrice or more fre¬
quently), there was time allowed for the elevated bed of the
sea to be covered with heaps of decaying vegetation, and
the stumps of numerous large trees which it had nourished
into dense forests. Can any thing more plainly teach the
human intellect not to set narrow bounds to the time which
elapsed in those numerous physical conditions which pre¬
ceded the era of the creation of man and the present adap¬
tation of the surface of the globe ?
If between the aggregation of marine and fluviatile sedi¬
ments of the Portland and Wealden formations, the whole
life of large and stately coniferous trees has elapsed, who
will revive the unworthy folly of ascribing the curious proofs
of regular and orderly structure,—the rich monuments of
physical changes which the earth offers to the eye of intel¬
ligent man,—to a sudden deluge or any other violent ca¬
tastrophe ? It is time that the blind opposition to the pro¬
gress of inductive geology, based on an erroneous view of
the true meaning of the Scriptures, derived from days of
ignorance, should be wholly abandoned ; and perhaps the
consideration of the proof furnished in the Isle of Portland
may be sufficient to relieve at least some of the unreason¬
able pressure which geology feels from sources where it
should meet with hearty encouragement.
We do not at present concede that the equisetiform
plants which stand erect in the sandstones between Whitby
and Scarborough grew on the spot where they are now
found ; nor is it at all required to suppose that, in the Weald
of Sussex, the vegetable reliquiae were the produce of that
very region; on the contrary, the manner of the occur¬
rence of the plants in both these districts appears to prove
that considerable tracts of land in some other situations
were raised above the sea, and that rivers and inundations
from this land transported materials of different kinds with
a certain periodicity of action from more ancient strata. In
what direction, from what ranges of uplifted land these
rivers flowed, cannot perhaps be said ; perhaps no land now
above the waters yielded the sands and clays and calca¬
reous layers to the Weald of Sussex, the moors of York¬
shire, the borders of Sutherland and Argyle, or the northern
oolites of Westphalia. Yet some arguments might be ad¬
duced, especially the analogy of mineral composition, to
shew the probability of anciently elevated coal strata hav¬
ing been the source of these sandy interpolations. At all
events, they are composed of matter swept by fresh water
from the land into lakes, estuaries, or the sea, for the plants
and shells found with them permit no other inference.
These, then, if marine, are littoral deposits ; but the series
of oolitic limestones, in which they form anomalous local
and irregular terms, were certainly for the most part de¬
posited in situations considerably removed from the agita¬
tion of coasts and the intermixture of fresh water. This
their arrangement, freedom from conglomerates, perfection
of organic contents, and simplicity of composition, fully
1 Geological Transactions, second series, vol. ii.
MINERALOGY.
Ge prove. Particular beds undoubtedly (especially the top
—-('—-''of the rocks) have suffered agitation.
The concretionary structure of these limestones is imitat¬
ed in modern times only in situations where carbonate of
lime is separated from chemical solution in water (Carlsbad).
If we ascribe this origin to the oolitic sediment, the con¬
cretionary aggregation of the particles may be understood
as arising from molecular attraction in the mass, and, in
fact, many of the spherules of oolite contain an internal
nucleus of previously solidified matter, a small shell, a grain
of sand, or somewhat else, capable of determining the con¬
densation of the particles to particular centres, just as the
matter of ironstone has collected into nodules round a fish-
scale, a piece of fern branch, or a shell.
The periodical occurrence of clays, sands, and limestones
is not less remarkable in some parts of the oolitic system
than in those of older date; the Bath oolite formation is
sandy at the base and sandy at the top; the coralline oolite
has superior and inferior sandstones, and the same is the
case with the Portland oolite where the series is complete,
(Vale of Aylesbury). The clays of this series appear to be
in a considerable degree independent of the compound
terms (of limestone and sandstone), and thus furnish means
for an easy and natural division of the English oolites, which
fail in various parts of southern Europe.
#
CRETACEOUS SYSTEM.
Geographical Extent.—In general we may perceive, as
the several systems of strata pass under review, that the
areas which they respectively occupy are defined by nar¬
rower boundaries, and that these approximate more and
more to the present distribution of the basins of the sea.
The north-eastward ranges of the oolitic strata of England,
sloping gently to the east and south-east, are covered on
their declining surfaces by ranges of chalk and greensand,
which nowhere ascend to so great heights as the oolites
which rise from beneath them. The cretaceous system is
unconformed to the oolites at only two points in England,
viz. in Yorkshire and Dorsetshire, and round the basin of
Paris and in the south of France the same conformity of
the two systems is found to prevail.
It thus becomes easy to trace the boundary of the cre¬
taceous rocks by referring to the outline of the oolites.
The chalk and its associated beds pass from Yorkshire
through Lincolnshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Hertfordshire, Bed¬
fordshire, Buckinghamshire, Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, to
Dorsetshire, always presenting a noble front of rounded
hills to the west and north-west. Thence they return to the
east through the isle of Purbeck and the Isle of Wight, of¬
fering a front to the south, while the broad inland surfaces,
which are included between the Isle of Wight and the
Hertfordshire Hills, are formed into two parallel synclinal
troughs (the vales of London and of Hampshire), separated
by one great anticlinal axis passing from Wiltshire to the
coast of Kent, and continued into France in the district of
Boulogne. The anticlinal axis alluded to changes through
Sussex into a great denudation, or valley of elevation, ex¬
posing the Wealden formation in the centre, with escarp¬
ments of the cretaceous system on the north, south, and r i
west in England, and on the east in France. v eo ogy.
Hence, in general terms, we may say the chalk of Eng-
land is distinctly related in escarpments and slopes to the
present German Ocean and the eastern part of the English
Channel. W ere the level of the sea raised three hundred
feet, its coast line would in all the eastern and south-eastern
parts of England be parallel to escarpments of chalk.
The long range of chalk escarpment is too obvious a
feature in the physical geography of England to have es¬
caped notice; and in the infancy of geology we find Lister
observing on its great extent and continuation with similar
characters into France. It does not occur in Scotland, and
in Ireland is confined to the north-eastern portion, where it
rests on greensand, lias, red sandstone, and coal-measures.
In France, the cretaceous system, commencing at Calais,
opposite the Kentish margin of the great anticlinal denu¬
dation of the Weald, sweeps in a vast circle round Paris by
Lille, Chalons, Troyes, Saumur, and Le Mans, to the em¬
bouchure of the Seine ; thus appearing as a great southward
branch of the English chalk system, formed in a bay of the
then ocean, which was defined between the mountains of
Brittany, La Vendee, Auvergne, the French Jura, and the
Ardennes.
From this great area (principally chalk) a broad expand¬
ed but mostly subterranean mass of cretaceous strata ex¬
tends along the north side of the Ardennes and the valley
of the Meuse, and continues (seen only at intervals at the
surface) along the northern border of high ground in Ger¬
many, from Essen to Paderborn, turning as that border
turns to Osnaburg, and then returning through Hanover
and Brunswick. It reappears along the range of the Car¬
pathians, and in some parts of the interior of the great ter¬
tiary plains which stretch to the north into Russia, and to
the east to the Black Sea. In Denmark and Scania and
along the Baltic (Isle of Rugen) chalk occurs in its usual
character.
Along the northern and southern flanks of the Alps some
beds of the cretaceous system range extensively, but not so
clearly distinguished from the subjacent or superior strata
as usual. Along the Pyrenees, however, the chalk system
is very fully developed, and has been uplifted to great ele¬
vations by disturbances of comparatively recent date. In
the south of Spain also chalk with flint occurs. In Ame¬
rica rocks of the cretaceous period are abundant along the
eastern side of the United States, particularly in New Jer¬
sey, along the coasts of the Carolinas, in Georgia, Florida,
and Alabama,1 but true chalk is either wholly unknown or
at least very rare.
Succession of Deposits.—In different parts of the geo¬
graphical area above noticed, the cretaceous system differs
considerably; yet, as in the case of the oolitic rocks, ex¬
treme differences from a common type are very limited,
and evidently caused by local conditions, which insulated to
a certain degree particular parts of the sea from the influ¬
ence of the general agencies at work. If we take as a
standard of comparison the complete English series, we
shall find the following conspection of its local variations
useful.
Yorkshire.
d. e. White chalk.
Red chalk.
b. Clays, green and
blue.
Lincolnshire.
d. e. White chalk.
Red chalk.
a. Green aud irony
sand, and calca¬
reous beds.
Cambridgeshire.
e. Flinty chalk.
d. Hard chalk.
c. Chalk marl.
b. Golt.
a. Ironsand.
Wiltshire.
e. Soft chalk.
d. Hard chalk.
C. Greensand.
b. Blue marl.
a. Irony sand.
South of England.
e. Flinty chalk.
d. Hard chalk.
c. Chalk marl and
greensand.
b. Golt.
a. Lower green or iron-
sand and limestone.
1 Rogers in Report of British Association for 1834.
208
MINERALOGY.
Geology. Thus it appears that the most complete section is to be
' found in the south of England : the upper green sand losing
itself very quickly to the north, the lower green or iron
sand also vanishing north of Lincolnshire, and the golt and
chalk constituting a binary instead of quinary system. The
most constant of all the terms in this system in England are
the upper portions of the chalk.
The section of this system in the north of Ireland (neigh¬
bourhood of Belfast) yields chalk, greensand, and golt. In
the north of France generally the same five terms arq found
as in the south of England, though the golt is less distinct
than in England, and the two sandy beds not so well de¬
fined. In the country north of the Ardennes and border¬
ing on the Meuse, the chalky system, though less complete
in the lower part (except about Aix la Chapelle), is much
more developed in the upper part. In fact, a considerable
mass of coarse, sandy, calcareous rocks, which is not really
chalk, forming the hill of St Peter, near Maestricht, lies
upon the ordinary cretaceous rocks of Belgium, and, both
by its mineral and organic contents, offers a real though
incomplete transition to the tertiary series of strata.
In the north of Germany both the chalky rocks above
and the greensands below (Quadersandstein of Pirna, and
other parts of Saxony adjoining the Erzgebirge) conform
in many particulars to the English type. In the Carpa¬
thians the greensands predominate so as to constitute
nearly the whole system. In the Alps, likewise, this is
the case to a great extent, and it appears worthy of re¬
mark, 1st, that in the Saleve and parts of the Jura there is
a real alternation of greensands of the cretaceous type with
the upper limestones of the oolite formation; 2d, that in
particular parts of the north flanks of the Alps there ap¬
pears to be a blending of the characters of the cretaceous
and tertiary rocks (no chalk being found), so that it is hard
to say where the line should be drawn.1 This transition.
as it is called, from the cretaceous to the tertiary strata is
very different from that previously noticed at Maestricht,
and seems to be due to an insulation of the Gosau and
other districts, from the influence of the physical changes
which elsewhere happened at the close of the secondary
period, while the Maestricht transition may be viewed as
one of the few monuments left to declare the nature of
those changes.
In North America the most characteristic deposit, as
along the Alps, is greensand, associated wdth limestones,
compared to oolites in New Jersey, having a more chalky
aspect in Florida and Alabama, where it assumes important
features, but without real chalk or true flints. Some of
the deposits in New Jersey resemble the lower green or
iron sands of England.
It is thus rendered evident that the English type is more
or less applicable to the greater portions "of the earth’s sur¬
face where the cretaceous system has been recognised ;
that the lower parts of the system are generally sandv,
the upper parts often calcareous, but that the development
of these two groups is not proportional nor depending on
the same centres of influence. In the north of Europe the
upper group seems generally to predominate, but in the
middle of Europe the greensand system is more expanded
and regular ; in the northern parts of the United States
the greensand abounds, in the southern calcareous rocks
are more important. Yet upon the whole it must be grant¬
ed that the agencies concerned in producing the cretaceous
system were more extensive and uniform than those by
which the oolites were accumulated.
Two formations are almost universally admitted as con¬
stituting the cretaceous system.
The Chalk Formation, named from the most characte¬
ristic mineral substance : thickness 600 feet. It includes
the following groups:—Maestricht beds, upper or flinty
chalk, middle or hard chalk, lower chalk or chalk marl.
The Greensand Formation, commonly abounding in a
green silicate of iron: thickness 600 feet. It includes
upper greensand, &c. golt or blue marly clay, low-er green
or ironsand, with beds of sandy or chalky limestone.
Stratification—In this system of strata, so evidently of
watery origin, stratification, if Playfair’s definition were
adopted (“ strata can only be formed by seams which are
parallel throughout the entire mass”) almost never occurs!
In very many instances the chalk and greensand masses
shew no more of stratification such as this definition re¬
quires than the primary rocks ; but the cause is very differ¬
ent. Chalk differs remarkably in its composition and
structure from most other calcareous deposits. It is gene¬
rally an earthy, that is, feebly aggregated mass ; it is sel¬
dom laminated like argillaceous limestones, unless where it
is harder than usual, as for example on the Yorkshire coast
and in some parts of the Isle of Wight. It contains evidence
of consecutive deposition from a watery liquid as complete
as any other rock. In general we find through a great
mass of chalk a number of nodules of flint, variously shaped,
but disposed in certain layers which are almost exactly pa¬
rallel to one another, and to the bounding surface of the
rock, and at equal distances, three to six feet. These
serve to mark the successive deposits of the calcareous
mass ; and from the frequent occurrence of zoophytic re¬
mains in these nodules, especially in the south of England,
it appears probable that the siliceous matter wras separated
from the calcareous, and collected round these bodies, by
that molecular attraction which has been previously noticed
in nodules of ironstone and spherules of oolite. We may
suppose, therefore, with Dr Buckland, an intermitting but
abundant deposition of mingled carbonate of lime and
silica, nearly equal quantities in each successive deposition,
and that the silica was specially attracted to local centres
by organic and other solidified masses. This of course
applies only to the flinty chalk, which in the south of Eng¬
land is generally at the upper part, but in Yorkshire and at
Havre flints are rather characteristic of the middle and lower
parts of the mass.
The greensand formation shews the most complete stra¬
tification parallel to its bounding surfaces in those parts
where the argillaceous golt and calcareous layers (e. g. in
the vicinity of Folkstone and at the back of the Isle of
Might) vary the series of arenaceous aggregates. More
regular stratification is nowhere to be seen than under such
conditions. But where these divisions vanish, as in the
western part of the great M7ealden denudation (about
Hazlemere, Leith Hill, Ryegate) the case is wholly differ¬
ent. The great mass of sand then exhibits little regularity
of lamination, and besides is traversed by abundance of
irony plates and shells in various directions, which render
it nearly impossible to find any seams passing through the
mass parallel to the bounding surfaces. In such a case,
then, the nomenclature of Mr Smith coincides with the defi¬
nition of Playfair, and several hundred feet of irregularly
laminated sand constitute but one stratum.
\ et even in this extreme case the interrupted layers and
nodules of chert (analogous to the flints in chalk) indicate
the succession of deposits, and shew us that with respect
to rocks of w atery origin the adherence to the definition of
stratification commonly received is likely to close the eyes
of the observer on many more important matters.
1 he golt beds are generally laminated as other argilla¬
ceous deposits.
Organic remains occur in all the beds of the cretace-
,Ge(% I &
1 Murchison, Boue, and others, on the Gosau deposits, in Geol. Tram. &c.
MINERALOG Y.
G< '^y.
ous system, and there is a considerable conformity in the
i lists which have been composed of the contents of the
greensand and chalk formations. It is also observed that a
considerable proportion of the organic remains which are
found in a certain member of the system in England, also
occurs in the same in France and Germany ; that a small
number of fossils may even be esteemed characteristic of
the chalk, and others of the greensand formation. Locally,
the several minor groups, and even particular layers, are
distinguishable by their organic contents. But if we seek
to apply this rule beyond the continent of Europe, nothing
but disappointment ensues. In Egypt the chalky rocks
contain different fossils from those which are known in
England. Even the Scaglia of the southern faces of the
Alps could not be identified by fossils wdth the chalk of
England, much less could the greensand and chalky rocks
of America, in the absence of other evidence, be referred
to the cretaceous system by comparing the catalogue of
species of organic remains.
What would be the feelings of a geologist accustomed to
believe in the occurrence of particular characteristic forms
at every step in the range of a certain rock, on finding in
the cretaceous rocks of America, which contain 108 species
of clearly defined organic remains, only two which are
identical with those in the contemporaneous European
rocks?1 Yet in this wre see only the illustration of a truth
becoming every day more evident,—the measure of the
influence of local physical differences; and instead of feel¬
ing dismay at the loss of an (imaginary) infallible guide,
we ought to be alive to the investigation of the problem of
contemporaneous difference which this and other facts enun¬
ciate. There is still a remarkable analogy of the species
buried on the two sides of the Atlantic during the creta¬
ceous period. Exogyrse, gryphseae, baculites, belemnites,
scaphites, ammonites, occur in America, as well as in the
European greensand and chalky limestones; and it is pos¬
sible that the specific differences of the organic forms may
have been overrated, nothing being more difficult to define
than the natural limits of organic variation.
In the following table, summaries of the invertebral or¬
ganic remains of the cretaceous system mentioned by the
authors of several works on the Geology of Sussex, Nor¬
folk, Yorkshire, and Paris, are compared with a general
catalogue of European fossils in this system, given by Mr
De la Beche. In the Sussex and Norfolk catalogues, the
numbers are in excess, because the same species has been
counted in several beds of the system.
Zoophyta, generally,
Conchifera, generally,
Mollusca, generally,
Chalk Formation.
48
57
54
Yorkshire.
31
10
4
Greensand Formation.
Sussex. Yorkshire.
7
46
37
5
22
3
9
60
7
8
10
54
22
80
88
Polyparia, .
Radiaria,
Conch. Plagim
Mesom.
Rudista,
Brach.
Gasteropoda,
Cephalopoda
Crustacea,
Annulosa, .
Cirripeda, .
General
Catalogue.
146
85
87
122
23
67
56
107
11
30
2
In the Geology of
Sussex. Yorkshire. Paris.
26
20
32
46
21
31
60
13
11
1
21
16
13
8
Bra. 11
8
29
3
3
3
1
10
4,
:.9}
13^
d}
32
34
100
40
1
22
4
The distribution of the organic remains in the chalk and
greensand formations, may be best illustrated from the geo-
,0gy of Sussex and the geology of Yorkshire.
The basaltic dykes which pass through the chalk in the
island of Rathlin, and other places, convert it into granular
crystallized limestone (close to the dyke largely crystalli¬
zed), from which extreme change the effects diminish in
proportion to the distance from the dyke, through the stages
of small granular, arenaceous, and compact stone, to the
ordinary chalk. (The Irish chalk is more close-grained than
the English.) The colour of the chalk is altered also; near
the dyke very brown, at a certain distance bluish, further
off yellowish.2 It is not improbable that much of the ba¬
saltic formation of the western coasts of Scotland, includ¬
ing the magnificent pillared rocks of Staffa (see the very
correct engravings annexed), are of the same date as the
Causeway rocks.
Disturbance.—Throughout England there is little or no
proof of any considerable disturbing movements following
upon the deposition of the chalk; yet, from the character
of the lower tertiary strata of England which rest upon the
chalk, it appears undoubted that considerable agitation of
water occurred, for the surface of the chalk was wasted,
and conglomerate or pebble beds formed of the detrital
flints. The mass of igneous rocks poured out on the chalk
of Ireland, is of too indefinite an age to be appealed to as
proof of convulsions in that quarter. But on the continent
of Europe, De Beaumont assigns to this period his Pyre-
2 D
209
Geof
The small number of conchifera and mcllusca in the
i orkshire chalk is remarkable.
igneom Docks.—In England, no rock of igneous origin
is associated with the chalk or greensand. Such occurren¬
ces are less rare on the continent of Europe, among the
Pyrenees and the Alps: at Weinbohla, on the Danube, it
is covered by sienitic rock. But the most remarkable oc¬
currence is in the north-east of Ireland, where the chalk is
almost universally covered by stratiform greenstone, basalt,
and ochry rock, and traversed at several points by dykes of
similar rocks, and in one place (Murloch Bay) entangled
with a sienitic rock. A satisfactory notion of the nature of
the mass of igneous rocks, which, in this part of Ireland, oc¬
cupies nearly all the space to the east of a line from the south¬
eastern angle of Lough Neagh to the mouth of Lough
Foyle, and in almost all parts rest on chalk and greensand,
may be gathered from Dr Richardson’s section of the cliffs
near the Giant’s Causewray.
Feet.
60 Basalt, rudely columnar.
Red ochre, or bole.
Basalt, irregularly prismatic.
Basalt, columnar.
Of a nature intermediate between bole and basalt.
Basalt, coarsely columnar.
54 Basalt, columnar, constituting the upper range of
pillars at Bengore Head.
Basalt, irregularly prismatic. In this the wacke
and wood-coal of Port Nocker.
44 Basalt, columnar, forming the Causeway.
Red bole, or ochre.
Tabular basalt, and thin seams of bole.
Do. occasionally containing zeolite.
VOL. XV.
1 Brurer and Conybeare in Geol. Trans.
! Rogers in Report to tks British Association.
210 MINER
Geology neo-apennine system of convulsion,—the elevation of the
-v—^ Pyrenees, Carpathians, Northern Apennines, Dalmatia, and
the Morea, in lines ranging parallel to a great circle on
the sphere through Natchez and the Persian Gulf. It
appears also that some disturbances which happened dur¬
ing the cretaceous era, are traceable in Mont Viso and the
Western Alps. Supposing the Pyreneo-apennine system
to be principally, if not wholly referrible to this period,
we seem to behold a reason for the agitation of the shores
of the English chalk basin; the distant convulsion might
sufficiently explain this local and transient agitation, but,
in fact, it is very probable that the English chalk under¬
went a gradual local elevation, which contracted the area
of the bordering seas, and formed shores and dry land
slopes of chalk, to be wasted by the waves, the rivers,
and the rains. The pebble-beds of the tertiaries which
rest on the chalk of England, do indeed more exactly cor¬
respond to such an origin than to the effect of sudden and
violent disturbance.
TERTIARY STRATA.
Base of the Strata We have seen that during the
long and yet unmeasured period which elapsed during the
accumulation of the secondary strata, elevation of the land
continually happened by gradual forces, and sometimes by
violent disturbance. The most striking case of the latter
is the general disruption of the coal system, at least before
the completion of the red sandstone deposition. Of the
gradual elevation of strata, almost the whole series furnishes
continual proof. Hence it is, that the oolitic rocks follow
one another so exactly in their geographical boundaries,
retiring continually into smaller and narrower areas, as the
elevation of the old land proceeded. In the continuation
of the process, the greensand and chalk form, at least in
England and France, a still interior band of deposits, which
mark the gradual contraction of the seas, that is, the gra¬
dual uprising of the land.
The tertiary strata have, in general, to the chalk the same
geographical relations as that to the oolites. Throughout
England, the chalk is the base of all the tertiary strata. In
France this is generally the case, and almost universally so
for the marine tertiaries. In the north of Germany, along the
north and south slopes of the Alps, and in the basin of the
Danube, this is at least very extensively true. In North
America, the general basis of the tertiaries is the cretaceous
formation. On more close inquiry, it appears, however,
that the tertiary strata are seldom exactly conformed to the
stratification of the chalk ; that any thing like a gradation
or alternation of the cretaceous into tertiary deposits, is
rarely known ; that the organic remains of the one group
differ almost wholly and absolutely, except in the south of
France, at Maestricht, &c., and constitute two distinct
groups of created life. Hence it has become a popular
opinion, that wfith the secondary strata ended a certain ge¬
neral condition of the globe, and with the tertiaries com¬
menced a totally new arrangement. Moreover, because we
find the marine tertiary strata distinctly related, in geogra¬
phical expansion, to the present basins and arms of the
ocean ; as the organic remains which they contain are simi¬
lar, and, in rocks of later date, identical to those of the ex¬
isting races in the sea and on the land; and as the tertiary
sediments are of a nature very analogous to the daily pro¬
ducts of the sea, estuaries, tide-rivers, and lakes,—there is
but a step farther to unite the tertiary era with the histori¬
cal period of the globe, and to place the commencement of
the actual creation or arrangement of organic nature at the
epoch immediately following the chalk. For these and
other reasons, the tertiary strata are of great interest.
They admit of a clear comparison, in all respects, with the
effects which daily occur before our eyes; and thus facili-
A L O G Y.
tate our inquiry into the conditions of nature in earlier pe- GeoW
riods. They furnish the principal arguments on which Mr'
Lyell rests his doctrines of the continual uniformity of the
measure of terrestrial agencies, as the older strata have
long done to those who maintain that, in the construction
of the crust of the globe, periods of ordinary action have
been broken by crises of unusual violence.
Nature of the Tertiary Strata.—In very few instances,
during our survey of the products of earlier nature, have
we found reason to admit the deposition of strata in any
other waters than those of the sea, in its depths and along
its shores. The coal deposits of the north of England ge¬
nerally, belong to the class of estuary formations, in which
the influence of the sea was often less and never more sen¬
sible than in the bed of a tide-river, where the water is only
brackish. At intervals, indeed (Yorkshire coal-field), when
great distant disturbance or local change of the circumstan¬
ces occurred, the influence of the sea has returned and pro¬
duced its usual effects, leaving, as monuments of its short
dominion, peculiar kinds of animal exuviae.
The oolitic formation on the Yorkshire coast and in Su¬
therland proves plainly enough the local addition of fresh
waters and spoils from the land; the Wealden formation
indicates, in like manner, a wide estuary fed by some river,
on whose banks gigantic reptiles or tropical plants abound¬
ed ; but nothing has yet been shewn with respect to any
carboniferous or oolitic deposit, which renders necessary
the supposition of lacustrine or purely fresh-water deposits.
Communication with the sea from the basins of the coal
deposits, and from the Wealden beds, is apparently indis¬
pensable in explaining the occurrence of particular sorts of
fishes in these strata, and not in any respect inconsistent
with the evidence of the molluscous exuviae. The most
plausible arguments for fresh-water deposits among the
older strata, are advanced by Dr Hibbert in his description
of the Burdiehouse fossils, and by Mr Murchison in his no¬
tices of Shropshire coal-fields. Without in the least wish¬
ing to intimate that the influence of fresh-water in accu¬
mulating the materials of the strata is most conspicuous in
the newer strata,—an inference not justifiable by the facts,
—it is to be remarked, that the deposition of stratified
rocks in limited basins of fresh-water is a phenomenon al¬
most characteristic of the tertiary period.
The same tracts of watery surface beneath which the coal¬
field of Yorkshire was formed suffered alternate influence of
the sea and river water. The estuary of the Wealden, and
the coal deposit of the oolitic hills, were alike formed upon
the bed of formerly deep seas, and at a later period deep
sea again covered the same area: in a certain sense, the de¬
posits of fresh and salt water alternate in several secondary
formations. But in the tertiary strata, this phenomenon of
alternating marine and fresh-water products is more decided
and remarkable. In the basin of Paris, at least two fresh¬
water and two marine deposits alternate in the tertiary se¬
ries. Alternations of really fresh-water and really marine
products happen in the south of France, the valley of the
Rhine, in Hungary, and the Isle of Wight. In these cases
the explanation is possible, without supposing repeated up-
liftings and submersions of the land—of which, from other
phenomena, there is no evidence—by merely conceiving
estuaries or expansions of water, such that the influence of
rivers and the sea might alternately predominate, just as, in
fact, we know to have happened, even in historical times,
in the marshes of East Norfolk,—and as must have often
occurred in similar tracts at the mouths of rivers where va¬
riable sand-banks abound, and alter the direction of littoral
currents. At some later epoch, the wfliole bed of the estuary
has been uplifted to its present elevation above the sea.
JSature of the Marine and Fresh-water Deposits.—It is a
remarkable confirmation of the views of modern geologists,
that a great portion of the substance of sedimentary strata
MINER
Ge gy. was swept down to the sea by inundations and other watery
—■''-—'forces operating on the surface of the dry land,—that the
marine and fresh-water sediments of the tertiary era'have
so much general analogy. In each we have calcareous,
argillaceous, and arenaceous deposits, alternating,—stra¬
tified, laminated, in a similar manner; the organic exuviae
are similarly disposed in the beds, and, but from the cha¬
racter of these, we could not in general venture to pro¬
nounce upon the nature of the water in which the beds
were deposited. Some distinction is, however, to be traced;
the marine arenaceous sediments are thicker and more con¬
fused than those of fresh-water; the marine clays are less
minutely laminated. It may be remarked, in general, that
limestones and fine light-coloured clays constitute the prin¬
cipal mass of the fresh-water sediments ; while sands, and
blue and variously-coloured clays more particularly mark
the marine depositions. The latter appear like the pro¬
ducts of littoral agitation, as if the wearing of clifiPs of older
strata had furnished the materials of these newer rocks;
while the former resemble the accumulations from the
wasting surface of chalky and argillaceous countries. This
is more particularly the case in the Isle of Wight, where
the coloured sands of the marine tertiaries might seem really
to have drifted only a few miles from the equally- coloured
sands of the greensand and Wealden formations; while the
fresh-water marls and limestone may be imagined to have
been added from a wasting surface of chalk hills.
SCALE OF GEOLOGICAL TIME.
In all our former inquiries, the successive geological pe¬
riods have been arranged by the marine deposits and marine
fossils; and the same plan must be followed in these ter¬
tiary rocks if we wish to preserve consistency. The true
plan of comparing the tertiary and earlier strata, in refe¬
rence to chronology, is to reject the lacustrine and estuary
deposits, and the remains of land and fresh-water animals
and plants, and confine ourselves to the marine productions
merely. Had this prudence been duly observed in geolo¬
gical reasoning, much inconsistency and contradiction might
have been avoided ; the fresh-water depositions (which are
merely local terms in the series of strata), would not have
been appealed to in proof of the relative ages of marine de¬
posits, nor should we have been led, by the occurrence of a
few exuviae of land mammalia, into conclusions at variance
with the evidence of marine invertebrata, which are the
true indices of past geological time.
Succession of time, as determined by marine productions,
is the true scale of geological classification ; and it is clear
that the fresh-water strata of any series can only be deter¬
mined in age by their relations to the marine ; also, as the
laws of changes of organic life, which are gradually unfold¬
ed by geology, are founded, in the first instance at least, on
the facts known with reference to marine fossils, it is to this
standard that the independent series of analogous changes
on the land must be referred. The rate of such changes
on the land, however real and regular, may have been
wholly different from that in the sea, and must be studied
apart. This reasoning leads directly to a classification of
the phenomena of tertiary deposits under three heads,—
The Marine deposits,
The Fluviatile deposits, alternating with marine de¬
posits,
The Lacustrine deposits;
a classification, however, which is better suited to a philo¬
sophical review of the results of investigation than to a de¬
scription of the phenomena, for these are often intimately
associated.
BRITISH MARINE TERTIARY DEPOSITS.
Geographical Extent.—In Europe, the area covered by
ALOGY. 211
marine teriiaries is scarcely inferior to that occupied by Geolo^r.
either the primary or secondary series. Ireland and Scot-~
land, and all their dependent islands, are wholly deficient
in these strata, unless we choose to make exceptions in fa¬
vour of uplifted beaches whose date is yet uncertain, like
the terraces on the sides of the Forth, and the shelly beds
on the coast of Wexford. No tertiaries occur in Wales,
unless the shelly gravel on the north face of Snowdonia be
of this date ; neither do any traces of these deposits occur
on the coast of England further north than Bridlington in
Yorkshire, nor to the west of the Isle of Purbeck. Raised
beaches, however, are met with beyond these boundaries.
Inland, the tertiaries follow a line parallel to the chalk
escarpment in all its great flexures, and along the east and
west axes of dislocation. There are, consequently, two
great troughs or basins of tertiary strata, viz. those of Lon¬
don and Hampshire, both ranging east and wrest.
Succession of Strata—It is remarkable that in these tw'o
basins principally, though not exclusively, lie the lower
members of the tertiary series of England, while other mem¬
bers have mostly a local distribution, depending on diffe¬
rent circumstances. No complete type of the English se¬
ries can be had at any one locality, not even in the Isle of
Wight, where alone the fresh-water formations are distinct¬
ly seen. To compose a complete section, w'e must add
together the strata of Norfolk and Suffolk, the beds of the
London basin, and the varied deposits of the Isle of Wight.
We thus find that the marine deposits of England range
themselves in three groups, viz.
Upper group or Crag, Generally arenaceous.
Middle group or London Clay, ...Mostly argillaceous.
Lower group, or plastic clay, &c...Clays and sands.
Of these the upper group occurs only in Norfolk, Suffolk,
and Essex (unless the tertiaries of Bridlington may be class¬
ed with it) ; the lower group is confined to the basins ot
London and Hampshire. The following is a sketch of the
state of knowledge concerning each of these groups.
The Lower Group of Plastic Clays and Sands is best
seen in the Isle of Wight, where its characters are easily
examined at Alum Bay, at the west of the island. Mr
Webster, who first described this interesting spot, gives the
following succession of the beds lying next to chalk, all ver¬
tical or nearly so. The chalk is covered by a calcareous
marly bed, probably not related to the tertiary deposit.
Then follow 60 feet of green, red, and yellow sand; 200
feet of dark blue clay, with greensand and septaria, and a
few shells ; 321 feet of variously-coloured sands ; 543 feet
of pipe-clays and sands of various colours, which, by crum¬
bling and exposing fresh faces, shew very bright and splen¬
did tints of white, yellow, orange, red, green, grey, and
black. Near the middle, lignite is found in these beds
(with remains of fruit); and in the higher part toward the
north, five other beds of lignite occur, each about a foot
thick; rolled black flints in yellow sand. (Dark colour¬
ed clay 250 feet thick, with greensand and septaria, and
abundance of shells of the London clay closes the series.)
Reduced in thickness, these sandy and argillaceous layers
continue both east and west. At Poole they yield valuable
pipe-clay and sands.
In the basin of London the plastic clays and sands vary
in thickness and quality, but present general analogies with
those of the Isle of Whght, in the variously-coloured sands
and clays of Reading, layers of worn flint pebbles (Black-
heath), mostly very small, and a few beds of shelly clay
(Woolwich.) It is in most places somewhat confused in
lamination, full of indications of littoral agitation, and ap¬
parently accumulated with considerable rapidity by very
limited agencies. Whence have come the masses of sandy
materials which compose this deposit in the two basins in
question ? We have already said that in the Isle of Wight
212
MINERALOGY.
Geology, it appeared as if the tertiary sands had been derived from
'-■y--*—'''the ruins of the very similar subcretaceous rocks of the vi¬
cinity. Perhaps the hypothesis may be extended to the
basin of London, (once certainly united with that of Hamp¬
shire.) Mr Lyell, indeed, in reasoning on the basin of
London, has proposed the ingenious hypothesis of the ac¬
cumulation of all the materials of these basins from the
waste of the Wealden district, assumed to be then rising
gradually to encounter the ravages of the atmosphere. The
evidence is not satisfactory, and the supposition involves a
point of some importance not yet conceded, viz. the gra¬
dual elevation of the Wealden district. At all events, the
probability is great that some uplifted greensand ranges
contributed materials to the plastic clay formation.
The Middle Group of London Clay is most fully de¬
veloped in the vale of the Thames, and best known in the
vicinity of London. The numerous wells established here
have shewn the inferiority of the plastic clays and sands to
the London clay, and contributed to make known the cha¬
racters of this great argillaceous deposit, which, in some
places, is above 500 or 600 feet thick, and in Essex, at
High Beach, 700 feet, according to Conybeare and Phillips.
In this great thickness of blue and brown clay is little
variety, except what is caused by a few layers of nodular
septaria, and toward the bottom greensands or sandstones,
(which are more fully developed at Bognor on the coast of
Sussex.) Laminated shelly beds also occur (Knightsbridge
Well), and in the Harwich Cliff are layers of stratified
limestone, (Greenough.)
Organic remains are nowhere rare in this deposit, and,
in particular localities, extremely abundant; 239 species
are mentioned by M. Deshayes from the London clay,
principally of Hampshire and Highgate ; and of these only
twelve, or five per cent., have been found living in the pre¬
sent seas.
What is the origin of this mass of clay ? Mr Lyell sup¬
poses the uplifted Weald of Kent and Sussex to have
yielded the materials of the whole of the marine tertiaries
to the north and south ; that waste of the sandy tracts of
the Weald furnished the plastic clays and sands, and the
Weald clays contributed the argillaceous sediments. But
this speculation can neither be advocated nor opposed ex¬
cept by trains of argument involving too many assumptions
to be admissible in inductive geology. ■
The Upper Group-, or Crag Formation, is a local de¬
posit of a character very different from all the older strata.
It consists of two parts, which, according to recent re¬
searches of Mr Charlesworth, are placed in superposition
at some points on the eastern coast, particularly Ramsholt
near Woodbridge. The lower part is either a loose, par¬
tially calcareous sandy mass (Ramsholt), very full of shells,
and containing a considerable quantity of corals, not at all
agreeing with the zoophyta of the German Ocean, or else
a coarse sandy zoophytic limestone (Aldborough and Or-
ford), in which some of the same shells occur. The thick¬
ness of the lower, or coralline crag, is not certainly known ;
from seven to twelve feet are exposed; it is scarcely ferru¬
ginous ; shews no considerable marks of watery agitation;
pebbles and rolled shells are not seen in it.
In these particulars it differs much from the upper or
red crag, which shews, by its very confused, often curved,
and obliquely-intersecting lamination, by its abundance of
rolled pebbles, bones, and shells, proofs of having been ac¬
cumulated under the influence of agitated waters. No
trace of land plants occurs ; in general no alternation of
clay deposits is seen ; and though a few bones of mamma¬
lia have been found (as in the older and quietly deposited
tertiaries of Italy), there can be no doubt that the whole is
a littoral marine accumulation. The whole is very ferru- Geologj
ginous. Shells are excessively plentiful; and in fact con- ‘'—v*.
stitute, in some places near Woodbridge, the principal part
of the mass. Corals are very rare (though not absolutely
unknown); and solenostomatous gasteropoda, (including
reversed whelks), very plentiful.
From the compositioji and character of the upper or red
crag we may venture to adopt the opinion, that it is little
else than an elevated beach of the German Ocean, parallel
to the shore of which it is extended from north to south
through the eastern parts of Norfolk and Suffolk. The co¬
ralline crag below it may be viewed as a less disturbed pro¬
duct of the same ocean farther toward the deep sea.
What relation does this shelly deposit bear to the actual
beach and littoral bed of the German Ocean ? This ques¬
tion brings us to a more close consideration of the organic
remains of the crag, which, according to Mr Charlesworth,
amount, in the collection of Mr Wood of Hasketon near
Woodbridge, to 470 species, viz 
Annulosa, . . . . 13 Conchifera, . . . 189
Cirripeda, .... 11 Mollusca, . . . 257
Of these 111 have been examined by Deshayes, and he as¬
signs 45 of these (40.1 per cent.) to recent types mostly
found in European seas. In the coralline crag Mr Charles¬
worth finds 350 species of testacea, and in the red crag
230 ; 150 are common to both the deposits ; 80 are pecu¬
liar to the red crag ; 200 to the coralline crag.
M. Deshayes’ result, quoted above, was principally found¬
ed on an examination of the red crag. Lately he has also
examined a portion of the shells of the coralline crag, and
finds in these the same, or rather greater, proportion of re¬
cent species.1 According to this evidence, the lower or
coralline crag is to be classed with the red crag; as a some¬
what anterior deposit, produced under different local con¬
ditions, but including organic exuviae which bear the same
numerical relations to the present forms of marine inverte-
brata. In some of the Norfolk crag are detrital fossils
from the chalk and oolitic series of rocks.
A deposit of shelly sands and clays has recently been
found on the coast of Yorkshire at Bridlington Quay, which
cannot at present be referred to its true place in the scale
of British marine tertiaries.
The green and yellow sands and blue clays, which con¬
tain the shells, form the base of a perishing diluvial cliff;
and, in the compass of a few yards’ length, fifty-five species
of shells have been found, besides some small cephalopoda,
and several bones and teeth of fishes. Of the shells, four
species are also found in the crag—five or six are identical
with living species—a considerable part of the remainder are,
as far as yet known, peculiar to this locality.2
BRITISH FRESH-WATER DEPOSITS.
These are confined to the Isle of Wight and part of the
adjacent coast of Hampshire. Mr Webster first called pub¬
lic attention to them. Against the London clay mention¬
ed in the section of Alum Bay rest a considerable mass ol
sands, chiefly w hite or light coloured, which gradually lose
the verticality of the dislocated beds here, and turn so as
to become almost perfectly horizontal, (See Diag. No. 14.)
No. 14.
1 Proceedings of British Association at Dublin.
* Ibid.
MINERALOGY.
Geol y Upon these lies a mass of nearly level stratified marls and
—'limestones constituting Headen Hill. These calcareous
marls, &c. constitute the fresh-water formation, and they are
parted into two groups, upper and lower fresh-water beds,
by an intermediate set of strata containing estuary and some
really marine shells.
The Upper Fresh-water Group consists of thick lime¬
stone and marl beds, full of limneae, planorbes, and other
fresh-water shells; the limestone is partly compact and part.-
ly loose and chalky ; the marls of a light greenish-yellow
or blue ; altogether fifty feet or more thick.
The Middle or Estuary Group is about thirty-six feet
thick in Headen Hill; it is a greenish marl, not materially
different from some of the fresh-water beds, and is actually
crammed full of neritina, potamida, ancillaria, and many
other small estuary and marine shells. A bed of oysters
occurs with them in another part of the island.
The Lower Fresh-water Group, sixty-three feet thick in
Headen Hill, is very like the upper beds (at Binstead are
alternations of siliceous limestone) ; the lower part is a dark
clay. Fresh-water shells are very numerous in particular
layers. Below is white sand without fossils.
FOREIGN TERTIARY STRATA.
Though the English tertiary strata occupy but a very
small space, compared to the wide extent of these strata
on the continent, they are not inferior in interest to those
of any district in Europe. There is a very remarkable
analogy between the tertiaries of the basin of Paris and
those of the basin of Hampshire, extending even to the
number and circumstances of the fresh-water beds, accom¬
panied, however, by as remarkable a difference in the com¬
position and character of one part of the series. The fol¬
lowing is the arrangement of the tertiary strata near Paris
adopted by Cuvier and Brongniart, (Tableaux des Ter-
j rains).
Upper Fresh-water or Epilimnic Group, consists of two
sorts of rocks, separate or in combination, viz. marly lime¬
stones with calcareous or argillaceous marls, and siliceous
rocks. The former always shew tubular cavities proceed¬
ing upwards, as if gas had passed through the sediment
while soft. The latter consist principally of the cavernous
siliceous substance called French burr, in some portions
of which are shells.
Upper Marine Group, consisting of sands and sandstones
of various colours, and some conglomerates with a few
shells and marly beds.
Lower Fresh-water, or Palccotherian Group, consisting
of siliceous limestone, marls, clays, and gypsum, with a
considerable number of lacustrine shells and bones of ex¬
tinct pachydermata, and a few land and fresh-water plants.
Lower Marine Formation, or Calcaire grassier ; a thick
| bedded coarse-grained shelly limestone, with abundance of
marine zoophyta, shells, and fishes, some eehacea, &c.
Some sandy beds accompany it, and grains of green silicate
of iron.
Plastic Clays and Sands of different colours, as green, red¬
dish ; beds of lignite in the upper part; some limited layers
of detrital pebbles in the lowrer part; few organic remains.
It will be seen from this brief notice of the tertiaries of
the basin of Paris, that they present a marked general
agreement with those of Hampshire ; similar plastic clays
and sands below; similar alternations of fresh-water and
marine strata above. Yet the particular differences are
even more striking. If the general agreements indicate
some predominant analogies of physical conditions, spread¬
ing each way from the English channel, these particular
differences are no less instructive in shewing the essential
diversity of phenomena arising from local circumstances.
The lower marine formation of the Paris basin corresponds
in geological age with the London clay, and contains the
same organic fossils, with many others; but it is a calca-
213
reous, and not argillaceous, deposit. The fresh-water for- Geologv.
mations differ considerably from those of the Isle of Wight,
by the prevalence of siliceous concretions and beds, the
local production of gypsum and other circumstances.
It appears by no means unlikely that the lower fresh¬
water beds of the Paris basin are really the equivalent of
both the fresh- water deposits of the Isle of Wight, while
the upper Parisian deposit from fresh water has more the
air of a really lacustrine accumulation, and is the most re¬
cent deposit in the district.
The tertiary series in the south of France has a general
analogy to that of the vicinity of Paris ; but the differences
are great, and, upon the whole, tend to produce a corres¬
pondence with that of Italy. The following is the arrange¬
ment of beds:—
Upper Fresh-water Lacustrine deposit, containing shells,
insects, and plants.
Upper marine beds.
(3.) Sands. Micaceous and light-coloured, with re¬
mains of land and marine mammalia, land and fresh¬
water reptiles, fishes and shells.
(2.) Marls and limestone, {calcaire moellori), with re¬
mains of marine mammalia, fishes, mollusca, princi¬
pally in the upper beds.
(1.) Argillaceous marls, the same as the blue subapen-
nine marls, with marine shells in abundance ; ter¬
restrial exuviae rare ; an estuary bed enclosed.
Lower Fresh-water Formation. Pisolitic limestone; marly
and siliceous limestones, with land and river shells;
marls, silex, and slaty magnesite with gypsum, con¬
taining land and fresh-wrater exuviae.
Lower Marine Formation. Calcaire grossier; greensands,
&c. ; inferior clays, lignites, &c.
Combining the sections of the subapennine and Sicilian
formations, but rejecting the superficial gravel and detri¬
tus, we have three principal terms :
Upper Subapennine, or Sicilian deposits. In the Yal
di Noto is the most complete section of these com¬
paratively recent beds. The uppermost group, which
rises in Castrogiovanni to 3000 feet above the sea,
is calcareous, sometimes 700 or 800 feet thick, stra¬
tified, and locally solid. The organic remains are
almost exclusively of recent marine species. The
middle group is a white calcareous sand or yellow
sand, like what is found covering the sub-apennine
marls in Italy. The lowest group is a blue argilla¬
ceous marl, with numerous fossils, mostly of recent
species (Dr Daubeny and Mr Lyell).
Middle Subapennine deposits. Several thousand feet
thick, composed of fine laminated, argillaceous, and
calcareous marls, and blue clays; with rare inter¬
polations of lignite, sandstone, and thin limestone ;
abundance of organic remains, often referrible to
existing marine testacea, &c., and a few instances
of imbedded remains of land mammalia (Mr Lyell).
Lower Subapennines. These occur in the Superga,
Piedmont, and consist of greensands and marls, rest¬
ing on a conglomerate of fragments of primary rocks
(Brongniart, Lyell).
The researches of Murchison and Sedgwick on the north
flanks of the Austrian Alps, those of Boue in T ransyl-
vania, and of Studer in Switzerland, have yielded com¬
plete information as to the tertiary strata of these districts.
The most complete section is that given by the English
geologists in Lower Styria.
Uppermost group. Calcareous sand and pebble beds,
calcareous grits and oolitic limestone; shells are
plentiful; some of them still exist in the sea. White
and blue marl, calcareous grit, white marlstone ; and
concretionary white limestone, containing shells.
>14
Geology.
MINERALOGY.
Coralline limestone and marls, several out which geological history has no principle of combina* Geology,
Middle group
hundred feet thick ; organic remains of the middle
subapennines.
Lower group. Conglomerate, with micaceo-calcareous
sand and millstone ; dark blue marly shale, sand,
&c. Some of the shells are identical with species
of the calcaire grossier and London clay ; shale and
sandstone with lignitic coal, containing bones of an-
thracotheria and fluviatile shells and plants, mica¬
ceous sandstones, grits and conglomerates of pri¬
mary detritus.
Without adding to these details the sections along the
Carpathians, and in the plains which extend from them to
the north, we may proceed to olfer a short view of the ge¬
neral analogies and distinctions which appear to prevail
among the tertiary strata of Europe with reference to geo¬
logical time.
Mineral Composition.—It is evident, from comparing
the sections given, that no special resemblance of the strata
in thickness or mineral composition can be traced, such as
we have found to be frequently observable while examin¬
ing the older strata. All are composed principally of cal¬
careous, arenaceous, and argillaceous matter ; but so are
all the secondary strata. We do not find in the different
regions compared any settled order of succession among
the rocks of different nature. The English series has no
marine limestone ; the Parisian no thick marine clays ; the
subapennine deposits have little arenaceous matter. It
is apparent, in fact, that the tertiary deposits vary as to
their mineral composition very much more in relation to
locality than to geological time,—a fact which at once sub ¬
verts all hope of arranging them in geological chronology
by comparison of their mineral constitution. It also leads
us to infer that the deposition of tertiary strata took place
in arms and gulfs of the sea, which ramified among the
masses of land then raised in Europe, and derived sedi¬
ments of different nature from these different lands. Hence
the subalpine tertiaries have one character; those of the
subapennines another ; the subpyrenean a third; the Pari¬
sian a fourth ; the English a fifth.
By prosecuting this research, we find, in fact, that the
tertiary formation was sometimes produced in insulated
seas, like the Adriatic, and the valleys of the Rhine and
Danube ; at other times under the influence of the general
ocean, as those in the plains of the Garonne; often in
basins, like the Parisian series. Thus a principle of classi¬
fication is indicated, not entirely inapplicable, it is true, to
the older strata, because these were also dependent on
local conditions, but yet in a peculiar sense appropriate to
this comparatively modern system of deposits.
It is easy, in fact, to perceive, that, by the united effect
of so many systems of disturbing movements, the expand¬
ed seas, in which the older strata were deposited, had been
either completely divided into separate portions, united by
narrow straits, or placed under very different relations to
oceanic currents and inundations from the land. In con¬
sequence, the causes of local diversity, always operating
from the very commencement of geological time, approach¬
ed their maximum of effect in the tertiary periods, and left
among contemporaneous marine deposits very slight ana¬
logies.
Organic Remains.—But the phenomena of organic life
offer us another and independent scale of comparison, which
the principles of Smith, developed by the researches of
Deshayes, and the reasoning of Lyell, have encouraged us
to apply to the tertiary strata, for the purpose of deter¬
mining in each district, those lines of contemporaneity, with-
tion,—no clue to general laws. '*
For the sake of precision in our inquiries, let us suppose,
in conformity with the general bearing of all the results
arrived at by investigations among the earlier strata, that
the changes of marine organic life were, in the region of
Europe, during all the tertiary periods, proportional to
the time elapsed; and since the tertiary strata contain
forms identical with living species, let us agree to form our
scale of geological time, as indicated by the change of or¬
ganic life, by reference to the present catalogues of inver-
tebral animals living in the sea and fresh-waters.
According to the proportionate number (or per-centage)
of fossil forms identical with living species which are found
in any tertiary stratum, its date will be nearer to or further
from the epoch of the commencement of the present order
and arrangement of living nature. That this principle is
strictly and generally true, can neither be proved nor
granted ; because it is neither proved nor probable that the
influential circumstances according to which the changes
of organic life proceeded, varied in any place, much less
in all places, exactly in proportion to the time elapsed.
Yet the change of organic forms is probably the most
general and strict measure of time which can be found
among the tertiary strata; and in adopting it Mr Lyell has
certainly entered upon a very interesting train of inquiry,
capable perhaps of even more exact application among the
strata of older date, when the contemporaneous conditions
of different parts of the globe were certainly more uniform
than during any part of the tertiary period.
It is indeed this very diversity of local conditions that
makes it extremely doubtful how far we may venture to
apply to individual cases the law which perhaps may be
true only of the assemblage; just as a mathematical ex¬
pression for terrestrial temperature of the surface may be
quite exact for the mean of a whole zone of latitude, yet not
correct in any one point of the whole surface, because of
different circumstances.
For example, the shores of Italy are margined by ter¬
tiary deposits, which have been raised out of the existing
Mediterranean Sea, and contain many species of marine
exuviae still living in that sea, and nowhere else. The vale
of the Danube is also full of tertiaries, which contain many
shells ; but this once tertiary sea has been wholly laid dry,
and all its peculiar testacea are imbedded in the earth. It is
apparent that the fossils of Italian tertiaries will shew nu¬
merically greater resemblance to existing species, than
those which lie in the contemporaneous deposits of the
Danube, the numerical difference being in proportion to
the (unknown) number of shells which in a former condi¬
tion of the globe were peculiar to that now dried tertiary sea.
Some difficulties connected with the application of the
principle to th£ comparison of different basms, no time can
remove ; others will be diminished by further research; and
in almost every instance important results will arise from
exact researches to test its truth in every separate basin or
branch of the old tertiary sea.
We may now proceed to shew the results of the inquiry
conducted by M. Deshayes, upon the supposition of the
relative antiquity of tertiary beds being inversely propor¬
tioned to the per- centage of recent species among its im¬
bedded fossils.1
Commencing with the English tertiaries, we find from
M. Deshayes, that among 111 species of shells from the
Crag, 45 are living ; =r 40.1 per cent.; and of 239 frorn
London clay, 12 are living ; = 5 per cent.
Proceeding to the basin of Paris, it appears that among
1122 species of shells, 38 are still living; = 3.4 per cent.
1 LyelPa Principles of Geology, vol. iiL (1st Edition).
MINERALOGY.
Ur. On the Atlantic shore of France—1. At Angers, out
-''of 166 species, 25 are still living; = 15.0 per cent. 2. In
Touraine, out of 298 species, 68 are still living — 22.7 per
cent. 3. In the vicinity of Bordeaux and Dax, out of
594species, 136 are still living; r= 22.9 per cent.
The subapennine series of Italy and Sicily—1. Lower
subapennine (Turin), out of 97 species, 17 are still living;
= 17.5 per cent. 2. Middle subapennines, out of 569 species,
238 are still living; = 41.8 per cent. 3. Upper (or Sicilian
beds), out of 226 species, 216 are still living; = 95.1 per
cent.
The tertiaries of the Danube and Rhine—Baden, out
of 99 species, 26 are still living; — 26.2 per cent. Vienna
(and north of Carpathians), out of 124 species, 35 are still
living ; = 28.2 per cent.
From these and some other investigations, M. Deshayes
was led to group the tertiary deposits in three assemblages,
viz.—The most ancient, including the Parisian and London
and Hampshire beds ; those of Valognes, near Cherbourg,
and Belgium; Ronca and Castel Gomberto. From this
series 1238 species of shells have been examined by M.
Deshayes, who finds 42 of them, or 3.5 per cent, still liv¬
ing. To these Mr Lyell gives the name of Eocene depo-
sites (««j, the dawn ; recent.)
The middle assemblage includes the beds of Bordeaux,
Dax, Touraine, Angers, Baden, Vienna, Hungary, Transyl¬
vania, Moravia, and the country north of the Carpathians.
Ronca is also provisionally included by M. Deshayes, but,
as he conjectures, it would be more properly transferred to
the older division : 1155 species of shells are mentioned, of
which 176 are still living, being 15.2 per cent. These
are called Meiocene by Mr Lyell (^s^v, less ; x*<va?).
The upper assemblage contains the fossils of Italy, Sicily,
Perpignan, the Morea, and the English Crag, 770 species,
of which 350 are recent, or 45.4 per cent. To these Mr
Lyell gives the name of Pleiocene (rteiav, more, and *«<vos) ;
but he distinguishes them into two divisions—older pleiocene,
including the English crag and middle subapennines of
Italy; and newer pleiocene, composed solely of the Sicilian
deposits.
Mr Rogers has lately applied to the tertiaries of North
America the results of Deshayes and the nomenclature of
Lyell. The species are generally different on the two sides
of the Atlantic, both among the tertiary fossils and living
shells. The oldest American tertiaries are more analogous
in their fossil contents to the secondary rocks than is found
to be the case in Europe ; they contain 210 species, of which
hardly one is recent. The middle tertiary formations (sup¬
posed to include meiocene and older pleiocene), contain
195 species, of which 40, or 21 per cent., are recent; the
most recent (newer pleiocene) are very limited in extent.
Fresh-water Organic Remains of the Tertiary Era.
—In the preceding account of M. Deshayes’ tables and
Mr Lyell’s nomenclature, we have retained the numerical
statements of these authors, though liable to one slight
objection, the introduction of the remains of fresh-water
and land mollusca. These amount to 259 species, a num¬
ber too small to influence materially the resulting classifi¬
cation. There are of fresh-water bivalves in the fossil
state, 30 species; of univalves, 151 species; and of land
shells (univalves), 78 ;—in all 259.
Though the far greater part of these belong to species
no longer in existence, all are included in the same genera,
and there is no particular reason to be gathered from them
for admitting that the climate or local conditions of the
land of Europe during the tertiary era was very different
from what is now experienced.
Any one who knows the variation of the forms of exist¬
ing Limneoe and Unionidse in fresh waters of different na¬
ture and degrees of agitation, may be forgiven if he does
not at once perceive and acknowledge the minute distinc¬
tions which real y exist between the tertiary and existing GeoWv.
fresh-water shells. A small number of fresh-water plants rCw
(Lhaiaceae, Equisetacese), occurs in the calcareous deposits
0 the basin of Paris, and great masses of lignite, derived
from land plants in the sands and sandstones of Switzerland,
r ranee, and England, and they all shew great analogy to
existing plants.
Terrestrial Organic Remains of the Tertiary Era. These
consist of a few land plants and mollusca, with a considerable
number of the remains of mammalia. In the fresh-water
deposits of Hampshire, Paris, &c. belonging to the eocene
period, the bones of certain extinct races of quadrupeds
occur, as thepalseotherium, anoplotherium,lophiodon,dicho-
bune, &c.; with living genera, as vespertilio, canis, sciurus.
In the lignite beds of Styria and Switzerland, anthracothe-
ria, beavers, &c. abound ; in the superficial lacustrine beds
of central France, Oeningen, &c. the bones of rhinoceros,
felis, ursus, fox, and other modern genera are imbedded.
In some cases, as at Georgesgmiind, the bones of extinct
genera (palmotherium, anoplotherium, mastodon) ; and ex¬
isting genera, as hippopotamus, horse, ox, mustela, fox, are
found together, but this is not generally the case.
Several instances are known of remains of land mammalia
in marine tertiaries, as might easily be imagined from con¬
sidering how large a proportion of the materials of these
strata has been derived from the waste and detritus of the
land, swept into the sea by inundations and rivers.
Bones of the mastodon have been observed in the subapen¬
nines of Italy ; mastodon, hippopotamus, rhinoceros, lophio-
don, horse, deer, hare, &c. in the shelly beds of Touraine;
hyaena, rhinoceros, elephant, sus, antelope, in the molasse
of Estavayer; castor in the crag of Essex; chloromys,
canis, in Volhynia; dichobeve, palaeotherium, in calcaire
grossier of Nanterre and Provens.
From all this it is evident that the history of the ter¬
restrial animals of the tertiary era is embarrassing, and not
without great difficulty separated from that of the races of
later date.
Their remains are chiefly preserved to us in lakes which
may have existed through a long series of geological changes,
and received and mixed together the exuvim of animals
living at widely different periods. Auvergne, for example,
appears to have been dry land before the commencement of
the tertiary period, and the various lakes of central France
may be expected to contain traces of all the races ofquadru-
peds, which from the commencement of the tertiary even to
historical periods lived on that ancient land. The geological
date of many of the purely lacustrine tertiaries is entirely
unknown ; we may perhaps admit that the ossiferous de¬
posit of Ocningen, from which Mr Murchison’s fox was
unearthed, is of date somewhat corresponding to the lacus¬
trine beds of Weimar and Ground, and the post-tertiary
deposit of Market AVeighton, and maybe sure that they
are less removed from our own era than the fresh-water
beds of the Parisian basin ; we may perceive that palseo-
theria and other extinct genera of pachydermata belong to
the older of the tertiary periods, while the elephant, hippo¬
potamus, and felis were more numerous in later days. But,
as far as can be at present known, there is no certain cri¬
terion of age to be found in the comparison of the fossil
reliquiae of land animals.
IgneousRocks of the Tertiary Era.—In England and the
Parisian deposits, there is no trace of any irruptive igne¬
ous rocks of the date of the tertiary strata, though there
are many great disruptions. The south of France is
equally free from such admixtures among the marine strata
between the Cevennes and the Pyrenees; but amid the
ancient lacustrine beds of Auvergne volcanic rocks are
abundantly effused. In Catalonia, volcanic phenomena on
a smaller scale are noticed; the Euganean Hills, near
Venice, are a more considerable example of igneous irrup-
MINERALOGY.
*210
Geology lions among marine tertiaries; the vicinity of Home and
 .A-; Naples and the Val di Noto, shew abundant proof of vol¬
canic action during this period. Hungary is also full ox
such monuments, and most of the trap-rocks of the ithine,
and various parts of Germany, probably belong to this era.
It is not at all certain that the basaltic rocks of Ireland and
Staffa and other parts of Scotland are not refernble to the
tertiary period; certainly they are later than the chalk,
which they have divided and overflowed.
The rocks which are thus referred to the tertiary era are
principally trachyte and basalt; augitic and felspatbic rocks
greatly analogous to, or identical with, products of active
volcanos. The appearance presented at the points where
the igneous rocks have burst up are such as to leave no
doubt that, in all the localities above named, the action was
of the same kind as that exerted by an active volcano ; the
forms and grouping of the hills strengthen the analogy, and
w'e finally must conclude that the igneous action developed
over a great part of Europe late in the tertiary period, wras
in fact volcanic. In some cases, indeed, it is not possible
clearly and certainly to separate the products of a modern
volcano from those of the eruptions which took place in ter¬
tiary periods ; as, for example, in Sicily and central Franee.
There is evidence that some of these tertiary volcanos
burst forth in the sea, as the Euganean Hills, and spread
lava over and amongst the strata then forming ; in other
cases, as in Velay, the eruptions happened amidst fresh¬
water lakes while the lacustrine sediments were accumu¬
lating. The volcanos of the Cantal appear to have follow¬
ed the deposition of fresh-water limestones comparable to
those of Paris and the Isle of Wight. It is perhaps doubt¬
ful whether any of the volcanos of this date broke forth in
the midst of large tracts of land where no freshw ater lakes
existed ; the Siebengebirge and other Rheinish hills of ig¬
neous rocks are no exception, for the Rheinthal has evi¬
dently been once filled with water many hundred feet above
its present level, as the loss, the trass, and brown coal of
the Eifel sufficiently prove.
The result of the researches of Daubeny and others on
the subject of the tertiary igneous products, is to connect
them, in a very particular manner, with the history of ex¬
tinct and active volcanos of later date. In some instances
it may be admitted that igneous action, which existed in
the tertiary area, has been continued almost to historical
times (Auvergne), or even to this day (Etna).
DISTURBANCES OF STRATA DURING AND AFTER THE
TERTIARY PERIOD.
No more remarkable dislocations are known in the BrE
tish islands than those two parallel anticlinal axes which
broke up the tertiaries of the south of England. These
have been already briefly noticed while speaking of the
chalk formation. The northern axis, passing east and west
from the Vale of Pewsey to near Folkstone, divides the
basins of London and Hampshire, which are, in fact, de¬
pressions parallel to this axis, from which the northward
slope of the strata under the vales of Thames and the Ken-
net is extremely rapid, and affects equally the secondary
and tertiary strata. It is therefore of posterior date to the
last mentioned deposits. The southern axis passes east and
west through the middle of the Isle of Wight, and is continu¬
ed nearly in the same direction through the Isle of Purbeck
toward Weymouth, where several great dislocations have
been traced by Mr de la Beche and Dr Buckland. The
northern slope from this axis is everywhere excessively
steep, and, in the western part of the Isle of Wight, the
chalk, plastic clays, and sands, and London clay, are abso¬
lutely vertical. What adds to the interest of this occur¬
rence in Alum Bay, is the circumstance of the frequent la¬
mination of loose variegated sands and interstratification of
beds of lignite and layers of rounded pebbles. At a short Geolip, ^
distance northward, the depressed beds recover their hori- ^
zontality, and the same is the case with the elevated strata
on the south. Thus, it appears that two hollow's and two
ridges alternate, their axes being parallel; the northward
slope being in both cases violent, and the southern mode¬
rate. These ridges are, in fact, scarcely to be called anti¬
clinal axes produced by vertical elevation ; they resemble
more the effect of oblique movement of flexible masses. A
singular eftect is produced by the southern dislocation in
the flints imbedded in the chalk. They are penetrated by
secret fissures, and fall to pieces on being removed from
their situations, an effect probably resulting from violent
pressure on these elastic masses.
The geographical features of the south-eastern parts of
England depend almost entirely on these great lines of dis¬
turbed strata, and we may from this learn to view, without
surprise, the greater phenomena of the same kind which
have been brought to light by the labours of continental
geologists. It appears certain that the Pyrenean chain has
undergone elevatory movements since the deposition of
some of the tertiary strata; the whole chain of the Alps
has certainly been raised since the formation of most or all
of the tertiary strata, for it bears upon several of its high
crests, and in its mountain valleys, not only secondary, but
also tertiary beds, as on the Righi and on the Diablerets ac¬
cording to Brongniart, and in the Valley of Gosau, accord¬
ing to Murchison. Parts of Sicily have also been uplifted,
even since the deposition of rocks holding 95 per cent, of
existing species, to an elevation of 3000 feet.
Besides those local and violent elevations, it cannot be
doubted that the whole surface of Europe has been raised
to various degrees by more gradual action, since the time
of the formation of the marine tertiaries which fill the val¬
leys of the Danube and the Rhine, the secluded basins of
Bohemia and Hungary, and the great plains of northern
Germany, Poland, and Russia.
The precise (geological) date of these elevations, whe¬
ther violent or gradual, is one of the most difficult of geo¬
logical problems ; but it is certain that some happened du¬
ring, and most of them subsequently to, the accumulation
of the marine strata of the tertiary period. The general
effect was therefore clearly to augment continually the dry
land surface of Europe; to establish the various relations
of fresh-water drainage at successive times ; to permit the
accumulation of fresh-water lakes ; to allow of the condi¬
tions whereto the life of terrestrial and fluviatile animals is
adjusted, and thus to offer analogies in all respects to the
present order of natural causes and events.
RELATION OF TERTIARY TO HISTORICAL PERIODS.
Of all the classes or assemblages of aqueous deposits, that
w hich is the nearest to our own days in point of date is the
least exact in its boundaries and characters. While, con¬
cerning the older periods, the problem of the condition of
the globe was principally confined to considerations relating
to the sea, and thus the phenomena could be investigated
according to fixed principles, applicable to at least the
greater number of strata; the tertiary deposits compel us
to enter also upon more complicated researches connected
w ith the land : and, in discussing the history of still later
phenomena, all the variations of physical geography assume
still higher degrees of importance. The consequence is an
amount of local diversity so great as to nearly annihilate all
generality of result.
Moreover, the difficulties of this subject are augmented
by a circumstance which is likely to become daily more and
more influential on geological reasoning ;—the want of a
principle upon which to define the limit of least antiquity
of this group of strata. What, in fact, is meant by supra-
mineralogy.
217
,7. tertiary deposits ? If we substitute for this term modern to the European and Nnrfh ^ ^A/
-^aqueous products, do we understand it the better ? Or, being explored Moreover th 1 tertianes’ none other Geology.
»‘ —■ *•” “ter'iZEiss.T.-iis.Xi:
What is meant by tertiary strata ? If we should venture importanUs ylt ^tra STrutbl't, In68"10"’ • °WeVer
to include m tins tide all really marine deposits posterior to yet be found in tertiary strata in other p™" of Thedob?
the chalk, even such as were only yesterday raised from the nor would it excite surprise if a mo™ of ? g ? ’
bed of the sea, it would be more intelligible than the me- isting species of marineP mollusca in fhe^T Ce"\?f
thods now followed by geologists. For with the tertiary humL’bones should once be met with Or “if never to
strata of Europe begins that extreme analogy o( Ote sped- European regions this result should arriv;, who to liu e
fic forms of organic life, that zdentzty of generic conforma- us that, in countries more early peopled than these ‘‘ ftr
tion which at once announces great and general differences western isles,” neither lakes nor e tuaries of ?he tertiarv eS
of physical condition between them and the older strata, and received and preserved some remains of mam or traces of
his works ?
equally great resemblances to the present order of things.
Such results apply to marine, fresh-water, and terrestrial
life ; and, as far as yet appears, (but the evidence is very in¬
complete), nearly in an equal proportion to each.
Moreover, the changes, to judge either by marine or ter¬
restrial animals, which brought the extinction of old, and
the creation of new races, were gradual. From the Pari¬
sian formations, containing 96 per cent, of extinct marine
mollusca, and something like the same proportion of extinct
land quadrupeds, to the Sicilian strata, which contain 95
per cent, of existing species of marine shells, ancfthe lacus¬
trine deposits of Oeningen and Weighton, in which the
molluscous remains are wholly, and the quadrupedal reli¬
quiae partially, undistinguishable from living types, every in¬
termediate term may be interpolated so as to constitute a real
and complete series of monuments of the gradual substitu¬
tion of one race for another.
Assuming, for the moment, this conclusion of the gra¬
dual change from the oldest tertiary to the actual pheno¬
mena of nature, supposing that all the organic and inor¬
ganic phenomena produced in the interval from the date of
the cretaceous deposits to the present era, may be ranked
in one great system, like those adopted for earlier periods,
where shall we place the point of union between the mo-
As far as direct observation or satisfactory inference
goes, every honest geologist will allow that he is ignorant
ot the point of union between the historical and geological
scales of time : that the era of human existence, if record¬
ed in geological monuments, has not yet been discovered
among the small number which have been fully decyphered.
But, where certainty cannot be had, it is right to en¬
quire into probabilities. It seems fair to admit, both with
reference to historical testimony and sound views of the
economy of creation, that the existence, in any country, of
a considerable number of the animals which now contribute
to the comforts and necessities of the human race, is evi¬
dence of the establishment, in that country, of the condi¬
tions within which Providence has restricted the existence
of man. No created terrestrial being is capable, by natu¬
ral constitution, of sustaining such variety of external phy¬
sical conditions as man can brave through the exertion of
those divine faculties wdiich lift him above the inferior
tiibes of creation ; if, then, the bones of the horse, the ox,
the deer, the dog,—of hares, rabbits, beavers, foxes, and
other characteristic animals of the present creation, are
found in lacustrine tertiaries, what is to prevent our re¬
ceiving, as the most probable indirect inference, that the
u- x • 'i n , 1 .   , , v-^.vn.g, me inuti, jj/uuuuie uiairect mrerence, tiiat the
hmp? 1 ThCa ""I tae aT’ent or |eol°gIcal scales of era of the creation of man had arrived when these strata
time. in other words, I o what part of the supracretace- were accumulated ?
Let us adopt this inference though it be indirect, and,
without further refinement, which the state of ignorance in
which we really are forbids, let us admit that many of the
ous period shall we refer the creation of man ?
To this important question impartiality must allow that
geology gives no clear and certain answer. Geology has
no evidence on the subject that is at all of a positive cha¬
racter. M e believe that the older stratified rocks were
preadamitic for four reasons ; because no trace of man or
his works have ever been seen in them ; because no re¬
mains of animals and plants occur in them which can be
considered the same or very similar to the existing forms
of life ; because land quadrupeds generally are almost ut- .
terly unknown in them; because the physical conditions of an heat
the globe were entirely different from what we now behold.
Let us apply these tests to the supracretaceous deposits.
In none of those which have been formed in the sea have
we yet found the remains of man or his works ; but remains
of animals and plants, identical or very similar to existing
lacustrine tertiaries are of date posterior to the formation
of man and the present general arrangement of the terres¬
trial creation. We shall then class these and a variety of
later marine and fluviatile deposits which have many cha¬
racters in common, as Superficial aqueous Deposits of
the most modern geological period, and consider them in
relation to many contemporaneous products of subterrane-
SUPERFICIAL AQUEOUS DEPOSITS.
Resolved to conform, as much as truth permits, to the
c ~I ’•‘“'i r ^ present views of geologists, from a conviction that they
is, are iound even m the oldest of them ; land quadru- need rather a cautious limitation, than any essential change,
I eas occur both in fresh-water and marine strata which are —we shall adopt the following simple classification, suited
mong the earliest eocene tertiary deposits ; and, finally, the to the condition of the land and sea in the modern geo-
p lysicai conditions of the globe were, at the beginning of logical period.
the period, very similar to the present, and this similarity , ht • ,
cnnt,n„oii.r J 1. Marine deposits,
. (a) raised from the sea, or
(5) yet in progress ;
2. Detrital deposits, including {a) Erratic block group;
continually augmented.
It is evident that all the probabilities point to the con-
c usion, that the creation of man, and all the new arrange¬
ments connected with that event, are to be placed in some
part of the supracretaceous period ; but in what part, is to
e determined by further and cautious research. We can¬
not undertake to decide so important a problem upon the
mere negative evidence of the absence of human remains m progress;—ana in each case endeavour to Dnni
rom tertiary deposits, because such negative applies only the history of the phenomena to the present date.
VOL. XV. o ,
(b) Ossiferous group _
(c) Ossiferous caves and
breccia;
3. Fluviatile and lacustrine deposits, terminated, or yet
in progress;—and in each case endeavour to bring forward
2 E
1. a. Elevated Marine Deposits.
Whether the Sicilian tertiary strata, containing 95 per
cent, of existing species of testacea, should be ranked in this
period, may perhaps be doubtful; but they furnish at least a
point of departure, and shew us, on a great scale, the mag¬
nitude of effects produced by elevatory volcanic action. Just
as these, and, in older times, the other tertiaries of the Medi¬
terranean shores, were uplifted, and thus the ancient sea¬
bed was laid dry for man’s examination ; so we find, along
the shores of the Baltic, the west coast of Scandinavia, the
east and west coasts of Scotland and England, the south
coast of England, the west coast of France, and the^ east
coast of Ireland, as well as on the coasts of North and South
America, proof of the partial rising of the land and neigh¬
bouring bed of the sea once, or several times.
Brongniart {Tableau des Terrains, 1829) has the merit
of calling the attention of geologists to this phenomenon of
local elevation of the bed of the sea. He gives a clear
summary of the facts noticed at a great number of interest¬
ing points ; and attributes the effects observed to a general
lowering of the oceanic waters, which he supposes to have
been the last of the great geological phenomena which
have modified generally the relations of the outline and
height of the lands to the area and level of the sea. In
conformity with this conclusion, he carries back the date
of such elevations beyond the historical era,—remarking
that no trace of human reliquiae occur among the gravel and
shells of those elevated tracts.
The real date of many or most of these elevations must
be allowed to be unknown; but the cause assigned by M.
Brongniart is inadmissible, being contrary to physical pro¬
babilities, and inadequate to the explanation of the particu¬
lar phenomena.
English Shores.—One of the most remarkable examples
is that observed by Mr William Gilbertson of Preston, on the
coast of Lancashire, of which Mr Murchison gave the fol¬
lowing notice at the York Meeting of the British Associa¬
tion. “ The deposit consists, near the surface, of clay
with bouldered rocks, covering great thickness of marl, gra¬
vel, and sand, the sand being usually the lowest. These
accumulations are not only spread over the broad delta
extending from the coast at Blackpool to Preston in the
interior; but they rise at the latter place into considerable
eminences, extending in plateaus on the banks of the Kib¬
ble and the Derwent for several miles inland. In certain
places the marls, sands, and gravels contain shells of exist¬
ing species (Mr Gilbertson enumerates above twenty spe¬
cies), not differing from those of the adjacent sea, above
which they were found at various heights from 80 to 300
feet. The accumulations seldom offer proofs of regular
bedding or tranquil deposit, but rather resemble the detritus
found upon an agitated shore ; although, in their diversity
of structure, they present distinct evidence of having been
heaped up during a long protracted period.” (Among the
shells we have seen Turritella terebra, Cardium edule, &c.)
Sir Philip Eger ton has lately found a bed of gravel con¬
taining marine shells of recent species, at the Willington,
in Cheshire, at the base of the “Forest Hills,” seventy or
eighty feet above the Mersey. This bed of ferruginous
gravel and pebbles, unlike the usual gravel of Cheshire, was
found to contain Turritella terebra, Cardium edule, Murex
erinaceus, and others. Over this shelly bed was the ordi¬
nary sandy diluvium of Cheshire, full of boulders of many
rocks.
Mr Trimmer found marine shells (Cardium, Turritella,
and Buccinum) in the sand and clay at Runcorn, several
feet above the level of the tide, and under a deposit of
peat, which was covered by sand and gravel.
Near Shrewsbury, Mr Trimmer has noticed marine shells
of existing species (Turritella terebra, Cardium edule, Tel-
MINERALOGY.
lina solidula, &c.) in transported gravel and sand, resting
on a peat-bog, which contains imbedded trees (oak, beech,
and fir), and rests on gravel. On both sides of the Severn,
near Shrewsbury, he found fragments of marine shells.
From these and other data, Mr Murchison has been led
to entertain the opinion of the elevation of the whole line
of country from Lancashire through Cheshire to Shropshire
and the vale of the Severn, as of very recent date, compa¬
red to many other geological phenomena. (Geol. Pro¬
ceedings^)
Mr Trimmer also collected from the summit of Moel
Tryfane, near Caernarvon, 1000 feet above the sea, marine
shells “ diluvial” sands and gravel. The shells were frag¬
mentary, h'ad lost their gelatine, and consisted of Bucci¬
num, Venus, Natica, and Turbo. The subjacent rocks are
worn and scratched by friction of the transported pebbles.
On the east coast of the island, we have, in the valley of
the Forth (according to Boue, Maclaren, &c.), terraces at
some height above the water, containing Ostrea edulis,
My til us edulis, Cardium edule, Turbo littoreus, Patella
vulgaris, Donax truncatulus, and other littoral shells. Si¬
milar facts are noticed on the Clyde by Captain Laskey;
on Loch Lomond by Adamson. On the Yorkshire coast,
an excellent example of this kind of elevation of the bed of
the sea has been found on the lower part of the clay cliffs
of Speeton? The yellow sandy beds here occurring have
much the aspect of a really tertiary stratum, and contain
Cardium edule, Tellina solidula, Amphidema depressum,
in extreme perfection, without the least mark of violent
agitation, either on the shells or on the deposit.
Farther south, the shelly gravel described in the Geolo¬
gy of Yorkshire, vol. i. as occurring in the southern part
of Holderness, at Ridgmont, and Paul, though its irregu¬
larity of deposition seems to point to some difference of
origin—to diluvial currents, rather than a mere elevation
of a beach,—will complete our view of the subject. These
sandy and gravelly beds rise to twenty or forty feet above
the tide, and in their contorted and violently confused
layers, among pebbles of all the northern and western
rocks of Yorkshire and Cumberland, lie the strong shells of
Turbo littoreus, Purpura lapillus, and Buccinum undatum,—
the thin Mya arenarea, Tellina solidula, Tellina tenuis, and
Mactra subtruncata, all recent shells of the German Ocean,
and with them is an extinct shell. This shelly gravel passes
under a deposit of peat and alluvial sediment.
Marine shells also occur in the gravel of Holme, on Spal¬
ding Moor, far inland, and a hundred feet above the sea.
Norway and Sweden offer considerable examples of these
uplifted shelly littoral deposits. At Figa-elv, in the nor¬
thern part of Norway, according to Strom, broken shells
occur more than 150 metres (490 feet) above the sea. At
Suroe and Tromsoe, further south, they occur a few metres
above the sea: also near Drontheim.
M. Brongniart describes minutely the shelly deposits of
Uddevalla, in the province of Gotheburg, on the west
coast of Sweden. Here, in a little bay bordered with rocks
of gneiss, great quantities of shells occur nearly in a perfect
condition, 70 metres above the sea (230 feet). The shells
are those of the neighbouring sea. And to shew how truly
the phenomenon indicates a relative change of level of land
and water, M. Brongniart found Balani still adhering to the
gneiss rock ; proving the spot on which the testaceous animals
are found to have been really the littoral bed of the sea.
The whole subject of the elevated beds of marine shells
in Scandinavia has lately been investigated by Mr Lyell,
who finds them near Stockholm, 30 feet, 70 feet, and 100
feet above the sea, in sand and gravel, or in marl resting
on gneiss. In one place a fishing hut was found under 64
feet of shelly violet-coloured marls. The shells observed
in the different localities were all residents of the Baltic,
viz. Cardium edule, Tellina baltica, Mytilus edulis, Litto-
MINERALOGY.
219
Pgr. rina crassior, Littorina littorea, Paludina ulvae, Neritina beins ? Ypt nnw fLot u i , ,
i—^fluviatilis (which lives in the Baltic). A land-shell, Buli- in these modprn nL who does not perceive, Geology
mus lubricus, was also found. Near Upsala, thick clavs causes LTosemter6",8’ the “nsTenCe of the same ^
which lie over the gneiss and granite, contain Tellina ball plaining the elevationofoU ^lstsllav<;lonS appealed for ex-
tica, Mytilus edulis, a small (lustra and fuci, 60 to 80 feet crag o/submarine sediments Hke'th?'hC
above the sea. In a ridge of sand and gravel, a violet-co- strata ? Further! theT„nu£eJ 0r|.'C'1,an
loured marl-bed, 80 feet above the sea, yielded Mytilus as to the elevation of the coasts oi' tb'I ,n.S“ntl™',ia’
•dulis, Cardium edule, Tellina baltica, Littorina littorea, Tram. 1835), m & to nroniat1b^lPT'n ( '
Paludina ulvat? there still ’i eleyatory process is
On visiting Uddevalla, the’adherence of Balani was no- disputed point of the upristag VCchilUnToS in 18^2
ttced in a new situatton, w.th cellepora ;-the quantity of may be settled, it is undoubted that many su!h rWngs to
shel s lymg m stratihed clays, sand, and gravel, reminded a greater extent, have happened in those parts Thf re
Mr Lyell of Panstan tertianes. Twenty-seven species of cent personal investigations of Mr Darwin have shewn tl«
molluscs, and one echinus, were collected m a day Among large tracts in Patagonia are nothing else thaTa sT-bed
these are four zoophagous mollusca, not met with on the raised in modern times, that is, sincf th! creation of the
present races of marine mollusca; and that strata of corre¬
sponding age form part of the double Cordilleras of the
southern part of America. Thus, we are entitled to admit,
among the effects of existing causes, partial vertical move¬
ments of the land.
Swedish side, nor now existing in the Baltic, but found in
the open sea. At several other ports on the western coast
near Gothenburg, marine shells, in beds of clay, and sand,
and gravel, were found at different heights above the sea.
They also occur fifty miles from the coast, west of Lake
Wener. Thus it is evident that thejbounds of the ocean
have here been greatly contracted since the present species
of testacea began to inhabit the Baltic and the neighbour¬
ing parts of the German Ocean. {Phil. Trans.)
Near St Michel en Lhermes (Charente inferieure et
La Vendee), are three hills, situated six kilometres (about
mile) from the sea, about 1000 feet long, and their top
15 metres (50 feet) above the level of the highest tides.
These hills are wholly composed of marine shells, solid in
texture, with their colour preserved, and valves generally
united, so as to indicate tranquil residence in the sea.
Near Nice, Risso has noticed perfectly preserved marine
shells, in calcareous sand, 57 metres above the sea (150
feet.)
b. Submarine Deposits still in progress.
Much of what goes on in the sea is entirely unknown to us.
In fact it is only along the shores, at the mouths of rivers,
and in shallow gulfs and seas, that we have any positive
measures of the changes which take place in the bed of
the mysterious deep. Nor have we yet obtained from the
sounding line so much, or so exact instruction as nautical
experience might furnish. How far into the sea currents
of given velocity may transport sedimentary grains of given
magnitude and specific gravity, is matter of calculation
(Babbage); how far, in fact, the supernatant fresh waters
can carry their earthy admixture, has been, in one instance,
ascertained (River Amazons, Captain Sabine); thus we learn
at Ti*- , ri • i i v^apiain canine); tnus we learn
QnYTr 777/VS the between.the Hellespont that sedimentary strata are really forming, with great regula-
and the Gulf of Saros, Olivier reports marine shells in the nty, over great spaces of the ocean bed; and this knowledge
friable grit: and the same are seen beyond the hill of is of high theoretical value. But still it is to the shores that
a °S' ,• . Tt , , we must ever turn for data t0 serve as bases for comparison
According to M. Hertzog, as quoted by M. Brongniart, between modern and ancient marine deposits.
simdar accumulations are seen near False Bay, Cape of Here we see that the materials which the sea obtains
Good Hope, 66 metres above the sea. from the wasting cliffs, rivers, and floods, are partly trans-
At Guadaloupe, St Domingo, on the coast of North ported away by currents, and especially during storms, to
America, on the western coast of South America, in the considerable distances, but principally drifteef coastways,
Red Sea, in Timor, and on the north-east coast of Iceland,
the same phenomena occur,—the shells in all cases resem¬
bling those of the adjacent seas.
As far as regards the elevation of these shelly beds above
the sea, either a gradual rising, or a sudden uplifting, will
equally explain the greater number of cases; some may
suit with the one, and some with the other explanation.
But the most important thing to remark is, that the shells
and deposited in times of tranquillity, or in retired situa¬
tions, especially where the land is low and protected by far
sloping banks, so as to augment incessantly the area of the
low marshy tracts at the expense of the higher ground.
In distributing the materials which fall from the cliffs, the
agitation of the sea produces an effect of the same kind as
the operation of washing a mixture of metallic ores and
various spars; it separates the ingredients according to
v i ~ 7~ tiic nigieuieiiis accoraing to
nave not been laid in their present situation by any sudden magnitude and specific weight,—the heavy and large masses
Violence of water. OermrQlKr ™ i .1. r i    j* , m J .1 i
violence of water. Generally the great masses of diluvium,
and the large and far-travelled boulders, which are suppo¬
sed to indicate cataclysmal movements, lie upon such shel¬
ly beds.
In a few instances it may be reasonable to attribute the
accumulation of the shells to currents set in motion by lo
are left on the beach for slow distribution over the sloping
surface or gradual descent into the deep,—the coarse sand
is urged onward by the tide, as a river pushes forward its
bed, but the finer clays mix with the water, remain long
suspended, and are carried to great distances, to be depo¬
sited wherever the sea stagnates, either by expansion over
cal convulsions. We should prefer this view for the pheno- level surfaces, or opposition of the freshes.’
mena of the southern part of Yorkshire, near Hedon, but It is evident that the modern deposits of the sea are
r/^vf77e’_07 th? contrary>,that the Speeton sand-bed was pebbly where the agitation is great, sandy where it. is mo¬
derate, and argillaceous where it is little.
In general, the deep sea deposits (exceptions may be
necessary where currents of great force prevail in shallow
seas like the German Ocean) must be of finer grain than
those near the shore. The surfaces of contemporaneous
o xii vjuucvcuia, aim » juumey deposition are slopes rising every where toward the shore,
o other parts of Scandinavia, that so considerable a part of where alone they become, for a very short distance, steep,
he coasts of the present islands and continents should be What becomes of the calcareous matter sw ept down to
proved to have been the gift of subterranean movements, the sea is not fully known. The formation of durable coral-
since the present race of marine animals were called into line and molluscous exuviae from the sea will account for the
 , uiat uie opeeiuu saim-ueu was
formed under the sea; and adopt the same view for the phe¬
nomena in Sweden and Norway, the coast of Lancashire,
the interior of Cheshire, the valleys of the Forth and Clyde,
and indeed generally.
Who would have imagined, before Von Buch’s and
Brongniart’s researches in Uddevalla, and Lyell’s journey
220 MINERALOGY.
Geology, consumption of much of this earth ; and, in particular cases,
wMr Lyell’s remark of the formation of calcareous beds at
the mouth of the Rhone will apply. But chemistry has not
yet determined the statical composition of the sea, and,
of course, it is utterly unknown what variations volcanic
eruptions, gaseous emanations, changing temperature, un¬
equal pressure, and other causes, may occasion. Dredg¬
ings, soundings, and the experience of fishermen and divers
in the German Ocean, Adriatic, and English Channel, inform
us of the distribution of living zoophyta, mollusca, fishes, and
Crustacea, and of the parts of their decayed bodies. Cer¬
tain tribes of mollusca, like the oyster, the coral, the
mussel, inhabit limited breadths of the argillaceous, sandy,
or rocky shores and shallows. Crustacea, pleuronectida,
and other fishes, have their certain localities. The teeth
of some fishes are noticed as being loose in the bed of the
sea. The growth of the Coral Islands, if it be generally
like that of the Bermudas, as described by Lieutenant
Neilson ( Geological Proceedings'), offers greater analogies
than might have been expected to the ancient zoophytic
limestones, not only in the mass of matter, but in the irre¬
gular and partial distribution of the polyparia, the admix¬
ture of earthy and compact carbonate of lime, inclusion of
shells, and partial stratification.
Could we raise, for inspection, the shallow German
Ocean, the unequal depths of the Mediterranean, the Gulf
of Mexico, or the base of some volcanic group of the
southern ocean, what variety would meet our eyes ! shelly
deposits, coralloidal limestones, volcanic sediments, sub¬
marine lavas, strata of red and variously coloured clays and
lignites,—almost nothing in common; contemporaneous dif¬
ference carried to extreme ; local diversity, overcoming all
general agreement. Yet all the parts of this picture can
be paralleled in the older marine deposits,—the only dif¬
ference being a greater analogy of the contemporaneous
effects,—a more decided and real relation of the pheno¬
mena to time ; proof of the sequence of effects being due
to successive general changes of physical condition,—these
changes continually altering the original aspect of nature,
continually tending to diversify the uniformity and com¬
plicate the simplicity of the primeval state of the globe.
Thus irregularity of surface, diversity of local phenomena,
deviations of temperature, had always gone on augment¬
ing till the globe assumed that inexhaustible variety of
external conditions which harmonizes with its present rich
adornment of vegetable and animal life, and continually ex¬
cites and rewards the curiosity of the wonderful being who
was placed by his Maker at the head of his last living crea¬
tion.
2. DETRITAL DEPOSITS.
a. Erratic Block Group.
Since the time when the whole stratified crust of the
globe was supposed to have subsided from a universal
flood of water, the geological effects ascribed to the histori¬
cal deluge, and other violent agitations of water, have con¬
tinually diminished. It is not many years since we were
familiar with the doctrine of the excavation of valleys and
the accumulation of detritus over large surfaces of the
globe being due to diluvial action ; and now a large class
of geologists, with Mr Greenough at their head, declare
themselves “ incapable of distinguishing between the ef¬
fects of such a deluge or deluges, and subsequent pheno¬
mena produced by the ordinary agency of running water.”
There are geologists who would gladly expunge the word
diluvial from our nomenclature, and instead of appealing
to one or several general convulsions for the explanation
of some striking fact, are willing to believe that small and
local forces, operating through long time, are sufficient for
the purpose of geological speculation.
In many instances, we concede to these writers, that Qeolo ^
streams wandering in any required direction, over ground *
indefinitely variable in level, might, in the course of unli¬
mited time, transport detritus in directions not possible
during the present or any prior statical condition of the
earth’s surface. But who will grant these postulates for
the purpose of avoiding the appeal to sudden and energetic
disturbances of the relative level of land and water, that
has seen the enormous dislocations of the carboniferous sys¬
tem of South Wales and the north of England, the prodi¬
gious and extended faults in the south of England chalk,
imagined to himself the uprising of a chain of mountains
like the Alps, or witnessed the enormous conglomerates
on their flanks ? And if a case can be adduced so circum¬
stanced that those postulates must be rejected, on good
geological evidence, what is to be done but to allow the
alternative, viz. the occurrence of great and violent move¬
ments of large bodies of water, partial, though not general,
deluges ?
Such a case, it has been long supposed, was furnished
by the examination of the dispersion of great blocks of the
high Alps over Switzerland, and through the passages of
the Jura into France ; another example was found in the
drifted sienites and limestones of Sweden, which lie in
Northern Germany ; a third in the transported masses from
the Cumbrian mountains ; a fourth in Canada.
The erratic blocks, as the larger boulders are called,
which have been transported from the Alps, are most re¬
markable on the eastern face of the Jura, which looks to¬
wards the Alps, over the vale of the Arve and the Lake of
Geneva. On the Jura, 1500 to 2000 feet above the Lake
of Geneva, crowning the hills and filling the valleys and
rocky glens; in and around the Lake of Geneva and the
valley of the Arve, as well as along the valleys which de¬
scend from the Alps, these blocks abound. It is observed
that the blocks abound opposite to the embouchures of these
valleys, and that distinct sets of blocks, derived from differ¬
ent mountains, have followed the lines of the different val¬
leys. The blocks in the valley of the Rhine have come
from the Grisons; those by the Lake of Zurich and the
course of the Limmat were drifted from Glaris; blocks
from the source of the Reuss have followed this river; the
blocks of the Aar, and the slopes of the neighbouring Jura,
have come from the ranges of the Oberland of Berne. From
these facts, and the circumstance that the height to which
the blocks have ascended the Jura is greatest opposite the
valleys which descend from the Alps, no doubt can be en¬
tertained that the currents flowed from these mountains in
many directions, and followed the line of the present val¬
leys.
It appears the most probable view of these phenomena,
that a general and violent convulsion of the Alps, while
they were surrounded by water (whether fresh or salt we
cannot decide), caused powerful currents to rush away from
the axis of movement, bearing ice-rafts loaded with the
loosened rocks. Thus might large boulders of particular
rocks be accumulated in groups, as we find them on the
Saleve near Geneva, and in various parts of the Jura, or
distributed in single masses over the vale of the Aar and
the Lake of Geneva, then full of water, by the damming
of the Rhine at Basle, and the Rhone at Fort d’Ecluse.
Thus it seems conceivable that, in the agitation of the
movement of water, some rocks might find their way through
the openings of the Jura into the plains of France.
This explanation appeared satisfactory to Venturi, rea¬
soning on the phenomena of the south side of the Alps.
It has been suggested from the case of the blocks on the
drainage of the St Law rence, and is proposed as the most
probable view of the facts observed concerning the multi¬
tudes of rock masses which have crossed the Baltic, and
dropped in heaps on the plains of Northern Germany, Fo-
MINER
(irj. land, and Russia, from the Ems and the Weser, to the
i—^ Dwina and even the Neva. These blocks are grouped in
narrow elliptical areas, with the longer axis pointing north
and south, or toward the Baltic; they often lie on the
surface, especially the larger blocks, hardly ever at great
depths. They consist principally of granite, sienite, por¬
phyry, and transition limestones, with characteristic fossils
which can be exactly paralleled in the southern parts of
Sweden, and nowhere else. On crossing from Zealand to
Scania, the traces of blocks reappear. The surface of
Scania is covered with them ; and farther north they abound
in elongated hills called “ Oasar” (analogous to the word
“ escar” in Ireland), ranging north-north-east to south-
south-west. The blocks are more numerous on the Swe¬
dish side of the Baltic, nearer their origin, but not larger.
Worn and polished surfaces among the primary rocks of
Sweden are attributed to the transport of heavy bodies.
The dispersion of blocks from the Cumbrian group of
mountains is extremely remarkable; and the example is
more valuable to geology than most others of this nature,
from the exactness with which the circumstances are ascer¬
tained. There are also peculiar relations of the tracks fol¬
lowed hy the blocks to the ancient physical features of the
country.
In the Cumbrian mountain group, the granites, sienites,
porphyries, and metamorphic slates, are more or less pe¬
culiar in character, and easily recognisable. The granite
of Ravenglass, on the western border of this region, has been
drifted to the south, across the sea, along the flat or hollow
of Lancashire west of the Penine chain, and over the plains
of Cheshire and Shropshire, toward the vale of the Severn.
In this long course, the quantity of pebbles and boulders
of the Cumbrian rocks is considerable; and it is evident,
that the currents, whatever they were, which carried the
boulders, respected the present levels of the country, so
far as never once to cross the Penine chain to the east-
| ward, nor to penetrate far into the principality or the
border districts, where, Mr Murchison assures us, the
gravelly deposits are all derived from the neighbouring
hills. From the eastern side of the Cumbrian moun¬
tains the porphyritic granite of Shap Fell, and the sienite
i of Carrock Fell, have been transported northward to
Carlisle, southward by Kendal and Kirby Lonsdale, to
beyond Lancaster, eastward over the vale of Eden, and
up the Penine escarpment at Stainmoor, above Brough.
Having here mounted the summit, the boulders diverge to
the east by north, east and south-east, cross many lower
ridges, traverse and descend the vales of York and Cleve¬
land, and sweep over the oolitic moors and the chalk wolds
to the sea-side at Scarborough and Flamborough-Head, a
distance of 110 miles. In this passage three ridges of an¬
ciently elevated land, and two deep geologically ancient
vales, were crossed: yet the water so far respected the ele¬
vations of ground now existing, as not to cross the Penine
chain at more than one, and that the lowest point open¬
ing directly to the west, and to avoid the highest part of
the oolitic moors. What renders this more curious and
complete is the circumstance, that one of the valleys cross¬
ed (the vale of Eden), 1000 feet below the origin of the
granite, and 1000 feet below Stainmoor, is a valley caus¬
ed by dislocation of the carboniferous system prior to the
new red sandstone era, and the date of the dispersion of
the blocks is since the newest tertiaries in the north of
England.
If, however, following the indications of the phenomena,
we refer, in every case, the dispersion of the blocks to the
uplifting of particular mountain groups, and this is almost
a certain inference, we may perhaps admit, in the neigh¬
bourhood of such groups, temporary variations, or undula-
tions of the land, like those which accompany earthquakes,
sufficiently extensive, when combined with the agitation of
A L o G Y.
the sea, to permit the water to taie, for a short period,
directions previously and subsequently impossible. That
the whole was the effect of a very short period, is the uni¬
versal impression of all observers.
It is evident from all that has been proved, inferred, and
admitted on the subject of the erratic blocks, that they were
derived from particular mountain groups, drifted thence to
limited, though considerable distances, along lines which
respect the present levels of the country, both as to height
and direction. They lie generally at the surface of the
superficial marine diluvium, and speak plainly of great and
violent convulsions. Yet it is already certain that they are
monuments of merely local however violent disturbance,
not proofs of universal or even very great or general floods.
From each mountain group, the blocks have gone in
directions corresponding with its slopes and the configura¬
tion of the neighbouring country. Many local centres of
subterranean movement may thus have simultaneously or
successively thrown off their rocky fragments; some of
these, with other materials, were washed by the waves over
surfaces momentarily changed in level by the concussion,
others drifted on icebergs to great distances and quietly
dropped on the surface. The phenomena, then, are mere¬
ly a continuation of those which have been proved to occur
in older times, with this difference, that they were for the
most part performed in the sea, which reduced the products
to a stratified form ; these irregularly accumulated on the
land.
Nothing in modern times so nearly approaches these
effects, as the iceberg detached from glacier-covered shores
in Arctic regions, floated hundreds of miles by oceanic
currents, and dropping its load of rocks and detritus in
distant regions. Could we witness the elevation of the
bed of the northern ocean, would it not shew a group of
detritus somewhat analogous to that of the erratic blocks;
might we farther suppose the ice-borne detritus to be for¬
cibly thrown over the land, would not the resemblance be
perfect ?
b. Ossiferous Gravel, Clay, §c.
Since the publication of Dr Buckland’s valuable work,
the “ Reliquiae Diluvianae,” and Cuvier’s magnificent vo¬
lumes, entitled “ Ossemens Fossils,” the attention of zoolo¬
gists and geologists has been in an especial degree attracted
to the superficial deposits containing bones of quadrupeds
mostly extinct, and belonging to genera often no longer
met with but in far distant regions.
These quadrupedal remains are found in gravel and clay,
in caverns, and fissures, under various circumstances indi¬
cating different mechanical and vital conditions, though
still, by many geologists, ranked with erratic blocks under
the one general and vague title of “ diluvial deposits.”
This is certainly inexact, yet it is not to be thought that
the arrangement has been founded on no real analogy; on
the contrary, all that is yet known appears to shew that
what have been called diluvial deposits, however different
in origin, have all the common bond which in geology is
most important, viz. time. For throughout all these de¬
posits, the quadrupedal remains have a general uniformity
of character, and a common degree of difference from the
existing races of animals, which points to high antiquity,
but not to the remote eras of the early tertiai'y deposits.
Even a brief history of the discoveries in this field of re¬
search would fill a volume—even a mere selection of re¬
markable phenomena would occupy great space. The
following notices are confined as much as possible to a
short view of the principal results already obtained.
Ossiferous superficial deposits abound in Europe, Asia,
and America; even far toward the polar circles (both in
Asia and America). They consist of clay, gravel, sand, peat,
marl, &c. sometimes accompanied by marine or fresh-water
221
Geology.
MINERALOGY.
Geology, shells. Some of these are of comparatively modern date,
and contain bones of existing races of animals ; others be¬
long to ancient times, and contain the remains of extinct
tribes. It is to these latter that the name of diluvial de¬
posits properly belongs ; and though it is to be supposed
that there are ossiferous accumulations of every age in¬
termediate between the diluvial and modern periods, yet
in many cases the following considerations will enable a
geologist to pronounce whether a particular deposit falls
within the proper meaning of the term diluvial.
There is no sufficient reason to class an ossiferous de¬
posit of Europe as of the diluvial era, if its accumulation
can be explained by the action of existing streams. But
if amidst the mass of materials which it contains are frag¬
ments of rocks brought from other regions, in directions
irreconcilable with the actual courses of streams, or any
other courses of streams consistent with geological proba¬
bility ; if the quantity and mode of aggregation of these
materials imply the violent and tumultuous movement of
considerable bodies of water; and if the bones belong wholly
or principally to extinct species of animals; more particu¬
larly, if bones of extinct species of elephant, rhinoceros, and
hippopotamus occur, then it is most probable that the de¬
posit may be rightly classed with diluvial accumulations.
In some cases, it is true, no certainty can be obtain¬
ed whether the accumulation took place in the sea or
on the land; whether the deposit is a raised beach, or a
tumultuous accumulation on the land. Occasionally there
is no distinction between gravel beds and erratic blocks ;
sometimes alluvial and diluvial formations are inseparably
mixed ; yet in many instances all these uncertainties vanish,
and we are sure that we behold the accumulations from
great floods which passed over limited ranges of the dried
and inhabited land.
In the valleys of the Tyne, Wear, and Tees, the vales
of York and Cleveland, the district of Holderness, the
eastern counties, Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, the vale of the
Thames, the valley of the Trent, and the counties of
Lincoln, Huntingdon, Cambridge, Northampton, Warwick,
Stafford, Chester, Lancashire, not to mention many others,
gravel of the diluvial character, often containing bones of
extinct mammalia, abounds. In Ireland, in various parts
of France, Switzerland, Italy, and Germany, similar facts
have been observed. In North and South America geolo¬
gists have recorded the same experience.
In many instances the same districts yield lacustrine
sediments, and peat deposits, so related to the ossiferous
clays and gravel by position and organic contents, that they
must be ranked as of the same age ; frequently, also, we
find in the limestones of the same regions, caves and fissures
full of bones of the same extinct animals, and so circum¬
stanced as to permit of their being added to the others as
animals of a particular era. The most frequent of all these
remains in England, and several parts of Europe and Asia,
are the bones of fossil elephants; and from this circum¬
stance we may name the geological period of their exist¬
ence, in polar regions, the elephantoidal period, in contra¬
distinction to the older or palaeotherian period ; it being al¬
ways understood that these terms apply only to the land,
and that we have good reason for doubt as to the practica¬
bility of referring the period which they designate to the
general geological scale, depending on the succession of
marine strata.
In consequence of the variety and celebrity of the ossife¬
rous districts surrounding Kirkdale Cave in Yorkshire, we
shall take this as an example of the deposits of the elephan¬
toidal period in England.
The diluvial accumulations of Holderness, like all those
of the eastern side of the north of England, consist partly
of clay, partly of gravel and sand, all more or less mixed
with fragments of rocks from different quarters. The clay
in particular; usually of a brown or blue colour, is uncom- c
monly full of pebbles and large boulders (from a hundred- v.
weight to a ton and upwards) of sandstones, limestones,
and greenstones, derived from western Yorkshire; slates,
porphyries, and granite from Cumberland ; diallage rocks,
mica-slate, with garnets, gneiss, &c. and referrible either
to Scotland or Norway, and many stones of whose origin
no satisfactory account can be given. The aggregation of
the mass is such as utterly to forbid belief that it was heaped
together by any thing short of a mighty mechanical agency,
which in its tempestuous violence permitted none of that
distinction of specific gravity, form, or magnitude of the
masses to appear in the deposit, which is invariably seen
in every case of gradual or intermitting effect of ordinary
streams and tides. In this clay lie bones of the elephant,
rhinoceros, and hippopotamus, but not plentifully.
Above it and also below it, are gravels and sands far less
replete with those proofs of wide and devastating waters,
but sometimes more productive of bones and marine shells.
Thus there is proof in this country of successive and dif¬
ferent actions of unequally violent water flowing in various
directions, with no regard to the lines of existing valleys or
rivers, but with so much of a general reference to physical
geography, as to have accumulated detritus in the great
plains and broad vales more plentifully than on the hills.
This may be taken as a type of such phenomena in Eng¬
land and Ireland, where the detrital deposits are very ex¬
tensive, and Scotland, which exhibits less of them.
Without attempting to trace the details of detrital depo¬
sits on the continent of Europe, we may observe that they
are very extensive, yet not so general as was imagined (See
Reliquice Diluviana:). Certain districts, as for example
the volcanic tracts of central France, shew nothing of the
kind; others, as Normandy, the basin of Paris, the hills
on the borders of the Rhine valley, the valley of the Rhine,
large tracts in northern Germany, in Italy, display similar
phenomena to those in England. In every region it is
found more or less easy to point out the direction of the
diluvial waters concerned, and the result is a growing con¬
viction that not one general, but many partial deluges rush¬
ing from particular centres, have occasioned the compli¬
cated accumulations.
In the eastern part of North America, Professor Rogers
and Dr Bigsby agree in ascribing to the floods which have
caused the boulders and gravel beds, a northward and
northwestward origin. This is the most general result-
combining, however, many different directions from differ¬
ent local centres—for Ireland, Scotland, and England.
The Scandinavian rocks have gone south, south-east, and
south-west; the Alpine boulders in all directions from the
central axis.
In the north of Asia, and perhaps also the north-west of
America, if we were to judge from the vast quantity of
elephantine bones on the banks of the northern seas, the
diluvial currents were towards the north ; and it may here¬
after appear possible to unite all these facts into one gene¬
ral conception—of the effects of an oceanic current, which
may have been the resultant of many local disturbances,
directed along opposite meridians and passing over the
north pole; northward, up the Pacific and over eastern
Asia; southward down the Atlantic, and over the west of
Europe, and the eastern part of North America.
c. Ossiferous Caves and Fissures.
The preceding observations have established the facts of
the land now existing as such in the northern zone ot
the globe, being inhabited by extinct races of quadrupeds,
during the detrital, diluvial, or clysmic periods of geologi¬
cal time. It is therefore in no degree singular that we
should find in caves and fissures of the rocks in these same
districts, additional proofs of such occupation, and addi-
MINERALOGY.
Geo y. tional facts to complete our views of the then condition of
^ ■w'the surface of the land. Through the researches ably
prosecuted by Dr Buckland, and continued to the present
day, the history of these remarkable repositories of the
bones of the early land inhabitants of the northern zones is
in a great degree known. It is certain, from these inquiries,
that a great change has taken place in the quadrupedal
inhabitants of Europe, northern Asia, North and South
America, and Australia, apparently coinciding with the
era or close of the period of detrital land deposits ; for it
is remarkable that the bones of extinct mammalia are al¬
most unknown, while those of existing races are frequent,
in deposits of more recent date.
The number of species of animals found enclosed in
these natural rocky sepulchres is often greater than in the
most prolific gravel deposits. It appears that the same
cave has been resorted to both by extinct and existing
races of quadrupeds, their bones being often situated so as
to demonstrate that the former were entombed before or
during the detri'tal era, the latter introduced at later periods.
But often this distinction is imaginary, and no doubt can
reasonably be entertained of the contemporaneous sepulture
of certain extinct races, and some living species of quad¬
rupeds. In fact, ossiferous caves are of various ages, and
some were filled with bones in very modern times.
The bones of man, and traces of his ingenuity and la¬
bour, have been in several instances observed; generally
under such circumstances as to indicate clearly their intro¬
duction since the elephantoidal era ; but in a few instances
it requires something more than the direct evidence of the
senses to be satisfied of this difference of date.
The distinction of ossiferous caves and fissures is some¬
times real, often imaginary, and never of great importance
in reasoning on the phenomena. Fissures are often de¬
nuded caves ; caves are often but enclosed fissures. They
are almost absolutely confined to calcareous rocks, vary
wonderfully in size, shape, and detailed circumstances, and
contain the same or different groups of animals, even in a
small district. The condition of the bones in them is ex¬
tremely various, and the inferences from all the known
facts point to great diversity in the circumstances by which
they have been introduced. The formation of the caves
is generally not to be explained except by supposing ori¬
ginal cavities, or superinduced fissures, to have undergone
enlargement by the chemical action of acidulated water.
In many cases water still flows through similar caves ; in
several ossiferous caverns and fissures, sediments and de¬
posits are found which prove the former passage or perco¬
lation of water, though at present the subterranean drain¬
age takes another course.
A very considerable proportion of the ossiferous caves
yet known has been discovered on the banks of streams,
or in cliffs against the sea; in some instances (Franconia,
Kirkdale), the openings of caves known to have served as
dens appear in situations so difficult of access, as to render
it probable that the surface of the ground has been con¬
siderably worn away since the cave was occupied.
These ossiferous repositories have been found in the
north and south of England, in limestone of different anti¬
quity, as oolite and mountain limestone; in Belgium, the
south and south-east of France, in Franconia, Westpha¬
lia, Carniola, Hungary, along the margin of the Medi¬
terranean, in North and South America, and Australia.
It is to be inferred from the various investigations of
the condition and circumstances of these deposits, that
the bones have been received into the caves and fissures
in one of three modes.
1st, Some of the caves were occupied as dens during
long periods, by ferocious and predacious beasts; as hy¬
aenas in England, bears in Germany.
2d, Into other caves and fissures quadrupedal reliquiae
were drifted by water.
3d, Some caves, communicating to the surface, appear Geoloey.
to have received merely the bodies of quadrupeds which ^ - v
fell into them, or their bones moved from slight distances.
It w ill be sufficient to notice a characteristic example
of each, and refer to Cuvier and Buckland for further and
full details.
Kirkdale cave, described by Dr Buckland, contained on
its long narrow level floor a bed of mud glazed over by
stalagmite, and in this mud and in the stalagmite lay
multitudes of bones of quadrupeds, especially of ox and
hyaena, under such circumstances as left no doubt in the
mind of its explorers that it was a den of hyaenas, which
for a long term of years roamed in the adjacent valleys,
and dragged into this hiding-place the bodies of oxen,
deer, and many other animals then living in the neighbour¬
hood. The evidence for this opinion is very convincing,
but it must be seen in the museums where the remains are
preserved, not judged of from descriptions or figures. The
broken and mangled state of the bones from this cave is
exactly like what was seen in the similar hyaena cave of
Kent’s Hole, Torquay, but directly contrary to the aspect
of those from Banwell in the Mendip Hills, which was not
tenanted by these destroyers.
As far as can be known, the bones of this famous cave—
those of the marl beds of Weighton, and the diluvial clays
of Holderness, are identical. The number of kinds of animals
whose remains were found in the cave was twenty-four.
The remarkable cave of Gailenreuth, in Franconia, is a
bear cavern, consisting principally of two large chambers
varying in breadth from ten to thirty feet, and in height
from three to twenty; the roof is hung with stalactite, and
in the first chamber the floor nearly covered with magni¬
ficent pillars, mammillary masses, and sheets of stalagmite.
Under this stalagmite lies a bed of brown loam and peb¬
bles, mixed with angular fragments of rock, and teeth and
bones. These latter were far more numerous in the next
large cavern, which is on a lower level where the floor has
been much broken up. In some lateral ramifications from
this chamber, the number of bones imbedded in loam, or
encrusted in stalagmite, is wonderful. “ The upper part of
the existing cave, and probably others which have been
out away by denudation, seem to have been the lodging
places of bears that lived and died in them during the pe¬
riod immediately preceding the introduction of the mud
and pebbles. The diluvial waters rushing into them, and
the other similar caverns of Franconia, would introduce
pebbles and mud, and would also drift downwards to their
lowest recesses the bones that lay perhaps more equally
distributed than at present.” Stalagmite has since co¬
vered the mingled deposit. (Reliquice Diluviance, p. 136.)
The calcareous cliffs on the Mediterranean shores of
Spain, south of France, Nice, Corsica, Sardinia, Dalmatia,
&c., abound in caves and fissures, and many of these are
filled with a mingled mass of red loam, fragments of rock
and bones of land mammalia,—frequently holding land
shells,—rarely marine shells and zoophyta (at Yillefranche.)
Some of the caves have apparently been subjected to the
action of the sea before and for some time after the intro¬
duction of the bones. (Christie and Pratt on the Cave
of San Giro near Palermo). Dr Christie supposes the
breccia of San Giro to have been deposited in water, and
that the whole of the coast has since been uplifted from the
sea.
As an example of a cave into which animals appear to
have fallen, we may notice that of Banwell in the Mendip
Hills {Ann. des Sc. Nat. ix.) The descent is made by steps
ten feet deep into a small chamber about ten feet wide;
from this a passage leads to a second chamber thirty feet
broad, forty-five long, ten high. From the entrance into
this large cavern, runs a cleft or fissure in a vertical direc¬
tion to the surface. At the other end of this cavern is an
inclined passage forty-five or fifty feet long, and at the en-
trance ten feet high, and very narrow, so that it is neces¬
sary to crawl on hands and knees; beyond the little cham¬
ber, which terminates this passage, it is impossible to pro¬
ceed. The red loam containing bones of ox, deer, &c.
seems to have fallen from the surface, through the fissures
and the smaller anti-chamber. The bones are generally
entire (or merely fractured) not at all worn or gnawed,
nor do they otherwise give indication of having been accu¬
mulated by other causes than mere falling into an open
fissure.
Valley, Fluviatile, and Lacustrine Deposits.—A cer¬
tain class of fluviatile, or rather as we should wish to call
them ‘ valley’ deposits, have attracted less attention than
they merit. In some cases, as in Glen Roy, and certain
valleys of Canada, terraces at particular and very elevated
levels, range round the sides of the valleys, and mark, ap¬
parently, the ancient shores of an inland lake which has
since burst its barriers. More frequently, as at the lower
end of Glen Roy, and many other Highland valleys, on the
Lune and other Cambrian streams, the Tyne, the Tees,
the Yore, and almost all the other waters of the north of
England, gravel terraces in the lower parts of the valleys,
indicate the flowing of voluminous streams at higher levels
in the direction of the actual river. This phenomenon,
though little noticed, is really one of the most general we
are acquainted with, and always bears in a very important
degree upon the question of the origin of valleys, and often
on the question of relative level of land and sea.
A different set of phenomena has been observed on the
Rhine. .That long valley in former geological periods
had been dammed up at different points (Hibbert), and
deposits (called Loss) of alluvial sediment have been formed
along the margin of the elevated waters of the lakes there¬
by occasioned. The loss beds of the Rhine valley con¬
tain sand and fresh-water shells, and bones of elephants
and rhinoceros (Horner, Lyell). What is called loss in
Austria seems to be a similar deposit, and contains ele¬
phantine remains, (Murchison).
All the deposits above mentioned are of great antiquity ;
the loss of the Rhine valley rests, indeed, on the detrital
gravel, but it is far removed from the date of the phenome¬
na produced by the actual river Rhine.
The effects of actual rivers in the past and present eco¬
nomy of nature, admit of clear enunciation.
These effects are principally mechanical. In the early
part of their course some streams drop carbonate of lime,
others acquire it, but these effects are not important. The
mechanical action of rivers, whether corroding or trans¬
porting, is proportioned to their velocity and volume ; these
are seldom combined except in particular great rivers like the
Indus, the Mississippi, and the Rhine. The velocity is, for
short distances, greatest in the upper parts of rivers ; but
their volume of waters augments toward the sea. Near their
origin, rivers are both corroding and transporting agents ;
as they proceed, the former influence is often lost or com¬
pensated by the contrary process of deposition, the latter
is weakened in most rivers, destroyed in some, but in a
few maintained to the very conflict of the tides and freshes.
(Captain Saoine s Observations on the Sea Current of the
Amazons.) Rivers then, soon after their springs issue
from the rock, begin to gather and transport sediment;
but it is less by friction on their own beds than by the aid
of atmospheric disintegration of rocks, and waste of the
surface by rains, frost and glaciers, that they derive the
matter which they bear along. According to the velocity
of the stream, and the inclination of its bed, is the magni¬
tude of the masses which it can drive forward. Few of
the rivers of England, unless their waters be augmented by
temporary floods, are swift enough to transport even mode¬
rate-sized gravel: sand, clay, and vegetable matters, consti¬
tute their principal sediments. But the torrents which
rush down from the high Alps, roll along large quantities GeoW
of detritus thrown into them by glaciers, water-spouts, ^
avalanches, and eboulemens. *
But the most stormy.stream has intervals of compara¬
tive repose, and even the Arve and Rhone deposit most of
their spoils within a few leagues of the mountains from
which they were torn. Frequently lakes interpose their
tranquillizing waters, and receive and distribute the sedi¬
ment of the river. These lacustrine sediments differ from
the ordinary valley deposits of a river in their lamination,
which radiates round the point where the river entered,
and in deep lakes assumes a conical character. (Yates, Ed.
Phil. Journal?) The dried beds of such lakes have a level
surface, but not all plane surfaces in a valley have had this
origin ; on the contrary both the gentle rivers of England,
and the rapid streams of more alpine countries, ever tend,
by the shifting of 'their channels, and the equalizing effect
of inundations, to distribute their sediments in planes, which
fill the whole valley, and decline toward the sea with a
slope corresponding to that of the river. Arrived near the
sea, short torrents from alpine regions may throw rocks,
pebbles, gravel, sand, and clay, in one confused mass, into
the sea. But almost all the rivers whose path is long have
left their coarser materials far behind; they have generally
dropped much of their sandy admixture, and bring to the
shore only fine earthy particles which could remain sus¬
pended in their less rapid waters. This is the contribu¬
tion (principally) which the Po delivers to the Adriatic,
the Ganges to the Bay of Bengal, the Mississippi to the
Gulf of Mexico, the Nile and the Rhone to the Mediter¬
ranean ; the Rhine, the Elbe, the Thames, and the Humber,
to the German Ocean.
The mass of sediment thus brought to the sea is great;
if delivered to the wide ocean and general currents (as in
the case of the river Amazons, noticed by Captain Sabine)
it may be carried hundreds of miles; but in still, land¬
locked seas, like the Baltic, Adriatic, and Bay of Bengal,
the greater part is quietly dropped along the bottom and
shores of the sea. Thus the extent of such gulfs and
basins is gradually and rapidly contracted, their depth re¬
duced, and preparation made for a new series of strati¬
fied rocks, perhaps hereafter, in the manifold changes of
the globe, to be raised for the contemplation of future geo¬
logists. *
Thus we have the whole history of river formations;
gravelly deposits near the mountains; sandy and argil¬
laceous beds toward the sea ; fine silt lands where the tides
and freshes meet, in the estuary, and along the coast line.
Thus the river mouths are incessantly advanced into the
sea, the whole coast moves forward, and a large breadth
of continually enlarging flat lands borders the tidal part of
the river, and constitutes those rich and noble deltas,
through which the changeful stream takes its winding way,
and which require, in many instances, all the care and vi¬
gilance of man to preserve from the river and the sea,
which made and may again easily overwhelm them.
The extent of some of these deltas is enormous. That
of the Nile is small compared to some others; but, in fact,
the gift of this river to the grateful Egyptians is much
more than the delta; all the valley is full of its rich and
far descended sediments.
The Delta of the Ganges commences 220 miles from the
sea, and its base is 200 miles (Rennell.) This would be
thought a considerable deposit, even among the old sedi¬
mentary rocks. The delta of the Niger is 25,000 square
miles, (Dr Fitton, Geology of Hastings) ; an accumula¬
tion of timber and transported sediments (called a raft),
on the Mississippi was estimated by Darby at 286, 784,000
cubic feet, being ten miles long, and eight feet deep, and
this was the produce of fifty-two years mere decay of the
timber on the banks of the Mississippi.
LACUSTRINE DEPOSITS.
mineralogy.
225
These, like the caves, may be of almost any geological T,"V’ "* L1,c ^ngusn and French coast r> i
date; and it is in fact very difficult to decide on the claims ®efches Manual) The phenomenaare not preiiselv alik^
of the d.fferent examples. It is probable that future geo- b,11 yet generally similar in all of them Some of t ^
og.sts will choose to class together all the supracretaclous tshew SIgf having been prostrated in particular di^
lacustrine deposits, and, by a general contemplation of and covered by river sediment (Tees M o V
them arnve at valuable generalizations, which can now sbire; near the Humber); others arLompLed ofdrS
only dimly be foreseen. We shall offer four cases of lacus- hazeIs’ W'™’ oaks. nines ^composed of drifted
trine deposits in England and Scotland: the two oldest,
of the elephantoidal era in England, and the mastodontic
era in America; the next indicative of some different local
I-.- h- , . — ui suiue uinerent local
condition of drainage, coeval with the existence of the Irish
elk; the last descriptive of a deposit still in progress.
A remarkable occurrence of bones, in lacustrine’ marl,
l fovc f f.T f 1 +-1 /-»A J -t.r.+K 4-I-. „  * *
aggregations old lakes (Holderness). Ver^oC lavlrs
ot bine clay, w.th shells of existing fresh-waL kolhsca
he with peat and timber in old lakes (Holderness). Sand
underlies the woody denosits of Mmmf’o „
. fA rfemfaJ a • f c!irrence,. of bones, in lacustrine marl, lie ^ Peat and timber in old lakes (Holderness^ Sand
mterstratified with the ossiferous diluvium of the vale of unferhes the woody deposits of Mount’s Bay ; clay of
York, was fully explored by Mr Harcourt, and other mem- unknown depth, is the base of that on the Frith of Tav
hers of the Yorkshire Philosophical Society. Resting upon nvor sedimfnts support that of the Cambridgeshire fenl •
eravel. and covered hv —.1 , and diluvial’ clay that of Holderness. Bones of the Irish
 — —ivesung upon
gravel, and covered by gravel, near Market Weighton, ^ " aiiuviar clay that of Holderness. Bones of the frish
was found a of fresh-water marls, to the depth of elk he in o!d kk^, partly full of peat and shelly clay in Ire-
d in these lay bones of elephant, rhino- an ' the 1816 of Man’ Lancashire, and Holderness • W iLo
was found a mass iueuis, io tne aepth ot
twenty-two feet, and in these lay bones of elephant, rhino¬
ceros horse, bison, deer, felis, wolf, birds, all, or nearly
aH, of extinct species. But with them lay thirteen spe¬
cies of land and fresh-water shells, exactly identical with
types now living in the vicinity. No wearing, no unusual
fractures, the teeth still in the jaws of the lion and the wolf,
the bones of the leg of the horse nearly in their right situa¬
tion, the horns on the skull of the ox, all the circumstances
m short, indicated a quiet deposition of the remains near
the spot where the animals died. The north of England
was then inhabited by elephants and lions. This part of
Yorkshire was dry land in that era; and, as far as can be
known, no change of level has since occurred.
The largest collections of bones of the mastodon, and
other mammalia of the United States, occur in bog-y
grounds, called Licks, affording salt, in quest of which The
Herbivorous animals, wild and domestic, enter the marshy
spots, and are sometimes mired. The most noted of these
deposits is Big-Bone Lick, in Kentucky, occupying the
bottom of a boggy valley, kept wet by a number of salt
spnngs, which rise over a surface of several acres. The
spot is thus described by Mr Cooper. “ The substratum of
the country is a fossihferous limestone. At the Lick the
va ley is filled up to the depth of not less than thirty feet
with unconsolidated beds of earth of various kinds. The
uppermost of these is a light yellow clay, which, apparent¬
ly, is no more than the soil brought down from the high
ground by rains and land-floods. In this yellow earth are
ound, along the water courses, at various depths, the bones
buffaloes (bison), and other modern animals, many bro-
ken, but others quite entire. Beneath this is another thin-
layer of a different soil, bearing the appearance of hav-
ing been formerly the bottom of a marsh. It is more gra-
1arber loured, softer, and contains remains of
nJif Vt?18’ S™aller than the cane 80 abundant in some
).,s, ^ Kentucky, with shells of fresh-water mollusca. In
nf ayeii’ an(^ Somebmes partially imbedded in a stratum
ue clay, very compact and tenacious, are deposited the
bones of extinct species.”—(%,orAv of Brit. Assoc.)
i iPT haS been at the Pains t0 compute, from the
p- Tan » • T Parts kn°wn to have been removed from
n- l .i°ne ^c uuuiber of individuals requisite to fur¬
nish the specimens already carried off.
lam!, the hie of Man, llncashhk and Holdefne^f but ,he'
re common characteristic osseous reliquiae are those of
the stag or red deer, fallow deer, beaver, and other existing
quadrupeds, birds, insects, &c. Movements of the land are
commonly thought necessary to explain the position and
particularly the level, of these “ forests.” ’
’/tell-Marl—The best example was furnished by Mr
Lydl s description of Bakie Loch, Forfarshire, which agrees
remarkably with some marl deposits in Tweeddale. Here
under peat w.th trees, shell-marl of variable thickness and
consistence occurs resting on a loose or partially cement¬
ed sand. Under this is another bed of shell-marl, of an
earthy consistence; then fine sand and detritus. Near the
springs which enter the loch, and supply the calcareous
matter, the marl assumes greater consistence, and, from its
“°RockLiar 18taI 11 ne substance> deserves the name of
Table of the Distribution of certain Extinct Quadrupeds.
Names of
Species.
Some Localities in
Caverns, B’issures, &c.
Some Localities in
Alluvial and Diluvial
Accumulations.
Felis speleea-
-1
!
Uyeena spe-
laea,
Canis spe-
laeus, f
Castor,
Megatherium )
Cuvierii, f
Gailen- i
uel Vi- f
vich,&c. J
Kirkdale, Gailen-
reuth, Luel
eil, Sundwich
Kirkdale, Kent’s
Hole, Fouvent, f
Sundwich, &c. j
Kirkdale, Franco- 1
ni.a, . . f
Luel Viei),
Weighton, Val d’Ar-
no.
Locality in or
amongst ala.
rine Strata.
Lawford, Val
no, Kostriz.
d’Ar-
Elephas pri-
migenius
"1
Mastodon maximus, .
Elephas primigenius,
Megalonyx Jeffersonii,
Bos bombifrons, . .
Bos Pallasii, . . .
Cervus Americanus, .
100 individuals.
20  
1  
2  
1  
2  
(Mastodon )
maximus, f
Mastodon |
angustidens, J
Hippopota- I
mus major, J
Rhinoceros )
leptorhiuus, J
Cervus me-)
gaceros, J
Bos primi- )
genius, J
Kirkdale,
Kirkdale,
Franconia, Kirk-
dale, Nice,
Kent’s Hole,
General,
i
Weighton.
Val d’Arno,
Buenos Ayres.
Val d’Arno, Weigh,
ton, Essex, Nor¬
folk, &c. &c. and
thr oughoutEurope
North of Asia, and
America,
South America.
Val d’Amo, Austria,
Peru,
Val d’Arno, Essex,
Siberia, England,
Germany, Val
d’Arno.
Ireland, Rheinthal.
Frequent.
Near Zurich.
Volhynia,
Warsaw,
J Wielicska
| Estavayer.
f Italy, Tou-
f raine.
Touraine.
VOL. XV.
See Lyell in Geol. Trans, vol. ii. 2d Series, Principles of Geology, and De la Beche’s Manual.
2 F
WI
MINERALOGY.
Remains of the human race have often occurred in the
same repositories as the animals noticed above, but almost
never without sufficient proof of their later existence. In
some cases distinct proof of inhumation at subsequent pe¬
riods, in other cases different state of conservation, or dif¬
ferent situation in the ossiferous deposit, have removed all
doubt of this important fact. The only cases which can
be considered at all doubtful, are those mentioned by MM.
Tournal, Teissier, &c. in caves of Bize, &c. in the vicinity
of Narbonne. In these instances, the proof of the poste¬
rior date of all the human reliquiae seems incomplete; but
the balance of opinion appears to be decidedly in favour of
the view which has so long been adopted by geologists,
viz. that these northern regions were not inhabited by men
during the period when elephants and hippopotami roamed
in the damp forests of Germany, F ranee, England, and Si¬
beria. . _
What is the exact geological date of the existence ot
man, in other words, what is the exact point of union of
historical and geological time—a most important problem
  is therefore as yet wholly undetermined. Its solution
must, probably, be looked for in countries nearer to the tro¬
pical regions of the Old World, where many concurring
circumstances unite with the authority of Scripture in fix¬
ing the local origin of our species.
Rhenish volcanoes, and many others, though perhaps the Geology.
IGNEOUS ROCKS AND DISTURBANCES OF THE MODERN
PERIOD.
The effects of subterranean heat have been exhibited at
intervals in all the periods of geological time, measured by
the deposition of stratified rocks ; the resulting phenomena
have been noticed at so many points on the earth’s surface,
as to leave no doubt that the action of heat, below the sur¬
face of the solid crust of the globe, has been, either con¬
temporaneously or successively, as extensive as that of
water above it. Certain phenomena, such as the general
character of composition and the absence of organic re¬
mains, in the lowest primary strata, lead to the impression,
that in the most ancient known geological period the effects
of heat were at one and the same time coextensive with
these strata, which is nearly the same thing as saying they
were contemporaneously universal. But as we ascend in
the order of strata, and come nearer, though by an unknown
progression, to the modern era, the evidence of this con¬
temporaneous great extent of the subterranean caloric
influence diminishes; the effects are still striking and of
the same general description and equal in violence, but more
local and limited. In the older period, we found occa¬
sional interstratification of igneous rocks and marine sedi¬
mentary rocks, and other proofs of the submarine situation
of the igneous agency ; but in the tertiary periods new phe¬
nomena were observed, which proved the igneous agency
to have burst forth on the dry land, or amidst fresh-water
lakes, and to have assumed in consequence much of that
peculiar character which belongs to actual volcanoes.
It is very evident that the study of volcanic action af¬
fords the only clew to a correct appreciation of the circum¬
stances under which igneous agency exerted itself in ancient
times. The exhibition of modern volcanic action takes
place under a sufficient variety of circumstances to furnish
an adequate basis of reasoning upon the conditions which
influenced the different effects of similar agencies in earlier
periods.
present volcanic cones of Etna and V esuvius may not be '
of such high antiquity. Many truly volcanic regions no
longer contain burning mountains, and never yield streams
of lava; yet by the nature of the rocks, by the phenomena of
mineral springs, by the mere form of the surface, they yield
evidence that volcanic forces once were active there, though
now extinct, dormant, or called off to some other focus of
energy. From what we learn by comparison of volcanic
regions in different conditions, it appears that each volcanic
vent has a definite date of origin, lives through a period of
activity, and decays by gradual or intermitting stages, till
nothing is left but the marks of what has been.
Continuity of Volcanic Action. This decay and extinc¬
tion of volcanic vents is a phenomenon of the highest im¬
portance in reasoning on the condition and causes of the
subterranean temperature. If volcanoes die away for lack
of their chemical fuel, a presumption arises that the condi¬
tions of their excitement are local, limited, and exhaustible;
but if this be not the case, if volcanic action only sleeps
below a certain point, because it is awakened to greater
and more easy manifestations elsewhere, there is no reason
dpriori to prevent our admitting for all volcanoes one gene¬
ral physical condition or cause.
Extent and Connection of Volcanic Action. Now it is
certain, that in several instances volcanic phenomena have
happened simultaneously, or rather after a short interval,
at very distant points or foci of volcanic energy. Dr Dau-
beny observes (Treatise on Volcanoes'), “ The connexion
of the volcano near the town of Pasto with those of the
province of Quito, was shewn in a striking manner in 1797.
A thick volume of smoke had proceeded, ever since the
month of November 1796, from the volcano of Pasto, but,
to the great surprise of the inhabitants of the city of that
name, the smoke suddenly disappeared on the 4th February
1797. This was precisely the moment at which, 65 leagues
further south, the city of Riobamba, near Tunguragua, was
destroyed by a tremendous earthquake.”
Humboldt (Personal Narrative) appears to view the
higher part of the kingdom of Quito and the neighbouring
Cordilleras, not as a group of distinct volcanoes, but as an
VOLCANOES.
immense volcanic mass, stretching from north to south,
The antiquity of volcanic phenomena is very great.
Most of the districts in which volcanic phenomena take
place, or have left evidence of their former activity, appear
to have been vents for subterranean fires from the era when
the district first rose above the sea. This appears certain¬
ly to be the case with Sicily, Auvergne, Naples, the
 — —   — , c?
and occupying a surface of more than 600 square leagues;
the lofty mountains of Cotopaxi, Tunguragua, Antisana,
and Pichincha, affording so many apertures from which the
fire finds vent, sometimes in one and sometimes in another.
No doubt exists of the connection of earthquakes and
volcanoes. Mr Lyell observes, that from the commence¬
ment of the thirteenth to the latter half of the seventeenth
century, no earthquakes are recorded in Syria and Judea ;
and during this interval of quiescence, the Grecian Archi¬
pelago and the coasts of Lesser Asia, Southern Italy, and
Sicily, were shaken by earthquakes and alarmed by erup¬
tions.
Geographical Distribution of Volcanoes. But much
stronger proof of the great extent and connexion ol the
conditions of volcanic excitement, is to be found in the
view of their positions ort the globe. Von Buch was the
first to propose a classification of volcanoes in two groups,
viz. central volcanoes and volcanoes in line. Those of the
Italian shores and islands, Iceland, the Azores, Canary
Isles, Cape de Yerd Islands, Gallapagos, Sandwich Islands,
Marquesas, Society Islands, Island of Bourbon, as well as
the mountains of Demavend, Ararat, &c. belong to the
former class. The Greek Archipelago, the west of Aus
tralia, the Isles of Sunda, the Moluccas and Philippines)
Japan, the Kurilian and Kamschatkan chains, the Aleutian
Isles, the Marian Isles, the Antilles, as well as the CordiF
leras of Chili, Quito, Guatimala, and Mexico, are ranked
with the latter.
The extinct volcanoes of the old wrorld, Auvergne, the
MINER
Eifel, Northern Germany, Hungary, north of Italy, Sec. be-
' long to the class of central volcanoes.
The most remarkable line of volcanic vents on the globe,
is that long chain of islands which, from Alaska, on the
coasts of Russian America, passes by the Aleutian Isles,
Kamschatka, the Kurilian, Japanese, Philippine, and Mo-
luccan Islands, and then turns in a long course through
Sumbawa, Java, and Sumatra, to Barren Island in the Bay
of Bengal.
Active and Extinct Volcanoes. The most common divi¬
sion adopted in works on volcanoes separates the known
volcanic districts into extinct and active volcanoes,—a dis¬
tinction which seems clearer than it is; for between the
burning mountain with its formidable realities, and the
long silent volcanic mound, surrounded by mineral springs,
and other residuary phenomena, almost every gradation can
be traced. Viewing the subject generally, it is difficult
to resist the idea that the exhibition of volcanic excite¬
ment is in proportion to the proximity of the sea, or other
repository of water; for almost every one of the active
volcanoes of the globe is situated in an island, or near the
sea-coast of a continent, and many of the extinct volcanoes
are on the site or in the neighbourhood of ancient lakes
now dried up. The following short synopsis of the situa¬
tion of active volcanoes, will shew their general proximity
to the sea.
In the islands and sea-coasts of Europe Etna, Vesu¬
vius, Stromboli, Volcano; several in Iceland, Jan
Mayen, Santorino.
In islands of Africa—Teneriffe, Lanzerote, Cape Verd
Isles, Azores, Isle of Bourbon, Madagascar.
In islands of Asia—Zibbel Teir in the Red Sea; an
island in the Sea of Azoph; Aleutian Islands; Kurile
Islands, Loo Choo, Formosa, Lucon, Fugo, Min¬
danao, Celebes, Ternate, Fidore, Sumbawa, Java,
Sumatra, Barren Island, Banda, New Guinea, New
Britain, New Ireland, Friendly Islands, Society
Islands, Ladrone Islands.
On the continent of Asia, near the coasts or inland seas.
—Demavend, Kamschatka.
America, in the islands.—West Indian Islands, Galla-
pagos. «
America, near the coast—California, Nicaragua, Gua¬
temala, Columbia, Peru, Chili.
America, more inland.—Mexico.
The principal volcanic tracts of Europe, which all belong
apparently to the tertiary and modern periods of geology,
are those of the Puy de Dome, Cantal, and Velai in France;
of the Eifel; the Rhine below Andernach, near Heidel-
burgh, and near Freyburg; the Vogelgebirge; Rhonge-
birge; Eisnach ; north of the Lake of Constance ; Hun¬
gary ; Transylvania; the Grecian Archipelago. (See
Daubeny on Volcanoes.^
Origin of Volcanic Vents. The origin or production of
a new volcano has seldom been witnessed by competent
observers. The phenomenon is, in fact, extremely rare; for
though we read of new cones and craters being formed on
Etna, and new islands occasionally raised from the sea, the
fact in general is, that these are merely new vents to an
old volcano, whose former and accustomed channels to the
surface have by some circumstances been rendered incapa¬
ble of giving passage to the vapours and lava of the teem¬
ing mountain. It is probable, from considering the lines
of craters which belong to one of Von Buch’s classes, that
some great fissure or line of subterranean movement has
determined the local situation of volcanic vents. Even the
central volcanoes of Von Buch appear to be often related
to particular centres and axes of subterranean movement;
as Auvergne, the Eifel, Sicily, and others.
A L o G Y. 22:
Origin of Volcanic Cones and Craters. Von Buch sup- Geoloev.
poses in addition, that many volcanic mountains have been
formed by uplifting of stratified and igneous masses into a
conical or elliptical mass depressed in the centre, and to
such he gives the name of Erhebungs Cratere (craters of
elevation). v
Mr Lyell controverts this view, and attempts to prove
that, like many of the new cones of Etna, Monte Nuovo,
&c., near Naples, volcanic mountains generally are craters
of eruption, that is, nothing but heaps of scoriae and ashes,
and streams of lava, collected into a conical mass in conse¬
quence of issuing from a central orifice. Many volcanic
mountains, probably all of a very decidedly conical shape,
are formed in this manner; but certain dome-shaped hills
in Auvergne are held by Dr Daubeny to be strictly referri-
ble to elevation in mass. It is supposed that the formation
of the Mexican volcano of Jorullo (1759), when, according
to Humboldt, the ground rose up like a bladder for a sur°-
face of three or four square miles, to a central elevation of
324 feet, is a modern example of the truth of the hypo¬
thesis of Von Buch; and at all events, the possibility of
such an origin cannot consistently be denied, if we pay
attention to the many instances of elliptical elevation of
stratified rocks of different ages, as at Woolhope in Here¬
fordshire, Greenhow Hill in Yorkshire, &c. which have
been brought forward of late years.
Volcanic Phases. By whatever means a volcanic vent,
whether it be a cone with a crater-shaped top or any other
aperture, has been formed, its augmentation can only take
place by the process of eruption. Scoriae, ashes, &c. blown
from the mouth fall round and augment the cone ; streams
of liquid rock flowing over the edge of the crater, may, by
many successive currents in different directions, produce
an equal conical mouth of concrete lava, or, rushing out
from the side of the cone, spread or accumulate according
U) the shape of the surface. These effects must differ ac¬
cording as the phenomenon happens in the sea or on the
land. Hence Mr Scrope’s distinction of subaqueous and
subaerial volcanoes. Subaqueous ejections of scoriae, &c.
are subject, in the first place, to partial suspension in water,
and in the next, to agitations of the liquid produced by
the eruption and other causes. These act in the same
direction, and tend to diffuse the disintegrated accumula¬
tions far and wide from the volcanic vent. Hence strata
of very small inclination are produced round the crater, or,
if any thing comparable to a volcanic cone is occasioned,
the heap of large scoriae must yield to the lateral influence
of the waves, and be at length dispersed over the bed of
the sea. Of the truth of this view, the modern island of
Sciacca, its rapid growth, and rapid degradation, offered
good illustration.
Subaqueous eruptions of lava must also for the most part
flow under the pressure of the liquid columns to various
breadths on the bed of the sea, so as to form irregular stra¬
tiform masses, embossed here and there by mounds of lava,
too quickly congealed to spread into the tabular form.
Thus it appears a necessary consequence of the condi¬
tions of a subaqueous volcano, that its accumulations, whe¬
ther liquid or disintegrated, should be formed into broad
expanded masses, having a stratiform arrangement; and
this is what is always observed among the igneous rocks of
ancient geological periods, unless where fissures in the rocks
are filled by the irruptive lava. Thus the basalt of Tees-
dale and of Antrim, the porphyritic masses of Snowdonia,
Cumbria, &c. have been formed.
Subaerial ejections of loose materials must of necessity
be collected round the point of exit into conical layers, de¬
termined in their angle of inclination by the angle of rest of
the particles, under the influence of the forces of projection
and gravitation. The lavas poured out from the crater, or
bursting from the flanks of the cone, must accommodate
T1T
MINERALOGY.
228
Geology, themselves to the form of the surface, so as to mantle round
the original mountain, swell into knolls at its foot,, or flow
away into valleys and hollows of the land, or enter the sea.
All these variations are visible at Etna and Vesuvius.
Subaerial volcanic ejections may alternate with fresh¬
water productions (Tantal), with detritus holding bones of
mammalia (Auvergne), or cover cities, as Pompeii and
Herculaneum ; and submarine volcanic accumulations may
alternate with shelly sediments and limestones.
But there is yet another form of modern volcanic aggre¬
gates which it is of great importance to distinguish from
the preceding, because of its bearing upon points of great
importance in old geology. There are subterranean vol¬
canic products which neither are poured into the sea nor
thrown into the air, but secretly elaborated under the pres¬
sure of a solid covering, and effused into the fissures of the
rocks.
Although it may reasonably be allowed that the great
variety of productions ejected by subaerial volcanoes affords
a good* indication of the principal mineral substances gene¬
rated by volcanic action, we must be cautious not to limit
our notions of their combinations in the deep parts of the
earth to those which are suggested by the compounds which
are determined at the surface.
The degree of pressure; rate of cooling, and mass of ingre¬
dients, which are known to be important modifying condi¬
tions of molecular aggregation, are wholly different at the
roots and about the surface of the immense volcanic chim¬
neys which, like Etna and the Peak of Teneriffe, become
filled with the liquid rocks whenever the subterranean pres¬
sure amounts to a particular degree.
At the base of a volcanic vent, deep in the earth or un¬
der the sea, particular mineral aggregates, slowly cooled,
under great pressure, and in great masses, may, and pro¬
bably do, at this day assume the largely crystalline texture
and distinctness of ingredients of granite ; on the bed of
the sea they may flow in the state of porphyry or basalt ;
on the surface of the land appear as porous lava, and be
blown into the air in disintegrated scoriae, ashes, and dust.
VOLCANIC PRODUCTS.
The number of mineral substances found in volcanic
ejections is very great. Nearly 100 distinct minerals have
been recognised among the products of Vesuvius. But of
these only very few occur in such abundance as to consti¬
tute ^iny great portion of the lava or scoriae.
It is almost correct to say that the principal portion of
the masses of all the known volcanoes is constituted of two
minerals,—felspar and augite.
According to the predominance of one or other of these
ingredients, the lava currents may generally be classed as
felspathic lava, or augitic lava, but the permutations of in¬
gredients is so frequent, that no definite mode of specific
nomenclature has more than a local value. Mr Scrope
forms the groups Trachyte, Graystone, Basalt, and in each
proposes many subdivisions. Trachyte is divided by Beu •
dant upon different principles. Perhaps it is useless to at¬
tempt the drawing of lines where nature has permitted
none to appear. Trachytic rocks, as in the Siebengebirge,
Hungary, Auvergne, are composed of crystals of glassy fel¬
spar alone, or mixed with mica, hornblende, titaniferous
iron, &c. and confusedly aggregated or cemented by com¬
pact felspar. Porphyritic trachyte, like porphyritic granite,
holds large crystals of felspar fSiebengebirge.) On the
other hand, in the graystone of Mr Scrope augite or horn¬
blende, or both, predominate over the felspar. In many
cases the felspar is partially or entirely replaced by other
minerals, as leucite, melilite, hauyne, olivine, &c.
According to the rate of cooling and other circumstances, Geol0 6
the aggregation of these ingredients varies much. Lava^N-^J^' .
which has flowed down into water, and been consolidated
under even slight pressure, is found more condensed than
that which has hardened in air, and become cellular by the
free extrication of gaseous bubbles in the hot mass. Sud¬
den cooling of lava gives it a glassy character, as obsidian,
pearlstone, &c. ; slow cooling developes its crystalline, gra¬
nular, and earthy texture. Gaseous expansion in a fluid
mass of lava may convert it to cellular pumice, or scatter
it into dust or scoriae, which are thrown out of the crater.
Again, the scoriae and dust are often collected by water
into sedimentary deposits, called volcanic tuff, conglomerate,
puzzolana, and trap. It is this kind of accumulation which
covers Herculaneum, while Pompeii seems to have been
buried in dry ashes.
Besides the solidifying mineral aggregates which flow over
their summits or burst out from their flanks, and the disin¬
tegrated showers of scoriae and ashes which fall round them,
many volcanoes pour out floods of water, variously impreg¬
nated with salts, and mixed with earthy sediments; and all
discharge volumes of gaseous matter and steam, and sub¬
limed mineral substances.
The gases are chlorine, sulphuretted hydrogen, sulphuric
acid, carbonic acid, nitrogen, (Daubeny). Sir H. Davy found
the sublimations of Vesuvius to be chloride of sodium,
chloride of iron, sulphate of soda, chloride of potassium,
sulphate of potash, oxide of copper, chloride of cobalt.
PHENOMENA OF EXTINCT VOLCANOES.
Long after volcanic fires have ceased to be visible exter-
nally, the regions which they once desolated are the thea¬
tre of residuary phenomena of considerable importance. In
the neighbourhood of Vesuvius the ancient trachytic crater
called the Solfatara, is still the channel through which come
to the surface abundant vapours of sulphuretted hydrogen.
Hot waters still gush out from the Monte Nuovo and the
Lago Agnano. Carbonic acid gas still fills the Grotto del
Cane, and rises wTith the springs of water in Auvergne and
the Eifel. Earthquakes have often ravaged the districts of
Asia Minor, where, in very ancient times, volcanic fires
were lighted: and, by combining these and other indica¬
tions, we find that it is rather from want of communication
to the surface than from any real stifling of their energies,
that volcanoes appear to become extinct.
If we were to admit, with Dr Daubeny, that the pheno ■
mena of hot-springs indicated a slow volcanic action still
going on below the point of efflux, (and the arguments he
has brought from the gases which they evolve1 appear im¬
portant), it would follow that few districts of the globe are
exempt from such slow action of volcanic forces below
them. But, on considering the cases where the same gases
are evolved from cold springs, Harrowgate, Tunbridge, &c.
we find ourselves conducted to a more general result, viz.
that in places where disturbed stratification occurs, or ver¬
tical movements have happened, such as to render it cer¬
tain, or very probable, that a communication, arising from
solution of continuity of the strata, exists from the surface to
great depths, the springs which issue have generally a saline
muriatiferous or mineral impregnation, and evolve gases, (sul¬
phuretted hydrogen, azote, carbonic acid,) which correspond
to those of volcanic regions, and indicate that, at the present
day, at some depths from the surface, the chemical agencies
consequent on volcanic action or high temperature are con¬
tinually going on, or momentarily excitable. The tem¬
perature of such springs may perhaps be a good indication
of the nearness of the source of heat, provided allowance
be made for the quantity of water issuing.
1 Report to the British Association.
CONNEXION OF EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES.
That such a connexion exists is perhaps universally al¬
lowed ; but it is also capable of sufficient proof that earth¬
quakes generally precede volcanic eruptions, and this some¬
times for a considerable period, increasing in violence until
the eruption happens and relieves the subterranean pres¬
sure.
On the 26th of March 1812 Caraccas was utterly destroy¬
ed by an earthquake, and a mountain near it subsided. On
the 27th April the eruptions of the Souffrier, in St Vin¬
cent’s, began.
In the year 63 of our era earthquakes began to disturb
the vicinity of Pompeii, and in 79j after a succession of
these phenomena, the fires of Vesuvius were rekindled.
The extraordinary eruption of Jorullo in 1759, followed
upon extraordinary earthquakes ; and the unparalleled ex¬
citements of Skaptar Jokul in 1783, were heralded bv simi¬
lar precursors.
The elevation of Monte Nuovo in 1538 was, in like man¬
ner, indicated by previous violent subterranean disturb¬
ances.1 The connexion of earthquakes and volcanic erup¬
tions is that of two effects of one cause. In the Canary
Isles, the Peak of Teneriffe is almost a continual safety
valve, which drains off the gases, &c. and so frees the sur¬
rounding islands from earthquakes.
Earthquakes—These alarming indications of subterra¬
nean disturbances are far more extensively felt than in the
mere vicinity of the volcanic cones, whose renewed activi¬
ty they often betoken. The numerous concussions which
were experienced in England in the 11th, Pith, 13th, 17th,
and 18th centuries, seem as much dependent on the Ice¬
landic as on the Italian volcanoes. Those wdiich have af¬
fected all the countries north of the Mediterranean; the
convulsive movements of Asia Minor in the early Christian
I eras > those of India, are far removed from any centres of
volcanic excitement. We also find that, in some instances,
earthquakes have prevailed for years, and done great mis¬
chief, (as before the earliest recorded eruptions of Vesuvius)
before the throes of nature have been relieved by the birth
( of volcanic fires. Hence, it appears that the earthquake is
really the greater and more general, and the volcano the
lesser and more limited, effect of a cause more general than
either. &
The characteristic effect of earthquakes is the displace¬
ment of the solid mass of the ground, and the violent agi¬
tation of the liquid parts. A passing earthquake is known
by a peculiar vibration, or rather undulation of the solid
ground, which tends to throw down unstable bodies, and
to communicate vertical or oblique impulses to all. It is
not properly a vibration, but a forcible rolling of the solid
crust of the globe once, twice, or several times. In some
instances the effects are permanently indicated by opened
ssures, subsided grounds, drained wells, elevated lines of
country; but more frequently the yawning ground closes
again, and the convulsion passes on. It has been observed
that the apparent direction of the disturbance is the same
in the same earthquake ; that the celerity of the movement
is very grea,t, but not instantaneous, and, in some instances,
particular lines of country are found to be more commonlv
affected than others.
It has been found that perhaps the greatest effects of
earthquakes happen on the sea-coast (Lisbon, 1755; Port-
oyal, 1692 ; Catania, 1693); that the shock is felt in the
sea as well as upon the land, vessels being struck upward
y a heavy blow, which could not be by vibration, and
WclVfS
i euiing ana retlowmg at immense distances of coast
trom tne places of principal disturbance.
From all the circumstances, it is apparent that earth¬
quakes are the effect of a powerful mechanical force, ac¬
cumulated to a maximum at particular points, and along
certam lines, at a considerable depth below the surface.
IheroHing motion of the ground is a real undulation of
the flexible crust Oi the globe, consequent upon fluctua¬
tions of an interior fluid, liquid or gaseous, which is verv
extensively spread below the solid rocks, and liable to ir¬
regular disturbances, which are, at least partially, relieved
by volcanic eruptions.
On looking carefully at the recorded permanent effects
of earthquakes, we find reason to believe that the most
considerable displacements of parts of the land have been
productive of local depression,—that, as the most frequent
result, the land has sunk. It was so at Port-Royal in 1692;
at Lisbon in 1755 ; at Caraccas in 1812. We read of Mount
Acraus falling into the sea in 876 ; of Pompeiopolis being
half swallowed up in 541 ; of Grecian cities overwhelmed
in the deep; at Darlington ground fell in 1179 ; at West
Ham in Kent in 1596 ; near Bordeaux in 1660.
But cases of at least temporary rise of the land also occur.
In 1556, on the west coast of South America vessels were
left dry far from their ancient place of mooring. In 1110,
the Trent was dry at Nottingham for a whole day; in
1158, the Thames was dry at London. According to Mrs
Graham, the coast of Chili, for the distance of 100 miles,
rose to a height of three or four feet above its ordinary
level, indications appearing that many such accidents had
happened before: this case has been the subject of much
discussion. Permanent subsidences and elevations hap¬
pened in the valley of the Indus in 1809.
Upon the whole, the frightful devastations ascribed to
earthquakes are confined to particular regions of the globe,
not far removed from the sites where volcanoes now are,
or formerly were, in extreme activity. The permanent
changes of level which they have produced in the last
1800 years, are very slight and difficult to substantiate.
From 1048 to 1800 (752 years), no less than forty-five
earthquakes were recorded in England alone; and no
doubt many were unobserved; yet what remarkable per¬
manent effects were ascribed to them even by the credu¬
lous chroniclers of the middle ages ? After exploring all the
exaggerated descriptions of the phenomena, written in the
midst of fear and alarm, we rise from the’ perusal, satisfied
that the effects of earthquakes are of the same kind as
those performed by ancient convulsive movements of the
globe, and similarly connected with variations of interior
heat, but immeasurably inferior in amount. If modern
earthquakes and volcanic fires be proportioned to the mo¬
dern rate of variation of interior temperature, how much
greater must have been the variations of heat correspond¬
ing to the incomparably greater convulsions of ancient
date ? It may be said, perhaps, that our period of 2000
years’ experience is nothing to the long series of geologi¬
cal ages consumed in the production of these greater ef¬
fects ; it may be said, that such extensive displacements,
whether effected by few convulsive movements, or many
smaller disturbances, are equally a function of the time
elapsed; but, surely, if we find the modern feeble earth¬
quake and volcanic fire, adequate to restore momentarily
the equilibrium of the disturbed interior forces, they are
the measure of such disturbances.
There may indeed be a residual phenomenon ; the equi¬
librium may be only partially restored, and the uncompen-
1 See Ly ell’s Principles of Geology.
230
MINERALOGY.
Geology sated portions may be terms of a series continually augment-
 ing, till it be satisfied by a great convulsion ; this may be :
but if so, the point is at once conceded ; the inefficacy of
earthquakes in producing such effects as the permanent up¬
lifting of a mountain chain is granted, and for such an ef¬
fect we must look to some other and more adequate cause
than mere volcanic excitement. What, then, is volcanic
excitement ?
HYPOTHESES OF VOLCANIC ACTION.
Discarding the antiquated notion of volcanic phenomena
depending on the combustion of coal-beds, the decomposi¬
tion of sulphuretted metals, &c., we have only two hypo-
theses of volcanic action to consider. "Ihe authors of these
speculations call them theories ; but if we recollect how
very insufficiently the laws of volcanic action have been de¬
veloped, we shall not readily grant that any great progress
has been made in developing the laws of causation; till
this is done there is no true theory.
The hypothesis proposed by Cordier, of a heated interior
mass mechanically disturbed, has been improved by the
additional postulate, that the heated interior of the globe
is chemically disturbed by access of water and other causes,
and in this state is in harmony with the general view of
Leibnitz concerning the changing conditions of the globe,
and with the course of partial inferences contained in the
preceding pages. But these views and inferences must be
further examined and more fully admitted before any hy¬
pothesis grounded on them can be adopted by more than
a party in geology. This examination we shall briefly at¬
tempt hereafter, but, at present, the truth of the doctrine
of volcanic action being dependent on local thermal dis¬
turbances, must rest upon its power of explaining pheno¬
mena under the disadvantages of the want of knowing the
laws of these phenomena.
Another hypothesis was proposed by Davy, and, for a
time, partially adopted by several chemists. Seeing the
remarkable ignition and other effects of strong chemical
action consequent on the excessive attraction of the metallic
bases of the alkalis for oxygen, it was easy to suppose these
substances existing uncombined in the interior of the globe,
to imagine the local addition of water, or other substances
containing oxygen, and thus to account for the violent ig¬
nition, alkaline products, steam, convulsive movements,
and other phenomena of volcanoes. Dr Daubeny, the most
strenuous supporter of this view in our days, places it on
its true basis, viz. the power which it possesses of explain¬
ing phenomena. Thus both the hypotheses refer them¬
selves to one and the same test.
It is, perhaps, commonly imagined that these hypotheses
exclude one another, but this is unnecessary. Though the
globe be hot within, it may contain uncombined the me¬
tallic bases of the earths and alkalis. Though it be to them
that volcanic phenomena are owing, their action would not
be impeded by a high temperature of the subterranean re¬
gion, but, on the contrary, exalted.
It is further remarkable, that the points of agreement
are great. It is requisite, upon either view, that water be
admitted to a hot mass, or to one capable of becoming so ;
that chemical processes happen, in which oxygen is ab¬
sorbed, and hydrogen and other gases released. The sub¬
limation of sulphur, salts, metals, &c. is just as intelligible
one way as the other. The situation of volcanoes in islands,
on sea-coasts, and generally near water, is a consequence
of either hypothesis ; the long duration of volcanic foci,—
the intermission of their action,—the gradual extinction of
some of them, are quite as easily understood the one way
as the other. Wherein, then, do they really differ ? Prin¬
cipally in the development under the bias of the respective
partizans. The hypothesis of Dr Daubeny is chiefly di¬
rected to the explanation of the chemical products in the
order of their succession, and, so far as the chemical ques- Geology,
tions are concerned, it appears to answer the conditions''—^
required. The other speculation has been found more
powerful in explaining the great extent of the subterranean
movements to which volcanic fires are but a local append¬
age ; it is more satisfactory, when viewed in connexion
with older pyrogenous rocks and older tremors of the globe.
Thus the Mechanical theory, as Cordier’s hypothesis has
been termed, explains better the mechanical effects ; the
Chemical theory, as Dr Daubeny’s speculation has been
named, fits better to the chemical phenomena.
But as they do not exclude one another, as both may be
true, why are" they put in such determinate opposition ?
What the substances are which occur at the base of vol¬
canoes, is to be found by chemical researches; in what
state they are as to temperature, fluidity, density, &c. is
the province of general physics to ascertain.
We may, therefore, very consistently agree with Cor¬
dier, Von Buch, and De Beaumont, in viewing the origin
of volcanic fissures as a case of violent displacement of the
crust of the globe, arising from change of the thermal state
of an interior fluid nucleus, and in ascribing to this me¬
chanical condition the great extent of earthquakes from
the bases of volcanic regions, and yet adopt at least the
principle of Dr Daubeny’s hypothesis. If w e were to adopt
completely the opinions of this writer, we should have the
following view of the series of chemical processes.
The interior parts of the globe, whether hot or cold,
fluid or concrete, consist, at least in part, of the metallic
bases of the alkalis and earths, and of some metals; to this
water, generally sea-water, and atmospheric air find access
through irregular and variable channels in the rocks. The
consequence is oxidation of the alkaline metals, potassium
and sodium, the earthy metals silicium, aluminum, &c., and
iron and other ordinary metals ; a large volume of hydro¬
gen will thus be liberated from its aqueous combination
with oxygen ; the atmospheric air will also be decompos¬
ed, and its nitrogen set free ; chlorine will be liberated
from its combination with sodium ; sulphur will be disen¬
gaged from various mineral combinations in the superior
rocks. Then the oxygen will combine with sulphur to con¬
stitute sulphureous acid gas, and with hydrogen to form
steam ; the oxygen being consumed, hydrogen will unite
with sulphur, and form sulphuretted hydrogen, and with
nitrogen to form ammonia, wdiich, neutralized by chlorine,
becomes sal ammoniac.
Besides these, which may be called the primary chemi¬
cal phenomena, there may be noticed secondary pheno¬
mena depending on the mere communication of heat to the
rocks above. Such are the extrication of carbonic acid
gas from calcareous rocks, the sublimation of sulphur so as
to permit its combination with oxygen, to form sulphurous
acid gas, and with hydrogen to constitute sulphuretted hy¬
drogen. These and other effects are equally necessary on
either hypothesis, and must be supposed to continue long
after the primary chemical phenomena have ceased; as in¬
deed, in old volcanic tracts, we know to be the ca.se. In
fact, along lines of dislocation of far higher antiquity than
any merely volcanic mountains, we find the same pheno¬
mena of hot springs, carbonic acid, nitrogen, sulphurette
hydrogen, &c., and it thus appears almost a necessary con¬
sequence, that the heat, below a given point of the earths
surface^ though no proper volcanic phenomena be there
visible, is almost inexhaustible. Should not these consi¬
derations have weight in determining geologists not to re¬
fuse either the general thermal, or the local chemical hy¬
pothesis of volcanoes ? Both are perhaps true, though we
may not have the power of explaining by them all the yet
imperfectly known phenomena, depending on the chang¬
ing temperature and chemical conditions of the subter
ranean regions.
MINERALOGY.
231
STATE OF GEOLOGICAL THEORY.
GOgy* The caution which has been infused into every branch
s—natural science has been productive of excellent fruits
in geology. Within a hundred years its whole aspect has
been changed; from a mass of crude speculations fitted to
inaccurate observations, it has gradually grown up to a sys¬
tem of sound, though limited, inferences, connected by
some very probable generalizations, and supported by inde¬
pendent mathematical reasoning. The Laws of Phenome¬
na are unfolded to a considerable extent, and, in the opi¬
nion of eminent men of science, the time is at hand for
effectual researches into the laws of causation. Not that
the labours of observation should, for an instant, be sus¬
pended ; they are the most important of all the means of
advancing geology : on the contrary, they ought to be con¬
tinually excited by new impulses, and turned into more
profitable directions by the first, however rude, indications
of theory. The state of geology is so prosperous, that its
numerous cultivators may well agree to divide their forces
so as to accomplish combined movements; to advance on
the one hand the mass of generalized phenomena, and on
the other to multiply the points of contact between dyna¬
mical, chemical, and vital laws, and the results of geologi¬
cal inquiry.
In the exhibition of this subject, it is almost singular how
useless and even trifling a thing it is to refer to the ancient
opinions on the constitution and changes of the globe,
which modern sceptics concerning the progress of geology
seem to have ever before their eyes as spectra, warning
them of the danger of listening to the reasoning of the
mathematician, the astronomer, the chemist, or the zoologist,
when applied to the history of the globe. Were it not for
this salutary terror which they inspire even in bold minds,
the reveries of Whiston, Catcott, and Whitehurst, perhaps
we may add of Werner and Hutton, as to the origin and
changes of the globe, would be speedily forgotten. Even
the beautiful work of Playfair loses its importance when
fairly poised against the growing mass of partial geological
truths ; and perhaps we ought to look upon the hypotheses
of Von Buch, De Beaumont, and Lyell, as over generaliza¬
tions, proper to excite and direct inquiry on particular points,
and thus likely to have a temporary use rather than a perma¬
nent influence. However this may be, it is certain that the
researches of the last fifty years have justified the words of
Herschel: they have brought the grand problem of the
history of the globe fairly within the circle of inductive
science, linked it inseparably writh the progress of physical
science and natural history, so that its progress or retarda¬
tion can only be proportioned to that of the general mass
of human knowledge.
From this an important conclusion results: the close
union and strict dependence of geological reasoning on the
advancement of other sciences, must place a strong re¬
straint on the presumption and confidence with which
crude hypotheses have been often advanced by men of
mere observation ; in future it will be trusted to minds of
a higher order, habitually exercised in the combination of
natural laws, to propose leading views in geology. It is
already known that a mathematical basis exists for geology
as well as for astronomy, and the search for this cannot
long be unsuccessful in the accurate hands of the analysts
of France, Germany, and Cambridge.
So rapid is their progress that, even while we write, a
large accession of knowledge is brought by Mr Hopkins,
in a memoir on Physical Geology, presented to the Cam¬
bridge Philosophical Society, on the hitherto obscure sub¬
ject of subterranean movements, and other investigations
concerning the interior of the globe are opening upon us.
I he following view of the state of theory on several funda-
“.en freeZmbe COmp'ete’ perhaPs "otology.
I hough inferences from geological phenomena, and de¬
ductions from assumed first principles in theory, may be
a.most infinitely varied, according to the extent of the
data or the generality of the principles; yet, in fact, all
theoretical views in geology, which can be considered ge-
nera!, are reduced to two types; the deductive speculations
of Leibnitz, and the inductive hypotheses of Hutton.
Ihese are really and necessarily different, and whoever
ventures to choose one or other of these great leaders, must
in effect decide for himself the following important ques-
Afe the disturbances of the statical condition of the ter¬
restrial forces of organic and inorganic nature of a periodi¬
cal character merely, so that in any sufficiently long peri-
od emlwacing all the cycles of their variations, the sum of
their effects is equal to the sum of a corresponding earlier
or later period, which is Dr Hutton’s view put to extreme;
or, are these disturbances of the nature of a series whose
successive terms, (whether a single disturbance or cycles of
periodical disturbances), differ from one another in any re¬
gular progression ? (as Leibnitz supposes.)
This question cannot be answered upon analogy merely.
Though the planetary system exhibits in all its perturba¬
tions a character of variation, such that the sum of the
movements taken in any sufficiently long period is found
to be constant, and the whole system permanent, unless
the extraneous influence of the ether tend to slowly alter
its condition, we cannot deduce that the parts of this sys¬
tem shall, in matters of another kind, have the like cha¬
racter of circular perpetuity. Nor, on the other hand, be¬
cause of the many proofs of great convulsions in ancient
periods, and of the rarity or even absence of such phenomena
in historical times, may we conclude that such convulsions
will never be repeated. There may be a periodicity of
these great disturbances of the solid globe, as we know
there is of the lesser irregularities of the atmosphere sur¬
rounding it.
This great question is then to be tried by the applicabi¬
lity of one or other of the leading principles which it in¬
volves to the explanation of the phenomena of all geological
periods, and the only thing remaining to be settled is the
degree of preparation in which we find ourselves for such a
trial of principles.
Have we data, or laws of phenomena, sufficiently certain
and known in all their relations to allow of ascending by
inferences to one of the rival principles, or of testing de¬
ductions from the other ?
It is probable that we have not such knowledge. For
neither do we know fully the present state of operation of
terrestrial forces, including, of course, their submarine ef¬
fects, nor their condition at any one former period; and
it is only by a rigorous and careful scrutiny, and com¬
parison of many different periods, that any just determi¬
nation can be formed as to the laws which regulate the va¬
riation of the forces. The utmost, then, which can be ex¬
pected is a presumption in favour of one or the other the¬
oretical principle, according to its observed correspondence
with the succession of phenomena which are best known.
Even this task we shall not attempt. Instead of it we
shall employ a particular consideration really common to
both of them, though in their development under the
hands of partizans, it has come to be almost exclusively as¬
sociated with the Leibnitzian speculation. Either of the
principles previously contrasted admits of being developed
in two modes; according to both of them the changes now
going on upon the globe may be part of a long series of
232
MINERALOGY.
Geology, similar or gradually changing phenomena, never interrupted
—y—^ in their operations by extraordinary exertions of the same
or different forces. This is Mr Lyell’s doctrine; or the
present may be viewed as a period of ordinary action of
terrestrial forces, similar to many which have gone before,
and which have been preceded and terminated by greater
and more violent effects of intermitting agencies. (This is
the view of M. De Beaumont.)
It is certain that unless this limited question can be dis¬
posed of the general principles cannot be properly exa¬
mined, and in the discussion of even this really practicable
problem all the knowledge yet gathered in geology may
perhaps be found inadequate. It will, however, be useful
to make the attempt, if only for the purpose of pointing out
the* lines of research on which geological observation may
be profitably directed.
In the system of continual compensation among the
agencies of terrestrial nature, deluges and convulsions,
greater than those of the modern period, have, strictly
speaking, no place ; or if we relax a little the rigidness of
the dogma, and allow that, by a fortuitous combination of
circumstances, greater movements and inundations may
have happened than have been recorded in the last thou¬
sand years or so, at least these must be shewn to be per¬
fectly consistent with the ordinary diurnal measure of
the influential agencies. For example, a lake may be
slowly emptied by erosion or suddenly by an earthquake ;
the effects are very different; but the agencies equally be¬
long to the present system of nature. Great effects may
v thus be performed, in consequence of particular combina¬
tions, by very moderate measures of force; but in applying
this system to older phenomena, we must examine the direct
effects : convulsionary movements must be the measure of
disturbing forces, and diluvial effects the guide to inferences
concerning cataclymal agencies.
ORIGIN OF THE MATERIALS IN THE CRUST OF THE
GLOBE.
The compound nature of these materials is a subject of
great interest in any theory of the changes of the globe.
When we consider the various minerals included in one
rock, as granite ; the definite chemical formula which re¬
presents the attractive forces of each of these ; the molecu¬
lar and elementary constitution of the different parts of
each; and recollect that any one of these molecules and
elements has various physical properties, how improbable
does it appear that we shall ever arrive at a knowledge of
the changes of condition through which these unchanging
particles have passed! Yet it is almost impossible to avoid
the endeavour, useless though it be, to separate these par¬
ticles in imagination, and to represent them to the mind in
a state of individual, though associated existence.
This is what Laplace and Herschel have expressed when
they presented, as the result of their profound reflections,
the speculation of this globe originating from the conden¬
sation of a gaseous expansion in space—a notion often ex¬
tended to the other planets, and supposed to be in harmony
with the common direction of their motion round the sun,
the nearly coincident planes of their orbits, and other less
striking circumstances. That such gaseous or vaporous
expansions exist in space is known both by observation of
comets, and of nebulae.
Perhaps this view, as it is certainly the most elevated,
is also the most correct hypothesis of the early formation
of the globe ; but it would be unfair to employ so specu¬
lative an argument against the doctrine of continual com¬
pensation among the agencies of Nature, because this was
proposed only for the terraqueous globe. Given, then, the
globe reduced from its gaseous expansion, we may proceed
to inquire into the proximate origin of its ancient rocks
Here a real discordance arises between the two systems
compared. While describing the primary strata, we have
shewn the grounds for believing them to be derivative^
aqueous from primitive igneous rocks ; but Mr Lyell, in his
ingenious development of the Huttonian philosophy adds to
this a reverse proceeding. According to his view the se¬
dimentary aggregates from water at the surface of the
globe, are derived from other such rocks, or from pyro-
genous products ; but whatever was their proximate origin,
they change again in the deeper parts of the earth, by gra¬
dual transformation into crystalline or igneous rocks. So
that the mechanical agency of water above, and the trans¬
forming agency of heat below, are, in this hypothesis, an¬
tagonist forces, separated by a zone of rocks (the crust of
the earth, as it is technically called) which above are of
the aqueous, but below of the igneous kingdom.
Between these two polarities, so to speak, the particles
of the exterior parts of the earth continually circulate. Fire
raises matter from below: water wears awray the high
parts of the surface, and adds to that load of strata which
in the lowrer part is hourly changing to granitic and other
crystalline rocks, “ equal quantities in equal times.”
In support of this view, only local and limited facts can
be adduced; but these, as far as they go, are important.
It is found that earthy limestones, such as commonly oc¬
cur in secondary strata, are converted, by heat and proxi¬
mity to pyrogenous rocks, into crystalline marble, such as
occurs in primary strata (Kaiserstuhl, Teesdale, Antrim);
that lias shales assume the aspect of clay-slate (Vale of
Chamouni) near the primary rocks; that common sandstone
becomes quartz-rock under the influence of heat (Caer Ca-
radoc). Hence, as a consequence, we infer the consoli¬
dation, and many other characters of primary strata, to be
the effect of heat. But this falls short of the proof re¬
quired, which must be to the extent of shewing, not the
changes of secondary to primary strata, but the changes of
these into granite, and other crystalline rocks generally.
Satisfactory proof of this nature and to this extent, is, we
believe, nowhere afforded.
Moreover, what has been said before of the character
and origin of the primary strata, their relation to the deve¬
lopment of organic life, and other circumstances, appears
sufficient to shew that their formation is, in some import¬
ant respects, of a different kind from that of secondary se¬
dimentary rocks ; that the influencing conditions as to heat
and watery agency were dissimilar; that the globe was
then really in a different state generally. If so, we must
certainly reject the doctrine of continual uniformity of na¬
tural operations, and admit alternating periods of different
modes and measures of mechanical and chemical action.
It is probable, then, that the successive systems of strata
which have been described, are all that have been formed above
the original crystalline rocks by the operations of water.
ORIGIN OF CONVULSIVE MOVEMENTS OF THE CRUST OF
THE GLOBE.
Periods of Occurrence The proofs of the occurrence of
such have already been given. Many examples have also
been presented. It remains to ascertain what progress has
been made towards discovering the cause.
It is certain that convulsive movements have happened
at various periods during the deposition of the strata; and,
notwithstanding the difficulties noticed in an earlier part of
this essay, as to the determining of their exact geological
date, there is already collected a great mass of information
on the subject. One of the most important results yet ar¬
rived at, is the conviction that the time occupied in these
convulsions was very short, compared to that which was
consumed in the deposition of the strata; short periods of
convulsion alternated with long periods of ordinary action.
This at once decides the question as to the uniformity of
the effects of naturd agencies in the negative. It is also
Gee ;;y- found that the effects of these convulsions were very exten-
~ sive. The exact contemporaneity of those which followed
the Plynlymmon rocks of Cumberland, and the slaty rocks
of North Wales and Cornwall, may not be proved, and is
not, for this part of the subject, very important. They
happened within a comparatively short period, so as to
shew that the spasmodic action wras extensively felt within
certain limits of geological chronology, in quarters where
it had not been experienced before; and the general un¬
conformity of stratification between the primary and se¬
condary strata, shews that an almost universal disturbance
or series of disturbances happened within these limits.
Magnitude of Disturbance.—The extent of the disloca¬
tions effected by particular convulsions is really enormous,
and puts to shame the utmost exertion of a succession of
modern earthquakes for many thousands of years. The
Penine region of the north of England, elevated posterior
to the era of coal-measures, is defined on three sides by
dislocations of 1000, 2000, 3000, and more feet; and there
is, perhaps, as little reason to suppose that more than one
effort was employed on any one of these sides, as in the
case of an ordinary fault. Such faults, indeed, sometimes
occasion depression of several hundred feet; but seldom
for such great lengths as the Penine and Craven disturb-
MINERALOGY.
233
ances.
It is not easy, nor perhaps possible, to prove that single
efforts have raised the Grampian or Snowdonian chains to
their present elevations; yet, in many cases, it is hardly to
he supposed that more than one exertion of force has been
applied to straight anticlinal axes like those of the Malvern
Hills, the Caradoc Hills, the Ribblesdale Ridges, and others
of considerable extent.
Systems of Disturbance.—Trom careful inquiries it is
found possible to range the disturbances into systems re¬
lated to geological time, so as to present proofs of a defi¬
nite number of considerable convulsions having visited a
particular region. Thus, in the British Isles, the following
systems of disturbance occur in the particular periods men¬
tioned.
First Great System—After the deposition of the Cam¬
brian slates. The Grampians and Lammermuir;
the ranges of Donegal and Cavan; the Cumbrian
Mountains; Snowdonia; the Ocrynian Chain of
Devon and Cornwall; are supposed to have been
uplifted at this time.
Second Great System.—After the deposition of the coal-
measures. The greater number of dislocations in
the coal-fields of Great Britain; the great Penine
Fault, Craven Fault, and Ribblesdale Anticlinals;
the Derbyshire Faults; those of Mendip, South
M ales, were then produced,
bird System.—After the deposition of some parts of
the Nevy Red Sandstone strata. The Tynedale Fault;
Faults in the coal-fields of Shropshire and Dudley;
on the northern border of Derbyshire; the ridge
prolonged from the Breiddin Hills.
Fourth System—After the Oolitic period. In Yorkshire
and Dorsetshire.
Fifth System—After the Marine Tertiaries of the South
of England, Isle of Wight, &c.
On turning to the continent of Europe, we find that M.
6 eaumont, besides recognising these five systems, pro¬
poses several others, amounting in all to twelve; but we
s a only add the two which have affected the Alps in pe-
io s probably later than any of those of the British con¬
vulsions.
?Tftem Western Alps, which appears to have
followed upon the deposition of tertiary strata of the
age of the Touraine beds (Meiocene, I.yell).
VOL. xv. \ ’ J J
The System of the Eastern Alps, parallel to the vale of Geology.
tlie Danube. Some supratertiary or diluvial beds
at are statecl to be disturbed by this convulsion.
M. De Beaumont suggests that the elevation of the An-
des may have been posterior to all these; and a curious
though ^exft corroboration of this opinion has been late-
y furnished by Mr Darwin, who finds, in the southern parts
of the chain, strata of extremely modern date uplifted to
the height of several thousand feet.
In North America there appears, according to Professor
Rogers, reason to suppose that, since the disturbances of
the primary and carboniferous strata, the whole secondary
and tertiary periods of geology have left few traces of any
important convulsive movements. 1
Direction of Convulsive Movements—The first notions
on this subject were formed by miners, who in the course
of their experience observed, as a fact of great practical
importance to their art, that the mineral veins which were
most generally and uniformly productive ranged east and
west, or nearly; and that these right running veins were
divided by cross-courses, passing north and south, or near¬
ly. Not that there are no other directions of veins and
cross-courses, but, amidst many directions, these prevail.
Cornwall, W ales, Cumberland, the Penine limestone re¬
gion, Brittany, the Harz, the Hungarian mines, and even
Mexico, appear to confirm this law suggested by practical
men. It is very difficult, or rather impossible, to explain it;
but we may remark, that, in many cases, the direction of
mineral veins follows that of the natural joints and fissures
produced by consolidation of the rocks; and that it is very
conceivable that electrical currents, or other polarizing agents,
might communicate to such fissures one or more definite
directions. In fact, it is proved that in Yorkshire, Derby¬
shire, and other large tracts, these fissures have definite
directions, mostly rectangular to one another.
But it is to M. De Beaumont that we owe the proposal
of the direction of convulsive movements, as a new and im¬
portant problem in geology. He supposes that disturbances
of the same system or geological era are parallel to a cer¬
tain great circle of the sphere ; that those of different pe¬
riods are related to different circles, the poles of these cir¬
cular systems being very irregularly posited on the globe.
1 here are facts which make for and against this hypothesis,
but it is difficult, in the present state of our knowledge, to
come to a right conclusion on the matter. It is very diffi¬
cult to know the relative ages of distant convulsions, be¬
cause the lines of contemporaneous stratification are often
entirely unknown. Adjacent convulsions, even if parallel,
cannot prove a rule which is to apply to a whole circle;
moreover, local variations of a line of convulsion sometimes
derange all the reasoning.
Instances in favour of the view of M. de Beaumont may
be found in the British islands,—none more remarkable
than the north-east and south-west axes of anticlinal ele¬
vation, which compose the first great British system of dis¬
turbed strata. Less extensive analogy obtains among
the many anticlinals of Ribblesdale, which belongs to the
second system ; but this also ranges north-east and south¬
west, or east-north-east and west-south-west; while of
other lines of the same date in the same region, one, the
Penine Fault, ranges north-north-east, and north-north-
w’est; another, the Craven Fault, ranges west-north-west.
If the South Wales system be contemporaneous (and it has
not been proved to be otherwise), east and west directions
must be added to these various lines; and what makes the
whole more perplexing, is the recurrence of east and west
directions in the post-tertiary, or fifth English system, be¬
tween the basins of Hampshire and London.
Under these circumstances, it is clearly impossible to
adopt De Beaumont’s hypothesis, for w^ant of evidence
either exact or extensive enough to substantiate it. But
2 G
234
Geology, yet entirely to reject the principle which it involves, would
 be not only rash, but positively contradictory to important
facts. That some symmetrical accordance does really exist,
and is traceable between the dislocations of a particular age
in a particular region, is certain. Some cases are known
of this symmetry being more extensively recognised.
We may therefore continue our inquiries, not to test the
hypothesis of De Beaumont, but to find out what is the
truth.
Results of Observation In Mr Murchison’s notices of
the Silurian system, and the igneous rocks associated there¬
with, are many proofs of the local parallelism of ridges of
trap, and anticlinal axes in these ancient rocks, combined
with some general directions of dislocation. The prevail¬
ing strike of all these deposits is north-east and south-west,
or parallel to the Snowdonian chain, Irorn Shropshire to
the mouth of the Towey, a range of 100 miles. Within
this space are numerous minor axes of dislocation, short,
but parallel to the same great strike of the beds; the beds
dipping north-west and south-east, from ridges of trap.
This general line of dislocation is broken through by trans¬
verse rents and fissures. A north-eastern strike belongs
to the Ludlow rocks and the old red sandstone. On the
eastern side of the red sandstone of Herefordshire, the
ridges of Abberley and Malvern point north and south, but
are complicated by minor ridges running in different direc¬
tions. They are posterior to the coal formation.1
In the mountain limestone tracts of Yorkshire, the dis¬
locations present the following general characters :—The
faults and mineral veins have a tendency to range at
right angles to one another; the lesser faults and veins
terminate in the greater to which they are rectangular.
Where the great or Penine fault changes its direction, the
veins also change. The intersection of the branches of
the Penine fault with the main stem, though one of these
branches is not of the same age, is nearly perpendicular.
In the Ribblesdale system of anticlinals, many parallel
MINERALOGY.
stance, at points along the line of maximum elevation ef an Geulogy,
elevated range, or at other points where the actual pheno- n^Vv
mena seem to indicate a more than ordinary energy of this
subterranean action. I suppose this elevatory force, what¬
ever may be its origin, to act upon the lower surface of
the uplifted mass, through the medium of some fluid, which
may be conceived lo be an elastic vapour, or, in other cases,
a mass of matter in a state of fusion from heat. Every
geologist, I conceive, who admits the action of elevatory
forces at all, will be disposed to admit the legitimacy of
these assumptions.
“ The first effect of an elevatory force, will of course be
to raise the mass under which it acts, and to place it in a
state of extension, and consequently of tension. The in¬
crease of intensity in the elevatory force, might be so rapid
as to give it the character of an impulsive force, in which
case it would be impossible to calculate the dislocating
effects of it. This intensity and that of the consequent
tension, will therefore be always assumed to increase con¬
tinuously, till the tension becomes sufficient to rupture the
mass, thus producing fissures and dislocations, the nature
and position of which it will be the first object of our in¬
vestigation to determine. These will depend partly on the
elevatory forces, and partly on the resistance opposed to its
action by the cohesive power of the mass. Our hypotheses
respecting the constitution of the elevated masses, are by
no means restricted to that of perfect homogeneity ; on the
contrary, it will be seen that its cohesive power may vary,
in general, according to any continuous law; and more¬
over, that this power, in descending along any vertical line,
may vary according to any discontinuous law ; so that the
truth of our general results will be independent, for ex¬
ample, of any want of cohesion between contiguous hori¬
zontal beds of a stratified portion of the mass. Vertical or
nearly vertical planes, however, along which the cohesion
is much less than in the mass immediately on either side
of them, may produce considerable modifications in the
ridges east-north-east and west-south-west occur, and these phenomena resulting from the action of an elevatory force,
are subject to very frequent cross-rolls or undulations, The existence of joints, for instance, or planes of cleavage,
which break them into oval quaquaversal elevations. Mi- in the elevated mass, supposing the regularly jointed or
neral veins tend to cross these axes (one goes along an axis.) slaty structure to prevail in it previously to its elevation,
The Ribblesdale anticlinals are directed at right angles might affect in a most important degree the character of
toward the Craven fault, and near this fault some of them these phenomena. To a mass thus constituted, these in
bend and turn to coincide in its direction. “ If we con
ceive all the country south of that fault to have undergone
a vast relative depression, and that at right angles to the
line of the fault many parallel undulations sprung out, which
arrived at their maximum of curvature a short distance
from the fault, we shall have a right notion of the case.”2
Results of Mathematical Inquiry. It is evident that
vestigations must not be considered as generally applica¬
ble.” 3
After a very clear summary of the mathematical results
of the investigation, first as to a thin lamina acted on by
one, two, or more systems of tensions, and, finally, to a
mass of three dimensions, the author proceeds to apply
these results to the actual case of a portion of the earth’s
the preceding results of observation, coupled with the ex- crust, under the hypotheses respecting the action of the
perience of miners and many other circumstances, point to elevatory forces, and the cohesive power of the mass, which
some common principle, which must recognise as one of its have been already stated,
results, a tendency to local parallelism and rectangulation
among the lines of dislocation in a given region. A valu¬
able contribution for this object has lately been added to geo¬
logy by Mr Hopkins (Camb. Trans.), who, from very simple
\nd probable assumed conditions of the crust of the globe,
1. Longitudinal Fissures. In the case of a mass of in¬
definite length, bounded laterally by two parallel lines,
with the elevatory force uniform, the extension, and there¬
fore the tension, will be entirely in a direction perpen¬
dicular to the length, so that its whole tendency will be to
has deduced mathematically a series of dynamical results for produce longitudinal fissures, or such as are parallel to the
comparison with the observed laws of phenomena. The axis of elevation. These fissures will not commence at the
following extract will explain his views and methods of surface, but at some lower part of the mass. The whole
inquiry :—“ The hypotheses from which I set out, with series of stratified rocks existing above an originating line
respect to the action of the elevatory force, are, I conceive, of fissure, will be affected by the tension producing it; but
as simple as the nature of the subject can admit of. I as- under certain cases the fissures may not reach the surface,
sume this force to act under portions of the earth’s crust The width of the fissure will be nearly the same at all
of considerable extent, at any assignable depth, either with depths of disturbed strata (varying, however, with their
uniform intensity at every point, or in some cases with a elasticity). Any number of these fissures might be formed
somewhat greater intensity at particular points; as for in- simultaneously, more, it is probable, in the deeper parts.
1 Geological Proceedings.
* Geology of Yorkshire, vol. ii. p. 119.
3 Cambridge Trans. 1835.
Ge sgy. Thus there are complete and incomplete fissures, all paral-
w—w lei to the axis of the uplifted tract.'
2. Transverse Fissures. If the elevatory force be sup¬
posed to act with greater intensity at particular points
along the general line of elevation, or an additional force
superimposed on a uniform force, the axis of elevation will
be undulated by one or more cross ridges and hollows ; and
parallel to these another system or systems of fissures may
be produced, circumstanced like the longitudinal fissures
previously mentioned, as to completeness, width, &c. but
ranging across the axis of elevation and approximately per¬
pendicular to the longitudinal fissures. This result is al¬
most independent of time : the transverse fissures may be
instantaneously following, or very long subsequent to' the
longitudinal ‘fissures.1
3. Fissures of a Conical Elevation, if produced solely by
forces of great intensity and limited area, wall commence
along or very near to the axis of the cone, and be continued
in a vertical plane, passing through the axis. If such forces
were exerted simultaneously with those determining a
general axis of elevation and fissures parallel thereto, the
result would be a local convergence of such longitudinal
fissures towards the axis of the conical elevation, beyond
which they would resume their parallels. A contrary de¬
viation of these fissures would follow upon a spherical ele¬
vation.
4. Faults. By the decrease of the expansive forces
which produced the tensions occasioning the fissures, the
equilibrium of the divided parts would be destroyed, and
they might rest in unequal elevation above their original
level, thus producing longitudinal and transverse faults.
Anticlinal, synclinal, and simple faults are thus easily un¬
derstood to be all consequences of the new positions taken
by the divided rocks upon the cessation of the sustaining
forces.
Without prosecuting further our abstract from Mr Hop¬
kins’ ingenious paper (which embraces, however, many
other remarkable coincidences with observations), we may
quote his important conclusion.
“ If the approximate accuracy of our assumptions be al¬
lowed, as applied to the crust of the globe, it appears from
our investigations that an elevated range characterized by
continuous systems of longitudinal and transverse fissures,
referrible to the causes to which we have been assigning
such phenomena, could not be produced by successive ele¬
vations of different points, by the partial action of an ele •
vatory force. In such elevations, fissures would necessarily
diverge in all directions from the central points, so that
parallel systems, such as have been mentioned above, could
not possibly be thus produced. Every system of parallel
fissures in which no two consecutive fissures are remote
from each other, must necessarily have had one simultane¬
ous origin.”
MINERALOGY.
235
S0?,e veins as A B cross others as CD, Geoloey.
(Diagram No. 15.) and interrupt them, the conclusions of
Vertical Cros* Vein.
ORIGIN OF MINERAL VEINS.
This has long been, and will for some time continue, a
disputable question in geology; but considerable progress
Eis been made in it since the days of Werner and Playfair.
The origin oj the fissures in which a great proportion of
mineral veins occur, is certainly proved to be either by mole¬
cular attraction, causing contraction of the mass of rock,
and thus generating joints or divisional planes, or by the
tension of elevatory forces, as explained in the last section.
The relative antiquity of the fissures constituting rake veins,
(in Cornwall called lodes), is become a practicable problem,
since Mr Hopkins has given mathematical deductions to
aid the observation of facts. When, as is universally found
the miners have generally been in accordance with the
Wernerian dictum, viz. that the continuous vein is of less
antiquity than that which it divides; but Mr Hopkms
thinks this conclusion untenable. For if the displacements
of the veins be only apparent, that is, if either of the fis¬
sures has been originally formed with the irregularity in
question, in consequence of any line of least resistance
affecting the direction, it must be the newer C D, which has
deviated along the fissure AB, and then resumed its bear-
ing.
But if the displacement be real (whether verticallv or
horizontally), then, as far as relates to the fissures, they
may be contemporaneous. It may, however, be possible
from other considerations, to determine the relative epochs
of the introduction of mineral matter into fissures, if not
the geological dates of their production.
I he differences of the contents of veins in a given min¬
ing region, e.g. Cornwall., appear certainly in a considerable
degree i elated to their directions. Werner long since pro-
posed a classification of veins founded on their directions
and contents, and supposed it possible to refer even Eng¬
lish mineral veins to their place in his Saxon Mining
System from such considerations. (Werner on Veins^
translated by Anderson.) Mr Carne gives no less than
eight principal systems and ages of mineral veins in Corn¬
wall. The criteria of age are founded on the displace¬
ments, of the veins; east and west is the most prevalent
line of productive veins; north and south of the cross courses,
which are generally unproductive.
Repletion, of Mineral Veins—The opinion of the Cor¬
nish miners and geologists generally appears to be, that
most or all of these veins are to be regarded as contempora¬
neous with the rocks which enclose them; but the argu¬
ments for this contemporaneity are not so satisfactory as
those employed by Professor Jameson in the case of con¬
temporaneous veins in igneous rocks Wern. Trans.
Dr Boase and others, however, mention the change of me¬
tallic contents with change of rock,—the favourable or un¬
favourable character of certain rocks for yielding ore, &c.
Whatever force may be thought due to the facts and the
opinions brought forward on the subject of veins in Corn¬
wall, it is perfectly certain that, in distinctly stratified coun¬
tries, the mineral matter has been introduced into open
fissures long after the deposition and consolidation of the
strata. The proof is unanswerable. Joints and fissures
filled with metallic and sparry matters (mineral veins), pass
through rocks which are ruot contemporaneous but succes¬
sively deposited, and divide corals, fishes, §c.- It is evi¬
dent that this must close the discussion as far as regards
these rocks.
But, though it cannot be reasonably doubted, as a gene¬
ral truth, that the vein-stuff has been transferred into open
fissures of the rocks, it is not so easy to determine how this
was effected. Have the materials been injected from be¬
low as lavas into the fissures of a mountain (Hutton), or
sublimed from a hot region to a cold fissure (Buckland), or
segregated by some peculiar influence from the neighbour¬
ing rocks (Sedgwick), or poured into them in aqueous so-
Ihese deductions from theory are supported by many well established tacts. 2 Report British Association, Edinburgh Meeting.
236
Geology, lution (Werner), or transierrecl by electrical currents (Fox),
'——v—as in some instances we have good reason to believe ?
In the present state of our knowledge neither of these re¬
sults can be admitted exclusively, yet perhaps none ought
to be absolutely rejected as a cause of the repletion of me¬
talliferous fissures. Many veins appear as much the result
of a real injection of sparry and metallic matters from a
subterranean source as any rock-dykes or granite-veins.
But when, as in Derbyshire, we find mineral veins divided
horizontally by a particular stratiform mass, as toadstone,
and in other parts by argillaceous beds, so that the vein,
being a full fissure above and below, is only represented
in the toadstone or shale by one or a few strings of cal¬
careous spar, it becomes evident that injection is not the
only cause of the repletion of mineral veins. See Diagram
No' 16.
No. 1(5.
Sublimation from the heated subterranean laboratory of
nature through the fissures of rocks is a very probable, but
not universal, cause of the repletion of veins. It is proba¬
ble because of the agreement between the successive ver¬
tical lamination of the materials of a vein and the suppos¬
ed successive introduction of them to the fissures ; but this
is not conclusive, inasmuch as the processes of crystalliza¬
tion from a general fluid mass may as well be appealed to
for producing the same phenomenon. It is not universal,
because of the frequent occurrence of perfectly insulated
nests of metallic and sparry matter in shells and in the sub¬
stance of rocks. These, indeed, afford a very strong prima
facie argument in favour of the collection by molecular se¬
gregation or electrical transfer of the different particles. If
we consult general probability, it will appear most reason¬
able to admit these separate aggregations of metallic and
sparry matter, as being laterally transferred from the vein
rather than examples of segregation from the rock. Near¬
ly every case of peculiar apparent relation between the
sparry and metallic contents of a vein to the nature of the
enclosing rock, vanishes on a careful scrutiny. It is not
because of any peculiar chemical quality that limestone
yields most lead-ore in Aldstone Moor, but because of its
being a rock which has retained openness of fissure. Grit¬
stones, in many mining fields near Aldstone Moor, are
equally productive ; but shales, as being soft extensible
layers, have closed up the fissures, and their crumbling
faces appear to have rejected the crystallizations which at¬
tached to the harder limestone, gritstone, and chert.
If any doubt could remain on this point, it is removed
by the observations of Necker, Dufrenoy, Murchison, and
others, as to the real and evident dependence of mineral
districts, that is, districts where the rock fissures are full of
valuable minerals, upon axes of disturbance and upliftings
of igneous rocks. In the Pyrenees, in Brittany, in Corn¬
wall, the Shelve district of Shropshire, Flintshire, Derby¬
shire, Yorkshire, Aldstone Moor, this important law is cer¬
tain. Whatever be the chemical nature of the rock adjoin¬
ing the dislocation or igneous rock, the productiveness of
the veins is chiefly regulated by its condition as to fissures.
Limestone in Derbyshire, millstone-grit in Nidderdale, chert
in Swaledale, basalt in Teesdale, coal near Bradford, and
Richmond, all yield sulphuret of lead and various associat¬
ed sparry substances.
Prevalence of Mineral Veins in Rocks .of different Age.
—As a general result, we cannot doubt of the far greater
prevalence of mineral veins in the older than in the newer
rocks. Not one case is known of a mineral vein being at
MINERALOGY.
any time worked in any part of the British islands above Geology,
the new red sandstone. In the new red sandstone and
magnesian limestone hardly more than slight traces of such
products occur ; they are rare in our coal-tracts, but they
become abundant in the mountain limestone and older
strata. But yet it is probable that this relation of mineral
veins to the age of deposits is merely a consequence of the
more general truth, that their origin is from below, that
the fissures which they occupy, and the metallic and sparry
matters which compose them, are more numerous near the
igneous rocks which in so many instances form the axes of
movement. It is not merely because of the antiquity of
the Killas of Cornwall, but of its proximity to granite rocks,
that it is so very metalliferous; the limestone of Ireland,
undisturbed by great axes of movement, is very little me¬
talliferous ; while the same rocks dislocated in Mendip,
Flintshire, Derbyshire, &c. yield many sorts of metals and
spars, in veins of different kinds.
Thus, the most general point of view in which mineral
veins present themselves, is that of dependence on proxi¬
mity to the sources of subterranean heat. In the rocks
nearest these sources they are most numerous and varied;
they abound near the disturbances which are consequences
of variation of internal heat; and, in certain cases, (Pyre¬
nees, &c.), they are not rare even among newer strata
where the subterranean igneous rocks have exerted a re¬
markable influence.
\rC
Vein complete
Limestone.
Contracted in Shale, &c.
Complete in Limestone, &c.
DESICCATION OF THE ANCIENT BED OF THE SEA.
The strata, with their organic contents, having been al¬
ready proved to have formed in succession the bed of the
sea, and the far greater part of the surface of the globe
even to great heights in .the Andes and Himalaya, the Alps,
Pyrenees, Caucasus, and other mountains, it follows that
nearly the whole terrestrial surface of the globe was for¬
merly submerged, and has since been laid dry. The desic¬
cation of the land is a problem of fundamental importance
in geology, influencing a multitude of secondary inquiries.
If wTe might venture to suppose the quantity of water upon
the globe variable, the land might be imagined to have risen
above the ocean in consequence of the great abstraction of
the latter ; but, in the first place, there appears no proba ■
bility that such a supposition is admissible, even by bring¬
ing a comet in contact with the earth; nor does it agree
with the observed condition of the strata. For these by no
means appear in such arrangements as to correspond with
what we know of the character of a large part of the stra¬
tified bed of the sea.
Dismissing, then, this notion, and restricting ourselves
to the conditions of sensible constancy in the quantity of
water upon the globe, we find the problem of the desicca¬
tion of the bed of the sea reduce itself to the determination
of the causes of the change of relative level of land and
water.
Such a change of relative level might happen in many
ways, some with, others without, local changes in the form
of the solid parts of the crust of the globe. To the last
class may be referred variations of level arising from change
of temperature or alteration of the earth’s axis of rotation.
The former includes a variety of cases of subterranean move¬
ments.
EFFECTS OF VARYING TEMPERATURE NEAR THE SURFACE
OF THE GLOBE.
Whatever be the constitution of the interior of the globe,
a general change of temperature of the whole mass of land
and water must of necessity alter the relative level of land
and sea, because the ratios of expansion and contraction oi
the solid and liquid parts are unequal. Water changes its
dimensions in a higher ratio to the difference of tempera-
MINERALOGY.
Geoli
—r
|r< ture than the rocks of the crust of the globe ; hence a ge-
y neral cooling of the mass of the globe, or to a consider¬
able depth from the surface, ought to cause the ocean to
sink relatively to the land; on the contrary, with any aug¬
mentation of temperature the ocean would rise upon the
land. As sea-water contracts continually down to its freez¬
ing point, and the greater part of the ocean never freezes,
we may, by assuming a probable mean depth, arrive at some
useful results. If the mean depth of the ocean be taken
at ten miles, which is probably too much, though nothing is
positively known, and it be supposed to have cooled from a
boiling heat to a mean temperature of 40° F., its change of
volume would be about The corresponding cubical
contraction of the land, supposing it to have the rate of ex¬
pansion in glass, would be about If the areas of the
surfaces of land and sea were supposed nearly to continue
in the same proportion, the whole cubical contraction of the
land and water would operate in lowering their level 10
X il§o — t/oo — 0,395 miles, relative lowering of water-
level. But this cannot be admitted; for the slopes of the
land into the sea, over a great part of the globe, are very
moderate. If the linear contraction of the water alone be
taken, and compared with that of the land, we have the
lowering of the ocean = 10 = 0-132 mile
= 697 feet.
When we consider the gently sloping surfaces of a large
part of the land, we shall see that the contraction of the area
of the ocean would diminish its linear depression, and upon
the whole we cannot doubt that a fall of 697 feet is much
beyond the amount that could possibly happen if the whole
ocean had cooled from a boiling temperature to 40° Fahr.
But this difference of level is too small to account for the
desiccation of more than a small portion of the surface of
the land; the hypothesis must therefore be abandoned as a
general explanation, though hereafter it may be found of
great importance in a more comprehensive theory.
GENERAL CHANGE OF DIMENSIONS OF THE GLOBE.
Let us now trace the effects of a general change of the
dimensions of the globe on the relative level of land and
water.
If we suppose the whole globe to undergo change of di¬
mensions by variation of heat, the effects already ascribed
to variation of temperature in the exterior part would still
take place; but, in addition, would be complicated with an
effect depending on the change of spherical area of the sur¬
face. In the case of augmenting temperature of the whole
globe, the water would rise upon the land, as explained in the
last section, but its rise would be less in that case, in conse¬
quence of its expansion over a larger area. If the expan¬
sion of the whole globe should go to such an extent as to
, change the diameter (D) into D x (V1-039), or from 7900
to 8055 miles, the fall of the ocean would equal the rise of it
due to the unequal expansion of land and water from 40°
to 212°.
It appears, then, that the desiccation of land is not an
effect of the general cooling of the globe, without change
of form, for the effect due to that is of a contrary descrip¬
tion ; nor of the unequal contraction by cooling of the su¬
perficial parts of the globe, for that effect, even through the
whole range from boiling heat (212°) to 40° F. would be
totally inadequate to account for the phenomenon, even if
the depth of the ocean be supposed far greater than it is
admitted by astronomers to be.
Of the great physical events to which such a change of
level may be ascribed, sound reasoning excludes all that
are exterior to our globe; none of its relations to the sun
and planets, none of the changes of these relations, are of
importance in the matter. The only leading event really
influential on the point, which we may imagine possible,
though astronomers give no encouragement whatever to the
admission of it as a basis of speculation, is a change of the
position of the earth’s axis.
Upon the occurrence of such an event, there would evi-
dently be a new disposition of the ocean; its waters would
flow from the new poles towards the new equator, and some
ancient lands might thus be submerged, and extensive sur¬
faces laid dry.
I he actual polar circles ought to be land; the equatorial
zone should be deep sea. I his want of agreement is re¬
markable ; and, when we add to it the consideration that
the absolute fixity of the pole of rotation, in a spheroid of
ievolution such as the earth is known to be, is a point sup¬
posed to be proved, we shall feel the necessity of abandon¬
ing altogether the attempt to explain the desiccation of the
land, by imagining general depression, or partial abstrac¬
tions of the ocean, without local changes of form of the sur¬
face of the globe.
CHANGES OF FORM OF THE SURFACE OF THE GLOBE.
Admitting such changes, the partial abstraction of the
ocean may be viewed as a natural consequence, and the
surface of the land may be studied, for the purpose of dis¬
covering the points of depression and elevation. We are
thus brought back again to the observation of local pheno¬
mena, and may proceed by induction.
It is undoubtedly certain, by a large induction of exam¬
ples derived from various geological periods, that mountain
ranges and tracts of plain country have been raised by local
elevatory forces. Anticlinal axes, parallel and rectangu-
lated faults, are of a nature to prove the truth of this view.
By such means, large breadths of land have been influen¬
ced, near and at considerable breadths from the axis of ele¬
vation. It further appears that still larger tracts of land,
where no such evidence of violent and convulsive disrup¬
tion of the strata occurs, must be supposed to have been
gently and gradually lifted by an intumescence or expan¬
sion of the surface, depending on a continuous and very
extensive subterranean agency. Thus, after the elevation
of the Snowdonian chain, and the ridges of the Silurian
system,—after the Malvern and Abberley elevations,—the
whole plain of the midland counties has experienced one
general upward movement of a few hundred feet. Thus,
the ancient vale of Eden has been raised since the rising
of the Penine chain ; and with it the whole area of the red
sandstone round the Solway Frith, after the relative uplift¬
ing of the Lammermuir Hills. Instances of this double
movement in the same physical region are almost universal.
That the elevation of the crust of the globe in one part
was accompanied by depression in other parts, is extreme¬
ly probable; but we cannot offer satisfactory proof from
observation of more than local subsidences, and these gene¬
rally complicated with subsequent elevations. The best
case of such fluctuations known, is perhaps that of the emer¬
sion, submersion, and re-emersion of the Portland oolites,
as indicated by the dirt-beds.
It is, of course, in the sea that we are to look for effects
of subsidences, as the land gives those of elevation. To
whatever extent we suppose such subsidences to have hap¬
pened, and the level of the sea to have been thereby lower¬
ed, the phenomena indicative of a real elevation of the land
are not less conclusive. This is a matter of calculation.
From Mr Hopkins’s researches, it appears that the ele¬
vatory agency was of the nature of a gradually augmenting
force, very extensive compared to the areas simultaneous¬
ly disturbed. No example of modern earthquakes can be
brought to render it probable, that mere volcanic agency
could upraise the continents which it is capable of shaking-.
237
Geology.
MINERALOGY.
238
Geology. Yet, as far as we see, a more powerful exertion of the same
V kind of agency might perform the effects; the principle of
this and every other explanation being the necessity of a
new adjustment of the exterior form and dimensions of the
globe, in consequence of accumulating tension upon it.
But if, for a moment, we abstract our attention from
these limited developments of the energies of heat, and
consider the elevatory action below continents and islands
as the local resultant of diffused subterranean forces, it
appears possible to arrive at a more general and equally ap¬
plicable theory. If, as observations appear to indicate, the
ocean once covered all or a large part of the globe, its
mean depth must formerly have been less than at present:
since the inequalities of the land arise from subterranean
convulsions, and the bed of the sea is very irregular, we
may admit that the whole or nearly the whole of the terra¬
queous area has been affected by local displacements. It
is the resistance offered by the consolidated crust of the
globe to a gradually augmenting change of internal dinien-
sions, which caused the disturbing movements. We may
therefore allow, that, before the production of a consolida¬
ted crust of the globe, the ocean (if it existed in a liquid
form) was spread with considerable uniformity over the
spherical surface.
From these postulates it must follow, that the actual bed
of the sea has been formed by displacements, which, upon
the whole, have caused a real subsidence ; as the displace¬
ments of the land have, upon the whole, caused a real ele-
. vation of it. And our confidence in the assumed condi¬
tion is augmented by observing, first, that they are all ini-
plied in the inferences from phenomena already adopted,
and that they agree with the sentiment of astronomers as
to the relation of the depths of the sea to the heights of
the land.
REFRIGERATION OF THE GLOBE.
In endeavouring to embrace the phenomena of elevation
and subsidence in one point of view, it appears almost im¬
material whether we suppose the tension of the consolidated
crust of the globe, which preceded its fracture and displace¬
ment, to have arisen from inward or from outward pressure,
—from expansion of, or contraction upon, the interior nu¬
cleus,—because, in each case, the pressure would be of
the general and gradually accumulating description requi¬
red ; but it seems an unavoidable condition that the inter
rior nucleus should he of a yielding nature, to permit the
subsidence of large portions of the surface, and accommo¬
date itself permanently to the elevations. This condition
leads us to the supposition of great interior heat, which,
from general physical considerations, had before appeared
very probable, and, from experimental researches, almost a
matter of certainty.
If then, finally, we regard this heat as variable,—and,
placed as the hot globe is in the vast cold regions of space,
through which it radiates its uncompensated rays, it must
be so—the globe must be growing cooler—we have at once
the general physical cause of the phenomena of disruption
and displacement on the crust of the globe, viz. a collapse
of this crust upon the internal nucleus slowly contracted by
refrigeration.
That this is the just inference from the principal laws of
phenomena known in geology, we have no doubt; and we
thinklt is free from any considerable objection. An ob¬
vious and plausible one is this: If the diameter of the globe
be contracting through refrigeration, the length of the day,
as compared to the length of the year, should vary and
grow less continually (the particles, which have a certain rota- Ge
tory velocity, subsiding to describe circles of shorter radius), w
To which the answer is immediate and satisfactory, viz.
that it is true, that, since the days of Hipparchus, the space
of two thousand years has shewn no such variation; but
that the conduction of heat through the consolidated crust
of the globe is known to be so slow as to render that a very
short period for the experiment; and further, that the crust
does necessarily not follow in its contraction uniformly on
that of the nucleus, but is for a long time in a state of ten¬
sion, and is at last forced to accommodate itself to new di¬
mensions by a collapse.
In corroboration of the doctrine of a cooling globe, we
might here quote the phenomena of ancient organic life,
which certainly agree with it, so far as to shew that vege¬
tation of a tropical character, corals, and other zoophyta,
crocodiles, and other reptiles analogous to the animals of
hot climates, formerly inhabited the land and sea near the
polar circles; and indicate that the surface of these now
cold zones was then of a temperature explicable only by a
greater heating influence communicated from within the
earth.
The most complete test of this theory would doubtless
be the deduction of phenomena from it: but this, in the
present state of knowledge of the disturbed stratification of
the globe, and other associated circumstances, cannot be
usefully attempted, unless in the very general expressions
of Leibnitz, who, after enumerating the leading features of
the changes supposed to be effected in and on the cooling
globe by fire and water, states its present condition as one
of less unstable equilibrium,—“ Donee, quiescentibus causis
atque sequilibratis, eonsistentior emergeret rerum status.”1
SUCCESSION OF ORGANIC LIFE’ ON THE GLOBE.
Man, placed at the head of the last great system of or¬
ganic life which has been created on the globe, finds innu¬
merable monuments of more ancient systems of being, fit¬
ted to earlier conditions of the planet he inhabits. Guided
by the principle of adaptation of organic life to physical
conditions, which, at every point of the earth and sea, is
found now to obtain, and which, were it not discoverable
by observation, might be surely inferred from the wisdom
and general beneficence of creation, human reason is capa¬
ble, to a considerable degree, of penetrating within the
mysterious veil of antiquity, and restoring the terraqueous
conditions of many former periods. Yet, as the perspec¬
tive of long past time lengthens, the clearness of the pic¬
ture fades away, 'and the dim and doubtful light disappoints
our further scrutiny. Among the subjects which it is pos¬
sible partially to illustrate by this investigation, are the re¬
lation of former systems of organization to that which is
contemporaneous with the human race,—the relations of
these one to another,—the creation of the several classes of
animals, with reference to their place in the economy of
creation.
The relation of former systems of organic life to that
which is in activity around us, is of a peculiar description,
full of general agreement and innumerable differences. The
system of organic life, is perhaps, properly speaking, one
from the earliest epoch to the present hour; for all fossil
Organization is reducible to the leading divisions of modern
nature: and it is this only which allows us to include the
existing animals and plants of distant regions as parts of
one general arrangement. Fossil, as well as recent, plants
are agamous, cryptogamous, or phanerogamous; the same
1 See Conybeare, Report on Geology to British Association, 1832.
GeC;.,y. leading divisions of zoophyta, mollusca, Crustacea,—many
^ of the same sections of fishes and reptiles, as those which
we now behold,—occur in various ancient series of strati¬
fied rocks; and this is as much as can be said for the unity
of the existing creation, dismembered as it is in different
and distant lands and seas.
But when we come to examine minutely the degree of
similitude among the correlative parts of those systems,
great discrepancies appear. Groups and families of animals
now hardly known, or very limited in number, appear pre¬
dominant in several ancient strata; as, for instance, the
brachiopodous and cephalopodous mollusca, large sections
of radiaria, particular tribes of Crustacea, polyparia, &c.
Others, which contain but a few small species in the pre¬
sent economy of nature, are found to have numbered many
and gigantic forms in older nature (as the saurian races,
salamanders, &c.): the same is true with respect to the
vegetable world.
The general result of the whole investigation may be
thus expressed and paralleled. The organic forms imbed¬
ded in the earth exhibit less and still less agreement with
those of existing races, in proportion as they belong to pe¬
riods further removed from the present: just as, in modern na¬
ture, the differences between the productions of one country
and another are, in several instances, distinctly proportioned
to the distance between them; and just as, in the present
system of nature, we see a mixture of agreements and dif¬
ferences between the productions of even remote regions;
so, on comparing fossil and living tribes, the differences are
found modified by various agreements. Extinct genera,
as producta and spirifera, lie buried with existing genera,
as lingula and terebratula, in the ancient mountain lime¬
stone. Ammonites, hamites, and belemnites, and other
perished forms of life, are mingled, in the chalk, with nau¬
tili, pectens, and echinodermata, congenerous with those
now in the sea. So with regard to plants. Extinct lepi-
dodendra and stigmariae lie confused with forms extreme¬
ly analogous to existing tribes; and crocodiles, like the
modern gavial, lived in waters the same or neighbouring to
those which nourished the ichthyosaurus, plesiosaurus, and
the other almost fabulous monsters of the reptile class.
From these, and a thousand other concurring facts, we
venture to present the following conclusion. The organic
remains of the different stratified rocks are those of crea¬
tures suited to the then conditions of the land and sea re¬
spectively ; and because those conditions had some general
features of agreement with what we now behold, a resem¬
blance to this extent obtains between the fossil and recent
creations; but, because of the numerous differences in
physical condition, all the details of the organizations dif¬
fer ; and this disagreement is unequal in the different races,
because of original inequalities, or their capability of ac¬
commodating themselves to new circumstances. This law
appears also to be true in the present economy of crea¬
tion.
On comparing the different systems of strata one with
another, and with the present scheme of creation, the same
law holds ; and we find, in addition, the differences between
the organic contents of one system and another, to be in
proportion to the interval of geological time elapsed be¬
tween them. Thus the fossils of the Silurian system may
be said to differ from those of the mountain limestone spe¬
cifically,—from the oolitic system generically,—from the
tertiary system, even by whole groups and sections of ani-
nial forms. This dependence on time, however, is a co¬
incidence merely, as the analogy of fossils in rocks of ana¬
logous composition though different age, is sufficient to
prove; the real dependence is on the change of physical
conditions, produced during the lapse of time.
fhe present creation, and all the former effects of the
Divine will, exhibits a series of beings destined to perform
mineralogy.
unequal parts m the economy of nature. Some, as plants,
are almost passive ; others, as animals, perform the func¬
tions O- active life. Man reasons,—inferior animals obey
their instincts. Thus arises a peculiar scale of organiza¬
tion, in which the places of the different living tribes may
be marked, with reference to their supposed degree of im¬
portance or excellence ; and the races of the animal king-
om, in particular, are said to be of higher or low er grade,
in proportion to the complexity of their organization, and
the variety of their sensations and actions. What is the
order of succession of these beings thus reckoned to be in¬
terior and superior ? Is the earliest organization known to
nSmrom^ukaWy infenor in complexity to that we now be¬
hold ^ -these questions have been frequently proposed, and
sometimes answered by an erroneous assertion instead of
candid and impartial investigation. The most popular no¬
tion appears to be, that as man is undoubtedly the highest
type of the last creation of animal life, all the former ones
should be viewed as gradually ascending step by step from
the inferior tribes towards the point of ultimate perfec¬
tion ; that the several classes of animals, in the ratio of
their rank in creation, should successively appear ; the in¬
ferior order of forms being found in the lowest and most
ancient order of strata.
There is some truth in this. Mollusca occur in the
lowest of all the systems of fossiliferous strata (Snowdon) ;
zoophyta, mollusca,^ Crustacea, abound in all those above
the lower series. Fishes appear in the silurian rocks ; rep¬
tiles in the red sandstone; birds in the oolites; cetacea,
mammalia, &c., in the supracretaceous beds. But on look¬
ing carefully into the matter, it is found capable of a dif¬
ferent construction. T he fossils are mostly of marine ori¬
gin ; hence the rarity of insects, birds, and mammalia On
the bed of a modern lake, how few bones remain to inform
us of the ancient finny inhabitants. The rarity of such
remains is remarkable among all the strata, not excepting
even the lias; and yet we find, in the silurian rocks near
Ludlow, a whole bed of fish-bones and scales, just as. in
the lias of Westbury. (Mr Lewis of Aymestry.) The order
of occurrence of vertebral reliquiae is generally fishes, rep¬
tiles, birds^ and mammalia; yet the occurrence of one ge¬
nus of didelphoid quadrupeds in the oolite of Stonesfield,
is a formidable exception ; and the general absence of all
land animals from the marine strata, offers an escape to those
who totally deny this successive production of the classes of
animals, according to their grade of organization.
Neither is the order of occurrence of marine reliquiai
such as to afford much countenance to the notion of gradual
improvement in organic life. The classes of mollusca are
more ancient than those of zoophyta, if we trust our pre¬
sent knowledge, and both older than marine or land plants,
—a seeming paradox, since the pre-existence of vegetables
seems capable of being sustained by strong arguments
drawn from the relations of animal and vegetable life.
But we may contemplate the question as to the gradual
improvement of animal organization in another point of
view. Instead of comparing class to class, let us compare
those of one group but different geological age. The bi¬
valve mollusca of the oldest Snowrdonian rocks were cer¬
tainly as complicated, nay, more highly organized than the
greater number of conchifera of the present ocean, since
they belong to the brachiopoda. The Crustacea of the silu¬
rian system were at least as curiously organized as the li-
muli of the North American coasts. The goniatites of the
mountain limestone are far more curiously constructed
than the nautili which lie with them, and also inhabit
modern oceans. The belemnites and ammonites, turrilites
and other extinct genera of the oolite and chalk, reveal to
us an extinct order of cephalopoda, larger, more powerful,
and more curiously organized, than existing Toligines and
sepiae.
240 MINERALOGY.
Geology. It is evident, therefore,’ that the whole notion of a gra-
^ 1 dual amelioration or enrichment of the animal organization
may be dismissed as a mere illusion of the fancy of a finite
being, who vainly transfers to the work of the Almighty
the pattern of his own limited labours.
The systems of organic life have always been adjusted
to the actual conditions of the land and sea. When water
covered the globe, life was marine ; as land arose, and new
conditions supervened, terrestrial life was created; old
races died away; with new circumstances, new creations
were called into being to supply their place ; and at length
the physical revolutions of the globe brought that wonder¬
ful variety of external circumstances to which organic life
is at this day adjusted. '
Thus a perpetual stimulus is afforded to man, the last
great creation of Divine power, to study the works of his
Maker, and through them to receive proofs “ strong as Holy
Writ” of the long-enduring providence of the Almighty>
whose appointed plans the permitted violence of the phy¬
sical agencies of nature, amidst all their irregularities, ex¬
actly fulfil; and whose care, now so manifest for his hu¬
man creatures, has never been withheld from the meaner
forms of every age since the time when the earth became
tenanted by beings capable of enjoying their own exist¬
ence.
GEOLOGICAL TIME.
The chronology adopted by geologists is liable to an in¬
herent uncertainty or indefiniteness, quite different in its
nature from the sources of error in ancient history. In
the history of human affairs, the whole period which elaps¬
ed between the two epochs chosen as limits is known or
supposed to be so ; but the intervening occurrences cannot
often be correctly placed in their true succession. In geo¬
logy, on the contrary, the whole period included between
the* limits is, and perhaps must ever be, absolutely un-
* known ; yet the succession of occurrences is, in general,
clearly ascertained. Again, it frequently happens, that
the histories of different nations have no common features
for very long periods, but remain insulated. This defect
is less sensible in geology ; for some of the monuments of
contemporaneous physical conditions of the globe are very
widely diffused.
The true scale of geological chronology is that of the
stratified rocks. According to the view previously advo¬
cated, the several systems of strata mark periods more or
less exactly definable; the last, or supratertiary period,
which descends to the present era of the globe, being, as
yet, one of the least defined in its limits.
It has been already explained that historical time, com¬
mencing wdth the human race, is not yet united to geolo¬
gical time. Whenever the exact place of the creation of
man, on the scale of geological phenomena, can be fixed,
and the twro scales continuously united, we may be able to
advance, w ithout certainty of utter failure, to the consi¬
deration of the problem lately proposed for a prize essay
by the Royal Society of London, viz. the translation of
geological into astronomical periods.
At present the chronology of the globe, starting from
the origin of the stratified rocks, and including the whole
series of successions of organic beings, and all the convul¬
sive disturbances of the cooled and consolidated crust, re¬
cognises many successive periods of unknowm duration.
Neither does it appear possible to know their duration, or
even the limits of error within which they fall. How,
then, it may be asked, do geologists justify their confident
assertions of the very great antiquity of particular rocks as
compared with the few thousand years of history ? To this
the reply is simple. Many of the ancient stratified rocks
were formed in the sea by processes perfectly similar to
those which go on at this day; and, in some cases, we
may believe not at all more rapid in their effects. The Geol
laminated sandstones often mark what appears to be the wl],
ripple of a gentle tide, and the successive deposits of agi-
tated water; the shelly limestones sometimes prove very
slow deposition of even a single layer of calcareous rock; the
alternation of igneous and sedimentary rocks gives us the
similitude of volcanic submarine eruptions. Now, if we
compare with the sedimentary strata of any particular
period the most similar products of the present day,—the
new land on the Adriatic,—the filling up of the Nile Val¬
ley,—the shallowing of the Bay of Bengal,—we shall be
impressed wdth the necessity of allowing a long period for
the production of a single stratified formation.
Again, if we recollect, that during these periods many
creations of new' and destructions of old races of animals
and plants happened,—and that, ever since the records of
human art, the embalmed body or sculptured effigies, have
given the means of judgment, no change has happened to
modern races ; that two or three thousand years have not
changed the forms of animals known to the early Egyp¬
tians; we shall see the impropriety of imagining such
changes to have been of quick succession in the earlier
eras of nature.
And when we behold conglomerate rocks which hold
fragments of other earlier deposits, and, in these fragments,
the organic remains of still earlier periods which had al¬
ready undergone their peculiar mineral changes; when we
collect the history of such an organic form,—its existence
in the sea,—its sepulture in a vast oceanic deposit of lime¬
stone, or in a littoral aggregation of sandstone,—the indura¬
tion of this rock,—its uplifting by subterranean forces,—
the rolling of it to pebbles,—the reunion of them in a to¬
tally different kind of substance,—it is evident that no
greater folly can be committed than to think to serve the
cause of truth by contracting the long periods of geology
into the compass of a few thousand years.
The task of reducing these long periods to any definite
scale, is at present entirely hopeless. Three possible modes
seem open to us ; but we cannot advance a step in any one
of these, without immediate aid from visionary and delusive
guides.
1. Could we know the rate of secular refrigeration of
the globe, either from general physical considerations, or a
summation of the effects of convulsive movements, a basis
of inquiry would be established. But who will dare to at¬
tempt the solution of such a problem ?
2. Could we know the mean or extreme rate of produc¬
tion of stratified deposits at the present day, this would en¬
able us to conjecture the lengths of some geological periods,
and with double hazard refer others to this conjectural
scale ; but even this unsatisfactory estimate would be liable
to the further and fatal error of not knowing the ratio of
the forces in the different periods. To assume this ratio
is only to augment in a still higher degree the amount of
improbability.
3. Perhaps the safest, certainly the most alluring, of the
three methods which geology may follow in this dark re¬
search, is that which is founded on a strict scrutiny of the
history of organic remains. The life of animals and plants
is a phenomenon distinctly related to annual periods; and,
for some systems of strata, as for example the tertian,', the re¬
semblance of specific forms is enough, the great number of
coincidences being considered, to authorize deductions as
to the length of life of fossil and recent species ot marine
mollusca. But here the want of knowledge is utterly fat^*
"Who can tell us the average term of life of marine mollus¬
cous animals, sufficiently comparable with tertiary shells, to
form a basis of good reasoning ?
It is evident that w'e have no knowledge capable of be¬
ing employed, in the magnificent problem of the age of the
crust of the globe, at all equal to the difficulty which meets
M I N
jfiffra us on the very threshold. Until the constants of nature
which relate to the dependence of organic or inorganic
phenomena on annual periods be known, the determination
  "'of the antiquity of any of the marine stratified rocks must
be despaired of.
GENERAL RESULT.
We have thus briefly presented some fundamental in¬
ferences which must be embodied in any rational theory
of geology.
To combine these and other sound inferences is the true
business of theory: it ought not yet to be attempted ; for
MIN
241
Mines.
though the notion of a slow decrease of the heat of the Minervalia
globe being the primary law of causation, is perhaps con-
tinually forcing itself on the attention of geologists, as well
calculated to account for the consolidation, disruption, and
irregularity of elevation of the crust of the globe, and al-
most necessary to explain its actual condition of sensible
equilibrium ; though it is inconsistent with no astronomi¬
cal, mechanical, or chemical truth, and meets without dif¬
ficulty the problems suggested to zoology and botany by
the monuments of ancient organic life; still the develop¬
ment of this truly general theory requires a far more exact
survey of the structure of the globe, and a far more inti¬
mate acquaintance with the effects of modern terraqueous
agencies, than we now possess.
MINERVA, or Pallas, in Pagan worship, the goddess
of science and of wisdom, who sprung completely armed
from Jupiter’s brain. She disputed with Neptune the ho¬
nour of giving a name to the city of Athens, upon which
it was agreed, that whosoever produced what was most use¬
ful to mankind should have the advantage. In conse¬
quence of this compact, Neptune, with a stroke of his tri¬
dent, formed a horse; and Minerva caused an olive to
spring from the ground. The latter was judged the most
useful, from its being the symbol of peace. Minerva
changed Arachne into a spider, for pretending to excel
her in making tapestry. She fought the giants ; favoured
Cadmus, Ulysses, and other heroes; refused to marry Vul¬
can, choosing rather to live in a state of celibacy ; depriv¬
ed Tiresias of sight; turned Medusa’s locks into snakes ;
and performed several other exploits. Minerva is usually
represented by the poets, painters, and sculptors, as com¬
pletely armed ; with a composed but agreeable counte¬
nance, bearing a golden breastplate, a spear in the riMit
hand, and an aegis or shield in the left, upon which is re¬
presented Medusa’s head encircled with snakes ; whilst her
helmet was usually entwined with olives. She had several
temples both in Greece and in Italy. The usual victim
offered to her was a white heifer, never yoked; and the ani¬
mals sacred to her were the cock, the owl, and the basilisk.
MINERVALIA, in Roman antiquity, festivals cele¬
brated in honour of Minerva, in the month of March ; at
which time the scholars were indulged with a vacation,
and usually made a present to their masters, called from
this festival Minerval.
MINERAINO, a city of the kingdom of Naples, in the
province of Bari, on the declivity of the Apennines. It
is the seat of a bishop, and has a cathedral and three other
churches, with about 6000 inhabitants.
MINES.
MINES (in Greek MsraXXa, and in Latin Fodince Me-
talliccB or Metalli Fodince) are pits dug deep in the earth,
whence are drawn the metals, the demi-metals, and other
mineral substances, such as coal, rock-salt, alum, and the
like. The excavations from which stones are obtained,
however deep these may be, are denominated quarries, and
not mines.
I.—ANCIENT MINES.
Scripture ascribes the discovery of brass (or copper)
and iron, at least that of the methods of working them, to
Tubal Cain, who lived before the Flood. But ere these me¬
tals could have been subjected to the skill of the antediluvi¬
an artificer, the metalliferous ore must have been extracted
from the earth, and subjected to some metallurgic process,
however rude; in other words, the invention ascribed to
Jubal Cain implies the previous existence of mines and
mining. This, however, has occasioned some perplexity,
and produced considerable speculation as to the causes,
whether accidental or other, which led to the discovery of
mines. The method of discovering these is still a matter
of so much difficulty, that it cannot but appear surprising,
how men totally unacquainted with the nature of metals
should first have come to think of digging them out of the
earth in the shape of ore, and then applying heat to disen¬
gage them from the extraneous matter with which they
have almost always been found combined.
According to the prevailing opinion of the ancients, this
discovery was made by accident. Lucretius describes it as
the result of the burning of woods or forests, which, melting
VOL. xv
the veins of metals in the earth over which the conflagration
passed, revealed to men the existence of substances pre¬
viously unknown, and also indicated the method by which
these might be converted into a state capable of being ap¬
plied to useful purposes. Aristotle, who is of the same
opinion with Lucretius, informs us, that some shepherds
of Spain set fire to the woods, in consequence of which the
earth became heated to such a degree by the flames that the
silver near the surface melted and flowed into a mass, which
was afterwards discovered in a fissure occasioned by an
earthquake. The same story is told by Strabo, who ascribes
to this accident the discovery of the silver mines of Andalu¬
sia. Cadmus, who first introduced letters into Greece, is
said to have been also the original discoverer of gold ; but
this has been contested by some mythologists, who attribute
the honour of the discovery to various other fabulous person¬
ages ; as Thoas of Thrace, Mercury the son of Jupiter, and
Pisus a king of Italy, who, having left his native country, and
gone into Egypt, was elected king of the latter after the
death of Mizraim, and, on account of this alleged discovery,
was denominated the Golden God. The discovery, not only
of gold, but also of all the other metals, is by iEschylus
attributed to Prometheus, whose story, clouded as it is by
fable and romance, seems to countenance such a supposi¬
tion. The copper mines of Cyprus were originally disco¬
vered by Cinyra the son of Agryopa; and Hesiod ascribes
to the Dactyli Idaei the discovery of the iron mines of
Crete, the modern Candia. According to several ancient
authors, the invention of the method of extracting tin
from its ore was made by Medacritus, in the islands ot the
Cassiterides, and by him communicated to the natives. It
is highly probable, indeed, that these and all other similar
242
MINES.
Mines, discoveries or inventions were the result of accident rather
than of research or investigation. Chance disclosed the hid¬
den treasure, and a happy thought enabled some shrewd ob¬
server to turn the casual disclosure to account. Even in
modern times, we know that many mines have been dis¬
covered in this manner; as, for example, in sea-cliffs rent
by the violence of the waves, amongst broken and craggy
rocks, by the washing of the tide or by floods, by torrents
of water issuing from hills or mountains, by the wearing
down of roads, and sometimes by volcanic eruptions. I he
ingenuity of man consists in taking advantage of those oc¬
casions when either nature or fortune puts it in his power
to extend his knowledge, or to add to his wealth and com¬
fort.
Our information respecting ancient mines is, we regret
to say, extremely scanty and imperfect. The subject has
not been specially treated of by any ancient writer with
whose works we are acquainted ; ami the detached notices
which occur in the classical authors have not received
that anxious and critical examination which is indispensa¬
bly requisite in order to arrive at just and accurate con¬
clusions. To the general truth of this remark, however,
there is one distinguished exception, in Boeckh’s Disserta¬
tion on the Silver Mines of Laurion, appended to his very
learned and interesting work on the Public Economy of
Athens. In a short compass, all that can be gleaned from
the ancient authors has been carefully brought together,
and treated with a degree of critical ability which has
enabled the author to throw much new light upon a sub¬
ject that had almost entirely escaped the researches of
preceding inquirers.
The mines (/^sraXXa) belonging to the state of Athens
were partly native and partly foreign. But the most consi¬
derable were the silver mines of Laurion, from which the na¬
tion derived no ordinary advantages, since, by the resources
which they supplied, Themistocles first raised the naval
power of Athens to a state of consequence and efficiency.
These mines extended from coast to coast, in a line of
about seven English miles, from Anaphlystus to Thoricus.
The working of them had been commenced at an early pe¬
riod, and appears to have been very profitable in the time of
Themistocles; but they became less productive in the age
of Socrates and Xenophon, and before that of Strabo they
had been so entirely exhausted, that all further mining was
discontinued. The ores extracted contained silver and
lead, with zinc, and probably copper, but no gold, or at least
not enough to allow the ancients, with their imperfect pro¬
cesses of separation, to disengage it with profit. At Tho¬
ricus spurious emeralds occurred in combination with the
ore ; cinnabar was also found there, and occasionally a sub¬
stance which afterwards came to be much prized in dyeing.
The mines were worked by means of shafts and adits, and
whole masses were removed, so that supports alone were
left standing. The processes of fusion carried on in the
furnaces appear to have been the same as those employed
in the other mines which were worked in ancient times.
The state was the sole proprietor of the mines; but they
were never worked at the public expense; nor did the
state ever let them for a term of years, like other landed
property. They were always granted to private indivi¬
duals in fee-farm; and these leases were transferred from
one person to another by inheritance, sale, and other kinds
oflegal conveyance. The sale of the mines, or rather of the
right of working them, was managed by the poletm; and
this right was purchased at an appointed price; in addi¬
tion to which the possessor paid the twenty-fourth part of
the net produce as a perpetual tax. The purchase-money
was paid directly to the state, but the contingent rents
were very probably let to a farmer-general. The amount of
the money obtained from both sources necessarily depend¬
ed upon a variety of circumstances, such as the number of
mines let in the course of the year, the comparative rich- Mines,
ness or poverty of the veins worked, and the degree of'^—Y'*
activity with which the business of mining was carried on.
When" Themistocles proposed to the Athenians to apply
the funds obtained from the mines to the building of ships,
instead of dividing it as before amongst the people, the
annual receipts appear to have amounted to thirty or forty
talents, although the accounts relating to this point are
extremely indistinct and uncertain.
Citizens and isoteles were alone entitled to the posses¬
sion of the mines. The number of the possessors was evi¬
dently considerable, and, like the agriculturists, they were
considered as a separate class of producers; sometimes
they possessed several shares, sometimes^ they had only
one. The common price of a single share was rather more
than a talent; and occasionally several partners occur as
the joint possessors of a mine. The manual labour was
performed by slaves either belonging to the possessors of
the mines or hired from others; but although the cheap¬
ness of their labour diminished the expenses of mining,
the improvements of art in facilitating or abridging the
processes of labour were necessarily retarded. . The secu¬
rity of this species of possession was guaranteed by severe
law’s, and the rights of the state were strictly maintained.
There was a mining law (/uraXkixos voyog), and a particular
course of legal proceedings in cases relating to mines (&-
xa/ /xiraT'.'kixui), which, for the greater encouragement of
the proprietors of mines, were in the time of Demosthenes
annexed to the monthly suits. The mines were also free
from property taxes, and did not subject the possessor to
the performance of liturgies, nor were they transferred in
the exchange (avndotnc) of property; immunities which did
not arise from any wish to encourage the working of the
mines, but were founded solely upon the particular nature
of the tenure by which they were held. They were consi¬
dered as public property let to usufructuary possessors in
consideration of a fixed rate of payment, like the duties
paid by the farmers; and no property, except such as was
freehold, and exempted from rent or duty of any kind, sub¬
jected the holder to liturgies and property taxes. _
That Athens usurped the possession of the mines be¬
longing to her subject allies, cannot be assumed in confor¬
mity with the general system of her foreign policy; and
wre must suppose that these everywhere remained the pro¬
perty of the persons to whom they had belonged previous¬
ly to the dominion of Athens. The mines of Thrace,
however, appear to have formed an exception, and to have
been immediately dependent upon Athens; indeed it is pro¬
bable that they were let in the same manner as the Athe¬
nian mines, although we have no certain information on
this point. The Thracian gold mines had been first work¬
ed by the Phoenicians, along w ith the mines of Thasos; and
afterwards they were carried on by the Thasians of Paros.
The gold mines of Scapte Hyle upon the mainland brought
to the state of Thasos an annual revenue of eighty talents;
those of Thasos were less productive, though notwithstand¬
ing they yielded a large sum. When the Athenians had
established themselves in Thrace, they entered into aeon-
test with the Thasians for the possession of the mines and
harbours of the mainland; Cimon captured thirty-three
ships in a naval engagement, besieged and reduced Thasos,
and thus obtained for his country the coast, together with
the gold mines. Scapte Hyle, and other cities of the
mainland, were likewise conquered by the Athenians ; but
Boeckh conjectures that the gold mines were partly granted
to the Athenians in fee-farm, whilst those of the ancient
possessors remained in undisturbed occupation. If as many
of the names of proprietors of the Thracian as of the Lau¬
rion mines had been preserved, we should have been able
to speak with more certainty on this point; but the utmost
extent of our knowledge is, that Thucydides possessed gold
MINES.
jfi,L mines in Thrace; and with regard to him it is doubtful in
—-v-p''what manner he acquired such a property, the account
most deserving of credit being that he obtained them by
marriage with a lady of Scapte Hyle, whose predecessors
had perhaps been long in possession of them.1
Of all the metals, copper is that which is most frequently
found pure in the ore ; and for this reason probably it was
also the first amongst them all that was wrought. This ap¬
pears to have been the case in ancient Rome, where at first
there was no coined money (pecunia signata), commodities
being either exchanged by barter, or for a certain weight of
uncoined brass (ces rude), used as a measure of value. To
avoid singularity of expression, we use the word “ brass” for
what in reality was bronze, or copper rendered fusible by
an admixture of zinc or of tin ; a metal which was in gene¬
ral use, because masses of it were so easily transformed by
fusion that nobody incurred loss by the process. The
copper mines of Tuscany, especially in the country about
Volterra, although now perhaps exhausted, appear to have
been at one time immensely productive; and to this must
be added the produce of the mines in Cyprus, now ascer¬
tained to have been enormous, and the influx of which into
Italy is attested by the Latin name of‘copper {cuprum).
The dependence of that island upon the Phoenicians in
very remote times opened a way for this metal to the Punic
markets; and Carthaginian vessels must have brought it
into Italy. The low price consequent upon such plenty
agrees with every thing that is known concerning the
quantity of brass money, and its value in the times ante¬
rior to the introduction of silver money, which took place
about the commencement of the first Punic war. In fact,
it was long a remarkable and distinguishing peculiarity of
the nations inhabiting the middle of Italy, that they em¬
ployed copper or bronze in heavy masses, and not silver ;
whereas in the southern provinces, and along the coast as
far as Campania, silver money was usually employed.2
Anciently Spain yielded an abundant supply of the pre¬
cious metals, which her quicksilver served to refine. The
Asturias, Galicia, and Lusitania, yielded, according to Pli¬
ny, twenty thousand pounds of gold annually. Silver was
found in still greater quantities, and of the very best quality.
“ Argentum reperitur omnibus fere provinciis, sed in His-
pania pulcherrimum,” says Pliny ;3 and from that country
both the Carthaginians and the Romans appear to have
derived immense supplies. It is even said that the single
mine of Belbel yielded Hannibal three hundred pounds a
day; and we further learn, that after Spain had been re¬
duced to complete subjection by the Romans, these proud
conquerors drew from it upwards of an hundred and ten
thousand pounds of silver in the space of nine years, or at
the rate of about twelve thousand four hundred pounds
annually. Strabo also informs us, that neither gold, sil¬
ver, copper, nor iron, were found in such quantities, or so
excellent in quality, in any part of the known world, as in
Turdetania.4
These notices of the ancient mines are no doubt scanty
and meagre; but the want of precise information upon
this subject, which is only adverted to in the most cursory
manner by the ancient writers, renders it impossible to
give any more ample or satisfactory account, either of the
localities of the mines, the methods employed in working
them, or the processes, rude enough no doubt, by which
the metal was separated from the ore. Such being the
case, we shall therefore take leave of this part of the sub¬
ject, and proceed to give as ample details as our limits will
admit, of the mines presently worked in Great Britain and
243
Ireland, upon the continent of Europe, in the republic of Mines.
Mexico, and in the different states ot South America. v —- v —/
XI.—BRITISH MINES.
The mineral riches of Great Britain are immense, and,
in some respects, superior to those of any other country.
If it cannot boast of gold and silver mines, which are some¬
times found in the poorest countries, it possesses a species
of mineral wealth which is of still more importance to a
manufacturing nation. It commands an inexhaustible sup¬
ply of excellent coal, which is extensively diffused ; its tin
mines are the most productive of any in Europe; it has
also very valuable mines of copper, lead, manganese, and
other substances ; and its salt springs, and strata of fossil
salt, are alone sufficient to supply the whole world for an
indefinite period. The most valuable minerals are situated
in the western and northern parts of England, and in the
southern and middle parts of Scotland. But the English
mines are by far the most important, as will appear from
subsequent details. In the meanwhile we shall commence
our notices of the different minerals with that of coal.
1. Coal Mines.
It is scarcely possible to exaggerate the advantages
which England derives from her immense beds of coal.
In this climate fuel ranks amongst the principal neces¬
saries of life ; without an abundant supply of it the country
would be uninhabitable; and it is to the coal mines that
we are indebted for a sufficiency of this indispensable ar¬
ticle at a cheap rate. Nor is the advantage here stated
the only one which we derive from these mines. They are
the principal source of our manufacturing and commercial
prosperity ; and their products constitute the materia pri-
ma of our superiority in all the more extensive and import¬
ant departments of industry. Since the invention of the
steam-engine, coal has become of the highest importance
as the means of generating the moving power; and no
nation, if scantily supplied with this mineral, however
favourably it may be circumstanced in other respects, can
ever expect to rival those which are so, in most branches
of manufacturing industry. To what else are we to as¬
cribe the astonishing increase of Manchester, Birming¬
ham, Leeds, Sheffield, in England, not to mention Glas¬
gow and Paisley in Scotland, and the comparatively sta¬
tionary or declining state of Canterbury, Winchester, Sa¬
lisbury, and other towns, except to the abundance and
cheapness of coal in the north, and its scarcity, and con¬
sequent high price, in the south ? The citizens of Man¬
chester, Glasgow, and the other places similarly circum¬
stanced, are enabled, at a comparatively small expense, to
put in motion the most powerful and complicated machi¬
nery, and to produce results which are altogether beyond
the reach of those who do not possess the same command
of this mineral. Coal has been happily defined “ hoarded
labour ;” and it might, with equal justice, be denominated
concentrated power. By means of it our manufacturers
are supplied with a power of easy control yet of boundless
energy, and are enabled to overcome difficulties insur¬
mountable by those who happen to be less liberally sup¬
plied with this truly invaluable mineral.
It is uncertain when coal began to be first used as fuel,
although, as early as the year 1281, Newcastle seems to have
had some trade in this article. In the reign of Edward I. its
1 Boeckli, Public Economy of Athens, vol. xxil p. 18,19, et seq. and 415, et seq.
* Niebuhr, History of Rome, vol. i. p. 398, et seq. Cambridge, 1828.
3 Pliny, Hist. Natural, lib. xxxiii. c. 4 and c. 6. 4 Strabo, Geograph, p. 194 ; Anstice s Essay, p. 11.
'
MINES.
244
Mines, use was prohibited in London, on account of the smoke,
^“"■ y which was supposed to be injurious ; and afterwards this pro¬
hibition was renewed at different periods, but without any
effect. But experience proved that the smoke was not de¬
leterious ; the growing scarcity of timber, and the superio¬
rity of coal as an article of fuel, secured its ascendency;
and since the reign of Charles I. it has become almost the
only description of fuel which is used in the capital, and in
most other towns and districts of the kingdom. Excepting
in certain parts of Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland,
where peat is employed as a substitute, its use is now near¬
ly universal.
The consumption of coal in Great Britain is immense.
It has been estimated at 15,580,000 tons annually, exclu¬
sively of exports to foreign countries ; but this estimate, Mr
M‘Culloch thinks, is greatly under the mark. According
to him, the consumption of Great Britain may be estimat¬
ed at the rate of about a ton of coal for each individual, ex¬
clusively of the consumption in iron-works and other great
branches of manufactures. This gives 16,500,000 tons for
what may be denominated general or domestic consumption;
although, to be within the mark, we shall take it at only
15,000,000 tons. If to this be added the quantities of coal
consumed in the making of iron, the cotton manufacture,
the woollen, linen, and silk trades, the smelting of copper
ores, brass and copper manufactures, salt-works and lime-
works, the total annual consumption of coal in Great Bri¬
tain may be moderately estimated at upwards of 22,000,000
1 tons. Thus,
Tons.
Domestic consumption 15,000,000
Production of iron  3,850,000
Cotton manufacture  800,000
Woollen, linen, silk  500,000
Copper and brass works  400,000
Salt-works  300,000
Lime-works  500,000
21,350,000
Exports to Ireland  750,000
Ditto to foreign parts  600,000
22,700,000
If we suppose that the above quantity, in which no allow¬
ance is made for the coal consumed in the manufacture of
hardware and cutlery, costs the consumer at an average
about seven shillings a ton, then 22,700,000 tons will be
worth in all nearly eight millions sterling a year.
The importance of coal as a necessary of life, and an in¬
dispensable auxiliary in manufactures, has attracted atten¬
tion to the question as to the probable duration of the sup¬
ply, or the period when the exhaustion of the coal mines
may be anticipated. But the investigations hitherto made
as to the extent and depth of the different coal formations,
and the degree to which they are capable of being worked,
do not afford sufficient data for even an approximate solu¬
tion of this question. Vague and unsatisfactory as they are,
however, these inquiries leave no room for doubt that many
centuries must elapse before posterity can experience any
serious inconvenience from a diminished supply of this mi¬
neral. According to Mr Taylor, the coal fields of Durham ,Mines,
and Northumberland are adequate to furnish the present
annual supply for seventeen centuries to come. The ex¬
tent of these coal fields he estimates at 732 square miles.
But, taking the workable coal strata at an average thick¬
ness of twelve feet, the contents of one square mile will be
12,390,000 tons, and of 732 square miles 9,069,480,000
tons ; or, deducting one-third part for loss by small coal, in¬
terceptions by dikes, and other interruptions, 6,046,320,000
tonS!—a quantity sufficient to supply the present demand
of 3,500,000 tons for a period of 1727 years. It is evident
that this estimate of the quantity of coal in Durham and
Northumberland can be only a rough approximation, espe¬
cially as the south-eastern coal district of Durham is yet
almost unexplored, and there is also a considerable extent
of coal field in the northern and south-western districts of
Northumberland, which is nearly in the same situation;
but it is sufficient to satisfy the public that no apprehen¬
sion need be entertained as to this valuable mineral being
exhausted for a great many generations to come. Dr Buck-
land, it is true, considers Mr Taylor’s estimate as greatly
exaggerated ; but in his examination before the committee
of the House of Commons, he quotes with approbation a
statement in Bakewell’s Geology, that the coal fields in
South Wales are alone sufficient to supply the whole pre¬
sent demand for coal in England for a period of two thou¬
sand years to come.1 Besides, in the west riding of York¬
shire, there are many extensive coal fields hitherto un¬
touched. In Staffordshire, the coal strata are of immense
magnitude, and the bed round Dudley is no less than thirty
feet thick. In the present slovenly mode of working the
coal, more than two thirds is left in the mine and wasted;2
but were any thing like a scarcity of coal apprehended,
this wasteful practice would be stopped, and means adopt¬
ed for clearing out the contents of the mines. For all prac¬
tical purposes, therefore, the supply of coal may be consi¬
dered as quite unlimited.
The coal fields of Scotland are of great extent and value,
indeed sufficient of themselves to furnish the whole empire
with an adequate supply of this mineral for a long series of
years. Coal is found in several districts of Scotland, as in
Dumfriesshire and Roxburghshire, in the more southern
counties ; but the great field of Scotch coal stretches from
south-west to north-east across the centre of the kingdom ;
and it is to be found in greater or smaller quantities in the
counties of Haddington, Edinburgh, and Linlithgow, Stir¬
ling, Clackmannan, Kinross, Fife, part of Perth, Ayr, Ren¬
frew, Lanark, Dumbarton, and part of Argyle. Its average
breadth is thirty-three miles, and its length upon the main¬
land of Scotland ninety-eight miles ; so that its total area
is 3234 square miles. If from this we deduct 360 miles for
the space covered by the Frith of Forth, there will remain
2874 square miles of territory, in most parts of which coal
is found at different depths and of various qualities, whilst
in about 600,000 acres of the same space it may be work¬
ed with advantage. The depth of coal varies, but in gene¬
ral it seems to be rather nearer the surface in the western
than in the eastern division of the country. There is also a
great variety in the number of its seams or strata, as well as
in their thickness. The greatest thickness in the island is at
Quarrelton, where five contiguous strata are upwards ot
1 The passage in question is as follows : “ Fortunately we have in South Wales, adjoining the Bristol Channel, an almost exhaust-
less supply of coal and iron-stone, which are yet nearly unwrought. It has been stated that this coal field extends over about 1200
square miles, and that there are twenty-three beds of workable coal, the total average thickness of which is ninety-five feet; and the
quantity contained in each acre is 100,000 tons, or 65,000,000 tons per square mile. If from this we deduct one half for waste, and
for the minor extent of the upper beds, we shall have a clear supply of coal equal to 32,000,000 tons per square mile. Now, if we
admit that 5,000,000 tons from Northumberland and Durham mines are equal to nearly one third of the total consumption of coal in
England, each square mile of the Welsh coal field would yield coal for a hundred years’ consumption ; and as there are from 1000 to
1200 square miles in this coal field, it would supply England with fuel for 200n years, after all our English coal mines are worked
out.” See also Treatise on the Collieries and Coal Trade, London, 1835.
* Bakewell’s Geology, p. 183, 4th ed.
MINE S.
Mi |<- fifty feet thick. Seams less than eighteen inches are not
-^’—''deemed equivalent to the expense of working them.1
Coal has been discovered in greater or less quantity in
seventeen counties of Ireland ; but the quality is in gene¬
ral bad, and, according to Mr Wakefield, “ there is no
vein of coal yet discovered in Ireland which can come into
general consumption.” Indeed, almost all the coal used
in Dublin, Belfast, and other towns, is imported from Eng¬
land and Scotland. The principal coal districts of Ireland
are those of Leinster, Munster, Connaught, and Ulster; the
former districts containing carbonaceous or stone coal, the
“ slaty glance” of Werner, and the latter bituminous or
blazing coal. The Leinster district is situated in the
counties of Kilkenny, Queen’s County, and Carlow, and ex¬
tends a short distance into that of Tipperary, being the
principal site of the carbonaceous coal. The Munster dis¬
trict occupies a very considerable part of Limerick and
Kerry, and a large portion of Cork ; it is by much the
most extensive in Ireland. The Connaught district is
next in importance to those of Leinster and Munster, and
may perhaps be found to deserve the first place, when its
subterranean treasures shall have been more fully ex¬
plored. The coal, which is of the bituminous species,
seems to be particularly adapted to the purposes of iron¬
works; and the gray pig-metal made at Arigna is reckon¬
ed to be as well smelted as any in the empire. The Ulster
district, which is comparatively of trifling importance,
commences near Dungannon, in Tyrone, and extends to
Coal Island and the neighbourhood of Cookstown. Be¬
sides these districts, there are others of less consequence.
Bituminous coal has been found near Belturbet in Cavan,
and Ballycastle in Antrim ; but the Antrim coal district
is not very extensive, although the collieries have been
wrought for a number of years. The coal is slaty, and
resembles that which is found in Ayrshire, the accompa-
l nying rocks being likewise similar. These are all the coal
districts of Ireland.2
Accidents in coal mines are very frequent, and arise
principally from explosions of inflammable gas, but partly
also from the presence of carbonic acid gas or choke damp,
and partly from other causes. The returns of these ca¬
sualties are by no means complete ; yet, defective as they
are, it appears from them that 2070 persons lost their lives
in coal mines during the twenty-five years immediately
preceding 1835. By an explosion which took place in
one of the northern coal mines, more than a hundred men
and boys were in a moment destroyed. In many instan¬
ces not one of those employed in mines where explosions
have occurred has survived to tell how the accident arose.
Nor have the causes of these explosions, and the means of
obviating them, been yet subjected to the continued or
searching investigation of scientific men. During the
eighteen years which have elapsed since the introduction
i of Sir Humphry Davy’s safety-lamp, more explosions have
taken place in the northern mines than during the preceding
eighteen years. This, however, is ascribed not so much to
the instrument having disappointed the expectations of the
inventor, as to the fact that, by means of it, dangerous, or
‘‘ fiery mines,” have been wrought, which must otherwise
have been long ago abandoned. But it has nevertheless
been very clearly established that, in certain circumstances,
especially when exposed to a current of air, the safety-
lamp is no protection at all. In working the more dan¬
gerous, or “ fiery mines,’’ a vigilant and continued atten¬
tion is required, which can scarcely be expected from or¬
dinary workmen, and especially from boys ; whilst, on the
other hand, the smallest neglect may produce an explosion,
245
and occasion the instant death of hundreds. At present, it Mines,
seems to be the opinion of the most experienced miners that
efficient ventilation is the only thing which can be depended
on. But as this indispensable security is, in many instan¬
ces, too little attended to, it becomes a question whether
the legislature should interfere, to the extent at least of pro¬
hibiting the working of “ fiery mines,” until they have been
so ventilated that, with the exercise of ordinary precaution,
imminent danger may be avoided. “ It is useless,” as Mr
M Culloch observes, “ to trust any thing to the disincli¬
nation of the pitmen to engage in dangerous mines. By
daily exposure to danger, they become habituated to, and
careless about it; and, besides, they are apt to trust im¬
plicitly to the reports of viewers and others, who are quite
as much interested in getting the coal brought cheaply to
the pit mouth as in the security of the mine.”
For details explanatory of the construction and the work¬
ing of coal mines, and also of the machinery required for
both purposes, the reader is referred to the article Col¬
liery in this work.
2. Iron Mines.
Iron, which is one of the most useful, is also one of the
most abundant of the metals. Of all minerals, indeed, it is
the most universally diffused, and exists in every different
state, the native alone excepted, in which metallic ores
are found. Its presence may be detected in every kind of
soil, and in every species of rock, in a greater or smaller
proportion ; and it is to be met with in every region of the
earth. But the black or deep-brown oxides of iron, that
is, the ores of iron which contain a large proportion of
metal, combined with a small proportion of oxygen, be¬
long exclusively to primitive rocks, of which they consti¬
tute an integral part; whilst, on the other hand, the ores
of iron composed of the red oxide are generally found
amongst secondary rocks, or, if met with in primitive rocks,
exist only in veins, without forming a constituent part of
these formations, as in the case of the black or deep-brown
oxides. The primitive and some of the secondary rocks
are the chief repositories of iron ores ; but as to iron stones,
they are found only amongst the secondary rocks, and
sometimes also in alluvial soil. The ores of iron are
richer, purer, and more abundant in the northern than in
the southern regions of the earth. As there are few coun¬
tries in the world which do not contain mines of iron, so
in most of them some progress has been made in extract¬
ing the ores, and converting them to the various useful
purposes for which this metal is above all others adapted
from its peculiar qualities. But this double process can
only be carried on to any extent, or with any degree of suc¬
cess, in those countries where fuel exists in almost equal
abundance with the ore.
Iron has been wrought in England since the time of
the Romans, by whom works were established in the Fo¬
rest of Dean, in Gloucestershire. In Kent and Sussex, coun¬
ties well supplied, not only with iron ore, but also with tim¬
ber, the only species of fuel then used in the furnaces, works
were also established at a very early period. But the pro¬
duction of iron was long retarded, from the nature of the
fuel employed in smelting. Complaints were early made
of the destruction of timber by the iron-works. In the
reign of Elizabeth, the decrease of timber excited a great
deal of attention ; and, in 1581, an act was passed prohi¬
biting the manufacturers of iron from using any but small
wood, and establishing new works in any place within
twenty-two miles of the city of London, and fourteen of
1 General Report of Scotland, vol. i. p. 64.
J See Griffith’s Report on the Leinster Coal District; and Phillips’ Introduction to Geology, part i. p. 462.
246 MINE S.
Mines, the river Thames, as also in several parts of the county of
——v—Sussex. Soon afterwards, Edward Lord Dudley invented
a process for smelting iron ore with pit-coal instead of tim¬
ber, and obtained a patent for his invention, which was
exempted from the operation of the act 21 James I. c. 23,
setting aside monopolies; but the works of the inventor
were destroyed by an ignorant rabble, and he was nearly
ruined by his efforts to introduce and perfect a process
which has eventually proved of immense benefit to the
country. For many years, indeed, the invention seems to
have been forgotten ; and it was not till about 1750 that
the growing scarcity of timber, coupled with the increas¬
ing demand for iron, succeeded in drawing the attention
of some ingenious persons to Lord Dudley’s process. Ne¬
cessity is always the mother of art. This process was now
revived; and, about the time mentioned, iron was made at
Colebrookdale, and in some other places, by means of pit-
coal, and proved to be of as good a quality as that made
with timber. From this period the business steadily in¬
creased, though at first its progress was comparatively
slow ; and the great demand for iron occasioned by the late
war gave an extraordinary stimulus to the manufacture,
which has now become one of vast importance and great
value. In 1740, the quantity of pig-iron produced in Eng¬
land amounted to about 17,000 tons, produced by fifty-
nine furnaces. In 1750, it had increased to 22,000 tons ;
in 1788 to 68,000 tons, produced by eighty-five furnaces;
in 1796 to 125,000 tons, produced by 121 furnaces; in
v 1806 to 250,000 tons, produced by 169 furnaces; and in
1820 to about 400,000 tons. From inquiries made by go¬
vernment and others during several years preceding 1832,
it appears that the total quantities of iron produced in
Great Britain in the years 1823, 1825, 1828, and 1830,
were, in 1823, 469,561 tons, by 277 furnaces; in 1825,
618,236 tons, by 259 furnaces; in 1828, 703,184 tons, by
278 furnaces ; and in 1830, 678,417 tons, by 376 furnaces.
Supposing that the total quantity of pig-iron produced in
Great Britain amounts to 700,000 tons a year, and that at
an average it is worth L.6 per ton, its total value will be
L.4,200,000; and if to this be added L.l,200,000 for the
labour expended in converting pig-iron into bar-iron,
the manufacture will be w'orth about five millions and a
half annually. The increased production of iron has led
to its exportation in large quantities, and at the same time
reduced the imports of foreign iron from about 34,000
tons to not more than 16,000 tons, consisting principally
of Swedish iron for the purpose of being manufactured into
steel. The total number of persons for whom the iron
manufacture provides subsistence has been estimated at
from 207,000 to 240,000.
The iron-works of South Wales and Monmouthshire are
comprised in a range of country extending in the direction
ot north-west and south-east about twenty-five miles from
the one extremity to the other. The works at Hirwain in
Brecknock, and Aberdair in Glamorgan, form the extreme
points to the westward. But the great seat of the manu¬
facture is Merthyr Tydvil, from which there is a continued
line of furnaces, at Dovvlais, Romney, Tredegar, Howey,
Beaufort, Nantyglo, Blaenafon, Varteg, Abersyehan, and
Pontypool, forming the principal range in that direction.
About the middle of last century, Merthyr Tydvil was an
insignificant village. In 1755, the lands and mines for seve¬
ral miles round the village, were let for ninety-nine years at
a rent of L.200 a year. In 1831, the population of Mer¬
thyr Tydvil exceeded 22,000; Tredegar, which, at the be¬
ginning of the present century, was an uninhabited dis¬
trict, has now a population of about 7000 souls; and in
several other places the increase has been equally rapid.
The Staffordshire iron-wrorks, including those of Warwick¬
shire, are principally situated in the district wduch ex¬
tends from Wolverhampton round by Walsall to Birming¬
ham, and thence round by Dudley. The principal seat Minef;
of the works in Shropshire is Colebrookdale, where the s—v„
improvement of the manufacture commenced, as above
stated.
In Scotland, almost all the iron-works, with the excep¬
tion of those at Carron contiguous to the Forth, and at
Muirkirk in Ayrshire, are situated upon the Clyde, at no
great distance from Glasgow. In June 1835, there were
in blast twenty-nine furnaces, the annual produce of which
was estimated at 75,000 tons; but there were then in
preparation six additional furnaces, calculated to produce
13,000 tons a year. The proprietors of the Clyde iron¬
works have recently begun to employ the hot-blast, or air
heated to a high temperature, instead of the cold blast, or
a stream of common atmospheric air, in working their fur¬
naces ; and this discovery (for some account of which see
the article Glasgow) promises to be of material import¬
ance, by economising fuel, and also improving the quality
of the iron produced. It has been adopted at several works
in England, as well as in France. Iron was formerly pro¬
duced in considerable quantities in various parts of Ire¬
land ; but, owing to the scarcity of timber, the works were
subsequently in a great measure abandoned. Attempts,
however, have recently been made to revive them at
Arigna and other places, though not as yet with any very
decided success.
3. Tin Mines.
Tin is exclusively produced in Cornwall and in Devon¬
shire, but chiefly in the former. The tin mines of Corn¬
wall appear to have been worked from the remotest anti¬
quity ; in fact, those early navigators, the Phoenicians, are
supposed to have traded thither for tin ; and from this it
has been inferred that the discovery of tin in Cornwall
must have been made at least 2400 years ago. But it is
supposed that the only ore then worked was stream tin,
which is most accessible, and at that period probably ex¬
isted in great abundance; nor is it probable that mining,
or digging the ore from the veins, was known or practised
until about the tenth century of the Christian era. In
more modern times the business of mining has been pro¬
secuted with various skill and success. During the reign
of Elizabeth, the processes were improved by some Ger¬
man miners, who were brought over to assist in working
the mines. The ores of tin are not numerous. It is chief¬
ly found in the state of oxide, or in combination with other
metallic ores, particularly that of copper. They are gene¬
rally distributed in veins, w'hich are at no great distance
from the surface. The tin ore occupies the whole space
of the vein, and is closely attached to the granite rock,
which itself often contains the ore disseminated through¬
out its whole substance. Tin also exists in accumulated
masses or stockwerks. The general direction of the veins
is from east to west, or nearly so ; and, if not interrupted
or deranged by vertical strata, they preserve the same
course in traversing a considerable tract of country. In
some places tin and copper veins are united, and run pa¬
rallel to each other; the tin ore forming one side, and the
copper ore the other, of the double vein. The annual pro¬
duce of the tin mines fluctuated a good deal during the
last century. On an average of ten years ending with
1834, it may be taken at about 4500 tons, worth from L.65
to L.80 a ton. In 1834, the exports did not exceed 468
tons, the foreign market being principally supplied with
tin from the island of Banca.
All tin produced in Cornvrall is subject to a duty of L.4
per ton, payable to the Duke of Cornwall; and that raised
in Devonshire is subject to a similar duty of L.l. 13s. 4d.
per ton. This duty, which produces from L. 15,000 to
L.20,000 a year, is felt to be a serious grievance, not only
MINES.
24'7
from its amount, but from the vexatious manner in which
'it is collected. The miner, whatever his orders may be,
is not allowed at once to cast the metal into the form re¬
quired by his customer, but is obliged, in the first instance,
to melt it in the shape of blocks. He is then obliged to
convey it some eight or ten miles to one of the coinage
towns, where a small piece is struck off one of the corners,
impressed with the arms of the duchy, and the duty paid;
after which it has to be carried back before it can be ship¬
ped, to the place whence it was taken to be coined. The
ceremony of coinage is only performed quarterly; and
hence, if the demand for tin be ever so pressing in the in¬
terval between the stated coinages, the miner cannot supply
it. There are likewise certain fees payable on coinage,
particularly if it take place during the Christmas and Lady-
day quarters; so that if to the duty of L.4 per ton be
added these charges, and a reasonable allowance for ex¬
pense of carriage, trouble, and inconvenience, the whole
may be estimated at L.5 per ton. A tax at once so op¬
pressive and vexatious cannot but prove detrimental to the
working of the mines.
4. Copper Mines.
This metal is of much more importance than tin, on ac¬
count of its tenacity, ductility, and malleability, as well as
the numerous alloys and combinations which it forms with
other metals, and which render it susceptible of being ap¬
plied to many of the most useful purposes of life. It exists
in almost all the different states of metallic ores, being
found in those of native copper, alloy, sulphuret, oxide,
and also in that of a salt. It is most abundant in Corn¬
wall, where it is produced upon a very large scale, owing to
the richness of the mines. These are in veins which tra¬
verse the country, frequently accompanying those of tin,
! and running in the same direction, which is generally from
east to west. They are nearly in a vertical position, some
of them being from four to five feet in thickness ; and at a
depth varying from 400 to 600 feet, they continue to be
equally productive. The copper ores of Cornwall are
chiefly yellow ore or iron pyrites, and vitreous copper ore;
and they are commonly accompanied with other metallic
ores, as those of lead, zinc, and cobalt, and also with fluor
spar, lime spar, barytes, and quartz. Native copper is
not an unusual production; it is generally found in that
part of the vein which is nearest the surface, and which is
the least rich in other ores. Sometimes, however, it is
met with at a considerable depth, as in Cook’s Kitchen
Mine, which yielded several tons of copper fit for imme¬
diate fusion.1 Malachite, and many of the varieties of ar-
seniate of copper, are likewise found in these mines.
As the ores of copper and tin frequently occur inter¬
mixed, it may be supposed that the former were wrought,
to some extent, at as early a period as the latter. But this
does not appear to have been the case; and it is only since
the beginning of the eighteenth century that the superior
importance of the copper mines began to be understood,
and that they were worked with spirit and success. From
1136 to 1745, they furnished annually about 700 tons of
metal; and from 1756 to 1765 they yielded 1800 tons. In
1775 the produce increased to 2650 tons a year; in 1798
it exceeded 5000 tons; and at present (1837) it amounts
to about 12,000 tons. Besides Cornwall, other parts of the
kingdom supply considerable quantities of copper. The
famous mines in Parys Mountain, in the island of Anglesey,
were discovered in 1768. From the peculiar site and dis¬
position of the mineral, it was not necessary to work it, like
the Cornish mines, by shafts and levels, but to dig at once
into the sides of the mountain, which was composed chiefly Mines,
of copper ore, and to extract it as if from an open quarry.
I he ore was obtained by blasting, and for a time the sup¬
plies of it were abundant beyond all precedent, forming a
vast source of wealth to the adventurers and proprietors.
But for many years past the productiveness of these mines
has been declining, and they now yield comparatively lit¬
tle. The Parys Mountain is supposed to have furnished in
all 85,000 tons of pure metal, which, at L.90 a ton, must
have produced the enormous sum of L.7,650,000. At pre¬
sent the entire produce of the mines of Anglesey and Wales
does not exceed 900 tons a year. Previously to 1770 the
mine of Ecton, in Staffordshire, was one of the most pro¬
ductive in the kingdom. It is supposed to have been worked
at a very early period, and at one time a thousand persons
w ere employed in the works. The operations were latterly
carried on at a depth considerably exceeding 200 fathoms.
From a statement published in the Transactions of the
Cornwall Geological Society, and which appears to be au¬
thentic, we learn that the produce, in pure metal, of the
copper mines of Great Britain and Ireland, during the five
years ending wuth the 30th June 1827, that is, in 1823,
1824, 1825, 1826, and 1827, was, respectively, 9715, 9836,
10,350, 11,069, and 12,381 tons. Owing to the want of
coal the Cornish copper ores are not smelted on the spot,
but are shipped at the port nearest the mine for Swansea,
where the principal smelting companies have their esta¬
blishments. The copper produced in Ireland is also con¬
veyed to Swansea to be smelted. Hence, if we take an
account of the copper sold in Cornwall, at Swansea, De¬
von, and Anglesey, we shall obtain a pretty accurate esti¬
mate of the total produce of the different mines of the em¬
pire. But such an account has been furnished in papers
published by the Board of Trade, containing the total sales
of each year from 1820 to 1834 both included. From this
it appears that the total produce of copper may at present
be estimated at about 14,000 tons a year, worth from L.90
to L.100 a ton, or from L.1,260,000 to L.1,400,000. The
exports amount to between 8000 and 9000 tons, partly
wrought and partly manufactured, more than half of which
is shipped for the East Indies and China, and the remain¬
der for France and the United States. Copper is exempt¬
ed from the tax laid on tin, and consequently from the op¬
pressive regulations to which we have already alluded as
growing out of it.
The number of the tin and copper mines of Cornwall is
not exactly known, because old workings are frequently
given up, and new ones opened, whilst, in many instances,
those which were formerly abandoned are again brought
into activity. The number of mines at present wrought,
however, may be estimated at 140, the greater proportion
of which consists of copper mines. The veins or lodes vary
in thickness from three inches to thirty feet. The excava¬
tions are sometimes w rought to a very great depth. In the
consolidated mines there is a shaft, in the parish of Gwen-
nap, between Truro and Redruth, which is 265 fathoms
deep. Two large steam-engines are not unfrequently em¬
ployed upon one mine; and there are instances where the
sinking of the shaft, and a single engine with its appara¬
tus, have cost upwards of L.10,000. The power of steam-
engines at present employed in the Cornish mines is pro¬
bably equivalent to that of from 45,000 to 50,000 horses.
The mines in Cornwall are generally undertaken by com¬
panies of adventurers. If the mine be upon a waste it is
the property of the king, as Duke of Cornwall, to whose
agents the adventurers apply for a lease ; if it be private
property its owners are of course applied to, and it is
usually let for twenty-one years, or for such portion of that
Pryce,. Mineralog. Cornub., Introd. p. 8.
MINES.
248
Mines, time as the workings shall be proceeded in. The rent va-
s'-‘—y'-**' ries, according to circumstances, from one eighth to one
thirteenth of the ores raised. The miners are sometimes
paid by the piece, and sometimes by a certain per centage
upon the ores raised by them. They relieve each other by
turns, each set generally continuing in the mine for eight
hours ; but when working at the bottom of deep shafts they
relieve each other every six hours.
Tin and copper mining, like that of the precious metals,
is exceedingly precarious. There is no certainty beyond
the actual moment. Veins which promise much when first
opened sometimes fall off below and occasion immense loss
to the adventurers, or continue to be wrought in hopes of
improvement, but with little or no profit; whilst, on the
other hand, mines and veins which, at the outset, promised
little or nothing, come in time to yield very large profits.
Hence, if great losses often occur, enormous fortunes are
sometimes realised. Crennis copper mine returned a clear
profit to the adventurers of L.84,000 in one year; and
Huel yielded nearly L.130,000, after defraying every ne¬
cessary outlay. The expense of working some of the large
mines is very great. In that of Huel Vor, 3000 lbs. of can¬
dles and 3500 lbs. of gunpowder are consumed in a month.
The total amount of capital employed in connection with
the tin and copper mines of Cornwall has been estimated at
L.2,440,000; and the total number of persons to whom
they afford occupation directly or indirectly is supposed to
be 76,000. The miners and others engaged in the tin
v mines-of Cornwall and Devonshire are under the especial
protection of the Stannary Courts, which were established
about five hundred years ago, and have not undergone any
material alteration since the reign of Charles II. These
courts are held by the lord warden of the stannaries; and
no miner or other person really engaged in the mines can
be sued in any other court except upon pleas of land, life,
or member. From the Stannary Courts no writ of error
lies to any court in Westminster Hall; but an appeal may
be taken to the privy council of the Duke of Cornwall.1
5. Lead Mines.
With the exception of iron, lead is perhaps the most
abundant of the metallic substances found in Europe. The
most common ore of this metal is the sulphuret or galena,
which occurs massive, or crystallized in various forms, and
is met with not only in primitive, but also in secondary
mountains, being generally deposited in veins or extensive
beds. The rocks in which it is most commonly distribut¬
ed are gneiss, mica, schistus, limestone, and greywacke ;
and the mineral substances which constitute the matrix or
gangue are quartz, bhrytes, lime spar, and fluor spar. The
ores of lead are likewise accompanied by a great number
of other metallic substances, particularly by some of the
ores of zinc, as blende and calamine, iron and copper py¬
rites, sparry iron ore, and red vitreous silver ore.
The lead mines of Great Britain are numerous and im¬
portant. That the mines of Derbyshire were wrought in
the time of the Romans, is evident from the blocks of lead
which have been found with Roman inscriptions on them.2
But, excepting in these, it does not appear that lead was ob¬
tained any where in England until theyearl289, when it was
discovered in Wales; and the fact having transpired that
silver was found intermixed with the Welsh ores, this gave
a fresh stimulus to'the business. In other respects, how- % ^
ever, the discovery of silver was of no avail, as the quan-s—,| *
tity obtained proved altogether insufficient to defray the
expense of separating it from the lead. At present the most
productive lead mines are situated in Allendale and other
parts of Northumberland; in Aldstone Moor and its vici¬
nity in Cumberland; in the western parts of Durham; in
the hundred of High Peak in Derbyshire; in some parts
of Flintshire ; at Leadhills and Wanlockhead, and on the
confines of Dumfriesshire and Lanarkshire, in Scotland.
It is not easy, for want of returns, to arrive at a correct
estimate of the annual produce of these mines; but in the
aggregate it must be very considerable, amounting probably
to between 45,000 and 50,000 tons. The foreign lead im¬
ported is almost all re-exported ; and hence the supply ob¬
tained from our own mines must not only be sufficient to sa¬
tisfy the home consumption, which is very great, but, as our
exports exceed our imports by from 10,000 to 14,000 tons,
to furnish this quantity in addition. Lead has declined
in price since the year 1820, owing to the increased supplies
obtained from Spain, and the comparatively cheap rate at
which these are furnished. This metal is raised in differ¬
ent parts of Ireland, as in the county of Wicklow, at Came
in Wexford, and in Armagh and Donegal; but some of
the lead mines which were formerly wrought in Kerry and
Mayo have been abandoned.
The mineral called black lead or plumbago is found at
Borrowdale in Cumberland, where mines of it have been
wrought since the days of Queen Elizabeth, and furnish
the best material hitherto discovered for making pencils.
F'ormerly the proprietors of these mines enjoyed a com¬
plete monopoly of the market; and by occasionally shut¬
ting them up, and thus diminishing the supply of the mi¬
neral, they kept its price at a high level, and realised large
profits. But, latterly, plumbago has been imported in
considerable quantities from Mexico and Ceylon ; and, al¬
though inferior in quality, yet, being cheaper than the
English, it has superseded the latter for most purposes,
except the best kind of pencils. The lead is not found in
veins, but in detached pieces ; it is often lost, and the min¬
ers are frequently engaged for a long time in seeking at
random for a new supply. The quality of the mineral
differs materially, the lightest being the best. It is cut in¬
to the proper form for pencils by the manufacturers of Kes¬
wick and London.
6. Salt Mines.
No country is better supplied than England with beds
of fossil or rock salt, and also with brine springs. The
latter, which occur at Northwich, Winsford, Middlewich,
and other places adjacent to the Weaver in Cheshire, and
at Droitwich in Worcestershire, have been known and
wrought from a remote era. But it was not until a com¬
paratively recent period that the beds of fossil salt were
discovered, the first of them having been met with in
1670, about thirty-four yards below the surface, in search¬
ing for coal in the vicinity of Northwich. In 1779 a se¬
cond bed of fossil salt was discovered near Lawton, about
forty-two yards below the surface ; and others have since
been found in different parts of the surrounding country.
These beds, or strata, are generally of very great thickness;
and, upon cutting through the indurated marl at the bot-
1 Phillips’ Mineralogy, p. 194, et seq. Guide to Mountsbav, p. 190, second ed. Blaekstone’s Commentaries, book iii. c. 6.
* A block of lead of this kind was discovered on Cromford Moor in the year 1777, with the following inscription :—“ The sixth le¬
gion inscribes this in memory of the Emperor Hadrian.” Another block was found at Matlock Bank in 1783, inscribed thus:—“ Tke
property of Lucius Aruconius Verecundus, merchant of London.” The weight of this block was 841bs. A third block, weighing H
cwt., was subsequently discovered at Matlock, and upon it was found this inscription:—Ti. Cl. Tr. Lut. Br. Exarg., probably
meaning Tilerii Claudiani Triumviri Lutudari Britannorum Exargentaria. The Saxons and Danes, it is also supposed, were engaged in
working the lead mines of Derbyshire.
MINES.
Mi la-
tom of the first stratum, another of still greater thickness
''has sometimes been discovered below it. In one instance
a third bed has been pierced, of twenty-five yards, without
reaching the lower surface of the stratum. There are
also beds of fossil salt at Droitwich ; but as these have not
been wrought, comparatively little is known respecting
them.
Men dip Hills, Somersetshire, from which it is obtained in
quantities sufficient to meet the demand. In Scotland
the ores of manganese have not been discovered in such
abundance as to become an object of pursuit.
Zinc has never been met with in the metallic state. It
exists in the form of sulphuret, in that of oxide, and also
in the state of carbonate. The ores of zinc are very com-
Rock salt, when dug from the mine, is seldom of such pu- mon in several of the lead mines of Great Britain whlre the
nty as to admit of its being used without undergoing some metal is found sometimes in the form of blende or sulnhn
process of refining. The largest portion of the salt pro- ret, and sometimes in that of calamine, or oxide It is ob-
duced in Cheshire, and nearly the whole of that produced tained from the mines of Derbyshire, particularly at Castle
in Worcestershire, are obtained from the brine springs. In ton, Cromford, Bonsai, and Wirksworth : but F inish re'
Cheshire, the brine being pumped up from deep wells, is and the Isle of Man furnish ores of the best oualitv At
collected in reservoirs, and, being saturated by means of Leadhills, in Scotland, blende, and some of the varieties
crushed rock salt, is thence conveyed into large, broad, of calamine, are frequently met with. The blende is occa
shallow- pans, placed oyer furnaces, where the water which sionally found in great abundance ; sometimes it occurs
holds the salt in solution is evaporated, and the salt ren- in detached masses, and sometimes it occupies the whole
dered fit for use. Different qualities of salt are produced, vein, to the exclusion of the lead ore.
according to the mode in which the heat is applied, and
the process of evaporation conducted. Animal jelly, butter,
and other foreign substances, are sometimes employed to
assist in clearing the brine, and in granulating the salt.
Salt has been obtained from the brine pits at Droitwich
for at least a thousand years. When these are dug to a
sufficient depth, the brine ascends to the surface." But
the quantity of white salt made here is very inferior to
that produced in Cheshire, and this place does not furnish
any supplies of fossil salt. Part of the rock salt of Che¬
shire is refined at Newcastle and other places.
The consumption of salt in this country is immense. In
those provinces of France which had purchased an exemp¬
tion from the gabelle, Necker estimated the consumption
at 19| lbs. for each individual; but, from the difference
8. Stone and Slate Quarries.
The stone quarries of England are not of any great
value or importance. The principal are situated in the
Isle of Portland, and in the neighbourhood of Bath. The
annual produce of the Portland quarries may be estimated
at about 18,000 tons. From them have been obtained the
stones employed in the construction of St Paul’s, and in
that of most other public buildings in London. The quar¬
ries of Gateshead Fell, near Newcastle, furnish the grind¬
stones universally known by the name of Newcastle grind¬
stones. Scotland is distinguished for the number and ex-
cellence of its quarries. But those of Craigleith, Cullalo,
Fifeshire, and some others, are amongst the most celebrat-
~ c a jii- i . „ , , ” :   cMt ttinuii-sL tut/ uiiJM ueieurai-
ot our food and habits, the consumption of the people of ed. The general beauty of the houses in the New Town
this country may be estimated a little higher, or at 22 lbs.
each person. On this supposition, and taking the popula¬
tion at 16,500,000, the entire consumption of Great Bri¬
tain, exclusively of Ireland, will amount to 363,000,000
lbs., or 161,000 tons. But, besides this, between 11,000,000
and 12,000,000 bushels, equivalent to about 300,000 tons,
are exported to the United States and the British North
American colonies, to Holland and Belgium, Russia, Den¬
mark, and other countries. In ancient Rome salt was sub
of Edinburgh attests the excellency of the stone of which
they are built, and which has been principally furnished
by the Craigleith quarry. Large quantities of granite are
shipped from Aberdeen for London, where it is employed
in various public works, and likewise in paving the streets.
The Liverpool docks have been partly constructed of gra¬
nite brought from Kirkcudbrightshire.
The principal slate quarries in Great Britain are situated
in Caernarvonshire. Those belonging to Mr Pennant are
. ' - -   ;—— “ vuiioiiiic. i nuisc i/eiuHging to ivir jrennaiK are
ject to a duty (vectigal salinarum) ; and it has generally the most extensive and valuable, furnishing employment for
been heavilv taxed in modern times. The nnhplle. nr enrfe nhnnt lAnn mon on/I Koito nfko.. tUnt-n  •
been heavily taxed in modern times. The gabelle, or code
of salt laws, formerly established in France, was most oppres¬
sive, and its severity had no inconsiderable share in bring¬
ing about the Revolution. In this country the duties upon
salt, which were first imposed in the reign of William HI.,
amounted, in 1798, to 5s. a bushel, and were subsequently
about 1500 men and boys. The other slate* quarries in
Caernarvonshire and North Wales employ generally about
1800 men and boys. There are also extensive quarries in
different parts of South Wales, at Ulverstone in Lanca¬
shire, and in other places. The principal slate quarries of
Scotland are in the island of Easdale, and at Ballachulish
. 7 — ^ i/io-iiv* tiia; in nit; isiaiiu ui uzo&utuc, aim at rmiiacnuiisn
increased to 15s. a bushel, or about forty times the cost of in Argyleshire ; but, speaking generally, they do not fur-
the article taxed. So exorbitant a duty was productive nish slates of the same size and smoothness as those ob-
ot the worst effects, occasioning a great deal of smuggling ; tained from the Welsh quarries.1 The slate quarries near
and, the opihion of the public having been strongly ex- Dunkeld are worked under great disadvantage, owing to
pressed against it, the tax was finally renealed in 1823. their distance from anv nort of shinmpnt- and h^nr-P rim
pressed against it, the tax was finally repealed in 1823
7. Mines of Manganese and Zinc.
Manganese, a mineral substance of considerable conse¬
quence in the arts, exists chiefly in the state of oxide, and
sometimes in that of carbonate. The ores appear under a
great variety of forms, and it has hitherto been found ex¬
tremely difficult to reduce them to the metallic state; but
it is easy to detect a large quantity by means of the blow¬
pipe, the action of which, with the addition of borax, and
a little nitre, produces a violet-coloured glass. This mi¬
neral is found at Upton-Pyne in Devonshire, and in the
their distance from any port of shipment; and hence the
supply is almost wholly limited to the demand of the coun¬
try immediately adjacent.
III.—CONTINENTAL MINES.
Most of the mineral and metallic substances which
abound in Great Britain and Ireland have also been dis¬
covered, and to a certain extent excavated, in one or other
of the countries of the continent of Europe ; and the lat¬
ter likewise afford a variety of mineral products which, as
compared with those of Great Britain, are peculiar to them-
See M-Culloch’s Statistical Account of the British Empire, vol. ii. chap. 2. To this great repository of valuable information we
iave to acknowledge pre-eminent obligations on the subject of British mines and minerals, which are treated of at length in the
^ chapter above referred to.
249
Mines.
VOL. XV.
2 I
250
M I N E S.
Mines, selves. In addition to coal, iron, tin, copper, lead, zinc,
/ manganese, &c. they furnish, in greater or less quantities,
gold, silver, mercury, and various other metals or mineral
substances, some of which are equally valuable and useful.
We shall therefore endeavour to give a short account, first,
of those minerals and metals which they possess in com¬
mon with this country ; and, secondly, of those which are
comparatively peculiar to themselves, or, in other words,
what are not found at all, or only to a very trifling extent,
in Great Britain and Ireland.
1. Coal Mines.
Before the war of the Revolution, England supplied the
maritime parts of France with coal. But the declaration
of hostilities having put an end to this trade, and thus de¬
prived these parts of their ordinary supply, the rulers of
France directed their attention to the improvement of her
internal resources ; and, amongst other objects of research,
the discovery of coal was too important to be neglected.
Wherever any favourable indications presented themselves,
the attempt was accordingly made, and it appears in many
cases to have been prosecuted with considerable success.
Indeed an inspection of the map of trance, on which the
coal districts are delineated, would lead us to suppose that
one half of that country contains coal; but there are many
circumstances which tend to show that the extent of the
coal strata is much more limited, and that the representa¬
tions which have been made on the subject, in certain official
documents, are greatly exaggerated. In a report address¬
ed to the consular government, it is stated that coal is
wrought in forty-seven departments, and that sixteen others
afford indications of the same mineral. But of the forty-
seven departments in which coal mines are stated to be
wrought, reports of the products of thirty-four only were
obtained; and, from the estimated annual amount of coal
produced in these departments, it appears evident that the
total annual produce of the coal mines of France, at the
period referred to in the report, could not have exceeded
5,000,000 tons. That a considerably larger supply has
since been obtained, cannot admit of any reasonable doubt;
but, whether from the comparative barrenness of the mines,
the difficulty of working them, or inferiority of skill and
less perfect machinery, to say nothing of the relative qua¬
lity of the coal produced, it appears that, even at the pre¬
sent day, English coal might be exported to France and
sold at a price considerably lower than French. The coal
which has been found in the southern parts of France is
very generally of an inferior quality, the best mines being
those which are situated in the department of Aveyron,
on the banks of the Lot and the Dordogne. In the central
parts it is met with in greater abundance, though not al¬
ways of a good quality; and the coal on the eastern fron¬
tier seems to be of no great importance. In the western
parts, the mines of Montrelais have long furnished a con¬
siderable supply to the country situated upon the banks of
the Loire. But the richest coal mines in the kingdom
occur'in that part of France which lies between Calais and
the Rhine; indeed the produce of the coal mines of the
North amounts to nearly three fourths of that of the whole
kingdom. The most important coal fields in this part of
the country are those of Boulogne, Jemappes, and Anzin.
No coal has yet been discovered in any part of Spain
or Italy, nor have any indications of the existence of that
mineral presented themselves in either of these countries.
But in several parts of Germany, and in Bohemia, there
are valuable mines, some of which yield coal in consider¬
able abundance. The northern countries of Europe are,^
for the most part, entirely destitute of this species of fossil
fuel. Coal is indeed found in several parts of the Russian
empire, but it is of so bad a quality as to be almost unfit
for use. Some appearances of this mineral were observed
by Olivier on the shores of the Black Sea; pit-coal has
also been met with in the vicinity of the Donetz; and to
the north of Taganrog there is an immense stratum, twen¬
ty-four feet in thickness, consisting of slate coal of very
inferior quality.
2. Iron Mines.
The iron manufacture of France has been very greatly
extended since the commencement of the Revolution, and
is protected by high duties, which secure to the native ma¬
nufacturer the almost exclusive possession of the French
market. The iron ores are chiefly met with in the vicinity
of the Pyrenees, being deposited in veins, some of which
are from six to eight feet in thickness ; and iron stones are
also abundant in France, particularly in those departments
w here coal strata prevail. Latterly, great exertions have
been made by the French government to encourage and
extend the native manufacture of iron -,l but the metal
produced is still vastly inferior in quality to the English
and Scotch, and is at the same time considerably higher
in price. The principal iron mines of Spain are situated
in the provinces of Biscay and Catalonia; and the ores from
which the metal is extracted consist of the sparry kind,
together with red and brown haematites. Many parts of
Germany have long been celebrated for the abundance
and excellence of the iron extracted from the native ores,
particularly in Styria, Carinthia, and Franconia.
The island of Elba possesses one of the richest iron
mines in the world, the existence of which appears to have
been known from the earliest times. The ore is chiefly ot
the specular kind, and the mass constitutes an entire
mountain, which is surrounded by others consisting ot
granite, of wjfich the island is almost wholly composed.
This mountain, which is called Rio, is about 500 feet in
height, and three miles in circumference ; and its surface
is covered with a reddish ochry earth, which in some
places is several feet in thickness, and full of small shining
scales of iron ore. Beneath this covering, the mass of the
mountain consists of metallic ore, or rather, it is composed
of accumulated masses, thrown together without any order
or stratification. These masses are deposited in an ochry
substance, which may be considered as their matrix; and,
besides the specular ore, which predominates, other spe¬
cies and varieties are occasionally met with. The iron
mines of Elba were wrought in the time of the Romans,
by means of excavations carried into the mountain; but
now the ore is extracted by the ordinary process of quar¬
rying. It has been conjectured by some that the mass of
iron ore in the island of Elba is part of a great vein of im¬
mense extent running into the adjacent continent.
The iron mines of Sweden have long been celebrated on
account of the rich ores which they afford, and the superior
quality of the iron which is thence obtained. The most
remarkable are those of Danemora, distant four Swedish
miles from Upsal, and which were first discovered in 14/7u.
The mines are in primitive rocks, and the ore is said by
some to be found in enormous masses, though, according
to others, it is deposited in the form of a great vein
is wrought to the day, and the greatest depth Is less than
1 This is evinced in the able Report made to the director-general of mines in France, by M. Dufrenoy, on the use of hot air^n 1 e
iron-works of England and Scotland (Paris, 1834, and London, 1830). It is not a little singular, that we should be indebted to a
foreigner for the first detailed account of the progress of an invention which had its birth in Scotland, and which has in
country been attended with signal success.
mine s.
Mitts, a hundred fathoms. From 1200 to 1500 persons are con- rcnpps .i i x j
—'—'stantlv employed in the different operations connected with tmedoc irp mt / ^ ex iauste^’ an(^ tne mines of Lan-
these mines. The mountain of Taberg in Smaland ,"01- Chessv and S“t,,'>;oduct;ve ; the, m»st ™ “W® are those of
most entirely composed of iron ore ; it consists of a ^eat ^Se™ Tht^ore
with clay and small grains of felspar, thus exhibiting the of Spain are situated on heZntiers'of Portugal "biTap3
appearance of porphyntic rock. Ihe mines of Arendal in n^nr tr. oo r*xi ers or P ortugal, Put ap-
Norway furnish abundance of iron ore mixed with garnets ore is copper py riti.^^^ftom^rToti JpTr'cmPof
and other minerals which are found only in primitive rocks, metal. There is a tradition thot An P • t f
The Ural Mountains, so rich in other metallic ores, contain wrought !„ Xe L,e of rCarehlgMan ZZZMn
23= 2=as sssrgSs
Tjasttlsi-sssr’''--^ tsstsssr^7i£S£-Ssit
tamed in this stratum or bed consists chiefly of copper
pyrites; but vitreous copper ore, and red oxide of copper,
are sometimes met with. Of the Hessian mines, the
most considerable is that of Riegelsdorf, which yields an¬
nually about 2500 quintals of copper. There are similar
mines at Frankenberg near Cassel, at Bieber in Hanau,
at Eisleben in the county of Mansfeld, and also in the dis¬
trict of Magdeburg. In Hungary there are some valuable
copper mines, particularly those of Herengrund near Neu-
sohl, where the mineral is found in the form of gray
copper ore, deposited in beds of considerable thickness,
amongst a breccia of micaceous schistus.
But one of the most extensive and most productive cop-
pei mines in the world is that of tahlun, in the province
of Dalecarlia, in Sweden. The mining district occupies a
space of nine leagues in length by two and a half in breadth,
and is surrounded by a reddish granite, which becomes of
a finer grain as it approaches the centre of this space, and
is then succeeded by a micaceous rock dividing into rhom-
boidal fragments. The principal mass, which is of enor¬
mous dimensions, consists of iron and copper pyrites lying
in a vertical position from north-west to south-east along
the valley in which it is deposited. Here there is an im¬
mense opening or gulf 840 feet in length, 720 in breadth,
and 240 in depth, which was produced in the year 1687,
by the falling in of the superincumbent mass, in conse¬
quence of the unskilful manner in which the subterranean
operations had been conducted. In this celebrated mine
the mass of ore is described as lying in the form of an in¬
verted cone, and the excavation has been carried to a
depth of more than 200 fathoms ; but it is supposed that
this is nearly the utmost extent to which the mass of ore
3. Tin Mines.
That portion of the west of France wdiich is, as it were,
projected between Cornwall in England and Galicia in
Spain, has been supposed to afford indications of tin, pro¬
bably from some similarity in geological structure ; but, in
point of fact, none has yet been discovered. Ores of this
metal have, however, been found in Galicia, and on the
frontiers of Portugal, where, in the year 1787, a mine was
opened, and veins, some of them six feet in thickness, began
to be wrought. These veins were included in granite. Tin
mines were formerly wrought in the north of Portugal, and
traces of the ore are still visible. At Marienberg in Ger¬
many a mine is wrought, in a vein about six feet thick,
which runs from east to west, like those of Cornwall, with
an inclination of about 70°. The mountain in w’hich the
tin mines of Ehrenfriedersdorf are situated, contains, with¬
in a space of about a hundred fathoms, a great number of
parallel veins, running in the same direction, and some of
them almost in contact with one another; so that, in the
thickness of about three fathoms, there are sometimes found
four or five veins, the hanging side of one vein forming the
ledger side of the other. These veins traverse a rock of
argillaceous schistus, but none of them has been wrought
to any great depth. There are also tin mines at Alten-
berg, Geyer, and Zinnwald, which, with that just men¬
tioned, produce annually about 4000 cwt. of metal. The
tin mines of Platte in Bohemia are, as usual, in granite,
and the veins traverse the rock in a direction approaching
to that of east and west. In the Kaff Mountain there is a
tm mine in which iron ore is found at the top of the vein
, .    —~ ^ ucaiiy uie uunusi exieni ro wmcn me mass or ore
a tm at a greater depth ; and it has been conjectured penetrates the earth, as latterly the operations have been
,^:7e^e.the mminS 0Per^tions carried to a still lower conducted upon a more limited scale than in former times.
depth, silver ores would be found. But the most remark¬
able tin mine of Bohemia is that of Schlackenwald, where
the ore is deposited in the form of accumulated masses or
stockwerks. One of these masses, shaped like an inverted
cone, is of very considerable magnitude, being from ninety
to a hundred fathoms in thickness. It is surrounded by
gneiss, and the mass itself is composed of granite, in which
are disseminated grains of tin ore. This mine has been
wrought for more than five centuries, and has been carried
to a depth of about a hundred fathoms; but the ore is so
It was in this mine that Gustavus Vasa, when driven from
his throne, worked for a time, to procure the means of
subsistence. In the mine of Garpenberg, which is about
eighteen leagues from that of Fahlun, there are fourteen
veins in a vertical position, and all parallel to one another,
being situated in a quartzose micaceous schistus, which
is also disposed parallel to the veins.
In Siberia there are two principal mines of copper,
which are both situated in the extensive chain of the Ural
Mountains. One of these, that of Goumechefski, about
j. .» 7 ~ , uni, w wue or inese, mat or rjroumecneisKi, aoout
seminated in the rock, that it requires ten thousand fourteen leagues to the south-west of Katherineberg, is in
quin a s to yield from thirty-five to forty quintals of tin.1 the central part of the chain, in a kind of plain, upon the
border of a lake, surrounded by primitive mountains. The
4. Copper Mines. vein 18 nearly in a vertical position, being disposed be-
_ tween a bed of primitive white marble and an argillaceous
Ihe copper mines of France do not appear to be of any schistus in a state of incipient decomposition. The matrix
great importance. Those of Bigorre, in the western Py- of the ores is a clay of different colours, and they consist
rmanTu'8 Indies, particularly that of the island of Banca, is considered as purer than the tin of Europe. Great
vp;n„1 ies ,Prmer are now imported. The mines of Banca have already yielded more than 4,000,000 lbs. of metal, and the
v eins “e still far from being exhausted.
T
252
MINES.
Mines, chiefly of native copper in grains and small masses, with
—— v some vitreous copper ore ; whilst the fissures and cavities
are encrusted with malachite, some beautiful specimens of
, which have been obtained. The length ot the vein is
about 200 fathoms, and its thickness varies from one to
ten fathoms. The ore yields only between three and four
per cent, and the amount of copper annually produced is
about 4000 quintals. The other Siberian mines are those
of Tourinski, on the river Touria, at the eastern base of
the Ural chain, and about a hundred leagues north of
Katherineberg. The vein is included in a bed ot white
marble, which in thickness does not exceed four fathoms.
The matrix of the ores is clay, but it is rich, and often
exhibits a beautiful appearance, being varied with veins
of blue and green steatites, red oxide of copper, fragments
of malachite, gray ore, and not unfrequently native cop¬
per. The ore yields from eighteen to twenty per cent.,
and the annual produce is about 20,000 quintals.
5. Lead Mines.
France possesses considerable mines of lead, particularly
tinued. Some ores of zinc abound in the mines of Saxony,
and in those of the Hartz, where they are found in consi- >
derable quantities, and also in peculiar repositories. A
mass of blende, similar to that observed in the Pyrenees,
was discovered in the Hartz, unmixed with any other
metal, and capable of affording any quantity of ore.
France possesses some valuable mines of manganese,
particularly that of Romaneche, in the department of Saone
and Loire, which is situated on the eastern declivity of a
chain of primitive mountains, stretching from north-north-
east, and composed of granite, limestone, and a siliceous
sandstone. The manganese is incumbent on the granite,
forming neither a bed nor a vein, but being deposited in a
kind of accumulated mass, about ten fathoms in its greatest
breadth, and nearly two hundred in length. The thick¬
ness of this mass of manganese varies from seven to fifteen
feet, and the greater part of it is free from admixture with
other minerals, except fluor spar of a deep violet colour,
with which it is sometimes found combined. Manganese
is also found in other parts of France, as in the Cevennes,
where it occurs in a matrix of granite ; in the department
of the Vosges and the Moselles ; and in the neighbour-
The
Mines.
those of Poullaouen and Huel^oet, in the department of hood of Perigueux, m the^deparunent oJ_ Dordogne
Finisterre, which have been worked into two parallel veins
included in primitive rocks. There are also mines of lead
in the Vosges, where the galena is disseminated in a thick
vein of decomposed granite; in the department of Sambre
and Meuse, where the veins traverse limestone nearly in
a vertical position ; and in other places, where, in their dis¬
tributions and productions, the mines are analogous to those
of Great Britain. The produce of the French mines is about
30,000-quintals of lead annually. There are many valu¬
able mines of lead in Germany, particularly in Saxony and
the Hartz. Lead ore is also obtained from the mines
of Hungary and Bohemia, which sometimes yield a con¬
siderable proportion of silver. The mines of Bleyberg, in
Carinthia, where galena is the prevailing ore, furnish the
finest specimens of molybdate of lead. At Tarnowitz in
Silesia there is a remarkable deposition of lead ore, the
beds in which it is distributed reposing on horizontal stra¬
ta of compact limestone, which contains petrified shells,
and is impregnated with bituminous matter. The lead ore
is deposited in veins, in rounded masses, and in small grains.
The only appearance of lead in the immense chain of the
Ural Mountains, so rich in other mineral productions, is in
the state of chromate, or red lead, which was first dis- --    n nnn ‘ r
covered in Siberia, and the principal repository of which extent, and afford annually about 2,000,000 cwt. o is
manganese mine in the valley of Aoste, Piedmont, has been
described by Saussure in his Voyages. It is situated in a
mountain of gneiss, the beds of which are nearly horizon¬
tal ; and the ore is supposed to be deposited in the form of
a large mass rather than in that ot a bed or vein. Ihis
mine affords fine specimens of the carbonate of manganese,
crystallized in the form of rhomboidal prisms, and of a
beautiful purple-red colour. Ores of this metal are not
uncommon in various parts of Germany. Ihe carbonate
has been found in the gold mine ot Nagyag, and in ether
auriferous mines of Transylvania. In the Ural Moun¬
tains there is a siliceous sandstone, which is entirely pene¬
trated with manganese, disposed in a dendritical form,
throughout the whole mass of the stone.
7. Mines of Rock Salt.
Fossil salt is usually found alternating with beds of clay,
accompanying gypsum, sandstone, and limestone; some¬
times in considerable beds, but often in detached masses,
and also in veins. Mines of rock salt occur in Hungary,
the southern part of Germany, at Vic in France, and also
at Wielizka in Poland. The last of these are of prodigious
is the gold mine of Beresof. It is found in a small vein
of ferruginous quartz, traversing a gneiss rock of a reddish
colour.
6. Mines of Zinc and Manganese.
fossil product, without any appearance of exhaustion.
Having thus noticed the various mineral products which
the continent of Europe possesses in common with Great
Britain, and also indicated their respective localities in
the different countries, we now proceed, in conformity with
In a lead mine about six leagues from Cherbourg in our plan, to give some account of those whic may
France there is a vein of calamine four fathoms in thick- considered either as peculiar to the Continent, compar
ness; and in the neighbourhood of Aix-la-Chapelle there with Great Britain, or which occur there in sufficient a
is a prodigious mass of calamine imbedded between two dance to be extracted from their ores, and for this reaso
rocks, composed of micaceous schistus and sandstone, in- come within the scope of the present article,
termixed with very hard quartz. The ore is extracted by
sinking shafts, from the lower extremities of which gal¬
leries have been driven, some of them to a very consi¬
derable extent. When the ore is exhausted on this level,
the shafts are sunk deeper, and a new series of operations
is commenced. An immense mass of blende, or sulphu-
ret of zinc, was discovered by Dietrich in the Pyrenees;
1. Mines of Gold and Platina.
Gold, though one of the scarcest metals, is almost uni¬
versally distributed. It is most frequently found disse¬
minated, or in detached grains, or in a dendritical fonG
and sometimes it occurs in a crystallized state.
It is often
and ores of this metal are not uncommon in other parts of met with in primitive mountains, where it is usually ui
France. A pure calamine, containing neither iron, lead, tributed in veins, and occasionally disseminated in t e
nor sulphur, was found near Alcaraz in La Mancha, Spain, rock itself. The gangue or matrix of gold, that is, t e
and was extracted for the purpose of being employed in substances which accompany it, consist of quartz, telsp ,
the manufacture of brass carried on in the vicinity of that limestone, pyrites, some of the ores of silver, and &a f ’
place ; but the work appears to have been latterly discon- and it is also found in combination.with manganese, co a *
MitlJ
MINE S.
and nickel. In a Siberian mine, gold has been discovered
surrounded by muriate of silver. It is likewise common
to,alluvial soil, where it is disseminated in grains, along
with siliceous, argillaceous, and ferruginous sands, which
form the component parts of certain soils. It is further met
with in the sands of many rivers, particularly after floods.
Most of the auriferous sands are of a black or reddish
colour, and consequently are ferruginous ; a circumstance
which, taken in connection with the gold of alluvial soil,
has led some to suppose that its presence is owing to the
decomposition of auriferous pyrites.
Platina exists in the metallic state, and is usually found
in the form of small, flat, or rounded grains. Its colour is
a light steel gray, or silver white ; it is ductile, and in thin
plates flexible ; but it is infusible without addition. Platina
was first known in Europe about the year 1748, and, until
Vauquelin detected this-metal in a gray silver ore from the
mine of Guadalcanal in Spain, it was found only in South
America, where it occurred in alluvial soil covered with
rounded masses of basalt. It is now found in considerable
quantities on the European side of the Ural chain. Pla¬
tina is accompanied with particles of gold and iron, and
with another ore containing osmium and iridium; and it
forms the alloy of rhodium and palladium.
The principal mines of gold and platina in Europe are
those belonging to Russia; but before proceeding to give
some account of these, we shall shortly advert to the dif¬
ferent localities where gold has been found and wrought
in some of the other countries of the Continent.
In several parts of France gold has been found, although
in exceedingly small quantities. In the year 1781, a vein
of gold was discovered at Gardette, in the valley of Oysans,
which is situated in the department of the I'sere. This vein
consisted of quartz, which traversed a gneiss mountain,
and contained auriferous sulphuret of iron, besides some
fine specimens of native gold ; but the quantity obtained
was found insufficient to defray the expense of operations.
Many of the rivers, as the Rhone, the Rhine, the Garonne,
and others of smaller note, furnish auriferous sand. Veins
of auriferous sulphuret of iron traversing gneiss rocks have
been discovered at the foot of Mount Rosa in Piedmont;
and the sands of some of the rivers, as well as various parts
of the soil, on the south side of the Apennine Mountains,
are likewise auriferous.
It has been said that the mineral wealth of Spain and
Portugal is now almost exhausted; but it would perhaps
be nearer the truth- to state, what is undoubtedly the
fact, that, in these countries, the search for mineral trea¬
sures has long been in a great measure abandoned. From
the earliest times the Peninsula has been celebrated as a
repository of gold, which was found, not only in the allu¬
vial soil and in the beds of rivers, but also in regular veins,
and which might still be discovered in considerable quan¬
tities, were it not afforded in much greater abundance by
various parts of Africa and South America. This precious
metal was collected in the Peninsula by the Phoenicians,
and afterwards by the Romans, who, according to the
statements of the ancient writers, obtained annually from
Portugal, and from Galicia and the Asturias, 30,000 marcs,
or 240,000 ounces, of gold.
Amongst the places of Europe which are most, remark¬
able for mines of gold, and also for auriferous sands, may be.
mentioned Schemnitz and Kremnitz in Hungary. The
gold of Schemnitz is accompanied by silver, lead, and iron
Pyrites, the native matrix being quartz. The mines of
Nagybanya, Kapnik, Felscebanya, Wiszbanya, and Olapos-
->anya, all yield gold ; whilst those of Nagyag, Korosbanya,
Vcercespatah, Boitza, Csertesch, Fatzbay, Almas, Porkura,
ootschum, and Stoniseha, furnish chiefly gold and copper.
Ihe gold mine of Nagyag furnishes gold in combination
vith native tellurium. The whole produce of the Hun-
253
garian mines amounts to 5200 marcs or 3250 lbs. troy of Mines.
gold. At Edelfors in Sweden native gold and auriferouss v—
non pyiites are deposited in a vein of brown quartz tra¬
versing a mountain of schistose hornstone. Gold is also
met with disseminated in the rock itself.
We come now to the gold and platina district of Rus¬
sia, of which Humboldt has given a description in a letter
to his friend Arago. “ We spent a month,” says he, “ in
visiting the gold mines of Borisoosk, the malachite mines
of Goumeselvoki and of Tagilsk, and the washings of gold
and platinum. We were astonished at the pepitas (water-
worn masses) of gold, from twm to three pounds, and even
from eighteen to twenty pounds, found a few inches be¬
low the turf, where they had lain unknown for ages. The
position and probable origin of these alluvia, mix^ed gene¬
rally with fragments of greenstone, chlorite slate, and ser¬
pentine, was one of the principal objects of this journey.
The gold annually procured from the washings amounts
to 6000 kilogrammes. The discoveries made between 59
and 60 degrees of N. latitude, are important. We possess
the teeth of fossil elephants enveloped in these alluvia of
auriferous sand. Their formation, consequent on local
irruptions and levellings, is perhaps even posterior to the
destruction of the large animals. The amber and the lig¬
nites, which we discovered on the eastern side of the
Ural, are decidedly more ancient. With the auriferous
sand are found grains of cinnabar, native copper, cey-
lamites, garnets, little white zircons as brilliant as dia¬
monds, anatase, alvite, and other stones. It is very re¬
markable, that in the middle and northern parts of the
Ural, tire platinum is found in abundance only on the west¬
ern European side. The rich gold washings of the De-
nidor family at Nijnei'-Tagilsk are on the Asiatic side, on
the two acclivities of the Bartiraya, where the alluvium of
Vilkni alone has already produced more than 2800 lbs. of
gold.
“ The platinum is found about a league to the east of
the line of the separation of waters (which must not be
confounded with the axis of the high summits) on the
European side, near the course of the Oulka, at Sukoi
Visnia ; and at Martian, Ms, Schevetsov discovered chro¬
mate of iron, containing grains of platinum, which an able
chemist at Katherineberg, M. Helm, has analysed. The
washings of platinum are so rich that a hundred poods
(about 460 lbs. Russian) of sand afford thirty, and some
fifty, solotnicks; whilst the rich alluvia of gold at Vilkni,
and other gold washings on the Asiatic side, do not give
more than one and a half to two solotnicks of platinum to a
hundred poods of sand. In South America, a very low chain
of the Cordilleras, that of Cali, also separates the aurife¬
rous and non-platiniferous sands of the eastern declivity
(Popayan) from the sands of the isthmus of the Raspadu-
ra of Choco, which are very rich in platinum, as well as
gold. We possess pepitas of platinum many inches in
length, in which. M, Rose has discovered beautiful groups
of crystal of that, metal.
“ As to the greenstone porphyry of Laya, in which M.
Engelhardt observed little grains of platinum, we have ex¬
amined it on the spot with much care; but the only me¬
tallic grains which we have been able to detect in the rocks
of Laya, and in the greenstone of Mount Belayr-Gora, have
appeared to M. Rose to be sulphuret of iron; this pheno¬
menon, however, will be a subject for new research. Os¬
mium and iridium have also a peculiar locality, not amongst
the rich platiniferous alluvia of Nijnei-Tagilsk, but near
Belemboyevski and Kichtem. I insist upon the geog-
nostical characters drawn from the metals which accom¬
pany the grains of platinum at Choco, Brazil, and in the
Ural.”
The following table exhibits the produce of the gold and
platina mines of Russia from January 1826 to July 1830.
MINES.
GOLD. PLATINA.
January to July 1826.
pds. liv. zol. pels. liv. zol.
Crown mines  37 14 36 Crown  2 5 41
Private mines.... 82 33 80 Private  7 16 88
120 8 20 9 22 37
July to December 1826.
Crown  32 27 91 Crown   0 28 12
Private  78 29 20 Private  3 8 91
Produce of Gold and Platina for the first Six Months ofs ■!'Iine
111 17 15
January to July 1827.
pds liv. zol. p.
Crown  48 3 34 75 Crown 
Private  92 24 73
pds.
Private  14
3 37 93
liv. zol. p.
4 42 —
15 28 48
140 28 11 75
15 19 70 48
July to December 1827.
Crown  41 26 18 66 Crown 
Private  99 25 72 —
141 11 90 66
1 2 79 24
1 2 79 24
January to July 1828.
pds. liv. zol.
Crown  45 16 80
Private  Ill 10 .67
pds. liv. zol.
Crown  1 13 64
Private  34 14 90
155 27 51
35 28 48
July to December 1828.
Crown  42 10 53 Crown  2 12 7
Private  92 5 47 Private  55 32 53
134 16 4
58 4 60
January to July 1829.
Crown  46 8 0^ Crown    — 15 17
Private  95 34 46^ Private  43 16 4
142
2 461
43 31 22
145 28 43
1832.
Gold. poods.
Crown works 90
Private ditto :
A. Yacovleff’s 32
Has torgouy efF’s 21
Demeedoff’s 16
J. Yacovleff’s 13
Tourchaneenoff’s 7
Yartzoff’s 3
Goubin’s 1
. Countess Strogonoff’s 1
Vsevoloshky’s 4
Countess Polier’s 1
Major’s 1
Gousetnikoff’s 0
'WV'
lbs.
13
241
30i
4
33
30§
21
0
24
181
2
Total.
.195
321
Platina.
Crown works 0
Private ditto:
Demeedoff’s 56
A. Yacovleff’s 0
Kastorgouyeff’s 0
Countess Polier’s 0
41
321
2
1
27
Total.
.57
26|
Produce of Gold and Platina during the last Six Month
of the Year 1832.
July to December 1829.
Crown  54 1 86 Crown  1 16 54
Private  91 26 53 Private  33 23 65
Gold. poods.
Crown works 73
Alexey Yacovleff’s 27
Rastorgouyeff’s 15
Demeedoff’s 18
J. Yacovleff’s heirs    12
T ourchaneenoff’s 3
Yartzoff’s 3
Goubin’s 1
Count Strogonoff’s 1
Vsevoloshky’s 6
Countess Polier’s.. 0
Major’s 0
Gousetnikoff’s 0
lbs.
391
351
Slf
32
351
181
36f
39
391
28
34
171
35
25
Total.
.168
281
January to July 1830.
Crown  81 36 75 Crown  3 32 33
Private  98 2 95 Private  58 7 32
179 39 75 61 39 65
In addition to this, we are enabled to give, from a par¬
liamentary paper,1 a statement of the produce of the Rus¬
sian gold and platina mines during the year 1832; which
statement was furnished to Viscount Palmerston by Mr
T. J. Gisborne, his majesty’s consul at St Petersburg.
This return is dated St Petersburg, 5th April 1833, and
is as follows :—
Platina.
Private works 58 37
Crown ditto 0 84
Total.
.59
It is to be observed here, that 36 lbs. English, and 40
lbs. Russian, make a pood.
The annexed tables exhibit the increase of gold, silver,
and platina coin in circulation in Russia during ten years
from 1824 to 1834. This increase has been most rapid,
especially in gold and silver, as will appear from the lol-
lowing table of import and export.
1 A comparative Statement of the Value Sterling of Gold and Silver raised in each of the Mining Countries of America and Russia,
as far as the same can be ascertained from the British consular agents in those countries. Ordered by the House of Commons to be
printed, 8th March 1836.
mines.
/1824.
1825.
1826.
1827.
1828.
1829.
1830.
1831.
1832.,
1833.,
1834.,
Value in B. N. Rs...
Value.
Rs. 6,274,543
11,574,755
4,878,460
13,736,300
15,068,466
36,719,937
48,516,590
44,933,037
43,133,287
52,080,297
19,976,099
296,911,771
Value.
Rs. 4,792,456
1,619,794
3,647,974
3,611,108
2,603,807
2,910,345
3,452,460
4,546,098
4,320,104
8,222,938
8,646,393
48,373,477
Remaining in the empire Rs. 248,538,294
The total amount of gold and platina obtained from the
Ural mines during the same years is as follows : —
poods, lbs. zol.
Gold  3265 24 77
Platina  781 9 61
Gold valued at 50,000 rs. per pood..
Platina at 11,520 rs. per ditto..
Add the above balance of imports...
Rs. 163,280,000
8,999,712
248,538,294
Total  Rs. 420,818,006
But 420,818,006 rubles, at the average exchange of 10id.
per ruble, exceed L.18,375,000 sterling. The above quan¬
tities of gold and platina have been coined at the Russian
mint; the produce of private mines in the Ural is includ¬
ed in the return.1
The amount of silver produced during the ten years
from 1824 to 1834 by the Altai and Dauri mines, averag¬
ing above 1000 poods per annum, and therefore amount¬
ing to 10,000 poods in all, is not included in the above table.
Since 1834, a very considerable quantity of gold has been
obtained by the washings on the Altai Mountains. The
mines of these mountains occur in the districts of Kolyvan,
Zmeof, Tcherepanofsky, Smenofsky, Nicolaisky, Philip-
ofsky, and some others, which, besides gold and silver,
produce also a considerable quantity of iron, copper, and
lead.
2. Mines of Silver.
The silver mines hitherto discovered in France do not
appear to be of any great importance. The mine of Alle-
mont, in the department of the Isere, is situated near the
summit of a lofty mountain, composed of beds of gneiss
and primitive limestone, inclined in different angles to the
vest. 1 he veins are numerous, and run in all directions.
The ores are native silver, sulphuret of silver, red silver,
and a small quantity of muriate of silver ; they are accom¬
panied by different ores of cobalt, antimony, nickel, &c.;
and the matrix is usually clay mixed with iron, lime spar
mixed with asbestos, and some other minerals. Indica¬
tions of silver have also been observed in the Vosges,
where, in a vein of gray copper ore, has been found a cer¬
tain proportion of this precious metal.
The silver mines of Spain are by far the oldest which are
known. They were wrought in the time of the Romans;
and, from the remains of the old workings, it would appear
that the operations had been carried on to a great extent.'
Ihe mine of Guadalcanal, in the Sierra Morena, upon the
confmes of Andalusia and Estremadura, was formerly very
n?.’ . .se1etms. t0 be now nearly exhausted. The ore
which it yields is red silver found in a matrix of compact
carbonate of lime.
The mining territory of Freyberg in Saxony abounds
with veins of silver, or with lead containing a considerable
proportion of that metal. The veins traverse gneiss rocks,
and are generally of quartz, lime, and fluor spar; the metal¬
lic ores are argentiferous sulphuret of lead, red silver ore,
and argentiferous gray copper ore. The richest of the Saxon
mines, that of Himmelfurst, is situated tw'o miles south-east
of Freyberg. The elevation of the surface above the level
of the sea is 1346 feet, and that of the bottom of the mine
263, so that its depth is 1083 feet, or 361 yards. There
are five veins in this mine. The principal vein {teichflache)
is from one foot six inches to three feet in width ; the
others are from six to twelve inches wide. The direction
of this vein is nearly north and south, and its “ underlie”
is west about three feet per fathom. Some of the other
veins intersect it. The ores consist of argentiferous sul¬
phuret of lead, native silver, sulphuret of silver, and red
silver; and their produce is from six to seven ounces of
silver per quintal of 100 lbs., equivalent to 3f or 4l parts of
metal in 1000 parts of ore, or from |ths to nearly one half
per cent. The veinstone is quartz, pearl spar, and calcareous
spar; and the ores are accompanied by blende, spathose
iron, and a little iron and arsenical pyrites. The Fron-
kenshucht is 180 fathoms, and the adit at this shaft is 47
fathoms in depth. The quantity of silver ore produced
annually is stated at 630 tons, yielding 6160 lbs. troy of
silver, valued at about L.18,000. The total cost of the
mine is L.9500, and the clear profit of the proprietors
L.3500. About 700 miners are employed, of whom 550
work under ground. The ores are delivered to the go¬
vernment reduction w'orks in the neighbourhood of Frey-
beig, where they are partly smelted and partly amalga¬
mated. b
I he mines of Schemnitz and Kremnitz in Hungary have
long been celebrated, not only for their richness, but also
for the immense extent to which the operations have been
carried. The rocks traversed by these veins are com¬
posed of an argillaceous gray stone, mixed with quartz,
schorl, or particles of lime spar, and sometimes called me¬
tallic rock. T here are three principal veins, the course of
w hich is nearly from north to south ; they run parallel to
the river Gran, following even the windings of its channel.
I he dip or inclination of these veins is generally from west
to east, at an angle varying from 30° to 70°. One of the
capital veins alluded to, called the Spitaler vein, is joined
at a particular part by an argillaceous white vein which
runs along with it on the hanging side, and from the point
of junction the latter is found to produce silver. In this
vein Baron Born discovered a petrified porpites or simple
madrepore included in sound sinople, a mineral resembling
red jasper. I his petrifaction was found at a depth of about
eighty-nine fathoms, in a level driven on the vein. The
second great vein at Schemnitz exhibits nearly the same
general characters as the first in regard to the distribution
and nature of its productions. In the hanging side, to-
255
Alines.
' J’? year ]^26’ ^he11 Professor Engelhardt undertook a scientific journey into the Uralian Afountains, he remarked that the
whiph 6 1 >0^r °j Koushra, and those at the platina mines at Nijnei-Toura, strikingly resembled the Brazilian sands, in
PYamin , .mon, 8 a?e round. Baron Humboldt, during a subsequent residence in the same country, confirmed this resemblance ; and
imnauons having been made, bv his advice, a voiini? countrvman pmnlnvoU in mociiinr. tho
has pht "a c T""" sllPenor in Weight lu me ursu jl nus ivussia nas auaea this source of riches to those which of late years she
al«r> u3"'0' ! alH^ pl^tina mines of tile Ural chain of mountains [Revue Encyeloptdique, tom. xlv. p. 4G0). Emeralds have
also, tt seems, been discovered, some of them of large size and considerable purity. '
wards the first vein, it contains lead ores; and on the ledger
side there is a layer of clay from one to four feet thick, in
which are imbedded nodules of lead ore, yielding from
two to five ounces of silver. The third great vein is more
irregular in its formation than the two others, sometimes
rising vertically, and sometimes dipping in a contrary di¬
rection from east to west. The ores of this vein are not
very rich in silver, but some of them afford a consider¬
able proportion of gold. This mine appears to have been
wrought from a very early period, and the mining opera¬
tions have been carried to a vast extent. The gallery or
level, called the Emperor Francis’s Gallery, is that by
which the whole of the mines are drained and cleared of
water ; it is carried through hard rock, and must have been
a work of immense labour and difficulty, being about five
English miles in length. This gallery was begun in 1748,
and finished in 1765. The mountains around Kremnitz
are composed partly of the metallic rock already described,
and partly of primitive trap. At this place there is also
a gold mine established on a large and rich vein, which at
the depth of 160 fathoms continued to be productive.
The rock is a white solid quartz, mixed with fine aurifer¬
ous red and white silver ore. There are also mines at
Konigsberg, a town some miles to the north-west ot Schem-
nitz. The vein is a gray quartz mixed with auriferous
pyrites.
The circle of Saaz in Bohemia abounds in various me¬
tallic ores, amongst which those of silver greatly predomi¬
nate. The prevailing rocks are gneiss and argillaceous
schistus. The veins at Katherineberg traverse gneiss,
and run generally in a north and south direction, parallel
to the mountain in which they are situated. But there
are also some powerful veins which cross the mountain,
particularly one, which seems to be insensibly blended
with the mountain rock, and whose ores are rich silver and
copper pyrites, with fluor spar, blende, various copper ores,
and sometimes native silver and copper. Joachimsthal, a
place in the same circle, is also celebrated for its mines.
The prevailing rocks are gray, micaceous, and quartzose
clay slate, and the surrounding mountains have a gentle
declivity towards the south, but run in lofty ridges to the
east, north, and west, and are intersected by deep valleys;
an inequality of surface which enables the miners to open
numerous galleries converging to the south, and also towards
the valley in which stands the town of Joachimsthal. The
whole galleries and works of this district are divided into
six different fields, and are drained by two deep drifts or
levels; one of these runs in a direct line 1600 fathoms,
and, including its several branches, is 4500 fathoms in
length ; the other runs in a direct line 1500 fathoms, and
its total length extends to 5600 fathoms. The depth of the
former under the summit of the mountain is 170, and that
of the latter 190 fathoms; but the operations in the mines
have been carried to a much greater depth ; indeed, ex¬
cepting those of the Tyrol, they are considered as amongst
the deepest in the world. The metallic veins of this min¬
ing district are disturbed by dykes of red porphyry or trap,
called by the miners combs. The course of these dykes is
very irregular, and their thickness varies from a few inches
to forty fathoms; they also unite with metallic veins, and,
either running parallel or crossing them, improve, disturb
their course, or render them barren. It has been observed Mine;
that those dykes which run from north to south common-
]y disturb the course of the metallic veins, which they tra¬
verse in a conttfiry direction. A dyke of this description,
crossing one of the principal veins of the district, was dis¬
covered on the sole of one of the great levels, where the
thickness was not less than from thirty to forty fathoms.
At this place, which is 150 fathoms below the surface, and
3000 fathoms distant from the door of the gallery, an en¬
tire tree was discovered.1 The thickness of the veins va¬
ries from one inch to two feet, and the veinstones are a
whitish or bluish clay, argillaceous slate, and reddish horn-
stone or petrosilex. The ores found in this district are,
native silver, vitreous silver ore, red silver ore, and white
silver ore. The silver mines of Berestadt were formerly
rich in native silver, and other ores of that metal.
The silver mines of Stahlberg in Sweden are situated
about twenty-eight English miles from Upsal. The ore
is an argentiferous galena, in a compact limestone, and
produces a marc or a marc and a half of silver per quintal.
These mines have been wrought to the depth of 150 fa¬
thoms ; and the annual profits at an average amount to
about L.4000, of which one eighth is paid to the state.
The silver mine of Kbnigsberg in Norway is represented
as much richer than any of those in Sweden. The moun¬
tains are composed of strata nearly vertical; their general
direction is from north to south, with an inclination towards
the east; and they are generally parallel to each other,
but sometimes take a wavy or zigzag course. Some of the
strata are composed of mica mixed with garnets and lime
spar ; others consist of a grayish-white quartz mixed with
fine black mica, a little carbonate of lime, and reddish
hornstone ; some are composed of alternate layers of quartz
and mica, and others of a ferruginous rock. The veins
cut these strata transversely, and are from half an inch to
two feet and a half in thickness. The ores are chiefly na¬
tive silver, enormous masses of which have sometimes been
found,2 vitreous silver ore, and occasionally red silver ore
and galena. The matrix of the ore is granulated lime¬
stone, sometimes foliated or mixed with fluor spar and oxide
of iron. This mine is most productive in that part where
the veins traverse the strata of ferruginous rock. The
greatest depth to which the operations have been carried
is about 160 fathoms, and the annual produce was at one
time nearly 5000 lbs. of silver.
We have already, under the former head, adverted to
the mineral riches of that part of the Altai chain of moun¬
tains which is included in Asiatic Russia. The silver
mines of Zmeof are situated between the rivers Obi and
Irt isch, in a tract extending from 50 to 52 degrees of north
latitude. The annual produce of these mines is stated at
60,000 marcs of silver, which is alloyed with about three
per cent, of gold. The mines of Nertschink in Dauri or
Daouria, near the river Amur, yield argentiferous galena,
producing annually about 36,000 marcs of silver, contain¬
ing about one and a half per cent, of gold.
3. Quicksilver Mines.
The continent of Europe, so rich in almost every spe¬
cies of mineral produce, contains also large stores ol quick-
1 At the time when this discovery took place, the tree in question was supposed to be a production of the antediluvian world. The
exterior appearance, the fibrous structure, the concentric circles, the ramification of the substance into round branches, the soft un¬
petrified bark which adhered to them, and something like leaves found in different parts of it, left no doubt, in the minds of those
who had an opportunity of observing it, that it was a vegetable production converted into stony matter. Its specific characters, in as
far as these were observed, have not been stated. The tree found in Craigleith quarry, also at a great depth below the surface, was
supposed to have belonged to the coniferous species. Soon after the discovery of the former, part of the level gave way, and the wa¬
ter increasing, rendered it impossible afterwards to examine the spot.
2 Of these one is mentioned which is said to have weighed more than 220 lbs.
MINES.
ines.
257
• •
silver, but limited apparently to a very few favoured spots.1 tween 5000and 6000 ouintaU nf nrh- i
•'The ores of this metal exist in various states-, as in that of ed to Mexico for thp n„m mercury, v hicli was export- Mines
native mercury, alloy, or amalgam; in that’of sulphur fnVg^and sUvw, parS?rlyfthe
or cinnabar, which is sometimes impregnated with a bitu- About that period, the nuicksiier mlm s nFf T**
minous clay; and in that ot salt, or muriate of mercury, in Peru being nearly exhausted thp ^uancavelica
The ores of mercury are but rarely met with in primitive amalgamation in So^th Amedca ware^nnJte^Tired If
mountains, the greater proportion being found in second- maden ; so that the annual amount of A I
ary rocks, as in bituminous schistus, compact limestone, from this grand reservoir increased from f non* Tted
ferruginous sandstone, and sometimes even in ferruginous 16,000, 18 000, and even 20 000 m,int^ 60.0d ?uintals t0
clay; and these ores are usually distributed in large con- da^, the mines onimaden c^nue to t Atfthef Present
fused masses, seldom in regular veins. The metallic ores productive in the world. b bj ^ the m°St
which usually accompany those of mercury are sulphuret Mines of Idria The celebrated nmVWi
i':: ios; s cit" “tes’!ron pyrites’siIver> ,,he vicir ovdrio’ ^
The principal mine^ quicksilver on the continent of ’ST ^i" tor^iZ^S^to^"”6
.."T cS.eaJni Idr‘» in ,Car“ola' fands “» deeP valley fich is surrounded by lofty moun-
tains of limestone, and exhibits a dark-coloured slate in¬
cluded between two beds of limestone, rising to the sur¬
face at an angle of from 45° to 75°. The ores, consisting
of native mercury and cinnabar, are deposited in this
schistus, which is about sixty feet thick, and of very con¬
siderable extent. The position of the metalliferous stra-
tum is variously inclined, and sometimes horizontal.; The
t ept i of the principal shafts by which the ores are brought
up exceeds 120 fathoms. The colour of the schistus from
winch the ore is obtained varies in different parts of the
mine. When it is of a whitish hue, it is poor in metal, but
xjuiupc aic tnuoc ui -rLimauen in spam, luria in UarnioJa,
and the Palatinate, or that part of the Bavarian dominions
which is westward of the Rhine.
Mines of Almaden—The most ancient mine of quicksil¬
ver known in the world is that of Almaden in Spain. Ac¬
cording to Pliny, it was wrought five hundred years before
the commencement of the common era; and in his time
10,000 lbs. of cinnabar (sulphuret of mercury) were trans¬
ported to Rome, for the purpose of being employed in
painting. This celebrated mine, or rather cluster of mines,
is situated in a branch of the Sierra Morena, upon the con¬
fines of Andalusia, about fifteen leagues to the north of
...v- u  , • ...
Seville. _ The hill which contains it is about a thousand
fathoms in length, six hundred in breadth, and a hundred
i ,, , .    jjuui iu meiai, out
when the colour changes to a blackish shade, the ore yields
and twenty in height. It is com^osedpf’the sam7mate- te^sectef b/Tertlcal strata^hmiraccordingas^the? ^
rials as the neighbouring mountains, which consist of sand- hard or soft, produce opposite effects • for in the ^
SLLa"d^SUI,“ibits ‘wo inclined planes, which, case, the J in a gre^r“e di^a”, tt whe“
uniting at the summit, form a crest of rock, that is en¬
tirely bare, and spotted with sulphuret of mercury. The
village of Almaden, from which the mines take their name,
is built chiefly on the cinnabar itself. The two principal
veins, which traverse the mountain longitudinally and in¬
tersect it vertically, are from two to fourteen feet in thick¬
ness, and throw out branches in different directions; but
towards the middle of the mountain they unite, and form
a mass of mineral about a hundred feet in thickness. The
veinstones are of the same sandstone as that of which the
mountain itself is composed. The more finely-grained
matrix affords the greatest quantity of cinnabar ; and some
ot the ore is so extremely rich as to yield nearly ten ounces
they are softer and more brittle than the metalliferous bed
itself, the ore becomes more abundant. In some places
there occurs a hard slaty rock, containing small shining
globules, and yielding little more than two per cent, of
quicksilver, called coral ore; and in others there are found
small veins of coal impregnated with ore, and affording
about the same proportion of pure mercury. The mines
of Idria were discovered in the year 1497. The moun¬
tain in which they were first established has been exhaust¬
ed, and the operations are now carried on in an opposite
mountain, whence, it is said, a supply of mercury to almost
any extent might be obtained; but the quantity extracted
■ — — v.j ao tu Jieiu nearly ten ounces is limited to between 3000 and 4000 Quintals whirh a™
ury m each pound ; but from other ores only three mostly retained for home consumption bein" used for tho
TnCfeSaCn e1XtraCted- The SideS ofthe vein ™ form, amalgamation of the gold a^sTver ores which a^e found
ii3 j ack. s ate ln a state of decomposition, and fre- in greater abundance in the Austrian states than in anv
q n y contain a good deal of cinnabar, as well as large, other country in Europe, except Russia which how o- . ^
snots ofV fla) maSSeTS °f i?yrites’ exhibiting internally some derives part of her supplies from her As’iatic dominions ^
spot of cinnabar. In other parts, there have been disco- The following particulars respecting the mineT r?,!^
the stme* dlrectini^1”^SthChlStUS and ir°ni 0-ei runninS in are extracted from Silliman’s Journal to which they ap-
mens of o ? l T ^ moantaia’ and },ieIdlng speci- pear to have been communicated by an officer of the Ime-
•, ,e’ ln which the iron, the sulphur, and the quick- rican navy, who had made a pedestrian tour thrrmo-i r
s.lve1 are found closely combined. Thisfact, which has been many, and had. in «of hiHrav^ vtt^rdSf'
noticed m other mmes of mercury, shows that nature some- “ The mines have LtZt cokesnSdhie to the idea of
one l )r0'llCes coml>inations which cannot be effected by terror which we are apt to°connect with such
-y known process of art. Previously to the year 17o2> thl cept the atmosphere,Thich ZoTg7,out rmin^ mStt
fltrnntr] \ m r\mrrr^ o K  • i , .
annua! nrni nf ■ A- aT J T y , ’1 uie airaospnere, winch throughout the mine must be
P o the mines of Almaden amounted to be- strongly impregnated with mercurial vapour, and is con-
destitute^of quicksilver!1 niore esneckllv asTh^pn^f1” El?10St -eVer7. Vuari®ty of min.eral produce as Great Britain should be entirely
loped. There is, however a Dassaw fn Vi l \\r f°rmf laa’ in. which that metal is most commonly found, is here so largely deve-
having been found in a natW^tat^at IwS °r ! C^mica! in wllieh. he mentions the circumstance of quicksilver
204), and also in Williams’ Natural Historv aft! af< the same thing is stated in the Commercial Magazine (vol. ii. p.
digging out clay for the founda ion nS S f ? ^ £ P’ This discovery is said to have been made in
Place more than half a century ao-0 tHp pH T t>he Sireet Cf fd ¥-yde Hl11, 111 the town of Berwick; and it appears to have taken
observed to exude from the smal'T 7 biing i!-Uf 0Ut’ for some tmie where it had been deposited, and the mercury was
whole mass of ?he claT Ma ^ Z ^ 'vere fo™ed 511 * a« it dried, being apparently distributed throughout tlm
Pregnated with Zrc7r‘y, wSh/an ou^n^nT n’d someT workmen penetrated into the same bed of clay, it appeared to be irn-
more attention, and lead to some examination f1! 13 remarkablt> that so important a mineralogical fact did not attract
tive state. xamination of the bed of clay, which appeared to be thus impregnated with quicksilver in the na-
VOL. XV.
2 K
?!
258
MINE S.
Mines, stantly producing salivation amongst the workmen. Hav¬
ing descended by 727 steps, reaching to a depth of 120
fathoms, we arrived at the region where the cinnabar is
chiefly procured. The mining operations are chiefly car¬
ried on in galleries, the friable nature of the rock seldom
aflmitting of larger chambers. The cinnabar is in strata
of from two to six inches in thickness, and of a variety of
colours, from dark to light red, the quicksilver being some¬
times mixed with it, and sometimes occurring in the in¬
tervening strata of earth or stone. Sometimes the cin¬
nabar is of a brilliant red, and once I found it in small
crystals, but such specimens are rare ; it is generally of a
dull red colour, and the stone is so brittle, that nothing
'more than a pickaxe is required. The strata affording the
quicksilver appear to have no particular direction, and oc¬
cupy about one third or one half of the entire mass of the
rock. Proceeding a short distance, however, we came to
the galleries where the cinnabar is less common, and the
quicksilver is the chief object of search. It occurs here
sometimes imbedded in a friable rock, sometimes in a
kind of earth in appearance and hardness resembling tal-
cose slate, but principally in the former. Generally it is
in particles too minute for the naked eye, but often w^en
the rock is broken small globules present themselves, va¬
rying from a size just large enough to be seen, up to that
of a common pin’s head. These globules are not distri¬
buted at random throughout the mass, but the substance in
which they occur forms strata usually about one inch or
two in thickness.”
The traveller, descending still lower, soon came to the
richest part of the mine. Here the gangue or matrix con¬
sists almost entirely of talcose earth, and the globules are
so large that when it is broken they roll out and fall to the
.bottom of the gallery. The labourers are relieved every
four hours, being unable, from the state of the atmosphere,
to work longer than this at one time. In the other parts of
the mine they work eight hours. The total number em¬
ployed in the mine is 360, divided into three companies,
each of which works eight hours. Their pay is only from
fifteen to seventeen kreutzers a day, the usual pay of day-
labourers in Germany. Several of them appeared to be
suffering from the effects of the mercury. Having return¬
ed to the upper mine, the traveller next proceeded to ex¬
amine the washing-rooms, which are situated a few hun¬
dred yards from the mines.
“ The gangues containing the metal are carried to this
house ; and if the ore is of the earthy kind, it is broken up,
and thrown upon large sieves, by means of which the loose
or native quicksilver, called here Jungfrau, or virgin quick¬
silver, is separated from the earth ; the latter is then cast
into shallow boxes, open at the ends and a little inclined,
and a gentle stream of water being made to pass over it,
a rake is used, and the earthy matter is carried off. There
are seven of these boxes in succession, and by the time
the residuum reaches the last of them, it resembles a heavy
gray powder, and is sufficiently pure to be carried to the
vapour furnace. The stony fragments require only a slight
washing to cleanse them from the outward earthy impuri¬
ties.
“ The furnace is half a mile lower down the valley, and
at the extreme end of the village. It consists of a circu¬
lar walled building, about forty feet diameter by sixty in
height, on each side of which there is a continuous range
of chambers ten or twelve feet square, and nearly as many
in height; by means of small square openings in the par¬
tition walls, the air is allowed to pass from the centre
building to the remotest. Each has also a door commu¬
nicating with the external air. These buildings are all of
stone, and are plastered within. The gangue, after being
prepared in the washing-house, as already described, is
removed to this edifice, and placed in earthen pans four
inches deep and fifteen in diameter, which are piled up so Mines;
as to fill the centre building. The doors of the chambers'''—
are then carefully walled up; and a strong fire having
been lighted under the centre building, the quicksilver
rises in the form of vapour, and passing into the small
chambers, is there condensed by the cold atmosphere
around them. Some of the gangue is brought here in the
form of the native rock. The expansive power of the va¬
pour, together with the heat of the fire, is sufficient to
cause the rock to disintegrate, and thus to allow the escape
of the quicksilver. When this process is over, the door¬
ways of the chambers are once more opened, and the quick¬
silver, which is found chiefly adhering in drops to the sides
and ceiling, is scraped off’, and running into a hollow in
the floor, is taken thence to the cleaning and bottling room.
It appears to act on the mortar of the chambers, for I found
the latter flaky, and the crevices all filled with small glo¬
bules.
“ The cleaning process is very simple, a piece of can¬
vass being merely spread over a funnel, and the quicksilver
being made to pass through this, comes out sufficiently
pure. That intended for home consumption is then tied
up in sheep-skins, while that for exportation is put in iron
bottles, large enough to contain sixty-eight pounds. The
furnace is kept in operation only during the winter months,
and then the vapour which escapes from it is a serious an¬
noyance to the town ; they have a blast three times every
fortnight.”
Mines of Bavaria.—Extensive, but now almost neglect¬
ed, mines of quicksilver, have long been wrought in that
part of the Bavarian dominions which is westward of the
Rhine, and anciently formed the Palatinate. These mines
are situated in the mountainous country to the south of
Kreuznach, a town on the southern frontier of the Prussian
territory, and they lie chiefly between that place and Wolf-
stein. This elevated range forms the northern prolongation
of the primary chain of the Vosges, and rises to its greatest
altitude in the porphyritic summit of the Donnersberg or
Mont-Tonnerre. They are entirely within the Bavarian do¬
minions, being in the immediate vicinity of Bingart, Nieder
Moschel, Ober Moschel, and Alzens. They are stated to
have been worked for about five centuries ; and both the
excavations below, and the immense piles of attle on the
surface, prove that some have been wrought to a consider¬
able extent. The working indeed has never been given
up for any length of time ; but this part of Germany hav¬
ing been the theatre of the early campaigns of the French
revolutionary army, the mines were for a time suspended,
and have never since been effectually resumed. Prior to
this period their produce must have been considerable, as
they were reported, by a commission of French engineers,
to have yielded annually 67,000 lbs. of quicksilver.
The deposits of quicksilver are chiefly worked in the
sandstone formation, but in some places these appear to ex¬
tend into the slate. The sandstone is of a pale brownish
or grayish colour, usually very compact, and approaching the
nature of hornstone. In some of the mines, strata of a much
softer description, and of an argillaceous nature, are con¬
tained in the sandstone. The quicksilver occurs neither
in a bed nor in a vein, but forms rather what may be
termed a metalliferous channel of ground, of considerable
breadth and extent. The direction of these channels ap¬
proaches that of north and south, but in some mines there
are two or more crossing one another. Their breadth is
quite undefined, but they are worked from five to six feet
in width, and appear to descend almost perpendicularly
into the rock. In these channels exist thin fissures, called
klefts, which, although in themselves unproductive, seem to
be chiefly depended upon by the miners in guiding their
researches. The quicksilver is mostly found in the joints
of the rock, which, in the vicinity of the hlefts, appear to
MINES.
ines. De more or less nnea witn it to an indefinite extent; but
—''whether it is of contemporaneous formation with the rock,
or deposited in cracks which had subsequently opened in
it, has not been ascertained. The depth to which the
quicksilver extends is also unknown, but none of the mines
in this district exceeds 300 feet in depth. The ore is
cinnabar, which varies from a bright to a dull red colour,
traversing the mass of the rock in all directions, sometimes
very abundantly; but its distribution does not appear to
follow any general law, or to be exclusively limited to any
particular strata. Rich specimens often occur, containing,
along with cinnabar, a good deal of native quicksilver dis¬
seminated in small globules ; but these bear a very small
proportion to the poorer ores, or rather the masses of rock
containing thin veins of cinnabar. Rich stones of ore,
such as are often found in the more productive parts of
the deposits, yield from five or six to eighteen or twenty
per cent, of quicksilver, and picked specimens as much as
fifty or sixty per cent.; but, taking the general average of
the stuff raised from the mines, the produce does not pro¬
bably exceed three per cent.
In the vicinity of Bingart the mines are situated on the
declivity of the mountain, at an elevation of about a thou¬
sand feet above the valley, and are consequently worked
chiefly by adits, which enter the mines at depths varying
from twenty to thirty lachters. In some of the mines the
workings above the adits are considerable, and “ sinks”
have penetrated to a depth of nearly twenty lachters be¬
low. These mines have been opened chiefly in the sand¬
stone, but one of them appears to extend into the slate.
The Stahlberg mine is situated near Ober Mdschel. It is
very ancient, and has been extensively worked, the depth
being near 300 feet, and the longitudinal extent of the ex¬
cavations considerable. It is situated on elevated ground,
and drained by an adit, which is driven into the wrorkings
nearly at the deepest point; but there are no shafts, ac¬
cess being afforded by levels driven into the side of the
mountain. The mine is still worked to some extent, and
produces a good deal of cinnabar. The prevailing rock is a
compact sandstone or hornstone, occasionally containing
softer argillaceous strata. The great magnitude and ex¬
tent of the excavations, and the very peculiar manner in
winch they have been formed, render the appearance of this
mine exceedingly picturesque. The excavations consist
ol a series of irregular chambers fantastically over-arched,
<tnd communicating with one another. The height is of¬
ten considerable, and the width is in some cases twenty or
thirty feet. The access to these chambers, and also from
one to another, is by rude staircases hewn out in the solid
rock, thus furnishing a novel and easy mode of subterra¬
nean communication. The unusual light and the broad
shadow's produced by the lamps of the miners, the spacious
but irregular excavations, and the perspective of the rude
winding steps by which the various chambers of the mine
are entered, form altogether a striking and picturesque
scene. See the annexed sketch.
The present operations are chiefly confined to breaking
down old pillars and masses of rocky ore left standing in va-
nous parts of the mine ; and even from these sources con¬
siderable produce is obtained.* The cinnabar is generally
c inseminated throughout the rock, but abounds rather more
in some strata than in others. The miners here are but
little affected by the mercurial vapours, owing to the spa¬
ciousness, dryness, and good ventilation of the workings,
with the easy mode of access to them.
The Landsberg mine is about three miles distant from
that of Stahlberg, being situated on the declivity of a lofty
mountain, covered with wood, and crowned with the ruins
of an ancient castle. It is equally extensive with the
Stahlberg mine, and has been worked in a similar manner
although at present the operations are carried on upon a
limited scale. The mode here practised of reducing quick¬
silver is one of the simplest operations in metallurgy, con¬
sisting merely in a process of distillation.
The furnace in which it is performed is about twent\r-
four feet in length, twelve in breadth, and six or seven in
height; fires are placed at each end, and the heat, passim-
first through the body of the furnace, goes off by a cross¬
flue in the middle. Forty-eight iron retorts, twenty-four
on each side, are arranged in the interior of the furnace,
in two rows one above the other, so as to be exposed to
the heat in its passage from the fires to the cross-flue in the
middle by which it escapes; and the necks of the retorts
pass through apertures in the w'all, so that smaller retorts
upon the outside of the furnace can be luted on to them.
This will be better understood by reference to the annex¬
ed sketches, the first of which represents an end view, and
the second a cross section of the furnace.
In fig. 1, « represents the body of the furnace exteriorly,
b the fire-place, cc the outer set of retorts arranged in turn
rows one above the other, and d the cross-flue in the mid¬
dle, thus:
Fig. 1.
In the cross section, fig. 2, a represents the body of
the furnace interiorly, b the fire-place, c the ash-pit, ee the
small retorts placed outside the furnace to receive the
mercurial vapour, and dd the large retorts arranged in the
body of the furnace in which the ore is exposed to heat,
thus:
Fig. 2.
From this explanation of the construction of the fur¬
nace, the process of reduction will be easily understood.
The ore, after being carefully picked and broken, to se¬
parate the worthless matter, is put into the large iron re¬
torts, together with a certain quantity of pulverized lime,
259
Mines.
260
MINES.
Mines, and exposed to a moderate heat, which soon drives off any
moisture that may be contained in it. The outer set of
retorts is then luted on, and a much stronger heat applied,
which, being continued for several hours, at length volati¬
lizes the quicksilver, and drives it in the form of vapour
into the small retorts outside, where it soon becomes con¬
densed, and assumes the metallic form.
The Bavarian mines are now in the possession of an Eng¬
lish company, and are therefore likely to be worked with
spirit and success. They possess the advantage of being
drained to a great extent by levels, and are therefore al¬
most free from water, whilst coal for the reduction of the
ore may be obtained in their immediate vicinity. From
the nature of the deposits, it appears that they are capable
of yielding an immense mass of rock more or less impreg¬
nated with quicksilver; and from the ease with which this
produce may be obtained, and the occasional richness of
some portions of the mass, these mines appear to offer a
very fair field for enterprise.1
Near Selvena, in the territory of Sienna, in Italy, cin¬
nabar has been discovered; it is distributed in irregular
masses, and forms thin veins in a clay mixed with argilla¬
ceous marl, but does not appear to be of much importance.
There are two mines of mercury at Zalathna, in Transyl¬
vania. The ore of the one is cinnabar, which is extract¬
ed from a vein in a matrix of quartz and lime spar, tra¬
versing a black argillaceous slate and sandstone. The ore
of the other mine is granulated cinnabar, included in a
vein which runs in limestone. The annual produce of these
mines amounted, according to Baron Born, to about 6000
lbs. of pure quicksilver.2
IV. MEXICAN MINES.
Mexico, although it contains a variety of metals, as iron,
lead, copper, tin, zinc, antimony, arsenic, and manganese,
is chiefly celebrated for its gold and silver mines, particu¬
larly the latter, which, for the most part, yield also a pro¬
portion of gold. According to Humboldt, there are in
New Spain no less than three thousand mines of the pre¬
cious metals, divided into thirty-seven districts, each of
which had formerly a council of mines called a deputation.
The ores are generally disposed in layers, and masses are
comparatively of but rare occurrence. At present, in all
the mines, the veins of ore are chiefly worked; and these
occur in the primitive and transition rock. But of the dif¬
ferent kinds of rock in which veins are found, the porphy¬
ries are considered as affording the richest ore. At the be¬
ginning of the present century, Humboldt conjectured that,
in the northern part of Mexico, particularly in the Sierra
Madre, great mineral wealth would be discovered in the Mine
rocks of secondary formation ; and this conjecture has been IV. V 1'—Y-
confirmed by subsequent inquiry and examination. “ The
Sierra Madre,” says Mr Ward, “ has been traversed seven
times between Oaxaca and Chihuahua, by a very spirited
and intelligent English traveller, Mr Glennie, whose opi¬
nion of its riches confirms all that had been surmised in
earlier days; and his conviction of the advantages to be
derived from mining speculations in that direction has in¬
duced the directors of the United Mexican Company to
entrust him with the formation of an establishment at Jesus
Maria (one hundred leagues west of Chihuahua, upon the
slope of the Sierra Madre), which I consider as a step towards
that revolution in the mining affairs of Mexico, the pro¬
bability of which, in the course of twenty or thirty years,
I cannot but look forward to.”3 The gold and silver ore
obtained in Mexico being much more remarkable for its
abundance than its richness, there can be little doubt that if
the layers and veins of the Sierra Madre should prove much
more productive than those which have been worked upon
the table-land, the consequence must be such as Mr Ward
has anticipated.
The great mining districts of New Spain, arranged ac¬
cording to the proportional quantities of silver which they
yield, have been classified by Humboldt thus:—Guanaxua-
to, in the intendancy of the same name; Catorce, in the
intendancy of San Luis Potosi; Zacatecas, in that of the
same name ; Real del Monte, in the intendancy of Mexi¬
co ; Bolanos, in that of Guadalaxara; Guarismey, in the in¬
tendancy ofDurango; Sombrerete, in that of Zacatecas; Tas-
co, in the intendancy of Mexico ; Batopilas, in that of Du¬
rango ; Zimapan, in the intendancy of Mexico ; Fresnillo, in
that of Zacatecas ; Ramos, in the intendancy of San Luis
Potosi; and Parral, in that of Durango. But, from various
causes, particularly the suspension of mining operations
consequent on the revolution of 1810, and still more from
the recent application of British capital to the working of
the Mexican mines, this arrangement would require cer¬
tain modifications to render it, in all respects, applicable
to the actual circumstances of New Spain. At the begin¬
ning of the present century, for instance, the richest of
all the Mexican mines was that of Valenciana; but at the
present time the most productive mines are those of Veta
Grande. To exhibit a view of the change which, from what¬
ever cause or causes, has since taken place; to indicate
results which can only be appreciated in juxtaposition;
and, at the same time, to convey, in a condensed form,
other information which can scarcely fail to prove inte¬
resting ; we shall here introduce a comparative table, show¬
ing at one view the points both of similarity and of con¬
trast in these two celebrated mines.
1 Mining Review, No. IX., pp. 9, 10, et seq. 2 Born’s Travels, p. 120.
^ Mexico in 1827, vol. ii. p. 135. Mr Ward’s work, here referred to, will be found to contain the most ample information on the
subject of the mines of Mexico. He has treated the subject in four sections, embracing almost every point of any importance con¬
nected with it. In the first he gives a comparative statement of the produce of these mines during a double term of fifteen years
before and since the revolution of 1810, with an account of the exportation of specie during the same period. The second section treats
of the mining system of Mexico before 1810; the changes which occurred from that time till 1823, when the idea of foreign companies
was first suggested ; the number of these companies established in Mexico ; the extent of the undertakings in wfiich they are en¬
gaged ; the difficulties with which they have to contend; and their progress and condition in 1827- In the third, Mr Ward dis¬
cusses the question, whether the large capitals which have been invested in the mines by British subjects are likely to be productive
of adequate returns, and within what period, to the adventurers ; and also whether those returns are likely to make the general pro¬
duce of the country equal or even exceed the annual average amount derived from the mines before the year 1810 ; to each of which
he gives a very confident answer in the affirmative. And, in the last section, he makes some general observations on Mexico as a min¬
ing country, and considers the probability of her being enabled, by her mineral treasures, to multiply her commercial relations with
Great Britain, and also to acquit herself of the obligations arising from loans contracted in that country. Much of the information
contained in these sections is, no doubt, purely commercial; but there is also a great deal which has an immediate relation to the
subject under our immediate consideration ; and in Mr Ward’s Personal Narrative there will also be found many interesting details
respecting the principal mines and mining districts of Mexico.
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262
MINES.
Mines. That part of the mountains of Mexico which produces
   ' the greatest quantity of silver is situated between the pa¬
rallels of 21° and 24° 30'. The celebrated mines of Gua-
naxuato are not more than ninety miles distant from those
of San LuisPotosi. From the latter to Zacatecas the dis¬
tance is 102 miles; from Zacatecas to Catorce, 93 miles;
and from Catorce to Durango, 222 miles. It is not a little
remarkable that the sites of the metallic wealth of Mexico
and Peru are, in the two hemispheres, nearly equidistant
from the equator.1 The greater part of the gold of Mexico
is found in the veins of silver ore, either native or mixed
with silver, from which it is separated by washing; the
proportion being seldom more than 11 ounce in the 100 lbs.
The silver supplied by the veins of this country is extract¬
ed from a great variety of ores, which, from the nature of
their mixture, bear some analogy to those of Saxony, the
Hartz, and Hungary. The greatest quantity is derived
from the sulphuret of silver, from arsenical and antimonial
gray copper, from muriate of silver, from prismatic black
silver, and from red silver ore. Amongst these ores we do
not include native silver, because it is not found in sufficient
abundance to form any considerable proportion of the to¬
tal produce of the Mexican mines. Sulphuret of silver and
black prismatic silver are common in the veins of Gua-
naxuato and of Zacatecas, as well as in those of Real del
Monte. The richest gray copper ore is that of the Sierra
de Pino, and the mines of Ramos. The antimonial gray
copper ore is found at Tasco, and in the mine of Rayas,
south-east from Valenciana. The muriate of silver, which
seldom occurs in the veins of Europe, is very abundant in
the mines of Catorce, Fresnillo, and the Cerro San Pedro,
near the town of San Luis Potosi. That of Fresnillo is
frequently of an olive-green, passing into a deeper shade
of the same colour. In the veins of Catorce the muriate
v of silver is accompanied with molybdate and phosphate of
lead. The red silver ore constitutes a principal part of the
wealth of Sombrerete, Cosala, and Villalta, in the pro¬
vince of Oaxaca ; and from the famous mine La Veta Ne-
gra, near Sombrerete, more than 425,000 lbs. troy of silver
have been extracted in the space of little more than six
months. The true white silver ore is very rare in Mexico ;
but its grayish white variety, rich in lead, is found in the
intendancy of Sonora, where it is accompanied with ar¬
gentiferous galena, red silver, brown blende, quartz, and
sulphate of barytes. The martial pyrites found at Pachuca
yields as much as three marcs of silver to the hundred¬
weight of ore. In some parts the operations of the miner
are directed to a mixture of brown oxide of iron and na¬
tive silver, disseminated in particles imperceptible to the
naked eye. This ochreous compound formed the object
of considerable operations at the mines of Angangueo, in
the intendancy of Valladolid, and at Yxtepexi, in the pro¬
vince of Oaxaca.
Native silver is much less abundant in America than is
generally supposed; yet it has been found in considerable
masses, sometimes weighing considerably more than 400
lbs. avoirdupois, in the mines of Batopilas, in New Biscay.
In the veins of Mexico, as well as in the mountains of Eu¬
rope, native silver is constantly accompanied by glaserz or
prismatic silver, particularly in the mines of Sombrerete,
Madrono, Ramos, Zacatecas, Hapujaha, and Sierra de Pe-
nos. Throughout Mexico, the ore, though infinitely more
abundant, is much poorer than in Europe. The average
proportion of silver obtained from the common ore is stat¬
ed at from 0-0018 to 0-0025 ; in other words, sixteen hun¬
dred ounces of ore contain only from three to four ounces Mf
of silver. “ The great mass of Mexican ore is so poor,” saj/s
Garces, in his work on Amalgamation, “ that the three
millions of marcs of silver which the kingdom yields in
good years are extracted from ten millions of quintals of
ore, partly by heat, and partly by amalgamation.” In¬
deed, from the vast quantity of silver which Mexico had
for centuries poured into the circulation of Europe (some¬
times amounting, previously to the revolution of 1810, to
between four and five millions sterling annually), the most
extravagant notions were at one time entertained respect¬
ing the riches of the Mexican mines ; and even the best-
informed and the most scientific of travellers, Baron Hum¬
boldt, confesses that he had been misled by this erroneous
opinion, and was surprised to find that the silver ores of
Mexico were, as already stated, even poorer than those of
Europe, and that the mean produce of the whole mass ex¬
tracted from the mines was only about one part of metal
in four hundred of ore, or about one quarter per cent.; a
proportion which probably does not differ much from that
which is obtained at the present time.
Of the whole mass of the Mexican ores, a small part only,
not perhaps above one fifth, is sufficiently rich in metal to
render it adapted to the process of smelting; and the re¬
mainder is therefore submitted to that of amalgamation, a
method which is costly, from the loss both of mercury and
of the precious metals which attends it. Much has been
done by the English mining companies to lessen this dou¬
ble evil; but a great deal still remains to be effected, and
the high price of quicksilver renders any further amelio¬
ration of the process a matter of the first importance to all
parties concerned in the working of the Mexican mines.
This process, as actually performed, has been described
by Gamboa in his Commentaries on the Mining Ordinances of
Spain ; but, from the complicated nature of the operation
itself, the obscurity of the technical terms employed, and
the difficulty of distinguishing the various changes, chemi¬
cal and mechanical, which are effected, a description in
which the whole subject is as much as possible simplified,
and these changes traced in succession as they occur, may
not be unacceptable or uninteresting to the reader. The
account which follows is more particularly applicable to the
process as performed at the extensive hacienda of Sauce-
da, belonging to the Bolanos Company, because of it very
minute information has been received; but it will never¬
theless be found to correspond in almost every respect
with the general practice pursued in the various mining
districts of Mexico.
Processes at the Mine.
Dressing.—The ores generally consisting of native sil¬
ver, sulphuret of silver, muriate of silver, argentiferous py¬
rites, &c. disseminated throughout the veinstone in a state
of minute subdivision, are broken into small pieces with
hammers, and partially separated from the matrix.
Processes at the Hacienda.
Preparatory Operations.—The ore first undergoes the
process of dry-stamping by the molinos, which converts it
into a coarse powder called granza. The granza then un¬
dergoes the process of wet-grinding by the tahonas, which
converts it into a very fine mud or slime called lama.
Amalgamation.—The lama is first arranged in tortas,
or flat circular heaps, in the patio, or paved court of the ha¬
cienda, and vvell mixed with sallierra, or impure muriate
ie districts of the north of Mexico are, in the state of Durango, Guarisamey, San Dimas, Gavilanes, Tayoltita, Cane-
las, Sianori, Bacis, famasula, Ventanas, and San Andres, in the Sierra Madre, and Cuencame (near the river Nazas), Yerva Buena,
ilapum, Indee, El Oro, and Guanasevi, east of the Sierra Madre ; in the state of Chihuahua, El Parral, Santa Eulalia, Santa Rosa
de Cosiquiriachic, El Pilar, Batopilillas, Rosario, El Potrero, and Milpillas; and in the state of Sonora and Senaloa, Mulatos, Co-
sala, Alamos, Arispe, and El Rosario.
mines.
ines. of soda (common salt). No chemical change whatever is
— effected during these processes.
Processes.—Pulverized calcined magistral, that is, sul¬
phate of copper and iron, is now added to the torta, and
by the repaso process which follows is thoroughly mixed
up with it. Chemical action then commences, and heat is
given out.
Chemical Changes.—By the action of the air and mois¬
ture the magistral is decomposed, and its sulphuric acid
set free. The sulphuric acid, thus liberated, rapidly com¬
bines with the water contained in the moist lama, and
great heat is thus evolved, which favours the decomposi¬
tion of the ores, and the subsequent oxidation of the metal.
The sulphuric acid, thus liberated from the magistral, hav¬
ing a strong affinity for soda, decomposes the saltierra, set¬
ting free its muriatic acid, and forming with its base sul¬
phate of soda, or Glauber salt. Owing to its strong affi¬
nity for silver, the muriatic acid liberated from the salti¬
erra combines with the silver of the ores, and forms mu¬
riate or chloride of silver, whilst the portion in excess
unites with the copper and iron of the magistral, forming
muriates of copper and of iron.
Processes.— Calx or lime is used, when necessary, to cool
the mixture. Azogue, or quicksilver, is now applied, by
sprinkling it through pieces of coarse cloth, so that it falls
in small drops like rain. It is then thoroughly incorporat¬
ed with the mass, thus forming amalgam.'' When the first
poition of quicksilver is supposed to have been quite taken
up, a second supply is added, called el ceho. Finally, a
third quantity of quicksilver is added, called el homo. Du¬
ring these operations the torta is thoroughly mixed toge¬
ther by the repaso, and other processes. The torta or mass
of impure amalgam is then washed in the lavadero, being
thoroughly stirred up in a cistern of water, by which pro¬
cess the earthy impurities are kept in a state of suspen¬
sion, and finally carried away by the refuse water, which
nows off at the top.
Chemical Changes.—The lime appears to act by com¬
bining with any portion of the sulphuric acid which may
e in excess, and thus forming sulphate of lime or gypsum,
ihe superabundant portion of sulphuric acid being thus
taken up, the evolution of heat by its absorption of water
is prevented, and the torta consequently cools. The mer¬
cury, owing to its strong affinity for silver, readily com-
inea witi informing an amalgam, the muriate appearing
to nave been previously decomposed by the iron of the
magistral. Owing to the necessarily imperfect contact of
ie minute particles of the two metals, the formation of
ie ama gam is very gradual; hence the mercury is added
in ervals, so as to take up the remaining particles of sil¬
ver, to insure which it is always greatly in excess. Du¬
ring the washing in the lavadero, the muriates of copper and
iron, and the sulphates of soda and lime, being all soluble
salts, are dissolved in water, and carried off. The amalgam
in the mean time settles at the bottom of the lavadero.
Processes.—amalgam, by a further washing in a tub
at the azoguema, is freed from any earthy impurities which
may yet remain. It is then placed in a canvass bag, which
is suspended over a vat, and the uncombined quicksilver,
owing to its weight, filters through. The pure amalgam,
now termed pella de plata, is then moulded into wed-e-
shaped masses, called marquetas. In this form it is taken
to the quemadero, and built up into a cylindrical pile, with
a hole down the centre. The pile of amalgam, or pina de
plata, is then placed on a copper stand, the above aperture
opening a communication with the reservoir of cold water
below. A large inverted crucible, called the capellina, is
then placed over the pina de plata, and luted at the bot¬
tom. No chemical change is effected during these pro¬
cesses. A charcoal fire is then kindled around the capel-
hna, the heat of which volatilizes the mercury of the amal¬
gam. The vapour, having no other outlet, passes down
the aperture in the middle of the pina de plata, and thence
through a pipe into a cistern of cold water, where it is
immediately condensed.
Chemical Changes.—Volatilization and subsequent con¬
densation of the mercury.
Process.—-When the process of distillation has continu¬
ed for a sufficient time, the capellina is removed, and the
crude silver, now forming a solid mass, is broken up into
the original marquetas. The marquetas are then placed in
a test with charcoal, and melted down by the action of a
blast. By this process the silver is freed from any slight
impurities which yet remain attached to it.
Chemical Change.—Silver refined by fusion.
Process.—Whilst in a state of fusion, the silver, now
pure, is poured into a mould, and cast into bars, in which
form it is sent to the mint for coinage. The general weight
of the bars is about 135 Spanish marcs, or 82 lbs. troy,
and the value about L.270, although depending, of course,
on the fineness of the metal, and sometimes regulated by
its containing a ley of gold.1
Having thus explained the process of amalgamation, we
shall now proceed to lay before our readers the most re¬
cent information which has been obtained respecting the
produce of the Mexican mines. The following statement
of the coinage in all the mints of the Mexican republic,
during the year ending the 31st of December 1834, is
contained in a communication by Consul-General O’Gor¬
man, addressed to the Duke of Wellington.2
263
Mines.
MINTS.
Mexico 
Guanaxuato 
Zacatecas 
San Luis Potosi.
Guadalaxara 
Durango 
Total, dollars.
GOLD.
Value in
Dollars.
14,656
196,448
783
211.887
SILVER.
Dollars.
938,055
2,506,500
5,526,600
927,800
714,439
1,215,530
At 48d. per dollar  L.42,377
11,828,924 12,040,811
TOTAL.
Dollars.
952,711
2,702,948
5,526,600
927,800
715,222
1,215,530
L.2,365,785 L.2,408,162
a S66 p111)111^ Review, No. VIII. p. 249, et seq.
°f the Sterli”g °f G°Id
and Silver raised in each of the
I
p
264
MINE S.
Mines. It appears, however, that the export of the precious me-
' tals from Mexico in 1834 amounted to upwards of twenty-
one millions, to which must be added the legal and clan¬
destine exports by Matamoros, supposed to be about two
millions, and the smuggled treasure from Vera Cruz and
the smaller ports, estimated at one million and a half; so
that about twenty-five millions of dollars in gold and sil¬
ver, equal to L.5,000,000 sterling, were, in 1834, shipped
to foreign countries, although the coinage of all the mints
of the republic during that year was only 12,040,811 dollars,
as shown by the above return, or L.2,400,000. A large pro¬
portion of this export was for the United States. “ The
produce of the Mexican mines,” says Mr O Gorman, “ has
evidently increased to a great extent, notwithstanding the
exorbitantly high price of quicksilver, which has prevent¬
ed the reduction of ores of low quality for the last two
years ; and the riches lately discovered in the mines of
Fresnillo, and again at Zacatecas, promise a still greater
augmentation of silver.”
v. SOUTH AMERICAN MINES.
Under this head it will not be necessary for us to enter
into any lengthened details, because ample information on
the subject of the mines of South America will be found in
the various articles of this work especially devoted to the
description of the different countries, or states, into which
that great continent is now divided, particularly in the ac¬
counts given of Bolivia, Brazil, Buenos Ayres, Chile, Colom¬
bia, Peru, &c. to which accordingly the reader is referred.
There are few regions of the earth so remarkable for their
mineral riches as the vast primitive.chain of mountains call¬
ed the Cordilleras, throughout which nature has distributed
ores of the precious metals in greater abundance than in
almost any other part of the world ; although these are for
the most part placed at an elevation which renders the
working of them equally difficult and expensive. The most
important mines are those of silver; but gold, quicksilver,
copper, and lead are also extracted, some of them in very
considerable quantities.
In Chile, especially in the pi'ovinceofCoquimbo, there are
several mines of silver, and some important ones of copper.
The Chileno mines are mostly situated in the interior of a
hilly country of difficult access, to which the conveyance
of fuel and materials is enormously expensive, and whence
the transport of the produce to the places of embarkation
is attended with much difficulty. The Chileno miners are
described as very expert in following the course of a vein,
though entirely ignorant of any thing like science, and even
unable to explain the rules by which they are guided in
pursuing their operations. The various processes followed
in the reduction of the ores are also rude and simple ; but
being extremely economical, they are perhaps better adapt¬
ed to the circumstances of the country than those which
are employed in less difficult and more accessible regions.
The greater proportion of the gold found in Chile is ob¬
tained from the auriferous sulphuret of iron, or gold py¬
rites, which is generally met with in high and lofty ridges,
such as those of Illapel and Petorca. Some portion, how¬
ever, is obtained from veins of rock, where very small grains
of gold are disseminated in syenite, so minute as not to be
visible to the naked eye, or from an ochreous decomposing
syenite, distributed in veins, throughout which native gold
is disseminated in thin flakes. Silver is found principally
in limestone, or calcareous syenite ; and it also occurs in
beds of quartz, amongst which it is disseminated in the
metallic state. But towards Copiapo it is generally found
in lead ores, principally argentiferous galenas; and towards M5,
the south it occurs mineralized with sulphur. Copper is''—'*
most frequently found in the state of sulphuret called
bronze, but sometimes in that of carbonate, or sulphuret
and carbonate intermixed.1
The richness of the silver mines of Potosi, now includ¬
ed in the territory of Buenos Ayres, may be judged of from
the fact, that since the period of their discovery in the year
1545, upwards of 1300 millions of dollars have been coin¬
ed there. These mines are situated in an insulated moun¬
tain, about eighteen miles in circumference, which rises to
an immense height, in the form of a sugar-loaf or cone; it
is about an hundred leagues distant from the South Sea,
near the sources of the river La Plata, is chiefly composed
of a yellow, firm, argillaceous slate, and is full of veins
which traverse the mountain in all directions, and are fill¬
ed with ferruginous quartz, which constitutes the matrix
of the silver ores. These consist principally of native sil¬
ver and vitreous silver ore, the latter of which, on the first
discovery of the mine, yielded about half its weight of pure
silver; but the produce is much less now than formerly,
all the richer veins having been wrought out and exhaust¬
ed. Copper, lead, and tin, are also found in Buenos Ayres,
the last occurring in beds of sand or clay, from which it
is obtained by washing. On the opposite chain, in a level
district, are the silver mines of Guantajaya, famous for the
large masses of solid silver which they formerly yielded,
and one of which weighed about 800 lbs.
In Peru there are forty districts particularly famous for
their gold and silver mines. Gold is chiefly found in the
provinces of Guailas and Pataz, and silver in the districts
of Guantajaya, Pasco, and Chota. The celebrated mines of
Pasco, which, some thirty years ago, produced considerably
more than two millions of dollars annually, had, like most
of those of South America, been very negligently managed
until, in 1816, miners from Cornwall began to work them
by means of steam-engines. These mines are properly in
the ridge of Yauricocha, and are situated at the great height
of 13,500 feet above the level of the sea. The distance of
the village of Pasco from Lima is about fifty-eight leagues.
The only persons capable of being employed at so great an
elevation, where the barometer is always below nineteen
inches, are the Indians of the country, who, being bred upon
high table-lands, can alone respire without inconvenience
the attenuated atmosphere of so lofty a region. The riches
of the metalliferous bed of Yauricocha are at no great depth
below the surface, the greater proportion of the pits being
somewhat less than 100 feet, and none of them exceeding
400 feet in depth. The length of this bed is about 16,000
feet, its breadth 7200 feet, and its thickness somewhat less
than 100 feet. The number of mines does not exceed an
hundred. The mineral bed consists of a porous ironstone,
throughout which fine silver is disseminated ; but patches
of a friable white argillaceous earth about ten inches in
thickness are sometimes met with in the midst of the large
bed, and are often so rich as to yield from 200 to 1000 marcs
per caxon. The consequence has been, that many miners,
instead of following the bed regularly, have perforated it at
random in search of these very uncertain riches, and, from
carelessness, have endangered the existence of the whole
mine. In fact, it is these perforations which are now de¬
nominated mines. The mines of the pfovince of Chota
now furnish above 40,000 lbs. troy of silver annually. The
quicksilver mine of Guancavelica in Peru is the only one
of this kind in the New World. It is about fifty leagues
to the eastward of Lima, being situated near the summit ol
one of the Cordilleras. This mine, which, for a period of two
centuries, afforded annually from 7000 to 8000 quintals of
Miers’ Travels in Chile and La Plata, vol. ii. chap. 22 and 23.
MINES.
ines.
mercury is now nearly exhausted. The cinnabar of Gu-
ancavelica is disseminated in a sandstone similar to that
of Almaden in Spain, being distributed in an immense ac¬
cumulated mass, without the form of bed or vein ; but the
ore has become so poor that fifty quintals do not now yield
more than six or eight pounds of mercury.
In the province of Guantajaya, there are mines of rock
or fossil salt. To the north of the province of Chota, the
Cordilleras are by no means so rich in metals. In New
Granada, however, there are several silver mines; at Aroa,
in Caraccas, there is a copper mine which yields from 1400
to 1600 cwt. of metal annually; and at Santa Fe de Bogota
Ports
and
Mining Districts,
Coquimbo..
Huasco 
Copiapo....
Districts of Illa-
pel and Com
barbala..
Total.
Shipped to Foreign Coun¬
tries, and in Foreign
Bottoms.
Gold.
Lis.
Silver.
Marcs.
42,572^
1,686
44,258£
Copper.
Quintals.
23,432
13,4201
2,7071
39,560
Shipped to Valparaiso,
Conception, Chile, and
Ports of Peru, in
Chilean Bottoms.
Gold.
Lbs.
404
40£
Silver.
Marcs.
11,368
3,232^
62,224g
76,825
Copper.
Quintals.
39
7,594
2,702
10,335
.Remitted by Land to
the Capital, Santiago,
and to the Port of
Valparaiso.
Gold
Lbs.
Silver.
Marcs.
31,858
8,934
48,9531
Copper.
Quintals.
3
7,000
Total.
Gold.
Lbs.
40i
7,003 404
Silver.
Marcs.
85,7981
12,1661
72,072
170,037
Copper.
Quintals
23,474
21,0144
5,409|
7,000'
56,898
The total value of the different quantities above stated,
estimated in the currency of Chile, amounted to 2,379,539
dollars. The quantity of gold actually raised from the
mines, however, is said to be much greater than that here
stated; but no accurate account of the quantity extract¬
ed could be procured, owing to the circumstance of the
article being chiefly exported in a clandestine manner, in
order to avoid the duties, which are about four per cent.
ad valorem. For this reason, any returns that can be ob¬
tained are comparatively of but little avail, as far as gold
is concerned.
The following return of the marcs of gold coined at the
mints of Lima and Cuzco between the years 1820 and
1833, is copied from the parliamentary paper to which we
have already referred:—
Years.
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824 }
1825/
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Totals,
Amount of Coinage at both Mints.
Marcs.
3,690 1
1,957 4
1,086 7
179 4
No coinage
2,781 5
730 6
622 3
903 4
1,256 7
636 7
517 7
438 0
Dollars.
533,223
282,853
157,053
25,937 f
No coinage
401,944
105,593
89,933
130,555
181,618
92,028
74,832
63,291
Rs.
6
£ s.
106,644 12
56,571 15
31,410 14
5,185 11
No coinage.
80,388 19
21,118 13
17,986 12
26,111 3
36,323 13
18,405 13
14,966 II
12,658 4
14,801 7 2,138,870 7A 427,774 3 9
Y ears.
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Total,
Marcs.
469,808
157,957
193,200
60,000
67,638
217,050
318,000
264,000
130,150
193,500
217,909
312,700
301,600
At 8J Dollars
per Marc.
At 5 Dollars per
Pound Sterling.
Dollars. Rs,
3,758,464 0
1,342,634 4
1,642,200 0
510,000 0
574,923 0
1,844,925 0
2,703,000 0
2,244,000 0
1,106,275 0
1,644,750 0
1,850,226 4
2,657,950 0
2,563,600 0
2,903,512 24,444,948 0
751,692 16 0
268,526 16 0
328,440 0 0
102,000 0 0
114.984 12
368.985 0
540,600
448,800
221,255
328,950
370,445
531,590
512,720
4,888,989 10 0
The number of marcs of silver coined at the mintofCuzco
between the years 1824 and 1832 was as follows, viz.
We shall next exhibit, from the same Comparative State-
ment, a return of the amount and value of silver coined at
tne mint of Lima between the 1st of January 1820 and
the 31st of December 1833: 
vol. xv.
Years.
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
Totals,
Marcs.
37,300
28,061
57,989
30,856
37,703
35,278
42,835
62,790
64,876
397,688
At Dollars
per Marc.
Dollars.
317,050
238,518
492,906
262,276
320,475
299,863
364,097
533,715
551,446
Rs.
0
4
4
0
4
0
4
0
0
At 5 Dollars per
Pound Sterling.
£ s. d.
63,410 0 0
47,703 14 0
98,581 6 0
52,455 4 0
64,095 2 0
59,972 0 0
72,819 10 0
106,743 0 0
110,289 4 0
3,380,348 0 676,069 0 0
2 L
265
rock-salt and pit-coal are found. For an account of the Mines,
gold and diamond mines or districts of Brazil, the reader v-—.
is referred to the article under that head.
It now only remains to endeavour, by means of the ta¬
bu ar returns obtained from the British consular agents in
South America, to exhibit a view of the actual produce of
the gold and silver mines of that country. The followino-
is an account of the gold, silver, and copper, raised from
the mines in the province of Coquimbo, in Chile, distin¬
guishing the different ports and mining districts from which
the metals have been exported and remitted by land dur¬
ing the year ending the 31st December 1831: 
266
Mines,
Military.
MINES.
From this and the preceding return taken together, it therefore appears that the
les,
Total coinage of silver at the mint of Lima,^
in 13 years from 1820 to 1833, not in- >-
eluding 1824, amounted to- }
Coinage of silver at the mint of Cuzco, from 1
1824 to 1832 (the return for 1833 not >
having been received), was )
Amount of coinage of silver at both mints....
Marcs.
2,903,513
397,688
3,301,201
Dollars.
24,444,938
3,380,348
27,825,286
£ *. d.
4,882,924 12 0
676,069 0 0
5,558,993 12 0
Mlarv,
The next return which we shall give exhibits the number specified, during the years from 1819 to 1833 both inclusive,
of marcs of silver of eight ounces reduced to bars at the as far as the same could be procured by the consul-general
different smelting houses of the republic of Peru therein of Great Britain, in that country.
Years.
laio
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
96,594
50,819
74,481
64,470
Trujillo.
21,010
23,361
15,607
7,400
6,453
33,145
34,262
34,975
27,974
26,998 0
24,403 0
10,462 7
17.983 2
17,237 6
43,263 6
4,956 1
16sl08 3
11,997 3
5,395 5£
1,760 4
23,550 5
7,109 5
11,721 1
8.530 0
Pasco.
Ayacucho.
190,427 0
283,906 0
56,971 0
163,852 0
221,707 0
201,330 0
82,031 0
95,265 0
135,134 4
219,378 1
257,669 6
5,157 2
2,639 0
1,022 0
2,213 1
2,148 2
8,341 7
3,170 1
2,922 2
1,841 3
5,634 4
12,336 0
9,267 2
8,776 0
5,730 4
Puno.
25,172 7
24,898 5
16,667 5
14,989 1
14,960 7
11,629 7
8,400 0
16,658 0
21,999 3
22,931 4
27,327 7
30,758 6
38,417 0
42,130 4
2,986 0
Areqtiipa.
Tanca.
Total in
Marcs.
27,910 1
37,405 4
10,486 0
2,040 0
413 7
3,203 7
15,237 2
28,368 3
11,671 4
7,370 3
12,973 3
18,422 5
14,472 5
2,851 0
7,684 0
5,575 5
6,004 2
5,661 5
2,785 1
2,028 l
3,493 0
805 6
119 5
4,720 7
2,270 0
212 5
422,834 7
430,075 3
118,781 4
104,181 0
34,760 6
68,467 4
110,068 4
252,324 0
286,024 54
250,540 IJ
138,900 5
213,691 4
238,063 0
319,831 7
310,574 4
3,488,387 5f
3,548,121 6|
979,947 3
859,593 2
186^776 14
564,856 7
908,065 1
2,081,673 0
2,359,703 2|
2,066,956 2
1,145,930 U
1,762,954 7
1,968,968 6
2,638,612 71
2,562,242 1
In Dollars, at 84 In Pounds Sterling,
Dollars per Marc. I at 5 Doll, per Pound.
697,677
709,624
195,989
171,9.18
, 37,355
112,971
181,613
516,334
571,940
513.391
229,186
352,590
393,793
527,722
512,460
15 0
7 0
9 6
13 0
4 9
7 6
4 6
12 0
13 1
5 0
0 6
19 6
15 0
12 0
8 6
The following table shows the number of marcs of sil- of 1819 to the end of 1833, and likewise the value ot the
ver smelted at the different smelting houses of Peru dur- silver thus smelted in dollars and pounds, tor eac separa e
ing the three quinquennial periods from the beginning period of five years :—
Quinquenniums.
1819 to 1823 
1824 to 1828 
1829 to 1833.. 
Total for the 15 years,
Marcs.
1,110,663 4
967,424 6f
1,221,661 4
3,299,719 6|
Dollars. Rs.
9,162,726 3
7,981,254 7$
10,078,707 3
27,222,688 5f
£ *. d.
1,832,545 5 6
1,596,250 19 6
2,015,741 9 6
5,444,537 14 6
From a return of the silver coined in Peru between the
1st of January and the 31st of December 1834, it appears
that tire total amount of the coinage in 1834 exceeded the
total amount of the coinage in 1833 by 18,586 marcs, which
are equal to 121,764 dollars, or L.24,352. 8s.; thus show¬
ing that the working of the silver mines in that country
is at length proceeding with increased spirit, activity, and
success. (A0
Mines, Military, denote subterraneous galleries or
passages excavated under the walks or ramparts of fortifi¬
cations, and intended to be blown up by gunpowder. *
The gallery or passage of a mine is commonly about four
feet square, and at the end of this is the chamber or four-
neauai the mine, which is a cavity of about five feet in width,
the same in length, and about six feet in height; and here
the gunpowder is stowed. The saucisson of the mine is
the train, for wdiich there is always a small aperture left.
Two ounces of powder have been found, by experiment,
capable of raising two cubic feet of earth ; consequently
200 ounces, that is, twelve pounds eight ounces, will raise
200 cubic feet, or sixteen feet less than a cubic toise; be¬
cause 200 ounces, joined together, have proportionally a
greater force than two ounces, from being an united force.
All the turnings which a miner employs to carry on his
mines, and through which he conducts the saucisson, should
be well filled with earth and dung; and the masonry, in
proportion to the earth to be blown up, should be as three
to two. The entrance of the chamber or foumeau of the
mine ought to be firmly shut with thick planks, in the form
of a St Andrew’s cross, so that the enclosure be made se¬
cure, and the void spaces filled up with dung or tempered
earth. If a gallery be formed below or on the side of the
chamber, it must absolutely be filled up with the strongest
masonry, half as long again as the height of the earth ; for
this gallery will not only burst, but likewise obstruct the ef¬
fect of the mine. The powder should always be kept in sacks,
which must be opened when the mine is charged, and some
of the powder strewed about. The greater is the quantity
of earth to be raised, the more decided will be the effect of
the mine, supposing it to have the due proportion of powder.
Powder has the same effect upon masonry as upon earth; that
is, it will proportionally raise either with the same velocity.
The branches which are carried into the solidity of walls
seldom exceed three feet in depth, and two feet six inches
in width, or thereby. This species of mine, when properly
formed, is calculated to blow up the strongest walls.
The weight of a cubic foot of powder should be about
80 lb.; one foot one inch cube should weigh 100 lb., and
mines.
one foot two inches and f^ths, 150 lb.: on the other hand,
200 Jb. of powder will be one foot five inches cube ; but
' there is a diversity in this, according to the quantity of salt¬
petre contained in the gunpowder.
If, when the mines are formed, water be found at the bot¬
tom of the chamber, planks are laid there, upon which the
powder is placed, either in sacks or barrels of 100 lb. each.
The saucisson must have a clear passage to the powder, and
should be laid in an auget or wooden trough, through all
the branches. When the powder is placed in the chamber,
the planks are laid to cover it, and others again across
these, then one is placed across the top of the chamber,
which is shaped for that purpose ; and between it and those
which cover the powder, props are placed, which shore it up,
some inclining towards the outside, and others to the inside
of the wall, all the void spaces being filled up with earth,
dung, bricks, and rough stones. Afterwards planks are
placed at the entrance of the diamber, with one across the
top, upon which are buttressed three strong props, the other
ends of which are likewise propped against another plank
situated on the side of the earth in the branch ; and these
props being well fixed between the planks with wedges,
the branch should then be filled up to its entrance with
the before-mentioned materials. The saucissons which pass
through the side branches must be of exactly the same
length with that in the middle, to which they are joined.
The part which readies beyond the entrance of the mine
is that which conveys the fire to the other three ; and if
the saucissons be of equal length, the mines will spring to¬
gether.
From a great number of experiments, it appears that
the force of a mine is always towards the weakest side, so
that the disposition of the chamber of a mine does not at
all contribute to determine this effect; tliat the quantity
of powder must be greater or less in proportion to the
greater or less weight of the bodies to be raised, and to
their greater or less cohesion ; that the entonnoir of a mine,1
if rightly charged, is a cone, the diameter of whose base is
double the height taken from the centre of the mine ; that
when the mine has been overcharged, its entonnoir is nearly
cylindrical, the diameter of the upper extreme not much
exceeding that of the chamber; and that, besides the shock
of the powder against the bodies it takes up, it likewise
crushes all the earth which borders upon it, both under¬
neath and sidewise.
To chaige a mine so as to produce the most advantage¬
ous effect, the weight of the matter to be carried must be
known; that is, the solidity of a cone whose base is double
the height of the earth over the centre of the mine. Thus,
having found the solidity of the cone in cubic fathoms,
multiply the number of fathoms by the number of pounds
o powder necessary for raising the matter it contains; and
h the cone contain matters of different weights, take a
mean weight between them all, due regard being always had
o their degree of cohesion. As to the disposition of mines,
there is but one general rule, which is, that the side to¬
wards which the miner would determine the effect be the
weakest; but this varies according to occasions and cir¬
cumstances.
The calculation of mines is generally built upon the hy¬
pothesis, that the entonnoir of a mine is the frustum of an
im erte cone, the altitude of which is equal to the radius of
>e excavation of the mine, and the diameter of the whole
esser ase is equal to the line of least resistance ; and al-
mug i t lese suppositions are not quite exact, yet the cal-
u a ions of mines deduced from them have proved suc-
h06c n 10 ? f°r which reason this principle should
rle, v a ^e^ter and more simple be found out. M.
 ^ 161 e 10und that the entonnoir of a mine was a para-
267
boloid, which is a solid generated by the rotation of a semi- Mines
parabola about its axis; but as the difference between Military.
these two solids is very insignificant in practice, that of the s''“~n 
frustum of a cone may be used.
The mines of a fortress are denominated counter-mines,
the gallery of which runs under the covered way, alona the
outer margin of the fosse. From this, ramifications (ra-
rneaux) extend under the glacis, whence little passages are
formed on both sides, so as to afford means for listening and
discovering the subterranean proceedings of the enemy.
(jra lenes made within a fortification, before a place is at¬
tacked, and from which branches are carried in different
directions, are generally about four feet in width and about
five in height. The earth is supported from falling in by
arches and walls, as these galleries are intended to remain
for a considerable time; but when mines are to be used
as soon as formed, the galleries are only three feet or three
feet and a half in width, and five feet in height, and the
earth is temporarily supported by wooden frames or props.
A word or two now respecting the globe de compression.
Suppose a large globe of earth, homogeneous in all its parts,
with a certain quantity of powder lodged in its centre, so as
to produce a proper effect without bursting the globe; it
is evident that, by the ignition of the powder, the explo¬
sion will act equally all round, and the particles of earth,
being porous, will compress each other in proportion as the
expansive force increases the dimensions of the chamber.
The particles of earth next to the chamber will communi¬
cate a portion of their motion to those adjoining, and the
latter to those immediately beyond them; and this com¬
munication will continue in a decreasing proportion, until
the whole force of the explosion be spent; but beyond that
limit the particles of earth will remain in the same state as
before. Thus the particles of earth which have been acted
upon by the force of the explosion will form a globe, and
to a certain extent drive all before them. Tins is the globe
de compression invented by Belidor. Its object is, without
any explosion perceptible at the surface, to shake the
ground, and to destroy the hostile mines in the immediate
neighbourhood.
Fougasses are a sort of small mines constructed before
the weakest parts of a fortification, as the salient angles and
the faces when not defended by a cross fire. Treffle mines
are mines with two chambers only. T-mines, so called
from their resemblance to the letter T, are double mines
having four lodgments. Double T-mines have eight lodg¬
ments and four doors, whilst triple T-mines have twelve
lodgments and six doors. Double treffle mines have four
lodgments and eight doors; triple treffle mines have six
lodgments and twelve doors.
Subterranean warfare has many peculiarities, and re¬
quires a rare union of skill, and courage, and perseverance.
Sappers and miners are usually armed with pistols and cut¬
lasses for their defence, when there is a chance of their
meeting a hostile counter-mine; and if a combat ensue, the
dead and the wounded are passed backwards from the most
advanced workmen to those behind, until the mine is clear¬
ed. Balls made of all kinds of substances which produce
an offensive stench when ignited, are also lighted, in order
to stop the enemy, whenever the mine permits the party who
set fire to the ball to effect an easy retreat from the mine.
Sometimes mines are excavated in the field, for the pur¬
pose of blowing up such of the enemy as can be allured to
the spot. In these cases, a small body of men is common¬
ly placed immediately above the mine, to induce the ene¬
my to attack with a superior force; if the stratagem suc¬
ceed, the mine is instantly sprung (on fait jouer la mine),
and, from the very nature of the operation, both parties are
sometimes sacrificed.
1 That is, the cavity, aperture, or hole which remains after the explosion.
268 MIN
Mingrelia MINGRELIA, a large country of Asia, extending about
it 140 miles in length along the Black Sea, which bounds
Miniature jt on ^ westj ancj stretching into the interior about
^ air‘in^',forty or fifty miles. It is situated on the southern side of
the Caucasus, between the Caspian and the Black Sea,
and is bounded on the north by Georgia, on the east by
Immeritia, and on the south by the river Phasis. The
country, though it possesses great natural capabilities, has
greatly declined, and is now sunk in poverty and barba¬
rism. The soil, near the Black Sea more particularly, is
. soft and moist, and neither wheat nor barley can be rais¬
ed to any extent. It is chiefly on a small grain resem¬
bling coriander seed that the people subsist. Vines are
plentiful, as is also honey ; and the climate is favourable for
silk. There are, however, no manufactures of any great
value in the country ; they consist chiefly of coarse taffe-
ties, and an indifferent sort of handkerchiefs. A great
trade is carried on in slaves, of which the number export¬
ed is about 12,000. The inhabitants are all of turbulent
and predatory habits; fishing, war, and plunder, are the
principal occupations of the chiefs. The females are re¬
markably handsome in their persons. This extensive
tract of country, which long fluctuated in its obedience
between the Russians and the Turks, is now under the do¬
minion of the former. The Phasis, and its tributaries the
Teghuri and Arascha, are the principal rivers. It has
few towns worthy of the name. The largest is called
• Zalikara; Rugh and Egers are well fortified ; and Rhcezia
has an extensive trade. The country is well watered, and
covered with extensive forests of the finest trees. The
province, according to Reineggs, contains four millions of
inhabitants.
MINHO, a great river in Spain, which, taking its rise
in Galicia, divides that province from Portugal, and falls
into the Atlantic at Caminha.
MINIATURE, in a general sense, signifies represen¬
tation in a small compass, or diminished form.
MINIATURE PAINTING, adelicatekind of painting,
consisting of little points or dots, usually done on vellum,
ivory, or paper, with very thin, simple water colours. The
word comes from the Latin minium, red lead, that being
a colour much used in this kind of painting. The French
frequently call it mignature, from mignon, fine, pretty, on
account of its smallness and delicacy ; and it may be ulti¬
mately derived from the Greek word fimgos, small.
Miniature is distinguished from other kinds of painting
by the smallness and delicacy of its figures, and the faint¬
ness of the colouring.
- Of Drawing and Designing.—To succeed in this art,
a man should be perfectly skilled in the art of designing or
drawing ; but as most people who affect the one know lit¬
tle or nothing of the other, and would have the pleasure of
painting without giving themselves the trouble of learning
to design, which is indeed an art that is not acquired with¬
out a great deal of time and continual application, inven¬
tions have been found out to supply its place, and by
means of which a man may design or draw without know¬
ing how to do either.
The first is chalking; that is, if you have a mind to do
a print or design in miniature, the back of it, on another
paper, must be blackened with small coal, and then rubbed
very hard with the finger wrapped in a linen cloth ; after¬
wards the cloth must be lightly drawn over the side so
blackened, that no black grains may remain upon it to
soil the vellum you would paint upon ; and the print or
draught must be fastened upon the vellum with four pins,
to keep it from shifting. And if it be another paper that
is blackened, it must be put between the vellum and the
print or draught, with the blackened side upon the vei-
Jum ; then, with a blunted pin or needle, you must pass
over the principal lines or strokes of the print or draught,
M I N
the contours, the plaits of the drapery, and every thing Mink re
else that must be distinguished, pressing so hard that fain:,,
the strokes may be fairly marked upon the vellum under-
neath.
Copying by squares is another convenient method for
such as are but little skilled in the art of designing, and
would copy pictures or other things that cannot be chalk¬
ed. The method may be shortly described. The piece
must be divided into many equal parts by little squares,
marked out with charcoal, if the piece be clear and whit¬
ish, and the black can be fairly seen upon it; or with
white chalk, if it be too brown and dusky. After which,
as many squares of equal dimensions must be made on
white paper, upon which the piece must be designed ; be¬
cause, if this be done immediately upon vellum (as one is
apt to miscarry in the first attempt), the vellum may be
soiled with false touches. But when it is neatly done up¬
on paper, it must be chalked upon the vellum in the man¬
ner before described. When the original and the paper
are thus ordered, observe what is in each square of the
piece to be designed, as a head, an arm, a hand, and so
forth ; and place it in the corresponding part of the paper.
And thus finding where to place all the parts of the piece,
you have nothing to do but to form them well, and to join
them together. By this method you may reduce or en¬
large a piece to whatever compass you please, making the
squares of your paper greater or less than those of the ori¬
ginal ; but they must always be of an equal number.
To copy a picture or other thing in the same size and
proportion, another method is, to make use of varnished
paper, or of the skin of a hog’s bladder, very transparent,
such as is to be had at the gold-beater’s. Talc or isinglass
will likewise do as well. Lay any one of those things up¬
on your piece; through it you will see all the strokes
and touches, which are to be drawn upon it with a crayon
or pencil. Then take it off; and fastening it under paper
or vellum, set up both against the light, in the manner of
a window ; and with a crayon, or a silver needle, mark out
upon the paper or vellum you have put uppermost, all the
lines and touches you shall see drawn upon the varnished
paper, bladder, talc, or isinglass, you have made use of,
and which will plainly appear through this window.
After this manner, making use of the window, or of
glass exposed to the light, you may copy all sorts of prints,
designs, and other pieces, on paper or vellum, laying and
fastening them under the paper or vellum upon which
you would draw them; and it is a very good and a very
easy contrivance for doing pieces of the same size and pro¬
portion.
If you have a mind to make pieces look another way,
there is nothing to be done but to turn them ; laying the
printed or drawn side upon the glass, fastening the paper
or vellum upon the back of it, and remembering to let your
lights fall on the left side. »
A good method likewise to take a true copy of a pic¬
ture in oil, is to give a touch of the pencil upon all the
principal strokes, with lake tempered with oil, and to clap
upon the whole a paper of the same size; then passing
the hand over it, the touches of the lake will stick and
leave the design of your piece expressed upon the paper,
which may be chalked like other things. But you must
remember to take off with a crumb of bread what remains
of the lake upon the picture before it be dry. You must
likewise make use of pounce, made of powdered charcoal
put in a linen rag; with this the piece you would copy
must be rubbed, after you have pricked all the principal
strokes or touches, and fastened white paper or vellum
underneath.
When the piece is marked out upon the vellum, you
must pass with a pencil of very clear carmine over all the
traces, that they may not be effaced as you work; then
iature clean your vellum with the crumb of bread, that no black
siting. may remain upon it.
The vellum must be pasted upon a plate of brass or wood,
of the size you would make your piece, in order to keep it
firm and tight. But this pasting must be on the edges of
your vellum only, and behind the plate, for which pur¬
pose your vellum must exceed your plate above an inch
on every side ; for the part you paint upon must never be
pasted, because it would not only give it an ill look, but
you could not take it off if you would. Cut off the little
shags and locks of the vellum, and, wetting the fair side
with a linen cloth dipped in water, clap the other upon
the plate, with a clean paper between them ; let as much
as hangs over be pasted upon the back of the plate, draw¬
ing it equally on all sides, and hard enough to stretch it
well.
Of Materials.—As colours taken from earth and other
heavy matter are always too coarse, be they ever so
well ground, especially for delicate work, because of a cer¬
tain sand remaining in them, the finest parts may be
drawn out by diluting them with the finger in a cup of
water. When they are well steeped, let them settle a
while; then pour out the clearest, which will be at top,
into another vessel. This will be the finest, and must be
let dry ; and, when it is used, it must be diluted with gum-
water.
Some colours are made clearer by fire, as yellow ochre,
brown red, ultramarine, and umber; all others are dark¬
ened by it. But if you heat these colours with a sharp
fire, they will change; the brown-red will become yellow,
yellow ochre will become red, and umber will also redden.
Ceruss, by fire, takes the colour of citron, and is often called
masticot. Observe, that yellow ochre heated becomes
more tender than it was, and softer than brown-red; like¬
wise brown-red heated becomes softer than fine yellow
ochre. Both are very proper. The finest and truest ul¬
tramarine, heated upon a red-hot iron, becomes more
glittering than before; but it wastes, and is coarser and
harder to work with in miniature.
All these colours are diluted in little cups of ivory,
made on purpose, or in sea-shells, with water in which
gum-arabic and sugar-candy are put. For instance, in a
glass of water put a piece of gum as big as a walnut, and
half that quantity of sugar-candy. This last hinders the
colours from scaling when they are laid on, which they
generally do when they want it, or the vellum is greasy.
This gum-water must be kept in a neat bottle corked;
and you must never take any out of it with a pencil
that has colour upon it, but with a quill, or some such
thing.
Some of this water is put into the shell w ith the colour
you would temper, and diluted with the finger till it be
v,ery If it be too hard, you must let it soften in the
shell with the said water before you dilute it. Afterwards
et it dry; and do this with every colour, except lily-green,
sap-green, and gamboge, which must be tempered with
fair water only. But ultramarine, lake, and bistre, are to
be more gummed than other colours.
If you make use of sea-shells, you must let them steep
two or three days beforehand in water; then cleanse them
m boning-hot water mixed with vinegar, in order to carry
o a certain salt, which otherwise sticks to them, and.spoils
tbe colours that are put in them.
To know whether colours are sufficiently gummed, you
lave nothing to do but to give a stroke of the pencil upon
your hand when they are diluted, which dries immediately:
1 Kle^ <^iaf) an.^ sca^eJ there is too much gum ; if they
ru out by passing the finger over them, there is too little.
may be seen likewise when the colours are laid on the
e lum, by passing the finger over them. If they stick to
* e a powder, it is a sign there is not gum enough, and
MINIATURE PAINTING.
269
more must be put to the water with which you temper Miniature
icm ; but take care you do not put too much, for that Painting,
makes the colour extremely hard and dry. It may be^’^'v'"^
likewise known by their glueiness and brightness ; for the
more they are gummed, the darker they paint; and when
you have a mind to give a greater strength to a colour than
it has of itself, you have nothing to do but to give it a great
deal of gum. &
The use of good pencils is a great matter. In order to
make a good choice, wet them a little; and if the hairs
keep close together as you turn them upon the finder, and
make but one point, they are good ; but if they close not
together, but make several points, and some are longer
than others, they are good for nothing. When they are
too sharp pointed, with only four or five hairs longer than
the rest, yet closing altogether, they are, notwithstandino-,
good; but they must be blunted with a pair of scissars,
taking care at the same time you do not clip away too
much. It is proper to have two or three sorts of them ;
the largest for laying the grounds and dead-colouring, and'
the smallest for finishing.
To work well in miniature, you must do it in a room
which has but one window, and fix yourself very near it,
with a table and desk almost as high as the window; pla-
cing yourself in such a manner that the light may always
come in upon the left side, and never forward or upon
the right.
When you would lay a colour on all parts equally strong,
as for a ground, you must make your mixtures in shells,
and put in enough for the thing you design to paint; for
if there be not enough, it is a great chance but the colour
you afterwards mix is too dark or too light.
Of Working.—After having spoke of vellum, pencils,
and colours, let us now show how they are to be employed.
In the first place, then, when you would paint a piece, be
it carnation, drapery, or any thing else, you must begin by
dead-colouring; that is to say, by laying your colours on
with liberal strokes of the pencil, in the smoothest manner
you can, as the painters do in oil, not giving it all the force
it is to have for a finishing; in other words, make the
lights a little brighter, and the shades less dark, than they
ought to be, because in dotting upon them, as you must do
after dead-colouring, the colour is always fortified, and
would at last be too dark.
There are several ways of dotting, and every painter has
his own. Some make their dots perfectly round; others
make them a little longish ; others hatch by little strokes
that cross each other every way, till the work appears as if it
had been wrought with dots. This last method is the best,
the boldest, and the soonest done ; wherefore such as would
paint ii* miniature ought to use it, and to inure themselves
from the first to dot in the plump and the soft way; that
is to say, where the dots are lost, in a manner, in the
ground upon which you work, and only so much appears
as is sufficient to make the work seem dotted. The hard
and the dry way is quite the reverse, and always to be
avoided. I his is done by dotting w ith a colour much
darker than your ground, and when the pencil is not moist¬
ened enough with the colour, which makes the work seem
rough and uneven.
Study likewise carefully to lose and drown your colours
one in another, so that it may not appear where they dis¬
join ; and to this end soften or allay your touches with
colours that partake of both, in such sort that it may not
appear to be your touches which cut and disjoin them. By
the word cut, we are to understand what manifestly sepa¬
rates and divides, and does not run in and blend itself with
the neighbouring colours, which is rarely practised but
upon the borders of drapery.
When your pieces are finished, to heighten them a little,
give them a fine air; that is to say, give, upon the extre-
MINIATURE PAINTING.
270
Miniature tirity cff the lights, small touches with a colour yet lighter,
Painting, which must be lost and drowTted with the rest.
When the colours are dry upon your pallet or in your
shells, in order to use them they must first be diluted with
water; and when you perceive they want gum, which is
seen when they easily rub off the hand or the vellum if
you give a touch with them upon either, they must be
tempered with gum-water instead of pure water, till they
are in condition.
There are several sorts of grounds for pictures and por¬
traitures. Some are wholly dark, composed of bistre,
umber, and Cologne earth, with a little black and white ;
others more yellow, in which is mixed a great deal of ochre;
others grayer, which partake of indigo. In order to paint
a ground, make a wash of the colour or mixture you would
have it, or according to that of the picture or portraiture
you would copy ; that is to say, a very light lay, in which
there is hardly any thing but water, in order to soak the
vellum. Then pass another lay over that, somewhat
thicker, and strike it on very smoothly with large strokes,
as quick as you can, not touching twice in the same place
before it be dry; because the second stroke carries off
what has been laid on at the first, especially when you
lean a little too light upon the pencil.
Other dark grounds are likewise made of a colour a
little greenish; and these are most in use, and the proper-
est to lay under all sorts of figures and portraitures, be¬
cause they make the carnation or naked parts of a picture
appear very fine, are laid on very easily, and there is no
occasion to dot them, as one is often obliged to do the
others, which are rarely made smooth and even at the first;
whereas in these one seldom fails of success at the first
bout. To make them, you must mix together black,
Dutch pink, and white, using more or less of each colour,
according as you would have them darker or lighter. You
must make one lay very light, and then put >on a thicker,
as of the first grounds. You may also make them of other
colours, if you please ; but these are the most common.
For a day sky, take ultramarine and a good deal of
white, and mix them together. With this make a lay, as
smooth as you can, with a large pencil and liberal strokes,
as for grounds, applying it paler and paler as you descend
towards the horizon, which must be done with vermilion
or red lead, and with white of the same strength with that
where the sky ends, or something less; making this blue
lose itself in the red, which you bring down to the skirts
of the earth, or tops of houses, and mixing towards the
end gall-stone and a good deal of white, in such a manner
that the mixture be still paler than the former, without
any visible intersection or parting between all these colours
of the sky.
When there are clouds in the sky, you may spare the
places where they are to be ; that is to say, you need not
lay on any blue there, but form them, if they are reddish,
with vermilion, gall-stone, and white, with a little indigo,
and if they are more upon the black, put in a good deal of
the last; painting the lights of one and the other with
masticot, vermilion, and white, more or less of any of these
colours, according to the strength you would give them, or
according to that of the original you copy, roundmg the
whole as you dot (for it is a difficult matter to lay them
very smooth at the first painting); and if the sky is not
even enough, you must dot it also. It is at your pleasure
to exempt the places of the clouds, for you may lay them
upon the ground of the sky, heightening the bright parts
by putting a good deal of white, and fortifying the sha¬
dows by using less. This is the shortest way.
A night or stormy sky is done with indigo, black, and
white, mixed together ; and the composition is laid as for
a day sky. To this mixture must be added ochre, vermi¬
lion, or brown red, for the clouds; the lights of which are
to be of masticot or red lead, and a little white, now red- M
der, now yellower, at discretion. And when it is a tem- S ating,
pestuous sky, and lightning appears in some places, be it^v^
blue or red, it is to be done as in a day sky, drowning and
losing the whole together at the first forming or dead co¬
louring, and at the finishing.
Oe Draperies.—To paint a blue drapery, put ultrama¬
rine near the white upon your pallet, and mix a part of
the one with the other, till it makes a fine pale, and has a
body. With this mixture you must form the brightest
parts, and then adding more ultramarine, form such as are
darker; and go on after this manner till you come to the
deepest plaits and the thickest shades, where you must lay
pure ultramarine ; and all this must be done as for a first
forming or dead colouring, that is to say, laying the co¬
lour on with free strokes of the pencil, yet as smooth as
you can, and losing the lights in the shadows with a colour
neither so pale as the light nor so dark as the shades.
Then dot with the same colour as in the first forming, but
a small degree deeper, that the dots may be fairly seen.
All the parts must be drowned one in another, and the
plaits appear without intersection. When the ultramarine
is not dark enough to make the deeper shadows, how well
soever it be gummed, mix a little indigo with it to finish
them; and when the extremities of the lights are not
bright enough, heighten them with white and a very little
ultramarine.
A drapery of carmine is done in the same manner as
the blue, except that in the darkest places there is to be
a lay of pure vermilion before you dead-colour with car¬
mine, which must be applied at top; and in the strongest
shades it must be gummed very much. To deepen it the
more, mix a little bistre with it.
There is likewise made another red drapery, which is
first drawn with vermilion, mixing white with it to dead-
colour the bright places, laying it pure and unmixed for
those that are darker, and adding carmine for the grand *
shades. It is finished afterwards, like other draperies,
with the same colours. And when the carmine with the
vermilion do not darken enough, work with the first alone,
but only in the deepest of the shades.
A drapery of lake is made in the same manner with that
of carmine, mixing a good deal of white with it for the
bright places, and very little for those that are dark. It
is finished likewise with dotting; but you have nothing
to do with vermilion in it.
Violet draperies are likewise done after this manner, af¬
ter making a mixture of carmine and ultramarine, putting
always white for the bright parts. If you would have your
violet be columbine or dove colour, there must be more
carmine than ultramarine ; but if you would have it bluer
and deeper, put more ultramarine than carmine.
A drapery is made of a flesh colour, beginning with a
lay made of white, vermilion, and very pale lake, and
making the shades with the same colours, using less white
in them. This drapery must be very pale and tender, be¬
cause the stuff of this colour is thin and light; and even
the shades of it ought not to be deep.
To make a yellow drapery, put a lay of masticot over
all, then one of gamboge upon that, excepting the bright¬
est places, where the masticot must be left entire; then
dead-colour with ochre, mixed with a little gamboge and
masticot, putting more or less of the last, according to the
strength of the shades. And when these colours do not
darken enough, add gall-stone ; and gall-stope pure and
unmixed is used for the thickest shades, mixing a little
bistre with it if there be occasion to make them still
darker. You must finish by dotting with the same colours
you dead-coloured with, and losing the lights and the
shades in one another.
If you put Naples yellow, or Dutch pink, in lieu of mas-
MINIATURE PAINTING o-,
1Z Sf “4 gamb0ge’ J0U Wi" “0*h“ Mrt ^ “ dr “ * ^ P“‘ • lay of White over aU,
with which, if you find it ,00 &oef mi* ^aslkot for the ^1^1, “T T" ” feSS, ^ the'
lights, and gamboge for the shades; afterwards add to n-rpatoat ■ ir strength or tenderness ; and in the
this mixture lily-green or sap-green, to shadow with ; and giving only so me” ouch el ofthf’ miXfd With f little white’
as the shades are thicker, put more of these last irreens bistro th , » ef-of t^ls, mixture> and even of pure
and even work with them pure and mtmixed where they the foid/miivt ./;x,reD1'tles 0^l le greatest shadows, where
are to be extremely dark. You must fiTsh wi*The stme Thev mT h„ d “''u105* ’,,th ,lle rett
flours, a little darker. By putting more yellow, or more neral hty of this^xtureTf idtrSne I'],.r,|a'‘,n(;ia ge'
^“s^pSryou make different s°-Sc’s
To make a black drapery, you dead-colour with black dotted™ STuhed thin hS» Bie'liehts sh-^es are
and white, and finish with the same colour, putting more white and loco fi fu j* 1 le- l^hts mt^ pure
black as the shades are thicker; and fortledaStmlx Buof whn te^l h ^ deePergS of the linen-
indigo with it, especially when you wodd have the Z- ed you must o v» . y°u eWhm ^ are finish-
wfo a brighter colour, to hemhten the lurhts of „„v. water, so that what is mtder/ea* may uotwithsSiug
plainlv annenr. as woll fRo .i.„
with a brighter colour, to heighten the lights of any dra¬
pery whatsoever.
A white woollen drapery is made by a lay of white, in
which there must be a very small quantity of ochre, orpi-
ment, or gall-stone, that it may look a little yellowish.
. - —     VT 4LUOI
plainly appear, as well the shadows as the dotting.
Yellow linen cloth is done by putting a. lay of white
mixed with a little ochre. Then form and finish the
shades with bistre, mixed with white and ochre, and in
Tken dead-colour and finish the shades with bl^'a Me St'e A^t sS ur^e''b streW“b™T„’^lr
Uack, white, and bistre; putting a great deal of the last give some tints here aL there of “lire an? whL »tl
wit: S^K.sitrdeC^11 and fs:: fs,iteh rf
littleTrown""' “ ‘“1 0fl,biStre• Wbi‘e’ a°d 8 the Who,e ^erln .fothu^andlt SokMly "Ts
fefedtZ J and ShadOW W‘t1' t,U3 m,!“Ure m3de 8 >'0U fiBish' haighte'> lh' exlremitieslif the lights'with
Tliere are otto draperies called rarM/e, because the rwe?»"wh1 JcTrZ^C^Snsp^’
^th dtImMrfoeIan?carmiIlfit8^e^tr^^etw^?1^*^•
Ihe most common are the violets, of which they make veils of this sort, and ^rofte^d a^ ^abam
where they “e yellow. g ^ ^ the °ther ^ tbat are bare’ because th^ ^me the tint mi^ty
Wldmunlin thp’liEca laR °{U!tramarr and. very Pale If y°u wouId huve both these sorts of linen transparent,
Reupon the lights; and shadow with carmine, ultra- and the stuff or other thing that is beneath appear through
mar,ire, and white as for a drapery wholly violet, so that them, make the first lay for tLm verTliZTod def
withSharar ^Ue‘ Yettl;eymust be dotted mix in the colour to shadow with a Iittle°of that which’
Inch • •iV* 1 tbe^e 18 a great deal of white, and is underneath, especially towards the end of the shades
J u ue Sh,ade?- TC is do"e b>- Put- and “"'y d» <1- extremities of the lighT for the yellow
rotg- JlrL--1 e llShts only, instead of blue, a lay of masti- with masticot and white, and for the white, with pure
cot; working the rest, as m the drapery, all violet, except- white. ’ P
whh the Ii^t rtS l,lendec! Tbey ^y be done in another raann^ especially when
the latter with a htffo UmwT ‘>"' W ‘ ',“>'et’ “nd y011 W°uld ^ve them altogether as clear aslnuslin, lawn,
TKo • j • gauze. Io this end form and finish what is to be be-
lights Rp jrmme 18 done llk® tbe last ? tliat ish !et the neath, as if nothing was to be put over it. Then mark
and to los^hrlne"1^^ ^ Witb carmine» out the light and clear folds with white or mastieot; and
The’ lake red is done USfi ganiboge- a shadowy one with bistre and white, or with black, blue,
done as the iX k ^ f carmine. Ihe green is and white, according to the colour you would make them
grX t0 makfth/ilT7S “T*”? Verdlter ^^ °r SaP of ’ raaking the rest ^“ewhafc fainter ; yet this is not ne-
S “v^rSer H are n°K Very, ^ excePfc for the Parts that are not to be so clear,
tion XavS draPenes may be ^de at discre- Crape is done in the same way, excepting that the folds
W nSvt ipT't rVG tbt Umr °f the C°- °f tbe Sbades and the liShts> aad the borders too, are to
of several fi^nX °f d * °r T’ but a 80 ,n a S««P be marked out with little filaments of black upon what is
allow the nufXr’nf hi1^ aS,,mucb 38 tbe object will underneath ; which is likewise to be finished beforehand.
against bl^k - afd ^ f ^ ^ C° °Ur, °f gr6en Wben y°U Would make a stuff like a watered tabby,
join and mT • f ° ^ c1olours ^hlch cut and dis- make the waves upon it with a colour a little lighter or a
Several 1S-n0t ^ !^0Ugb', , little darker in the lights and the shades. ^
brown rod hmrp .raPerie8 are °f It>u^ colours, as There is a manner of touching draperies which distin-
and likewrr’r“ and ^ *“ same manner; guishes the silken from the woollen. The last are more
agreement hptw ° erl^0^Hfs>’ stniple and compound ; the terrestrial and sensible ; the others more light and fading,
the mixture m 6611 ^ 1C 1S ^y8,10 ^ attended to, that But it must be observed, that this is an effect which de-
to the eve TVY PF°t ^Ce n^tbmg harsh and disagreeable pends partly upon the stuff* and partly upon the colour ;
The fivrnp awA Ve! ^ rU e c,an be laid down for this, and, for the employing of these in a manner suitable to the
from nsp nn i e ec. 0 y°ur colours are only to be known subjects and the deepenings of painting, we shall here
thaUnowS eXpenenC€’ ^ you mu&t work according to touch upon their different qualities.
Linpn „i_tK , , We have no colour which partakes more of light, or
is are done thus: After drawing the plaits or which comes nearer the air, than white; which shows it
272
MINIATURE PAINTING.
Miniature to be fickle and fleeting. It may, nevertheless, be held
Painting, and brought to by some neighbouring colour, more heavy
sand sensible, or by mixing them together. Blue is a most
fleeting colour, and so we see that the sky and the re¬
motest views of a picture are of this colour ; but it will be¬
come lighter and tickler in proportion as it is mixed with
white. Pure black is the heaviest and most terrestrial of
all colours; and the more of it you mix with others, the
nearer you bring'them to the eye.
For the doing of lace, French points, or other things of
that nature, put over all a lay of blue, black, and white, as
for linen ; then heighten the flowerwork with pure white,
afterwards make the -shades above with the first colour,
and finish them with the same. When they are upon the
carnation or naked parts of a picture, or upon any thing
else that you would show through another, finish what is
beneath, as if nothing was to be put over it; and at the top,
make the points or lace with pure white, shadowing and
finishing them with the other mixture.
If you would paint a fur, you must begin with a kind of
drapery, done, if it be dark, with bistre and white, making^
the shadings of the same colour, but with less white. It
the fur be white, do it with blue, white, and a little bistre ;
and when this beginning, or first-forming, is done, instead
of dotting, draw small strokes, turning, now in one man¬
ner, now in another, according to the course and flatting of
the hair; then heighten the lights of dark furs with ochre
and white, and of the other with white and a little blue.
For doing a building, if it be of stone, take indigo, bis¬
tre, and white, with which make the beginning or first
form thereof; and for shading it, put less of this last, and
more bistre than indigo, according to the colour of the
stone you would paint. To these you may likewise add a
little ochre, both for the forming and the finishing. But
to make it finer, you must give, here and there, especially
for old fabrics, blue and yellow tints, some with ochre, and
others with ultramarine, mixing always white with them,
whether before the first-forming, provided they appear
through the draught, or after it, losing or drowning them
with the rest when you finish.
When the building is of wood, as there are many sorts,
it is done at discretion ; but the most ordinary way is to
begin or first-form with ochre, bistre, and white, and finish
without white, or with very little ; and if the shades are
deep, with pure bistre. In the other, vermilion is some¬
times added, sometimes green or black, according to the
colour they would give it; and they finish with dotting,
as in draperies and every thing else.
Of Carnations.—There are in carnations so many dif¬
ferent colourings, that it would be a difficult thing to give
general rules upon so variable a subject. Nor are they
minded, when one has got, by custom and practice, some
habit of working easily ; and such as have arrived at this
degree employ themselves in copying their originals, or
else they work upon their ideas, without knowing how;
insomuch that the most skilful, who do it with less reflec¬
tion and pains than others, would likewise be more puzzled
to give an account of their maxims and knowledge in
the matter of painting, if they were to be asked what co¬
lours they made use of for such and such a colouring, a
tint here, and another there.
Nevertheless, as beginners want some instruction at the
first, we shall show in general after what manner several
carnations are to be done.
In the first place, after having drawn the proposed figure
with carmine, and ordered the piece, apply, for women and
children, and generally for all tender colourings, a lay of
white, mixed with a very little of the blue made for faces,
of which we have mentioned the composition; but let it
hardly be seen. For men, instead of blue, put in this first
lay a little vermilion ; and when they are old, a little ochre
is mixed with it. Afterwards follow all the traces with Mm,
vermilion, carmine, and white, mixed together; and begin Pai%!
all the shades with this mixture, adding white in proper-’
tion as they are w-eaker, and putting but little in the dark¬
est, and almost none in certain places where strong touches
are to be given; for instance, in the corner of the eye,
under the nose, at the ears, under the chin, in the separa¬
tions of the fingers, in all joints, at the corners of the nails,
and generally in every part where you require to mark out
separations in shades that are obscure. Neither need you
fear to give to those places all the force and strength which
they ought to have as soon as you begin or first-form them,
because, in working at the top with green, the red you have
put there is always weakened.
After having begun, or first-formed, or dead-coloured,
with red, make blue tints with ultramarine and a great
deal of white, upon the parts which fly from the eyq,; that
is to say, upon the temples, under and in the corners of
the eyes, on both sides of the mouth, above and below, a
little upon the middle of the forehead, between the nose
and the eyes, on the side of the cheeks, and on the neck and
other places where the flesh assumes a bluish cast. Yel¬
lowish tints are likewise made with ochre or orpiment,
and a little vermilion mixed with white, under the eye¬
brows, on the sides of the nose towards the bottom, a little
underneath the cheeks, and upon the other parts which
rise and come nearer the eye. It is especially from these
tints that the natural complexion is to be observed in or¬
der to catch it; for painting being an imitation of nature,
the perfection of the art consists in the justness and sim¬
plicity of the representation, especially in face-painting.
When, therefore, you have done your first lay, your
dead-colouring, and your tints, you must work upon the
shades, dotting with green for the carnations or naked
parts, mixing, according to the rule we have given for the
tints, a little blue for the parts which fly from the eye;
and, on the other hand, making it a little yellower for
those which are more sensible, that is to say, which rise,
and come nearer the eye ; and at the end of the shades,
on the side of the light, you must blend and lose your co¬
lour insensibly in the ground of the carnation, with blue,
and then with red, according to the places where you
paint. If this mixture of green does not work dark enough
at first, pass over the shades several times, now with red,
and now with green, always dotting; and this do until they
are as they should be. And if you cannot with these co¬
lours give the shades all the force which they ought to
have, finish, in the darkest, with bistre mixed with orpi¬
ment, ochre, or vermilion, and sometimes with pure bistre,
according to the colouring which you would make, but
lightly, laying on your colour very clearly.
You must dot upon the clear and bright places with a
little vermilion or carmine, mixed with much white, and
a very small quantity of ochre, in order to lose them with
the shady, and to make the tints die away insensibly into
one another; taking care, as you dot, or hatch, to make
your strokes follow the turnings and windings of the fleshy
parts. For although the rule be to cross always, this dot¬
ting or hatching ought to appear a little more here, be¬
cause it rounds the parts ; and as this mixture might make
a colouring too red, if it were always to be used, artists
work likewise in every part, to blend the tints and the
shades with blue and a little green, and much white, so
mixed as to be very pale ; excepting, nevertheless, that
this colour must not be put upon the cheeks, nor upon the
extremities of the clear parts, no more than the other mix¬
ture upon these last, which must be left with all their
light, as certain places of the chin, of the nose, and of the
forehead, and upon the cheeks, which ought nevertheless
to be redder than the rest, as well as the feet, the hollows
of the hands, and the fingers of both.
niature
in ting.
Observe, that these two last mixtures ought to be so
pale that the work shall hardly be visible; for they serve
only to soften it, to unite the tints with one another, and
the shades with the lights, and to drown the traces. Care
must likewise be taken that you w*ork not too much with
the red mixture upon the blue tints, nor with the blue
upon the others ; but change the colour from time to time
when you perceive that it works too blue or too red. till
the work be finished.
The white of the eyes must be shaded with this same
blue, and a little flesh colour ; and the corners, on the side
of the nose, with vermilion and white, giving them a little
touch of carmine. The whole is softened with this mix¬
ture of vermilion, carmine, white, and a very small matter
of ochre.
The apples or balls of the eyes are done with the mix¬
ture of ultramarine and white, the last prevailing a little •
adding a little bistre if they are yellowish, or a little’
black if they are gray. Make the little black circle in
the middle, called the crystal of the eye, and shade the
balls, with indigo, bistre, or black, according to the colour
they are of; giving to each a small touch of pure vermi¬
lion round the crystal, which must be lost with the rest
at the finishing. This gives vivacity to the eye.
The round or circumference of the eye is done with
bistre and carmine, that is to say, the slits or partings,
and the eyelids, when they are large and bold, especially
the upper ones ; which must afterwards be softened with
the red or blue mixtures we have mentioned before, that
they may be lost in one another, and nothing seem inter¬
sected. \\ hen this is done, give a little touch of pure white
upon the crystal, on the side of the lights. This makes
the eye shine, and gives life to it.
The mouth is dead-coloured wuth vermilion mixed with
white, and finished with carmine, which is softened like
the rest; and when the carmine does not work dark
enough, mix a little bistre with it. This is to be understood
of the corners in the separation of the lips, and particu¬
larly of certain mouths half open.
The hands, and all the other parts of carnation, are done
in the same manner as the faces, observing that the ends
of the fingers be a little redder than the rest. When your
who e work is formed and dotted, mark the separations of
all the parts with little touches of carmine and orpiment
hlufl iT?61-’ 38 Wf in the shady as in the iight places,
bu a little deeper and stronger in the first, and lose them
in the rest of the carnation.
The eyebrows and the beard are dead-coloured, as are
the shades of carnations, and finished with bistre, ochre,
o black, according to the colour they are of, drawing
them by little strokes the way they ought to go; that i?
be Sir t(?erai?11 r natTe °f hair- The %hts must
much white^ Wlth °Chre and biStre’a little verndlion> and
and whit6 hau 0fTth1e head, make a lay of bistre, ochre,
nd white, and a little vermilion ; and when it is very dark
S’ USe ,blaclt i!:slead of ochre- Afterwards form
n thpm y G W1? same Colours’ Puttin? ]ess white
or hi!!5 ^ finif,h Wlt l Pure bistre’ or mixed with ochre
othpr 7’ by smallu sti;okes, very fine, and close to each
of the h^inSTV,d vUuk ing them according to the curling
littlP T-hf hgkt Parts must also be heightened by
v mi&r1' I°clr,0r orPiment> “ Me
r ™ a.fter wl!l.ch’ l»se tile lights and the shades in
“^%rtti„"us,s°metimes with a dark and some-
sk:*"df°r th.<;hair af>°« ‘he forehead, through which the
of and fir r1111,181 be first-formed with the colour there-
one and fi at the carnation> working and shading with
form it .ind°fi^’if8 lf k°Ui designed to paint none ; then
rn^it, and finish with bistre. The lights are to be
MINIATURE PAINTING.
273
wile'black"Ud6l8 d?ad-eoloured withMinkture
lour hut dpp i lstre, and finished with the same co- Tainting.
of the ha r a^’n he,ghteninS tb^ bngbt and clear parts'
With wdd e andW 38 th,°S? ^ the eyebrows and the beard,
fi In d V-ely pa 6 bIue» after having formed them
the coi°ur °f tha 8kia > ‘hS
fn hlUt ?!T10St imP°rtant thing is to soften one’s work •
to blend the tints in one another, as well as the beard
the carnation^tak’ ^ f°rehTd’ vvith the ^ and
the carnation , taking especial care not to work rom-h and
dry, and not to intersect the traces, turnings, and wind¬
ings of the carnation or naked parts. You must likewise
accustom yourself to put whitf in y„ur colours X fa
proportion as you work lighter or darker; for the colour
you use the second time must always be a little stronger
and deeper than the first, unless it be for softening. 8
or wT1 TIouiTgS are easiIy made’ bJ puffing more
oi less of red, or blue, or yellow, or bistre, whether for
the dead-colouring or for the finishing. That for women
ought to be bluish ; that for children a little red; and both
a esh and florid. That for men should be yellower, espe¬
cially when they are old. 1
l or painting fire and flames, the lights are done with
masticot and orpiment; and for the shades, vermilion and
carmine are mixed. A smoke is done with black, indigo,
and white, and sometimes with bistre; one may likewise
for it eimi i0n °r °Chre’ accordin£ t0 the colour required
Pearls are painted by putting a lay of white, and a lit¬
tle blue; they are shaded and rounded with the same
colour, deeper; a small white dot is made almost in the
middle, on the side of the light; and on the other side, be¬
tween the shadow and the edge of the pearl, a touch is
given with masticot, to make the reflection; and under
the pearls is made a little shadow of the colour of the
ground they are upon.
Diamonds are represented with pure black ; then they
heighten them with little touches of white on the side of
the light.. It is the same thing for any other jewels you
lave a mind to paint; there is nothing to be done but to
change the colour. For making a figure of gold, put a lay
of shell-gold, and shade it with gallstone. Silver is done
the same way, excepting that it must be shaded with indigo.
One great means of acquiring a perfection in the art,
is to copy excellent originals. We enjoy with pleasure
and tranquillity the labour and pains of others. But a man
must copy a great number before he is able to produce as
fine effects; and it is better to be a good copyist than a
bad original.
Of Landscapes.—In the first place, after having order¬
ed the economy of your landscape in the same way as that
of your other pieces, you must form the nearest grounds
or lands, when they are to appear dark, with sapor lily green,
bistre, and a little verditer, togivea body toyour colour; then
dot with this mixture, but a little darker, adding some¬
times a little black to it. For such pieces of ground as
the light falls upon, and as are therefore clear and bright,
make a lay of ochre and white, then shade and finish with
bistre. In some a little green is mixed, particularly for
shading and finishing.
There are sometimes upon the fore part certain reddish
lands, which are dead-coloured with brown-red, white,
and a little green, and finished with the same, putting a
little more green in them.
tor the making of grass and leaves upon the fore¬
ground, you must, when that is finished, form with sea-
green, or verditer, and a little white; and for those that
are yellowish, mix masticot. Afterwards shade them with
lily-green, or bistre and gallstone, if you would have them
appear withered. The grounds or lands at a little distance
2 M
274
MINIATURE PAINTING.
Miniature are formed with verditer, and shaded and finished with well. To learn, and break ones hand to it a little, the Mm.
Painting. sap-green, adding bistre for some of the touches here and way is to copy good ones; for the manner or touching them v aiBi
there. Such as°are at a greater distance are done with
sea-green and a little blue, and shaded with verditer. In
a word, the farther they go, the more bluish they are to be
made ; and the farthest distance ought to be of ultrama¬
rine and white, mixing in some places small touches of ver¬
milion.
Water is painted with indigo and white, and shaded
is singular, and cannot be acquired except by working upon
trees themselves, in regard to which you must observe to
make little boughs, which must be leafed, especially such
as are below and toward the sky.
Of Flowers.—It is a general rule, that flowers are
designed and laid like other figures, but the manner of
forming and finishing them is different; for they are first-
with the same colour, but deeper; and to finish it, instead formed only by large strokes and traces, which you must
of dotting, nothing is done but making strokes and traces turn at the first the way the small ones are to go with
without crossing, and giving them the same turn with the which you finish, and this turning wil aid much therein,
waves when there are any Sometimes a little green must And for finishing them, instead of hatching or dotting, you
be mixed in certain places, and the light and clear parts must draw small strokes, very fine, and very close to one an-
heightened with pure white, particularly where the water other, without crossing ; repassing several times, till your
^ 14 Hovb- onrl xrmiv r*loe»r rv^rtc h£»VP» Q I fhP Tnrr»Pwhir»h irrni
foams.
Rocks are dead-coloured like buildings of stone, ex¬
cepting that a little green is mixed for forming and shad¬
ing them. Blue and yellow tints are made upon them,
and lost with the rest in finishing; and when there are
small branches, with leaves, moss, or grass, when all is
dark and your clear parts have all the force which you de¬
sire to give them.
Of Roses.—After making your first sketch, draw with
carmine the red rose, and apply a very pale lay of carmine
and white; then form the shades with the same colour,
putting less white in it; and lastly, with pure carmine,
appearing dry.
Rocks are dotted like the rest; and the farther they are
off the more grayish they are represented
Castles, old houses, and other buildings of stone and
wood, are done in the manner above mentioned ; speaking
of those things, when they are upon the first lines. But
Then finish, working upon it with the same colour by
little strokes, which you must make go the same way with
those of the engraving, if it be a print you copy ; or the way
the leaves of the rose turn, if you copy after a painting,
or after nature; losing the dark in the clear parts, and
when you would have them appear at a distance, you must Heightening the greatest lights, ana the ongntest or most
mix brown red, and vermilion, with much white, and shade lightsome leaves, with white and a little carmine, 'iou
very tenderly with this mixture ; and the farther they are must always make the hearts of roses, and the side of the
off the weaker are the strokes to indicate the separations, shadow, darker than the rest; and mix a little indigo for
If they are covered with slate, it is to be made bluer than
the rest.
Trees are not done till the sky be finished; one may,
nevertheless, spare the places of them when they contain
a o-ood number; and, however it be, such as come near
shading the first leaves, particularly when the roses are
blown, to make them seem faded. The seed is dead-co¬
loured with gamboge, with which a little sap-green is
mixed for shading. Roses streaked with several colours
ought to be paler than others, that the mixture of colours
to the eye are to be dead-coloured with verditer, mixing may be better seen; which is done with carmine, a little
•s _ , , i a i i i 1.1 ,-1 1 ^ s-.-m i *-» 4- «/-t owr /"»I in tim lirrrii-o o I \irn\Q
sometimes ochre, and shaded with the same colours, add¬
ing lily-green. Afterwards you must work leaves upon
them by dotting without crossing ; for this must be done
with small elongated dots, of a darker colour, and pretty
full of it, which must be conducted on the side of the
branches, by little tufts of a little darker colour. Then
heighten the lights with verditer or sea-green, and mas-
ticot, making leaves in the same manner; and when there
are dry branches or leaves, they are dead-coloured with
brown-red or gallstone, and white, and finished with gall¬
stone without white, or with bistre.
The trunks of trees are to be dead-coloured with ochre,
white, and a little green, for the light and clear parts ; and
for the dark, black is mixed, adding bistre and green for
shadowing the one and the other. Blue and yellow tints are
likewise made upon them, and little touches given here
and there with white and masticot, such as may ordinarily
be seen upon the bark of trees.
The branches which appear amongst the leaves are done
with ochre, verditer, and white, or with bistre and white,
according to the light which they are placed in. They
must be shaded with bistre and lily-green.
Trees which are at a little distance are dead-coloured
with verditer and sea-green, and are shaded and finished
with the same colours, mixed with lily-green. When
there are some which appear yellowish, lay with ochre and
white, and finish with gallstone. For such as are in the
darker in the shades, and very clear in the lights, always
hatching by strokes. For white roses you must put a lay
of white, and form and finish them as the red, but with
black, white, and a little bistre; and make the seed a little
yellower. Yellow roses are done by putting in every part
a lay of masticot, and shading them with gamboge, gall¬
stone, and bistre, heightening the clear and light places
with masticot and white.
The styles, the leaves, and the buds of all sorts of roses
are formed with verditer, with which is mixed a little
masticot and gamboge; and for shading them, sap-green
is added, putting less of the other colours when the
shades are deep. The outside of the leaves ought to be
bluer than the inside ; wherefore it must be dead-coloured
with sea-green, and sap-green mixed with that for shad¬
ing, making the veins or fibres upon this side clearer than
the ground, and those upon the other side darker. The
prickles which are upon the styles and buds of roses are
done with little touches of carmine, which are made to go
every way; and for those which are upon the stalks, they
are formed with verditer and carmine, and shaded with
carmine and bistre, making the bottom of the stalks more
reddish than the top, that is, carmine and pure bistre be¬
ing mixed with the green.
Of Tulips.—As there is an infinity’of tulips, different
from one another, we cannot pretend to mention the co¬
lours with which they are all done. We shall only touch
distances and remote views, you must dead-colour with upon the handsomest, called streaked, in which the streaks
sea-green, with which, for finishing, you must mix ultra- are dead-coloured with very clear carmine in some places,
marine ; and heighten the lights of one and the other with and with darker in others, finishing with the same colour
masticot, by small disjoined leaves. It is the most difficult by little strokes, which must be carried the same way with
part of landscape, in the manner of miniature, to leaf a tree the streaks. In others is put first a lay of vermilion;
M I N
iniature then they form them by mixing carmine, and finish them
tinting, with pure carmine. In some they put Florence lake over
the vermilion instead of carmine, whilst others are done
with lake and carmine mixed together, and with lake alone,
or with white and lake for the first-forming, whether it be
rose pink or Florence lake. There are others, again, of a
purple colour, which are formed with ultramarine, carmine,
or lake, sometimes bluer and sometimes redder. The man¬
ner of doing both one and the other is the same ; there is
no difference except in the colours. You must, in certain
places, as between the streaks of vermilion, carmine, or
lake, sometimes put blue made of ultramarine and white,
and sometimes a very bright purple, which is finished by
strokes like the rest, and lost with the streaks. There are
some likewise which have sallow tints, that are made with
lake, bistre, and ochre, according as they are found requi¬
site; but this is only in fine and rare tulips, and notin the
common ones. For shading the bottom of them, indigo and
white are ordinarily taken for those whose streaks’are of
carmine; but for such as are of lake, black and white are
taken, with which, in some, bistre is mixed, and in others
green. Some are likewise to be shaded with gamboge and
umber, and always by strokes and traces which turn as the
leaves turn. Other tulips are likewise done, which are call¬
ed bordered; that is to say, the tulip is not streaked except
on the edges of the leaves, where there is a border. It is
white in the purple, red in the yellow, yellow in the red, and
red in the white. The purple is laid on with ultramarine,
carmine, and white, and the shading and finishing is done
with this mixture. The border is spared ; that is to say,
let only a light lay of white be put there, and let it be shad¬
ed with very bright indigo. The yellow is formed with
gamboge, and shaded with the same colour, mixing with
it ochre and umber or bistre. The border is laid with ver¬
milion, and finished with a very small matter of carmine.
The red is formed with vermilion, and finished with the
same colour, mixing with it carmine or lake. The bottom
and the border are done with gamboge ; and, for finishing,
it is usual to add gallstone and umber, or bistre. The white
is shaded with black, blue, and white. Indian ink is very
proper for this. The shadings of it are very delicate ; and
it produces alone the effect of blue and white, mixed with
the other black. The border of this white tulip is done
with carmine. In all these sorts of tulips, a nerve or si¬
new is left in the middle of the leaves which are brighter
than the rest, and the borders are drowned at the bottom
by small traces, turning crossways ; for they must not ap¬
pear to be cut and separated, like the streaked or party-co¬
loured. They are likewise represented of several other
colours. When they happen to be of that kind the bot¬
toms of which on the inside are black, as it were, it is
usual to form and finish them with indigo, as also the seed
about the nozzle or stalk ; and if the bottom is yellow, it is
ormed with gamboge, and finished by adding umber or
istre. The leaves and the stalks of tulips are ordinarily
ormed with sea-green, and shaded and finished with lily-
green, by large traces all along the leaves. Some may
! ewije *?e. c*one verditer, mixing with it masticot, and
beyeh * SaP‘^leen> ^iat t^le green °f the shades may
The Carnation and Pink—It is with pinks and carna¬
tions as with anemonies and tulips ; that is, there are some
ot mixed colours, and others of one single colour. The
rst are streaked and diversified, sometimes with vermilion
an carmine, sometimes with pure lake or with white;
certain streaks being very dark and others very pale. Their
bottoms are ordinarily shaded with indigo and white.
Qnaer vare £in^s °/ a very Pa*e flesh colour, and streaked
iversified with another a little deeper, made with
million and lake. Some of them, which are of lake and
i e, are shaded and streaked without white; others, which
M I N
are all red, are done with vermilion and carmine as dark
as possible; others are all of lake; and, lastly, there are
others, in which nature or fancy is the only rule. The
green of one and the other is sea-green, shaded with lily-
green or sap-green.
,, ^a.inting m oil has its advantages, were they only these;
that it exhibits more work, and takes up less time. It is
likewise better defended against the injuries of time; and
the right of birth must be granted it, as well as the clory
of antiquity. But miniature painting has likewise its ad¬
vantages; and, without repeating such as have been al¬
ready mentioned, it is neater and more commodious. You
may easily carry all your implements in your pocket, and
work whenever and wherever you please, without a num¬
ber of preparations. You may quit and resume it as often
as you please, and its elegance is only surpassed by its
convenience. J
MINIM, in Music, is a note equal to two crotchets, or
half a semibreve.
MINIMS, a religious order in the church of Rome,
founded by St Francis de Paulo, towards the close of the
fifteenth century. I heir habit is a coarse black woollen
stuff, with a woollen girdle of the same colour, tied in five
knots. They are not permitted to quit their habit and
girdle by day or by night, formerly they went barefooted,
but they are now allowed the use of shoes.
MINIMUM, in the higher geometry, the least quantity
attainable in a given question.
MINING, the art of working mines, or of extractin'1'
minerals and mineral ores from the bowels of the earth. &
T his includes the scientific knowledge necessary for open¬
ing and working mines, and preparing the ores for use ;
it requires an intimate acquaintance with mineralogy and
geology, as well as the different processes by which mines
may be wrought to advantage, useful minerals searched
out and brought to the surface, and means employed for
mechanically and chemically separating metals from their
ores; besides the essential operations of sinking shafts,
driving galleries and adit levels, removing all difficulties
which occur in the course of the work, propping up the
supei incumbent earth or rock so as to give security to the
miners, and constructing the machinery necessary either
for draining mines or performing the requisite operations
in the preparation and reduction of ores. The preparation
of ores consists in breaking asunder the larger pieces, and
then purifying them by means of water from the earth
which adheres to them; in the separation of the coarser
substances from the finer, by means of a sieve moved up
and down in water; in the crushing of the ore in stamp¬
ing-mills, by means either of hammers or iron cylinders;
and, lastly, in the separation of the metallic substances
from the stone or earth with which they are combined,
by washing the crushed ore in troughs or on inclined tables
crossed by a current of water, so that the heavier ore may
i emain, whilst the lighter substances are carried away by
the stream of water. Mining further includes the final
purification of the ore by amalgamation or otherwise, and
its reductions by means of fusion. In the case where the
object of mining is to obtain a mineral substance, as coal,
which is fit for immediate use when brought to the sur¬
face, that term is employed in a more restricted sense,
being limited to the operations which are requisite for the
simple extraction and bringing up from the pit or mine
the mineral in question.
I. I he application of science to the art of practical mining
has hitherto been made only to a limited extent. Yet the
theory of the formation of mineral and metallic substances,
and the rules which may lead to their discovery, are ob¬
jects of much greater national importance than is com¬
monly supposed. The circumstance^ under which mine¬
rals are usually found, the mode of obtaining them, and
276 MIN
Mining, their probable extent and value, are inquiries which, whilst
'"-“v—they must ever be highly interesting to the man of science,
who seeks knowledge for its own sake, are altogether es¬
sential to the mining proprietor, as affording the only means
by which he can form a correct judgment respecting the
mode of working adopted by the practical miner.
The advantage to be derived from a knowledge of well-
established facts respecting the arrangement and distribu¬
tion of mineral substances, will be best illustrated by ex¬
amples of the errors and oversights committed where this
knowledge was wanting. It is generally known that, for
some years, lime was exported to New South Wales, where
it exists in abundance in its natural state. In Cornwall,
ores of silver and cobalt were, until recently, thrown away
from a mine which has, since the discovery of their value,
returned upwards of L. 10,000 a year from these ores ; and
in the same country, although celebrated for its tin mines
from the earliest periods of history, yet, until last century,
the ores of copper were employed only to repair the roads.
Wherever the copper appeared in a lode, it was a common
expression that the ore came in and “ spoiled the vein
and, even in the present day, but little attention is paid
to whatever is not manifestly either tin or copper, or known
to yield these metals. In Derbyshire, although lead has
been smelted from the common blue ore ever since the
time of the Romans, the other ores of the same metal
were never thought of, but left in heaps, as rubbish ; yet
we have lived to see a public road, made and repaired with
these rejected ores, actually taken up and smelted to good
account. Instances might also be mentioned of persons
who, in the belief that their estates contained valuable mi¬
neral veins, engaged in expensive workings, and sometimes
ruined their fortunes; wdien a slight acquaintance with
geology would have served to convince them that a suc¬
cessful result, if not impossible, was at least highly impro¬
bable. As to the practical miner, he is altogether the
creature of habit, holding geology in but little estimation,
and smiling at the nice distinctions of the mineralogist.
Hence, if any inquiry be made of him respecting the in¬
teresting phenomena of veins, he generally prefers the
theory of his forefathers to that which has been deduced
from the results of more recent and accurate investiga¬
tions.
In this country no public means have been employed
for removing ignorance and counteracting prejudice in
regard to the working of mines. But the case is different
on the continent. Both France and Germany possess na¬
tional institutions for facilitating the study of the sciences
applicable to mining operations ; and the advantage of
such a course of education is sufficiently demonstrated by
the fact, that the companies formed for working mines in
South America and Brazil have given a decided preference
to mining officers trained in the schools of France and of
Germany. Besides, of all speculative employments, min¬
ing is perhaps the most uncertain. Experience and ingenui¬
ty are frequently baffled ; the most promising appearances
often end in disappointment; whilst from veins which some
persons have abandoned in despair, others have frequently
derived enormous profits. This very uncertainty, how¬
ever, only affords another argument for concentrating all
the lights of science, in order as far as possible to lessen
the risk of disappointment, and to afford the miner some
surer guide than chance or caprice in pursuing his explo¬
ratory labours.
It may be observed generally, that the materials which
compose the crust, if not the body, of the earth, are vari¬
ously distributed, yet preserve their relative positions, from
the surface downwards to the greatest depths hitherto ob¬
tained ; those substances which consist of homogeneous
matter being collected together and deposited either above
or below a similar stratum of other substances in a con-
I N G.
tinued series of depositions. That these deposits were jj;r.,
originally parallel with the earth’s surface may be reason- ,
ably supposed, and indeed appears to admit of almost no
doubt; yet by some great convulsion of nature, some pro¬
digious force acting upwards, the strata have been raised
and broken through, whilst the corresponding parts being
raised and depressed in different directions, the edges of
the whole series have been elevated to the surface in an
uniform curve or right line, appearing in the side of a cliff
or mountain, or protruding in enormous masses of great
extent and altitude; at the same time that the lower stra¬
tum still preserves the same relative position which it as¬
sumed in its original formation. By attending to this im¬
portant fact, geologists are enabled to ascertain the order
of stratification in any country or district, and thence to
form a tolerably correct opinion respecting its mineral con¬
tents to a much greater depth than can ever be reached
by mining operations.
If, for instance, the stratum be found to dip at a certain
angle, by observing carefully the superincumbent strata, we
may at once discover not only the depth at which a shaft
proposed to be sunk will cut the stratum sought, but also
the nature of the strata to be passed through in its course.
The superincumbent strata will sometimes be found to
vary in thickness, and a proportional allowance must then
be made in the working for this deviation from the previous
estimate. When the strata descend in the line of their
dip or inclination, the depth to wdiich they reach beneath
the surface is unknown ; but they are seldom found to con¬
tinue their descent very far at the same angle, and are
either curved in the coal formation, bent in another direc¬
tion, or altogether dislocated. In the upper series or for¬
mation, the strata are not uniform in their construction,
but are intersected by fissures resembling the bottom of a
muddy pool dried up by the sun ; and these cavities, when
empty, are sometimes of great extent. Eldon Hole, and
the other subterranean wonders of the Peak in Derbyshire,
may be cited as remarkable examples of such dislocations.
These fissures, however, are commonly filled with mineral
substances, or metalliferous ores, in which case they are
termed veins ; their inclination generally ranges from 45°
to the vertical, or 90° ; and their course downwards, like
that of the strata, is seldom terminated within the limits
of human labour and research. But some cases have ne¬
vertheless occurred wfflere the metallic produce has to all
appearance been worked out, or where the vein has branch¬
ed into filamentous portions at two or three hundred feet
below the surface.
Formerly the richest part of a vein of copper ore was
supposed to be situated at a depth of from forty to fifty
fathoms, and that of a vein of tin at from twenty to sixty
fathoms; but experience derived from the deep workings
carried on in Cornwall has proved this idea to be errone¬
ous. Wdien a vein or stratum is terminated abruptly, by
the crossing of another vein or stratum in a transverse di¬
rection, or by perpendicular fissures filled with alluvial
matter, this is not considered as a termination of the vein,
which, in fact, is only broken off or disjoined, and may
again be discovered by searching in the analogous part on
the opposite side of the deranged strata. As to the methods
employed in following a metalliferous vein when broken
off by faults or dykes, these are necessarily various, accord¬
ing to circumstances ; and it is in such cases that the prac¬
tical knowledge and experience of the miner are of far more
avail than all the suggestions of theory. Veins occur in
almost every species of rock, and vary in thickness from
a mere filament to many fathoms ; they are very unequal
in the different parts of their course, but they are commonly
widest above. Narrow veins are usually short, whilst those
of considerable breadth extend to a great distance. The
silver vein of Veta Madre, at Guanaxuato, has been work-
M I N I N G.
ning. ed to the extent of 14,000 yards, at a depth of more than
v--^570 yards, and from forty-three to fifty yards in thickness ;
and some other veins in South America have been traced
to a distance of not less than eighty miles. A vein con¬
sists sometimes of one substance, at other times of many.
In the latter case, these substances preserve an uniformity
of position, parallel to the sides of the vein, in regular cor¬
responding order, to the centre; so that, when traced down¬
wards, the central seam first disappears, and the layers that
enclosed it, being of homogeneous matter, coalesce, forming
another central seam, which disappears in its turn, and is
succeeded by the next, until a simple vein alone remains,
gradually decreasing to its final termination. It has been
observed, that veins similar to each other in mineral pro¬
duce run parallel, or follow very nearly the same course
throughout the district in which they are found, although
occurring in different strata; and that veins containing
other minerals in their immediate neighbourhood, or in the
same stratum, always run in another direction. Thus, in
Cornwall, when a vein of tin or copper ore, bearing east
and west, is crossed by another running north and south,
the inteisecting vein is sometimes lead or antimony, but
never tin or copper.
The principal metalliferous veins in England take a di¬
rection from east to west. When two veins running nearly
parallel meet and join, they produce a good body of ore
at the point of junction. If the principal vein dip at a less
angle than the secondary one, it is usually found to be en¬
riched by the latter; but if it dip at a greater angle, it is
impoverished in like proportion. Sometimes a vein is join¬
ed by another, which, after falling into its course, and con¬
tinuing for some distance to run parallel to it, suddenly re¬
sumes its original state,and breaksoffin a different direction.
For the most part, tin and lead lie nearer the surface than
copper. Where the latter is met with in large masses,
the vein commonly falls off shortly afterwards; but when
the lode is found spotted with small portions of copper
ore, there is a strong presumption that the produce will
e rich and lasting. A large and productive vein is usu¬
ally accompanied by others which fall into the main lode.
Ihe abundance of water in a lode is considered as a pro¬
mising indication, inasmuch as dry veins are never very
rich in ore. Lodes consist of hard solid stone, or less
compact, soft, and crumbling materials. If the adjoining
strata contain much spar and quartz, then the metallife¬
rous ore in the lode is found in a solid, hard, stony sub¬
stance ; but when nature has been more sparing of her
cement, the ore is generally met with in a loose and rub-
bly state.
Experience has shown that certain minerals and metals
are more frequently found attached to particular rocks than
o ot er materials, and that some of them are discovered
on y in particular strata. Metalliferous veins are gene¬
ra y encompassed with some stone or other substance pe¬
culiar to the mine, which, from the appearance of the rock,
apprises the miner of his approach to the vein. It has
een ascertained that the arrangement of the materials of
the earth is to a certain extent regular and uniform. Hence,
w ien we know the particular substances near which cer¬
tain metals and minerals are generally found, together with
eir usual disposition in the strata; and when, in another
situation, we meet with the same materials similarly dis-
pose , we may conclude with tolerable confidence, that
j/a or mineral we are in quest of is not far distant,
n at the operations may be continued with a reason-
e prospect of success. Where a bed of mineral pro-
uce exists, it may be expected to extend throughout a
nsi erable tract of country; but, from the curvature of
ormation, or from dislocation of the strata, it may never-
leiess disappear at a particular point, and be lost, until it
gain rises to the “ outcrop,” or is accidentally met with
in boring or sinking a shaft at a considerable distance from Mining,
the original working. ”
For the more complete elucidation of what has been
stated above, we shall now describe shortly the several
formations, with their general characteristics, the minerals
which are usually found in them, and the localities in
which the most important mines are situated.
The rocky masses composing the crust of the globe con¬
sist either of simple homogeneous bodies, as limestone ; or
of an aggregation of two or more simple materials, as gra-
mte. In some strata no organic remains whatever have
been discovered ; in others the fossil remains of animal and
vegetable matter are of frequent occurrence. This diver-
sity of character is the foundation of an arrangement, ac-
coiding to which rocks are divided into primary and se¬
condary. The rocks belonging to the primitive formation
are found under every other stratified mass, and never
resting upon nor covering any; they follow a certain in¬
variable order of succession, and exhibit determinate re¬
lations with other strata. "Ihus, granite is never found
alternating with sandstone, nor gneiss covering a bed of
coal. In mountainous countries, the primitive formation,
upheaved in Alpine chains, offers itself to our notice in stu¬
pendous masses, having the strata of other formations rest-
ing upon and supported by their bases; or, as sometimes
happens, without such formations altogether. Primitive
locks contain, either occasionally or exclusively, almost
every metal hitherto discovered. They may be classed, in
the usual order of their occurrence, under the denomina¬
tions of granite, gneiss, mica slate, topaz rock, clay slate,
porphyry, trap, limestone, serpentine, quartz, gypsum, flint
slate, and syenite. Their component minerals are quartz,
hornblende, felspar, mica, and limestone.
Granite is supposed to be the most ancient and most
abundant of all substances. It forms the base and some¬
times the whole mass of mountains ; it constitutes a part
of the Alps and the Pyrenees, the mountains of Cornwall,
Saxony, and Silesia, the grand chain of the Ural and Altai
in Asia, the Atlas in Africa, and the Andes and Cordilleras
in South America. It is formed by a concretion of the gra¬
nular particles of felspar, quartz, and mica, irregularly ming¬
led, strongly adherent, and evidently the effect of simul¬
taneous crystallization. The size, colour, and relative pro¬
portions of the particles differ greatly, but felspar with a
reddish tint generally predominates. It is one of the hard¬
est and most durable rocks known. Granite is much less
metalliferous than any other of the primitive rocks; but it
nevertheless yields tin and iron in considerable quantities,
rarely gold or silver, and sometimes, in minute veins, mo-
lybdena, lead, copper, zinc, manganese, bismuth, galena,
and blende.
Gneiss is immediately incumbent on granite, and is com¬
posed of the same substances ; but mica, being more abun¬
dant, forms a granular slaty mass. This rock is rich in
mineral produce ; indeed all the useful metals, excepting
quicksilver, are found in it, sometimes in beds, but more
frequently in veins. The greater part of the mines in
Saxony and Bohemia are in gneiss mountains. In the vi¬
cinity of Freyberg more than two hundred veins of silver,
lead, tin, copper, and cobalt, have been worked in gneiss ;
and the silver mines of Konigsberg are in the same rock.
It is abundant in Scotland and the isles adjacent; and also
in South America and the United States.
Mica slate, or schistus, is composed of mica and quartz.
It has a slaty structure, mica being the chief ingredient;
its colour is gray tinted with green or yellow, sometimes
brown; and it differs from gneiss, upon which it rests, by
being disposed in leaves rather than in distinct scales. It
contains beds of magnetic iron ore; iron, copper, and ar¬
senical pyrites; red iron ore, lead glance, blende, gold,
and cobalt; whilst in the veins are found similar ores to
278 M I N
Mining, those discovered in gneiss. The mines of Dalecarlia and
Fahlun in Sweden, the gold mines of Monte Rose, some
of those in Saltzburg, the silver mines of Johann-Georgen-
stadt and Bransdorf, and many others, are in this rock. It
is also common in Scotland, on the continent, and in many
other parts of the globe.
Topaz rock is of very inconsiderable extent, and is
hardly to be considered as a distinct species. It is com¬
posed of quartz, tourmaline, topaz, and lithomarge, in
granular concretions ; but it has hitherto been met with
only in Saxony, where it forms a rock which is known by
the name of schnechenstein.
Clay slate is a simple rock, sometimes forming entire
mountains; but the cliffs are not so steep and rugged as
in granite and gneiss formations ; and it is also much more
favourable to vegetation. One of the varieties of this stratum
is the well-known material for covering roofs of buildings ;
the rest partake of its general characters. It passes by
different gradations into mica slate, acquiring a glistening
lustre in its approach to that formation; it is distinctly
stratified, and is rich in metal, containing tin, lead, cobalt,
silver, pyrites, copper ore, and sometimes gold. The veins
in Cornwall often run in killas, which is a variety of clay
slate; and some curious phenomena occur in their passage
through the strata. If the vein contain tin ore in the gra¬
nite, it will frequently change to copper in the killas ; and
if tin be abundant in the killas, copper will supply its
place in the granite. This rock is very widely distributed,
and occurs in all parts of the world. In Saxony, Bohemia,
Hungary, and in North and South America, mines are
worked in it, some of them to a very considerable extent.
Porphyry consists of crystals of quartz or felspar in a
cement of hornstone or claystone ; it is not stratified, nor
do any mineral beds occur in it; and its colour varies ac¬
cording to the nature of the basis, although red and black
are the most common. It is so hard that the art of cut¬
ting it for sculpture is now lost; indeed modern tools make
no impression on the surface, although huge columns, and
many beautiful specimens of chiselling, remain to convince
us that it was practised by the ancients in great perfection.
Many metalliferous minerals are found in porphyry. The
mines of Hungary are worked in enormous rents or fis¬
sures in this rock. Porphyry also appears in Cornwall,
Sweden, France, Saxony, Carinthia, Hungary, Siberia,
Abyssinia, and North and South America.1
For details as to the mineral deposits contained in the
other primitive rocks, the reader is referred to the article
Mines, where, under the different heads, ample informa¬
tion will be found on this, as well as on various other mat¬
ters connected with the present subject.
II. One of the most important operations of practical
mining is that of blasting, of which we shall now proceed
to give some account.
I he first part of the process consists in preparing or
boring the hole for the reception of gunpowder. This is
effected with the sharpened bar and the borer, represented
in fig. 1, the length and breadth of both being variable.
The shaded portion a, which is the cutting part, is of tem¬
pered steel; and the upper part, which is held by the work¬
man, consists of iron. In the western part of Cornwall,
the borer is held in one hand and the hammer in the other,
the operation being performed by one person ; but in the
central and eastern parts, one person usually holds the borer,
whilst another applies the hammer or mallet. From the
borer being kept constantly in motion, the hole is made of
a circular form, its depth varying from eight inches to five
feet, and its breadth from one to three inches. Water is
poured into the hole if none issue from the rock, to facili¬
tate the operation of the borer; and the abraded matter
I N G.
Fig. 1. Fig. 2.
Fig. 3. Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig 6. Mi
z
(3
is withdrawn by the scraper, fig. 2. It is afterwards far¬
ther cleaned with a piece of wood, called a swab-stick, one
end of which is prepared for the purpose. When the hole
is inclined, and intended to be deep, a long borer is used,
which one man raises and lets fall, the operation being for
the most part performed by the momentum acquired by
the instrument in descending from the height to which it is
raised. This is called 11 jumping 1' If the hole be dry and
much inclined, the gunpowder is now poured into it, the
quantity requisite being at first guessed ; but after a few ex¬
plosions, it is seen whether the proportion employed beajust
one or not, that is, sufficient to fracture the rock without
breaking it in pieces and scattering them to a distance.
If the latter effect be produced, the quantity of powder is
diminished ; but if the rock be not fractured, it must be
increased. As some of the gunpowder will adhere to the
moist sides of the hole, this must be wiped down with the
end of the swab-stick. If the rush be used to convey a
spark to the charge, a piece of clay is laid upon it, and
through both the needle is inserted until it reaches nearly
to the bottom of the hole.
The nail, fig. 3, is a metallic rod gradually tapering to
a point, and at the other end it is formed into a ring. It
was formerly made entirely of iron; but latterly its point¬
ed extremity has been made of copper, because, during its
insertion or removal, the iron-pointed nail sometimes caused
ignition, and thus led to fatal consequences. Next to the
powder is put some dry substance, and then clay, upon
which are put down and gently beaten with the tamping or
ramming box, fig. 4, pieces of some stony substance, which
readily yields to the hammer without giving a spark, as
roofing tile, soft slate, decomposing porphyry, friable gra¬
nite, coal, or solid copper, which are all occasionally used.
At first a little is put in and beaten firmly down; then a
second small quantity, a third, a fourth, and so on until
the hole be entirely filled. It is desirable that each layer
should be very thin, as the confining power of the tamping
is considered to be in proportion to the number of layers;
but this must be understood within certain limits. The
lamping bar is usually made of iron, the lower extremity
being shod with copper or brass; Dr Paris found, however,
that an alloy of eighty-six parts of copper and fourteen of
tin proved the most durable. The next point is the re¬
moval of the nail, which is effected by striking it upwards,
or by the use of a lever. The rush is then introduced in¬
to the hole left by the nail, the pith having been first re¬
moved and its place filled with fine gunpowder. When
all this has been done, nothing remains but the application
of the fire, which is communicated by the ignition of one
end of a match, or a piece of coarse paper smeared with
grease, the other end being placed in contact with the
1 See Mining Review, No. V. p 13, et seep
mining.
lining, rush, and the slow combustion affording time for the escape
the workmen.
The ignition of the charge, however, is frequently ef¬
fected by the train being contained in a rod of quills, or by
the use of Bickford’s patent safety-rods. When either of
these is employed, it is placed in the hole before the in¬
troduction of the charge ; and in these cases the nail is not
required. The operation of tamping is in every respect
conducted as before. The rod of quills is merely a tube
of common goose-quills, the smaller end of one being in¬
serted in the larger extremity of another, until the tube
be of the length required, that is, equal to the hole bored
in the rock. The gunpowder with which the tubes are
filled should be bruised to dust, and packed very closely
in the tube. It might be thought that the compression to
which such tubes are exposed during the process of tamp¬
ing would prevent their combustion; but this is not the
case, for so strong are they, when properly filled, that even
the pressure of a smith’s vice would produce no such re¬
sult. The patent safety-rod is a column of gunpowder en¬
veloped in a series of hempen yarns twisted spirally round
it, and perfectly flexible. It is about three eighths or one
half of an inch in diameter, consumes slowly, and rarely
becomes extinguished until it be entirely burnt. The ex¬
pense of the quills and the safety-rods is nearly the same,
that is, threepence per fathom in length.
The preceding remarks are intended to apply to an in-
dined perforation. But when the aperture is nearly hori¬
zontal, which is frequently the case, the introduction of the
charge is somewhat more difficult. Some miners make a
cartridge or tube of paper, which they cement with grease,
and which, being filled with fine gunpowder, is pushed with
the swab-stick to the further extremity of the hole ; others
charge with the fluke, which may be described as the half
of a hollow cylinder divided in the line of its axis, and be¬
ing attached to the end of an iron rod, fig. 5, resembles a
carpenter’s auger, or a marrow-spoon. The tamping is in
all cases alike, and the train may be laid in either of the
ways already mentioned.
But when the hole has been moistened by the infiltra¬
tion of water, the operation is much more difficult, and
is accomplished either by claying the hole, or by intro¬
ducing the charge in a pitched bag or tin-plate cartridge.
Claying consists in filling as much of the further extremi¬
ty of the hole as the charge is intended to occupy, with
stiff clay, impervious to water, or at least very nearly so.
Through this clay a cylindrical bar, usually made of iron,
is pushed nearly to the extremity of the perforation, in or¬
der to make a space for the reception of the charge, which
is at once introduced, and then the hole is tamped and
the train laid in the ordinary manner. This operation re¬
quires to be performed with great rapidity, because the
clay not being quite impervious to water, may become sa¬
turated, and the charge moistened, so as not to ignite when
the train is fired. The pitched bag, above mentioned, is
made of canvass, and so covered with pitch as to be im¬
penetrable to water; the tin-plate cartridge is simply a tin
case in a cylindrical form. When the bag or cartridge is
used the charge is placed in it, the train for its ignition
being laid through a tin-plate tube about one fourth of
an inch in diameter. This receptacle is placed in the fur¬
ther extremity of the hole, sometimes imbedded in clay,
and is tamped in the usual manner. The pitched bag is
preferred to the cartridge, because the one fits the hole
more exactly, whilst the regular figure of the other retains
round it a little air, which, in yielding to the compressing
orce, impedes the full effect of the explosion.
An apparatus, invented by Captain Chenhalls, of St
ust, m the western part of Cornwall, and denominated
e s lifting cartridge, has been found useful in charging
0 es 0I" srna^ depth. Fig. 6 represents a section of this
279
instrument. It consists of a copper cylinder a b, two feet Mining,
in length, and one inch in diameter, containing a moveable
rod c, which is graduated in inches, and has affixed to its
extremity a leaden plug d, whilst the cap g is made to take
off, in older to allow, at any time, the removal of the rod,
for cleaning the interior. I he manner of using it has been
thus described. Draw out the rod as many inches as you
require it to deliver of gunpowder, then invert the instru¬
ment, fill it, and place a piece of moistened clay at the
mouth of the cylinder; it is now to be inserted in the hole,
when, by pressing down the sliding-rod, the whole charge
is immediately delivered in a mass without any loss ; but
before the instrument is withdrawn, the rod should be se¬
veral times rammed down smartly upon the gunpowder.
In charging back holes, that is, holes nearly horizontal, the
clay should be stuck upon the end of the plug d previous¬
ly to the introduction of the powder into the cylinder.
When quills are used for a fuze, it will be found advan¬
tageous to affix in the cylinder a smaller tube for their re¬
ception, as represented by ef. Much has been said as to
the waste of gunpowder in mines in consequence of the
ignorance or carelessness of the workmen; and there is pro¬
bably some ground for censure in this respect. But, on
the other hand, whilst it is difficult for any but a practical
miner to say where a perforation can be advantageously
made, so nothing but experiment can determine the quan¬
tity of gunpowder requisite for any given hole, and this
must necessarily be left to the workmen.
It has been frequently asserted that sand is a good and
efficient substitute for tamping, as commonly practised;
and numerous experiments have been made to establish
this point, but hitherto without any very satisfactory re¬
sults. In many cases the sand has been blown out, whilst, in
some instances, effective explosions have ensued. Fur¬
ther experiments are certainly required to set this impor¬
tant point at rest, by determining the circumstances upon
which success or failure depend.
With respect to accidental or premature explosions, by
far the larger portion of these either originate from the
nail, or are produced in the course of the tamping process.
Those which originate through the nail occur only when
the rush is used, and although the number of accidents has
been considerably diminished since it was pointed with cop¬
per, yet even this has not entirely prevented them. They
are caused, first, by the nail being driven to the very bot¬
tom of the hole, and its there coming in contact with sub¬
stances which by percussion generate a spark; secondly,
the nail, during the tamping, is subject to concussion,
which, in certain circumstances, will produce a similar ef¬
fect ; and, thirdly, the removal of the nail may occasion a
like result, especially if, when introduced into the hole, it
had been so forcibly driven to the bottom as to bend its
point, for in this case the curved part will occasion con¬
siderable disturbance in the contents of the hole, and the
danger will not be materially diminished by the circum¬
stance of the nail being pointed with copper. But by put¬
ting a small piece of clay at the bottom of the hole, and
by taking care not to force the nail against its lower extre¬
mity, the hazard arising from this cause may in a great
measure be obviated. The dangers incident to the tamp¬
ing process spring chiefly from the gunpowder adhering
to the sides of the hole ; so thaf, if a spark be struck out
during the operation, it will communicate to these parti¬
cles, and ignite the charge. Fire may be struck, first, by
the contact of the tamping bar with such portions of the
sides of the hole as are calculated to afford a spark from
collision ; secondly, by the action of this instrument upon
portions of the tamping, when the bar is not shod with
copper or brass ; thirdly, by the friction of such substances
in tamping, against similar bodies in the sides of the hole;
and, fourthly, by the friction of various parts of the tamp-
280 'MINI N G.
Mining. jng against one another. The precautions to be used
against the occurrence of accidents of this kind are, first,
removing carefully the adhering particles of gunpowder
from the sides of the hole; secondly, the use of a tamping
bar shod with a substance which does not readily strike fire ;
and, thirdly, care in selecting substances for tamping which
do not readily afford sparks by impact upon one another.
Notwithstanding the use of quills and safety-rods, explo¬
sions of this class sometimes occur, their causes being ap¬
parently beyond the reach of such contrivances. But of
the fatal accidents which have occasionally happened, the
greater part are attributable to the carelessness of the
workmen, rather than to their ignorance. Many explosions
have originated from want of caution in boring a charge
which has not ignited owing to the train having somehow
been extinguished. In such cases, the tamping is removed
by the borer, and, from the indifference of habit, the work¬
men frequently take no more care than if they were form¬
ing, or “ beating down,” a new perforation.1
III. Humboldt, speaking of the state of the mining art
in Mexico, strongly censures the method of blasting by
powder, as therein employed. The holes for the reception
of the cartridges are, he thinks, generally too deep, and the
miners are not sufficiently careful in diminishing the mass
of rock intended to yield to explosion. A great waste of
gunpowTder is consequently occasioned. In the mine of
Yalenciana, powder to the amount of L.150,000 was con¬
sumed from 1794 to 1802; and the mines of New Spain
annually require from 12,000 to 14,000 hundredweights.
Humboldt thinks it probable that two thirds of this quan¬
tity is uselessly employed.
The timber-work is also, according to him, very care¬
lessly performed, although it ought the more to engage the
attention of the proprietors of mines, as wood is every year
becoming scarcer on the table-laud of Mexico. “ The ma¬
sonry employed in the shafts and levels,2 and especially the
walling with lime, deserves great praise. The arches are
formed with great care; and in this respect the mines of
Guanaxuato may stand a comparison with whatever is most
perfect at Freyberg and Schemnitz. The shafts, and still
more the galleries or levels, have generally the defect of
being dug of too great dimensions, and of occasioning, by
that means, exorbitant expenses. We find levels at Va-
lenciana,3 executed with the view of making trial on a poor
vein, of a height of twenty-six or twenty-nine feet. It is
an erroneous opinion, that this great height facilitates the
renovation of the air; the ventilation depends on the equi¬
librium and difference of temperature between two neigh¬
bouring columns of air. They also believe, equally without
foundation, that, in order to discover the nature of a power¬
ful vein, very large drifts are requisite, as if, in mineral
veins of from six to eight fathoms in width, it were not
better to cut from time to time small cross drifts, for the
purpose of discovering whether the mass of the vein be¬
gins to grow richer. The absurd custom of cutting every
level of such enormous dimensions prevents the proprie¬
tors from multiplying the means of trial, so indispensable
for the preservation of a mine and the duration of the
works. At Guanaxuato the breadth of the oblique shafts
dug stairwise is from five to six fathoms; and the perpen¬
dicular shafts are generally three, four, or five fathoms in
diameter. The enormous quantity of ores extracted from
the mines, and the necessity of working in them the ropes
attached to six or eight whims, necessarily occasion the
shafts of Mexico to be made of greater dimensions than
those of Germany ; but the attempt which has been made
at Bolanos, to separate by beams the ropes of the whims,
has sufficiently proved that the breadth of the shafts may Mi .
be diminished without any danger of the ropes getting en-v"—' w j
tangled in their oscillatory motion. It would in general
be very useful to make use of kibbles instead of leathern
bags suspended by ropes for the extraction of the ores.
“ The greatest fault observable in the mines of New Spain,
and which renders the working of them extremely expen¬
sive, is the want of communication between the different
works. They resemble ill-constructed buildings, where,
to pass from one adjoining room to another, we must go
round the whole house. The mine of Valenciana is justly
admired on account of its wealth, the magnificence of its
walling, and the facility with which it is entered by spa¬
cious and commodious stairs ; yet it exhibits only a union
of small works irregularly conducted; they are as it were
cul de sacs, and without any lateral communication. I
mention this mine, not because it is more faulty than the
others in the distribution of its labours, but because we
might naturally suppose it to be better organized. As
subterranean geometry had been entirely neglected in
Mexico till the establishment of the School of Mines,
there is no plan in existence of the works already execut¬
ed. Two works in that labyrinth of cross levels and inte¬
rior winzes may happen to be very near each other with¬
out its being possible to perceive it. Hence the impossi¬
bility of introducing, in the actual state of most of the
mines of Mexico, the wheeling by means of barrows, and
an economical disposition of the ore plats.”
The same distinguished traveller has also animadverted
on the defective machinery employed in working and drain¬
ing the Mexican mines. “ We have already spoken of the
truly barbarous custom of drawing off the water from the
deepest mines, not by means of pump apparatus, but by
means of bags attached to ropes which roll on the cage of a
whim. The same bags are used in drawing up the water
and the ores; they rub against the walls of the shafts, and
it is very expensive to keep them in repair. At the Real
del Monte, for example, these bags only last seven or eight
days ; and they commonly cost five, and sometimes seven
and eight shillings a piece. A bag full of water, suspend¬
ed to the cage of a w'him with eight horses (malacate dobk),
weighs 1250 pounds; it is made of two hides sewed to¬
gether. The bags used for the whims called simple, those
with four horses (malacates sencillos), are only half the size,
and are made of one hide. In general the construction
of the whims is extremely imperfect; the bad custom also
prevails of forcing the horses, by which they are made to
go at far too great a speed. I found this speed at the shafts
of San Ramon, at Real del Monte, to be no less than ten
feet and a half per second ; at Guanaxuato, in the mine of
Yalenciana, from thirteen to fourteen feet; and everwhere
else I found it more than eight feet. Don Salvado Sein,
professor of natural philosophy at Mexico, has proved, in
a very excellent paper on the rotatory motion of machines,
that, notwithstanding the extreme lightness of the Mexi¬
can horses, they produce only the maximum of effect on
the whims when, exerting a force of 175 pounds, they walk
at a pace of from five to six feet in the second.
“ It is to be hoped that pumps, moved either by horse-
engines of a better construction, or by water-wheels, or by
pressure-engines, will at last be introduced in the mines of
New Spain. If wood, and coal, which has only yet been
discovered in New Mexico, should be found sufficiently
abundant for employing the steam-engine, the use of it
would be of great advantage in the inundated mines of
Bolanos, as well as in those of Rayas and Mellado.
“ It is in the draining the mines of water that we particu-
Mining Review, No. YI. p. 249, et seq.
2 Especially in the mines of Valenciana, Guanaxuato, and Real del Monte.
| Canon de la Soledad.
M I N
larly feel the indispensable necessity of having plans drawn
up by subterranean surveyors {geometres). Instead of
„ stopping the course of the water, and bringing it by the
shortest road to the shaft where the machines are placed,
they frequently direct it to the bottom of the mine, to be
afterwards drawn off at a great expense. In the district
of mines of Guanaxuato, nearly two hundred and fifty
workmen perished in the space of a few minutes, on the
I4thof June 1780, because, not having measured the dis¬
tance between the works of San Ramon and the old works
of San to Christo de Burgos, they had imprudently approach¬
ed this last mine while carrying on a drift in that direction.
The water, of which the works of Santo Christo were full,
flowed with impetuosity through this new gallery of San
Ramon into the mine of Valenciana. Many of the work¬
men perished from the sudden compression of the air,
which, in taking vent, threw to great distances pieces of
timber and large masses of rock. This accident would
not have happened if, in regulating the operations, they
could have consulted a plan of the mines.” (a.)
MINNIN, a stringed instrument of music amongst the
ancient Hebrews, having three or four chords to it. There
is reason to question the antiquity of this instrument, both
because it requires a hair bow, which was a kind of plec¬
trum not known to the ancients, and because it so much
resembles the modern viol. Kircher took the figures of
this instrument, the machul, chinnor, and psaltery, from an
old book in the Vatican library.
MINOR, a Latin term, literally denoting less, and used
in opposition to major, greater.
Minor, in Law, denotes a person under age, or one
who, by the laws of the country, has not yet arrived at the
power of administering his own affairs, or the possession
of his estate.
Minor, in Logic, is the second proposition of a formal
or regular syllogism, called also the assumption.
Minor, in Music, is applied to certain concords, which
differ from or are lower than others of the same denomi¬
nation, by a lesser semitone, or by four commas. Thus we
say, a third minor, or lesser third, or a sixth major and
minor. Concords which admit of major and minor, or
greater and less, are said to be imperfect concords.
MINORCA, one of the Balearic Islands, in the Mediter¬
ranean Sea, now belonging to the crown of Spain. Its his¬
tory is the same as that of the adjacent islands of the same
group, till the year 1 /08, when,in thewarofthe Spanish suc¬
cession, it was captured by a force consisting of a fleet of
Lnghsh ships, and a land army composed of English marines
and some battalions of Spaniards, Italians, and Portuguese,
which Count Starembourg, the imperial general at Barce¬
lona, had furnished to the English general Stanhope. To
this force, after some short time, the garrison surrender-
t , and the inhabitants submitted to the English govern¬
ment. The peace of Utrecht in 1712 fixed the island in
the hands of the possessors, with whom it continued till
i At the breaking out of that war, a French force
landed at Minorca, and invested the citadel of St Philip,
m which vvith an insufficient army commanded.
Admiral Byng with a fleet was despatched to his relief; but
not having acted with the decision that was anticipated,
and having withdrawn to refit at Gibraltar, Blakeney, after
as ga lant a defence as could be made, was compelled to
1 nCK ^ ^rencb retained their conquest till the year
.1 J wbeo> by the peace of Paris, it was again given up to
ne English. Soon after that cession, a great number of the
a ives were induced, by a body of speculators in England,
o emigrate to the province of East Florida, which by the
same treaty had been delivered up to Great Britain. The
o ony consisted of more than a thousand individuals, in-
7pU Ia&r emales and children, who were indented to a Dr
urnbull, the agent of the company, and landed to the south
vOL. xv.
MIN
281
of St Augustine, where they were employed in the culti- Minorca,
vation of the land in the manner to which they had been
accustomed. But discontents in a few years broke out, and
some law proceedings at length dissolved the engagements,
when the settlers removed to St Augustine, abandoning
the establishment called New Smyrna, and found occupa¬
tion in various ways. They have, however, multiplied so
much in the sixty years since their emigration, that their
descendants formed the mass of the population at the pe¬
riod when East Florida became one of the states of the
North American Union.
Minorca was captured by the Spaniards in 1782, but in
1798 was again taken possession of by the British ; and by
the peace of Amiens in the year 1802 it was finally ceded
to Spain, whose dominion over it has not since been dis¬
turbed.
This island is about thirty-eight miles from Majorca,
and 120 from the coast of Spain. The exact position of
the parade in George Town, near Port Mahon, as ascer¬
tained by a mean of several astronomical observations, is
39. 52. 55. north latitude, and 4. 20. east longitude from
Greenwich. The whole extent is about 240 square miles.
About one quarter of the land is cultivated, and about one
half is pasture, the remainder being neglected and sterile.
1 here are no woods, although abundance of myrtle shrubs
grow in some parts, and are used for tanning leather,
for brooms, and also for fuel. In the interior of the
island there are a few small brooks only, and very few
wells, many of which are brackish; and hence most of the
houses are provided with cisterns for supplying the inha¬
bitants with rain water. Both wheat and barley are grown,
but not sufficient to feed the population ; so that one third
of the consumption is supplied by importation. On the
other hand, fruits of all kinds are very abundant, especially
melons, grapes, and oranges. The wine is plentiful, and
both the red and the white are of excellent flavour and of
great strength. The chief rural wealth, however, consists
of the live stock. There are excellent breeds of asses of
very large size and of great strength, and the mules aris¬
ing from their crosses with horses are held in the high¬
est estimation. There are said to be between 6000 and
7000 cows, from which cheese is made, that by some is
preferred to the produce of Lodi in Italy. The sheep are
stated to be 45,000, and the goats 5500; whilst the swine,
fattened till they weigh from 450 to 500 pounds, are more
than 10,000 in number.
The island is divided into four districts, called terminos,
viz. Cittadella, Mercadel, Alayor, and Mahon. The inha¬
bitants all adhere to the Catholic church with great zeal,
and with not a little superstition. The number is estimated
at 31,800. The fishing on the shores gives occupation to
many; whilst some few are employed in obtaining marble,
slate, and limestone, from the quarries. The climate is in
general very healthy, being cooled in the summer by the
breezes from the sea, and not being liable to frost or snow
in the winter. The complexion and features of the na¬
tives are like those of Spain, but somewhat darker. The
females marry at a very early age, so that by the time
they reach twenty-five years, they become old women.
It is not unusual to see females with children at the breast
from eleven to twelve years of age.
The island is of moderate height as approached from
the sea, and its surface then appears level, with one re¬
markable elevation towards the centre, called Mount Toro,
having on its summit a convent dedicated to the blessed
Virgin.
The most important circumstance relating to Minorca
is the value capable of being derived from its excellent
harbours of Port Mahon at the east end, Fornella on the
north side, and Cittadella on the west, from the small but
convenient coves around it, and from the good anchorage
2 N
on its shores. The capital is Cittadella, and the other
towns are Mahon and Fornella.
MINORS, or Friars Minor, an appellation which the
Franciscans assume, out of humility, calling themselves
fratres minores, or lesser brothers, and sometimes minorites.
There, is also an order of regular minors at Naples, which
was established in the year 1588, and confirmed by Pope
Sixtus ;V.
MINOS, in fabulous history, a king of Crete, who was
the son of Jupiter and Europa. He flourished about 14<32
vears before the Christian era, and gave laws to his subjects,
which remained in force in the age of the philosopher
Plato, about a thousand years after the death ol the legis¬
lator. His justice and moderation procured him the ap¬
pellation of the favourite of the gods, the confidant of Ju¬
piter, and the wise legislator, in almost every city ol Greece;
and, according to the poets, he was alter death rewarded
for his equity with the office of supreme and absolute judge
in the infernal regions. In this capacity he is represent¬
ed sitting in the middle of the shades, and holding a sceptre
in his hand. The dead plead their different causes before
him ; and the impartial judge shakes the fatal urn, which is
filled with the destinies of mankind.
MINOTAUR, in fabulous history, was a celebrated mon¬
ster, half man and half bull. The minotaur was the fruit
of Pasiphae’s amour with a bull. Minos having refused to
sacrifice a white bull to Neptune, an animal which he had
received for that purpose from the god, this offended
Neptune, and he made Pasiphae, the wife of Minos, ena¬
moured of the bull, which had been refused to his altars.
Daedalus prostituted his talents in subserviency to the
queen’s unnatural desires, by which means Pasiphae s
horrible passions were gratified, and the Minotaur came
into the world. Minos confined in the labyrinth this mon¬
ster, which convinced the world of his wife’s lascivious¬
ness, and reflected disgrace upon his family. The Mino¬
taur usually devoured the chosen young men and maidens
whom the tyranny of Minos yearly exacted from the Athe¬
nians. Theseus delivered his country from this tribute,
when it had fallen to his lot to be sacrificed to the vora¬
city of the Minotaur; and by means of Ariadne, the king’s
daughter, he destroyed the monster, and made his escape
from the intricacies of the labyrinth.
The fabulous tradition of the Minotaur, and of the infa¬
mous commerce of Pasiphae, has often been explained.
Some suppose that Pasiphae was enamoured of one of her
husband’s courtiers called Taurus; and that Daedalus fa¬
voured the passions of the queen, by suffering his house to
become the retreat of the two lovers. Pasiphae some time
afterw’ards brought forth twins, one of whom greatly re¬
sembled Minos, and the other Taurus; and in the natural
resemblance of their countenance with that of their sup¬
posed fathers originated their name, and also the fable of
the Minotaur.
MINSK, a province of the Russian empire, in Europe,
extending in north latitude from 51. 12. to 55. 49. and
in east longitude from 25. 13. to 30. 45. It is bound¬
ed on the north by Witepsk, on the east by Mohilew, on
the south-east by Tschernigow, on the south by Kiew and
Volhynia, on the west by Grodno, and on the north-west
by Wilna. It contains 38,082 square miles, divided into
ten circles, in which there are 109 cities and towns, and a
great number of villages, hamlets, and lone farms. The
number of dwellings is stated by Georgi at 148,219, and
that of the inhabitants at 1,135,041. The towns are com¬
monly both poor and filthy, being chiefly inhabited by-
Jews, who are the traders, distillers, and innkeepers. It
is one of the extensive plains of Eastern Europe, on which
a hill may here and there be seen, with some respectable
rivers ; in the north and east it is covered with woods, and
in the south-west with extensive morasses. As the extent
is 38,082 square miles, the poverty of the soil may account M ^
for the thin population. It is watered by several small
streams, which terminate either in the Dnieper and run el
to the Black Sea, or in the Diina and run to the Baltic- ' ^
There is a canal uniting those rivers, which run in oppo¬
site directions. The principal exportable commodity is
wood. The chief product for home consumption is rye,
which barely suffices for the supply of the inhabitants.
There is little trade, and this may be described as the
poorest province of European Russia.
Minsk, a city, the capital of the province and of the
circle of that name, in European Russia. It is 603 miles
from St Petersburg, on the river Swislocz, and is,the seat
of a Greek and a Catholic bishop, and of the several de¬
partments of the provincial administration. The function¬
aries connected with these form the greater part of the in¬
habitants, who do not exceed 3000, all the traders amongst
whom are Jews. Long. 27. 33. E. Lat. 53. 58. N.
MINSTER, a parish of the county of Kent, in the hun¬
dred of Ford and the lathe of Scray, forty-nine miles from
London. The church was collegiate, supposed to have
been part of a monastery founded by Sexburga, the wife of
Ercombert, king of Kent, and eighteen stalls still remain
in it. It is situated on the north side of the isle of Tha-
net. The population amounted in 1801 to 707, in 1811
to 824, in 1821 to 920, and in 1831 to 911.
Minster-in-Sheppy, a large parish in the county of
Kent, in the hundred of Rinslow and lathe of St Augus¬
tine, sixty-eight miles from London. It comprehends the
dock-yards and part of the town of Sheerness, and derives
its name from a convent of nuns, said to have been founded
by a Saxon lady in the year 700. The population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 5561, in 1811 to 7003, in 1821 to 8414,
and in 1831 to 7983.
Minster (Saxon, mynster or mynstre) anciently signi¬
fied the church of a monastery- or convent.
MINSTREL, an ancient term applied equally to a singer
and an instrumental performer.
The word minstrel is derived from the French menestrier,
and was not in use in this country before the Norman con¬
quest. It is remarkable that our old monkish historians
do not use the words citharcedus, cantator, or the like, to
express a minstrel in Latin ; but either mimus, histrio, jo-
culator, or some other word which implies gesticulation.
Hence it should seem that the minstrels set off their sing¬
ing by mimicry or action, uniting the powers of melody,
poetry, and dancing.
The Saxons as well as the ancient Danes had been ac¬
customed to hold men of this profession in the highest re¬
verence. Their skill was considered as something divine,
their persons were deemed sacred, their attendance was
solicited by kings, and they were everywhere loaded with
honours and rewards. In short, poets and their art were
held in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an
ignorant people towards such as greatly excel them in in¬
tellectual accomplishments. When the Saxons were con¬
verted to Christianity, in proportion as letters prevailed
amongst them, this rude admiration began to subside, and
poets were no longer a peculiar class or profession. The
poet and the minstrel became two persons. Poetry was
cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately, and manyot
the most popular rhymes were composed amidst the leisure
and retirement of monasteries. But the minstrels con¬
tinued to be a distinct order of men, and obtained their
livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the houses of the
great. There they were hospitably and respectfully re¬
ceived, and retained many of the honours conferred upon
their predecessors, the bards and the scalds. Although
some of them only recited the compositions of others, many
of them still composed songs themselves, and all of them
could probably invent a few stanzas upon occasion. There
M I N
instrel. is no doubt that most of the old heroic ballads were pro-
" duced by this order of men. Although some of the larger
metrical romances might come from the pen of the monks
or others, yet the smaller narratives were probably com¬
posed by the minstrels who sung them. From the amaz¬
ing variations which occur in different copies of these old
pieces, it is evident that they made no scruple to alter
one another’s productions, and the reciter added or omitted
whole stanzas, according to his own fancy or convenience.
In the early ages, as is hinted above, this profession w^as
held in great reverence amongst the Saxon tribes, as well
as amongst their Danish brethren. This appears from two
remarkable facts in history, which show' that the arts
of music and song were equally admired amongst both
nations, and that the privileges and honours conferred
upon the professors of them were common to both ; and it
is well known that their customs, manners, and even lan-
M l N
283
guage, were not in these times very dissimilar.
When Alfred the Great was desirous to learn the true
situation of the Danish army which had invaded his realm,
he assumed the dress and character of a minstrel, and,
taking his harp, and only one attendant (for in the earliest
times it was not unusual for a minstrel to have a servant
to carry his harp), he went with the utmost security into
the Danish camp. Although he could not but be known to
be’a Saxon, the character he had assumed procured hirp
an hospitable reception; he was admitted to entertain the
king at table, and staid amongst them long enough to con¬
trive that assault which afterwards destroyed them. This
was in the year 878.
About sixty years afterwards, a Danish king made use
of the same disguise to explore the camp of King Athel-
stan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed like a min¬
strel, Anlaff king of the Danes went amongst the Saxon
tents, and taking his stand near the king’s pavilion, began
to play, and was immediately admitted. There he enter¬
tained Athelstan and his lords with his singing and his
music; and was at length dismissed with an honourable
reward, although his songs must have discovered him to
be a Dane. Athelstan was saved from the consequences
o this stratagem by a soldier, who had observed Anlaff
bury the money which had been given him, from some
scruple of honour or motive of superstition. This occa¬
sioned a discovery.
From the uniform procedure of both these kings, it is
evident that the same mode of entertainment prevailed
amongst both nations, and that the minstrel was a privi-
eged character amongst each. Even as late as the reign
of Edward II. the minstrels were easily admitted into the
royal presence, as appears from a passage in Stow, which
also shows the splendour of their appearance.
In the year 1316, Edward II. did solemnize his feast
ot rentecost at Westminster, in the great hall; where,
sitting royally at the table with his peers about him, there
entered a woman adorned like a minstrel, sitting on a
great horse trapped, as minstrels then used, who rode
round about the tables, showing pastime ; and at length
came up to the king’s table and laid before him a letter,
an orthwith turning her horse, saluted every one, and
eparted. The subject of this letter was a remonstrance
° e king against the favours heaped by him on his min-
jons, to the neglect of his knights and faithful servants.
m messenger was sent in a minstrel’s habit, as that which
nn 1* ^iain j1” eaS^ a^m‘ss‘on> and was a woman concealed
fn ^ 1 ilat c*ress, Probably to disarm the king’s resentment;
th c*3 ^ n0t t^iat any the real minstrels were of
zrff iema e •Sex’ an^ therefore conclude this was only an
ttul contrivance peculiar to that occasion.
at TWk f°UrtS J£ar of Richard John of Gaunt erected
nnum ln.Staffordshire, a court of minstrels, with a full
P r o receive suit and service from the men of that pro-
ession within five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, Minstrel,
and determine their controversies; and to apprehend and
arrest such of them as should refuse to appear at the said
court, annually held on the 16th of August. For this they
ad a charter, by which they were empowered to appoint
a ing of the minstrels, with four officers, to preside over
them. These were every year elected with great ceremo¬
ny; the whole form of which is described by Dr Plott, in
whose time, however, they seem to have become mere
musicians.
Even so late as the reign of King Henry VIII. the re¬
citers of verses or moral speeches learned by heart intrud¬
ed without ceremony into all companies, not only in ta¬
verns, but in the houses of the nobility themselves. This
we learn from Erasmus, whose argument led him only to
describe a species of these men who did not sing their
compositions ; but without doubt the others who did so en¬
joyed the same privileges.
We find that the minstrels continued down to the reign
of Elizabeth, in whose time they had lost much of their
dignity, and were sinking into contempt and neglect. Yet
still they sustained a character far superior to any thin<r
we can conceive at present of the singers of old ballads. &
When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at Killingworth
or Kenilworth Castle by the Earl of Leicester in 1575,
amongst the many devices and pageants which were ex¬
hibited for her entertainment, one of the personages intro¬
duced was that ot an ancient minstrel, whose appearance
and dress are so minutely described by a writer there pre¬
sent, and give us so distinct an idea of the character, that
we shall quote the passage at large.
“ A person very meet seemed he for the purpose, of a
xlv. years old, apparelled partly as he would himself. His
cap off; his head seemingly rounded tonsterwise ; fair
kembed, that, with a sponge daintly dipt in a little capon’s
grease, was finely smoothed, to make it shine like a mal¬
lard’s wing. Flis beard snugly shaven; and yet his shirt
after the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked, and
glistering like a pair of new shoes, marshalled in good order
with a setting stick, and strut, ‘ that’ every ruff stood up
like a wafer. A side [i.e. long] gown of Kendale green,
after the freshness of the year now, gathered at the neck
with a narrow gorget, fastened afore with a white clasp and
a keeper close up to the chin ; but easily, for heat, to undo
when he list. Seemingly begirt in a red caddis girdle :
from that a pair of capped Sheffield knives hanging a’ two
sides. Out of his bosom drawn from a lappet of his napkin
edged with a blue lace, and marked with a D for Damian ;
for he was but a bachelor yet.
“ His gown had side [i. e. long] sleeves down to midleg,
slit from the shoulder to the hand, and lined with white
cotton. His doublet sleeves of black worsted : upon them
a pair of points of tawny chamlet laced along the wrist
with blue threaden pointes. A wealt towards the hands,
of fustian-a-napes. A pair of red neather stocks. A pair
of pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at his toes for corns;
not new indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, and shining
as a slicing horn.
“ About his neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle.
His harp in good grace dependent before him. His wrest
tyed to a green lace, and hanging by : under the gorget of
his gown a fair flaggon chain silver, as a Squire Minstrel of
Middlesex, that travelled the country this summer season,
unto fair and worshipful men’s houses. From his chain
hung a scutcheon, with metal and colour, resplendent upon
his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington.”
This minstrel, the author tells us, “ after three lowly
courtesies, cleared his voice with a hem....and wiped his
lips with the hollow of his hand, for filing his napkin;
tempered a string or two with his wrist; and, after a little
warbling on his harp for a prelude, came forth with a so-
284 MIR
Mint lemn song, warranted for story out of King Arthur’s
II acts.”
Mirabeau. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, this class of
v ^ men had lost all credit, and were sunk so low in the pub¬
lic opinion, that in the thirty-ninth year of Elizabeth a
statute was passed, by which “ minstrels,” wandering abroad,
were included amongst “ rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy
beggars,” and were adjudged to be punished as such.
MINT, the place or establishment in which the king’s
money is coined. See Coining.
MINTUllN^E, a town of Campania, between Sinuessa
and Formiae. It was in the marshes in this neighbourhood
that Marius concealed himself in the mud, to avoid the
partizans of Sylla. The people condemned him to death ;
but when the sound of his imperious voice had terrified the
executioner, they showed themselves compassionate, and
favoured his escape.
MINUET, a very graceful kind of dance, consisting of a
coupee, a high step, and a balance. It begins with a beat,
and its motion is triple.
The invention of the minuet seems to be generally as¬
cribed to the French, and particularly to the inhabitants
of the province of Poitou. The word is said by Menage
and Furetiere to be derived from the French menue or menu.,
small or little, and in strictness to signify a small space.
The melody of this dance consists of two strains, which,
from being repeated, are called reprises, each having eight or
more bars, but never an odd number. The measure consists
of three crotchets in a bar, and is thus marked £, though it
is commonly performed in the time Walther speaks of
a minuet in Lully’s opera of Roland, each strain of which
contains ten bars, the sectional number being 5 ; a circum¬
stance which renders it very difficult to be danced.
MINUTE, in Geometry, is the sixtieth part of a degree
' of a circle.
Minute of Time is the sixtieth part of an hour.
Minute, in Architecture, usually denotes the sixtieth, and
sometimes the thirtieth, part of a module.
Minute is also used for a short memoir, or sketch of a
thing taken in writing.
MINYTS, a name given to the inhabitants of Orchome-
nos, in Bceotia, from Minyas, king of the country. Orcho-
menos the son of Minyas gave his name to the capital of
the country; and the inhabitants retained their original ap¬
pellation, in contradistinction to the Orchomenians of Ar¬
cadia. A colony of Orchomenians passed into Thessaly and
settled in lolchos; and from this circumstance the people
of the place,particularly the Argonauts, were called
This name they received, according to the opinion of some,
not because a number of Orchomenians had settled amongst
them, but because the chief and noblest of them were de¬
scended from the daughters of Minyas. Part of the Or¬
chomenians accompanied the sons of Codrus when the lat¬
ter migrated to Ionia. The descendants of the Argonauts,
as well as the Argonauts themselves, received the name of
Minyce. They first inhabited Lemnos, where they were
born of Lemnian women, who had murdered their husbands.
But being driven from Lemnos by the Pelasgi, about 1160
before the Christian era, they came to settle in Laconia,
and thence passed into Calliste with a colony of Lacedae¬
monians.
MIQUELETTES, a name given to the Spaniards who
inhabit the Pyrennean Mountains, on the frontiers of Ara¬
gon and Catalonia, and subsist by robbing.
MIUABEAU, Victor Riquetti, Marquis de, one of
the most eminent propagators of the doctrines of the French
Economists in France, was born at Perthuis on the 5th of
October 1715. He was the eldest surviving male descend¬
ant of a family esteemed ancient and noble even in Pro¬
vence, and established there for above five centuries.
This was the family of Riquetti or Arrighetti, which, hav-
M I R
ing been banished from Florence during the civil commo- M bea
tions which agitated that republic, settled in Provence, ^
and there maintained themselves in the rank of the most
noble families of the country. The most famous of them
all was Riquetti, the author and engineer of the Langue¬
doc Canal; but the relationship was denied by the prepos¬
terous and barbarous pride of the clan. The subject of
this notice, like most of the elder branches of French noble
families, was placed betimes in the army ; he was made
a Chevalier de Make at three years of age, an ensign at
fourteen, and soon afterwards a captain; he served with
credit and distinction at the sieges of Kehl and Philips-
burg, and at the battles of Dettingen and Clusen ; and, in
the year 1743, he received the cross of St Louis, being then
in the twenty-eighth year of his age. The death of his fa¬
ther having some years before placed him in a state of in¬
dependence, he now quitted the army, and married the
Marquise de Saulvebeuf, who, having been betrothed at
twelve years of age, had been left a widow before she be¬
came a wife. But this marriage did not in the end prove
fortunate. The lady was young, rich, and noble, but she
was not handsome ; and although her virtue was beyond
all suspicion, the marquis, not satisfied with this, quarrel¬
led with her, after she had lived with him fifteen years in
peace and comfort, and had borne him eleven children;
took into his house a fascinating young Swiss lady called
Madame de Pailly ; lived openly with the latter as his mis¬
tress ; turned his unfortunate wife out of doors; and then
engaged in a course of litigation with her, and of cruel as
well as treacherous processes against her, which rendered
both wretched, and made them the subject of universal
talk, the objects of general censure, without profiting any
human being except Madame de Pailly, the lawyers, and
the retailers of scandalous gossip in the drawing-rooms of
Paris.
The chief object of the Marquis de Mirabeau in quitting
the profession of arms was to lead a life of literary retire¬
ment, and to improve the condition of his rural depend¬
ents. Towards the latter, indeed, his conduct seems to
have been uniformly sensible, just, and kind ; he was their
real father, and they were in fact the only children who ever
found in him the virtues of the paternal character. He
went to reside in the family chateau in Provence; but
neither the distance from Paris nor the state of the country
suited his spirit or agreed with his taste. Accordingly, he
purchased the estate of Bignon, fifteen miles from Sens
and Nemours, and soon afterwards an hotel in Paris. He
then entered upon the career of philosophy, which he pur¬
sued for half a century, and which terminated only with
his life, about the beginning of the French Revolution,
when he left the world with a reputation for virtue great¬
ly exaggerated, and for talents much below his real me¬
rit. Fie died at Argenteuil on the 13th of July 1789, at
a time when his son, the Count de Mirabeau, was rapidly
rising to a supremacy of influence and power in the Na¬
tional Assembly.
The Marquis de Mirabeau was, after Quesnay, the chief
patriarch of the sect of Economists; and was also well
known and distinguished for his practical attention to econo¬
mics as a considerable landowner and a patrician of high
rank. But his style, which had the faults common to all the
writers of the sect, was, besides, uncouth and fantastical in
a remarkable degree, being deformed by an unhappy af¬
fectation of imitating the manner of Montaigne in an ac¬
cumulation of trivial redundancies, which he called “ his
dear native exuberance,” as well as by a certain false
heat, and an incredible excess of pride and of dogmatism.
That these defects, however, were not the result of any
natural cloudiness or obliquity of mind, but of the vi¬
cious standard upon which he had formed his taste, is
evident from his correspondence published in the Buy-
M I R A B E A U.
rabeau. graphical Memoirs of his son.1 Indeed his letters form,
•-v““-/in all respects, a perfect contrast to his more elaborate
compositions, being as remarkable for their natural grace,
idiomatic elegance, and perfect perspicuity, as the latter
are for their .rugged dulness, their pedantic extravagance,
and their affected obscurity. Nothing, in truth, can be
more entirely unlike than the philosopher and the. man ;
the enlightened economist and the haughty aristocratic
noble ; the friend of Quesnay and the father of Mirabeau;
the Ami des Hommes and the Pcre de Famille.
But all this is by no means without example. Such dis¬
crepancies between the public and the domestic characters
of men are indeed far from being of rare occurrence. The
difference here, however, is unfortunately carried farther
than in almost any other instance known. The charac¬
teristic of the sect to which the Marquis belonged was a
rigorous love of the strictest justice; but his treatment of
his son exhibits one perpetual scene of all justice grossly
outraged. To observe moderation, to regard the useful
end of all things, to act as if they were born not for them¬
selves but for all mankind, were the leading maxims of
the Economists:
285
Kte"’ 6,1 U" m0t' 3 &Ut 'e ^ * ga'-a-Mirab.au.
Secta fuit, servare modum finemque tenere,
Naturamque sequi, patriaeque impendere vitam ;
Nec sibi, sed totigenitum se credere mundo.
The predominant passion of the marquis, however, was
family pride; moderation neither in this nor in any other
feeling was never for an instant the inmate of his mind
nor the regulator of his thoughts; he always spoke, wrote,
and acted in private life, as one who never doubted that
the world was made for the order, not the sect, to which
he belonged, and that his first and highest duty was to
keep the Mirabeau family at the head of the privileged
class. To follow the dictates of nature, and devote their
lives to the causeof truth, were precepts constantly inculcat¬
ed by the Economists. The most inveterate prepossession
against his first-born ; the most refined cruelty of treat¬
ment which his ingenuity could devise for that child;
even the expedient of leaving him in wretched circum¬
stances, and restoring him to liberty, that he might either
terminate his existence in despair or forfeit his life to the
law ; accompanied with an adulterous connection formed
under his own roof, and which drove from his house a wife
who had borne him eleven children, and brought an acces¬
sion to his income of L.2000 a year;—such, not to men¬
tion imputed iniquities of a still darker complexion, are the
traits of private character which distinguished the lover of
Mature and of truth, and which, in the work already referred
to, are, for the most part, represented under the infallible
testimony of his own hand. To the same authority we
are further indebted for proofs of a difference still more
marvellous, and of which there is probably no other ex¬
ample. The author of the dullest, and most heavy, un¬
interesting books, written in the most tiresome, insipid,
and almost intolerable style, is the author of the very best,
most lively, and most entertaining letters we have ever
met with, written in a style which, for originality, raci¬
ness, force, and felicity of diction, is almost without a ri-
va . “ Les lettres familieres,” says the editor of the Me-
unoires Biographiques, “ que nous avons par milliers, et
<*uir .ent toujours remarquables par un naturel abondant
et facile, par une aisance spirituelle et gaie, forment le
P us inexplicable des contrastes avec ses ecrits destines
* a publicite, traces pour ainsi dire en sa presence, et
ans lesquels le fond toujours tres-sense des idees, est de-
cre ite par la couleur particuliere de son style obscur, pe-
sant, et baroque, melange de tropes bizarres, d’incohe-
he iT°AkSi °f Athe Mar(luis of Mirabeau, which have
been called the Apocalypse of Political Economy, form
no less than twenty-two volumes; but those alonewhich
nrtnTlkrnOWf %,c/onsul7ted areLAmi des Hommes, The,
^^J^Prt’PMosophie liurcde, and Education Civile
dun Prmce. Besides these, he contributed a vast num¬
ber of papers to the Journal d'Agriculture and the EpH-
du CUoyen, the former of which reached thirty,
and the latter forty volumes. The greater part of his
works have been collected and published as a sequel to
the Arm des Hommes in eight vols. 12mo, or three vols.
4to. Of these, the following is nearly a complete list, viz.
Ami des Hommes, Paris, 1755, in five vols. 12mo • 2.
{ixa5nen des Poesies sacrees de Lefranc de Pompign’an,
.m1102mo:;13\?f6m.oire sur les Etats Provinciaux,
l/o/, in 12mo; 4. Memoire concernant I’Utilite des Etats
Provinciaux, 1757, in 8vo ; 5. Keponse du Correspondant
Banquier, 1759, in 4to ; 6. Theorie de ITmpot, Paris,
176Ck in 4to and 12mo ; 7. Philosophic Rurale, ou Econo-
mie Generale et Particuliere, de 1’Agriculture, Amsterdam,
1/64 in three vols. 12mo; 8. Lettres sur le Commerce
f^fPr-ainS’ *n l^mo; 9. Les Economiques, Paris,
1769, in two vols. 4to, or four vols. 12mo; 10. Lettres
Economiques, Amsterdam, 1770, in 12mo; 11. Les De¬
voirs, Milan, 1770, in 8vo; 12. La Science, ou les Droits
et les Devoirs de 1’Homme, Lausanne, 1774, in 12mo;
13. Lettres sur la Legislation, ou 1’Ordre Legal deprave,
retabh et perpetue, Berne, 1775, in three vols. 12mo;
Entretiens d un jeune Prince avec son Gouverneur,
Paris, 1/85, in four vols. 12mo; 15. Education Civile d’un
Prince, Dour lac, 1788, in 8vo; 16. Hommes d celebrer
pour avoir bien merite de leur Siecle et de 1’Humanite
par leurs ecrits sur 1’Economie Politique ; 17. Reve d’un
Goutteux, 1788, in 8vo. In his eloge of Quesnay, inserted
in the Ephemerides du Citoyen, he styles the head of the
sect of the Economists Maitre de la Science, and places him
above both Socrates and Confucius ; and this piece is still
sought for as a model of the perplexed and nonsensical
style of writing (style amphigourique). (a.)
Mirabeau, Honore-Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de,
famous for the influence, or rather ascendency, which he
exercised over the French Revolution, was son of the pre¬
ceding, and was born at Bignon, near Nemours, on the 9th
of March 1749. He was endowed by nature with a robust
constitution, a quick and vigorous understanding, a lively
imagination, passions more vehement than are almost ever
found in union with such intellectual powers, and a dispo¬
sition kindly and humane. His temperament led to the
early development both of his bodily and mental faculties ;
and there are few instances on record of children forming
such manly ideas as he appears to have entertained, even
during his infancy. The peculiar circumstances in which
he was placed, from his boyhood upwards, by the singular
opinions, strange prejudices, and unfeeling temper of his
father, exercised a powerful influence upon his whole con¬
duct, and must, in every material respect, have deeply af¬
fected his character. Yet we may appreciate his merits
and faults even through the artificial covering which was
thus thrown over his nature ; and although impetuosity of
feeling, and a corresponding disregard of the obstacles
which he should have respected instead of overleaping,
form a predominant feature of his mind and habits, we
cannot fairly charge him with those faults which go main¬
ly to form the vicious disposition.
His youth was confided to an able preceptor, the elder
Adootlf Litteraires, et Politiques de Mirabeau ; ecrits par Lui-meme, par son P&re, son Oncle, et son Fils
p r‘ l ans> 111 hve vols. 8vo. See also Edinburgh Review, vol. Ixii. p. 18G, et seq.
286
M I R A B E A U.
Mirabeau. Lachabeaussiere ; but this meritorious individual, being
' thwarted in his plan, could not turn to advantage the ardour
which devoured his pupil. The latter came out of his hands
with a slight knowledge of Latin and of the classics, and
was at length thrown into a military boarding-house, w here
he skimmed the surface of different languages, as web as
that of the elegant arts, and was initiated into the mathe¬
matics by the celebrated Lagrange. He appears to have
been early seized with the desire of writing; for whilst
his head was only filled with scattered and isolated notions,
he yielded to this impulse, and published an eloge ol the
great Conde, as well as some pieces in verse.
At the age of seventeen he entered the cavalry as a vo¬
lunteer ; and, disregarding the ridicule to which those offi¬
cers exposed themselves who sought to dignify the futile
indolence of a garrison life by some useful employment,
he read all the works he could procure on the military art.
These studious habits, even if they had not been prompt¬
ed by an insatiable desire of knowledge, would have been
rendered necessary by the parsimony of a selfish and
haughty father, who, discovering with pain in the heir of
his name, a spirit of independence, incapable of bending to
the paternal yoke, adopted a cruel system of checking his
prodigious activity by means of pecuniary embarrassments.
13ut the niggardly treatment to which his comfort and re¬
spectability were all his life sacrificed, and which his father
sought to reconcile with a family pride almost without pa¬
rallel, never made the son forget who and what he was,
by descending to any flagrant act of meanness or dishonour;
and whilst pressed by the w^ant of the common necessaries
of life, and tortured by the sight of those whom he most
loved suffering the same privations, his exertions to relieve
himself were always confined to the work of honest though
obscure industry ; nor has any one of his innumerable ene¬
mies, domestic, personal, or political, ever charged him
writh using, for the purpose of solicitation, that pen which
soon became his only resource against want.
About this time a love adventure in which the young
count engaged made a great noise ; and in virtue of a lettre
de cachet, solicited by his father,ffie was sent prisoner to
the Isle of Rhe. The Ami des Hommes even entertained
the notion of cutting off his son from society, by banishing
him to the Dutch-American colonies ; and it was only by
the most pressing representations that the philosophical
marquis was induced to abandon the humane project of
sending his son to perish under the tropical heats and
rains of Surinam. At length the count obtained permis¬
sion to make the campaign of Corsica, and there served
with such distinction that paternal pride was for a moment
soothed ; but when, recompensed with a brevet as captain
of dragoons, he solicited his father to purchase him a regi¬
ment, he received this strange reply, “ That the Bayards
and the Duguesclins had not proceeded thus.” After the
submission of Corsica, the Count de Mirabeau took up his
pen to draw a picture of the oppression which Genoa had
exercised over that country. This work had, no doubt,
many imperfections ; yet, defective as it was, it bore the
impress of talent, and, although it displeased the Marquis
de Mirabeau, the states of Corsica thought it of sufficient
importance to deserve being printed. On his return to
France, he succeeded in ingratiating himself with the
Friend of Men, and, to please the philanthropist, consent¬
ed to bury himself for some time in the Limousin, where
he occupied himself with improving the lands, and settling
some litigations. But, growing weary of these obscure la¬
bours, he repaired to Paris in 1771, and perceived that his
short-lived favour was about to expire. It was then that he
said to the Marquis of Mirabeau, “ Mais, mon pere, quand
vous n’auriez que de I’amour-propre, messucces seraient en¬
core les votres.” His contempt for the empiricism of the
Economists, and the manifest opposition which he showed
to the despotism of such men as Maupeou andTerray,com- l iabea,
pleted his disfavour with the Ami des Hommes, who, not-'-v*
withstanding his aristocratic pride, had been always ac¬
customed to cringe to authority.
In the same year he went to Provence, ostensibly to look
after the family estates, but probably to domesticate himself
amongst the people of that country, and also to raise up
there enemies to the new parliament. In 1772, he mar¬
ried Marie-Emilie de Covet, only daughter of the Marquis
de Marignane, a young and rich heiress, but whose fortune
consisted almost wholly in substitutions and successions,
which could not be available until they opened in the or¬
dinary course of events. He received from his father-in-
law a pension of 3000 francs, and from his own father an
allowance of 6000, being about L.360 in all; but before
the lapse of two years he had squandered away the double
of all his disposable means, and involved himself in diffi¬
culties. Arrangements might easily have been made with
his creditors; but the stern patron of the Economists pre¬
ferred to lay his son under interdict, and confine him by order
of the king to Manosque, a small borough on his property.
It was in this seclusion that, warmed by the perusal ot
Tacitus and Rousseau, Mirabeau wrote in haste, under the
impulse of the moment, his Essai sur le Despotisme (pub¬
lished in Holland in 1776); a piece full of fire and rough
vigour, but, as a whole, perhaps the most incoherent of all
his productions. The old marquis, dreaming only of for¬
mulas, and slavish in his adulation of authority, could
scarcely be expected to relish the bold heresies of his son;
and, unhappily, the latter was soon guilty of another, and,
as it was deemed, still graver transgression.
Having broken his ban for the purpose of challenging some
genteel poltroon who had insulted one of his sisters, but who,
when called to account, refused to fight, a new proceeding
was in consequence directed against him, and his father suc¬
ceeded in having him detained in the castle of If, whence
he was transferred to Fort Joux, in the year 1776. But
here, as at the Isle of Rhe, he charmed and conquered
all who came near him. By the magic of his language and
manners he completely subjugated the governor, and in
consequence succeeded in having the adjacent town of
Pontarlier included within the limits of his prison. It was
during his stay there that he first saw Sophie de Ruffey,
a young and amiable girl of about eighteen, whom her pa¬
rents had married to a husband considerably above seventy,
the Marquis de Monnier, ex-president of the chamber of
accounts at Dole. Inflamed with the most violent love, he
soon succeeded in seducing a young and credulous wo¬
man ; and this affair immediately involved him in fresh
troubles. The family of the outraged husband, that of
Madame de Monnier, and his own, combined together,
although with opposite intentions, to call down upon his
head all the rigour of the law. At this time Malesherbes
wrote to him in these terms: “ I am quitting the ministry,
and the last counsel I can give you is to fly, and take fo¬
reign service.” Mirabeau acted on this advice, and Sophie
proceeded to rejoin him in Switzerland, whence they took I
refuge in Holland.
The conduct of Mirabeau in this affair, though it cannot
be defended, admits of some palliation ; and it would have
been well if the influence of disorderly passions had not
plunged him into other and still more culpable excesses.
A girl of eighteen married to a man of seventy-five, and
only nominally married to this keeper, alternately confid¬
ing and jealous, now tempting her by indulgence and care¬
lessness, now watching and restraining with tormenting
and suspicious rigour; these were the circumstances which
first awakened in Mirabeau’s bosom the most irresistible
of the passions, and which is only the more dangerous by
so often assuming the garb, and uniting itself with the re¬
ality, of virtuous propensities. The elopement which fol-
mirabeau.
lean, lowed, and which was caused by a dislike on both parts to
'—■''play the hypocrite, and live with the man whom they were
deceiving, proved altogether alien to the habits of French
society, and grievously outraged the feelings of those refined
profligates, who, reckoning vice itself nothing, held inde¬
corum to be the worst of all enormities ; who preferred the
semblance to the reality of virtue, and forgave one offence
if the more debasing crimes of falsehood and hypocrisy were
added to veil it from the public view. An outcry was ac¬
cordingly raised throughout all society in France, and even
re-echoed in Europe, against the unheard-of enormity. A
young woman had left her superannuated husband, whom
she had, by the customs of society, been compelled to take
as her tyrant and tormentor under that name ; and had left
him for one of an age near her own, who sacrificed himself
for her deliverance. They had rebelled against those rules
which regulated the vicious intercourse of nobles in France;
they had outraged all the habitual feelings of patrician na¬
ture, by refusing to lead a life of pretence, and treachery,
and secret indulgence; they had even brought into jeopardy
the long-established security of illicit intercourse, under¬
stood without being avowed; and the veil was thus about
to be torn away from all those endearing immoralities which
gave occupation and interest to high life, and broke the
monotony of an existence which demanded that it should
never be ruffled, except by voluntary excitements. Hence
all society, that is, all the upper and worthless portion of it,
united against the hapless pair. Mirabeau was regarded
as a monster; and the conduct of his father, who hunted
him over all Europe, and then immured him in a dungeon
during the best years of his life, was excused by all, and cen¬
sured by none; whilst nobody ever thought of visiting with
die slightest blame, none ever ventured “ to hint a doubt
or hesitate dislike” of that very father, who had turned
his wife, the mother of his children, out of doors, and had
installed an unprincipled strumpet in her room.1
He had no sooner fled than the parliament of Besan^on
charged him with abduction and robbery, condemned him
in contumacious absence, and caused him to be decapi¬
tated in effigy; a proceeding equally ridiculous in itself,
and illustrative of the manners and morals of the time.
Meanwhile, the count put himself in the pay of the Dutch
booksellers, and sought, by indefatigable labour, to pro¬
vide resources for himself and his companion. During
some eight months, he toiled hard, doing endless Gibeonite
work, but commonly earning his gold louis a day. The most
considerable task he had to perform was the translation of
Watsons History of Philip II., which he undertook along
with one Durival. At this time, having learned that his
father accused him' of having dishonoured his bed, Mirabeau
made cruel reprisals on his unrelenting parent, by disse¬
minating libels in which the marquis was accused of the
most shocking crimes and enormities. Finding his means
of subsistence inadequate, he contemplated emigrating to
America; but he was not allowed time to carry this pro¬
ject into effect. On the 14th of May 1777, he was seized
by Brugniere, an inspector of the French police, at Am¬
sterdam, in virtue of an order from the king, which had
been sanctioned by the Dutch government; and, along with
Sophie, then pregnant, he was carried to Paris, where he
was immured in the fortress of Vincennes, and his mistress
placed in a maison de surveillance.
In this prison Mirabeau underwent a detention of forty-
two months. At first he was allowed neither books nor
writing materials; and when at length this indulgence was
granted him., he was only permitted to correspond with Ma-
ame de Monnier, on the condition that his letters should
e seen by the governor, Lenoir (whose affections he had,
287
as usual, entirely gained), and afterwards returned to this Mirabeau.
Keeping. I ins correspondence lay forgotten in Lenoir’s'—v—''
desk until the year 1792, when it was taken away by Ma¬
nuel, the procureur of the commune, and by him given to
the world on a speculation of profiting by the sale. It
would have been well if these letters had never seen the
light, and been buried in the gulf of oblivion; and much
more does the same observation apply to some of the other
writings which were the works of his hours of confinement
m Vincennes, particularly to a Biblion Eroticon, and a
romance entitled Ma Conversion, both shameful and flagi¬
tious productions, the subsequent publication of which
leaves a deep stain on the memory of Mirabeau. Indeed
one of the darkest parts of his conduct relates, not so much
to Madame de Monnier, as to Sophie. When, under that
name, he dragged her before the public, and indulged a
loose and prurient fancy in catering to the worst appetites
of licentious minds, he became justly the object of aver¬
sion and disgust; he ranged himself with the base manu¬
facturers of obscene works, and even took precedence of
these in profligacy by making his own amours the theme
of his abandoned contemplations. 4 his is the very worst
passage in his history, because it is one which admits nei¬
ther defence nor palliation. It is nothing to the purpose
that these flagitious writings may have been afterwards
used fiom necessity. If that was the cause of giving such
shameful effusions publicity, it may well be said that the
offence of the composition, disgusting as it was, merits the
least grave portion of the blame. “ Mirabeau’s correspond¬
ence with Madame de Monnier, from his prison at Vin¬
cennes, says Dumont, “evinced more of sensuality than
sentiment. Many of his letters are so repugnant to mo¬
desty, that they degrade the person to whom they are ad¬
dressed ; for no man would presume to adopt so licentious
a style in writing to a woman for whom he had the least
esteem.”2 Yet, strange as it may seem, much of this ob¬
scenity was borrowed from the licentious novels and pe¬
riodicals of the day; and even the Mercure de France was
put in requisition, when it afforded any thing suited to the
purpose of the writer.
At length, after an imprisonment of three years and a
half, Mirabeau was restored to society and to active life;
with impaired strength indeed, but with uqdiminished ener¬
gy of mind. On his liberation, he had an interview with
Madame de Monnier, his Sophie, who had been supposed
faithless, and he accordingly charged her with the offence ;
but she defended her conduct, and recriminated upon her
lover, who, it may be presumed, could not so easily repel the
accusation. They parted in mutual displeasure, and the
estrangement was unhappily eternal. Of the voluntary
death which she afterwards sought, and which has been
repeatedly attributed to Mirabeau, every circumstance con¬
spires to show that he was entirely innocent. Another
accusation which, although often repeated, appears to be
equally groundless, is, that about this time he sought to
gain the favour of his father, by writing memoirs injurious
to his mother, who, amidst all the wrongs she suffered from
his family, had never been wanting in tenderness to him.
There is something so unnatural and revolting in such an
imputation, that, in the absence of all direct or sufficiegt
evidence, it cannot for a moment be entertained ; and, be¬
sides, with all his faults and his vices, which the malignity
of party has not failed to exaggerate to the utmost, there
was in his nature so large a fund of generosity and affec¬
tion, as to render such conduct upon his part in the highest
degree improbable.
There was one subject, howmver, which Mirabeau had
much at heart, namely, to obtain the reversal of the de-
1 Edinburgh Review, vol. Ixii. pp. 186, 197.
2 Dumont, Souvenirs de Mirabeau.
M I R A B E A U.
288
Mirabeau. cree which had condemned him to lose his head. With
this view he constituted himself a prisoner at Pontarlier,
in order to purge the sentence by contumacy, which had
been pronounced against him ; and there he produced in
his defence those memoirs or pleadings which terrified his
adversaries, who made vain attempts to obtain their sup¬
pression. In these productions it is easy to recognise the
talent of a great orator, and to discover indications of that
power which afterwards secured him an undisputed su¬
premacy in the States-general and in the National As¬
sembly. Of one of them, which he called his philippic,
Mirabeau himself observed, “ If this is not eloquence un¬
known to our barbarous age, I know not wherein consists
that rare and seducing gift of heaven.” His efforts were
crowned with complete success. He dictated the law for
Sophie as well as for himself; by a transaction between
M. de Monnier and him, all the proceedings were annulled;
and his adversary paid the expense.
Having effected this object, he proceeded to Provence,
there to attempt another still more important; which was, to
re-unite himself with his wife, and thus recover an income of
about L.250 a year. He neglected nothing which could con¬
tribute to his success ; mediations, prayers, affectionate en¬
treaties : the lady was moved by his earnestness; but, yield¬
ing to the wishes of her family, she refused to resume the
chains which had so deeply galled her. Mirabeau then ap¬
pealed to the tribunals, employed all his eloquence in urging
his claim, and drew a most flattering picture of his wfife,
wdiom he described as an angel of gentleness and goodness.
The answer to this consisted in narrating his youthful in¬
discretions, in opposing his past follies to his present protes¬
tations. This was ticklish and difficult ground ; he felt it
to be so, but attempted to show that he had acted gene¬
rously towards his wife, and produced a letter which ap¬
peared to contain proof of an infidelity which he had par¬
doned. This incident proved decisive, but in a way which
he had not foreseen. The judges were of opinion, with
D’Aguesseau, that a husband who had accused his wife of
infidelity could not cohabit with her ; and a decree of se¬
paration was accordingly pronounced. Mirabeau appealed
the cause to the great council, and demanded the annul¬
ling of the judgment, but without success; the court of
last resort being of the same opinion with the tribunal
before which the cause had in the first instance been
tried.
Mirabeau’s life, for the next five years, presents one con¬
tinued struggle with all kinds of difficulties and privations.
Being destitute of the means of subsistence, and suspected
by the authorities, he set out for London in 1784, accom¬
panied by a Dutch girl who had succeeded Sophie in his
affections; and there published, in French and English, his
Considerations sur V Ordre de Cincinnatus, which he had
commenced in Paris under the auspices of Franklin. He
translated Price’s Observations on the Importance of the
American Revolution, with Reflections and Notes, in which
he was assisted by Turgot; and, about the same time, he
published his Doutes sur la Liberte de VEscaut, in opposi¬
tion to the views of Joseph II., a production which was
speedily followed by his Lettre to the same sovereign upon
his prohibiting emigration. He attacked the caisse d'es~
compte, the bank of Saint-Charles, and the water-company
of’Paris ; and having been openly pointed out as the in¬
strument of Panchaud, Claviere, and other speculators, he
engaged in a furious controversy with Beaumarchais, who
had been employed to reply on behalf of the company,
and who treated him with a calm disdain, which was ren¬
dered still more offensive by ironical commendations. Mi¬
rabeau rejoined like a man whom contempt had rendered
frantic; and the violent attack which he made on Beau¬
marchais, though deformed by gross personalities, is per¬
haps the most eloquent of all his writings. It produced a
great effect at Paris, and contributed not a little to his ul-Min ^
terior success. His activity was, in fact, boundless. Hav-' *
ing become acquainted with a geographer, whose name
M. Dumont does not remember, he meditated writing an
universal geography ; and if any one had offered him the
elements of a Chinese grammar, he would no doubt have
attempted a treatise on the Chinese language. He stu¬
died a subject whilst he was writing upon it, and he only
required an assistant to furnish him with matter. “ He
could contrive,” says Dumont, “ to get notes and addi¬
tions from twenty different hands ; and had he been of¬
fered a good price, I am confident he would have under¬
taken to w'rite even an encyclopaedia.” He had the art of
finding out men of talent, and of successfully flattering
those who could be of use to him. He worked upon them
with insinuations of friendship and ideas of public benefit;
whilst his interesting and animating conversation was like
a hone which he employed to sharpen his tools. Nothing
was lost to him ; he was a sort of universal plagiarist, who
appropriated for his own benefit the fruits of the reading
and study of his friends. But he knew how to employ the
information thus acquired, so as to appear to have always
possessed it; and when he had begun a work, it was seen
to make a rapid and daily progress.
This state of things, however, could not last long. His
wants outrun his means; his father yielded him no effectual
assistance ; and he was obliged to seek other resources. In
these circumstances, he solicited employment fromCalonne,
who then directed the finances, and was by that minister
sent on a secret mission to Berlin. This employment was
given himfor the triple object of getting rid of a troublesome
suitor, of sounding by his means the dispositions of the
young prince who was about to ascend the throne ofPrus-
sia, and of inducing the latter to consent to advance a con¬
siderable loan to France. The equivocal character in which
Mirabeau appeared did not prevent him from evincing his
usual zeal and activity. Being honoured with a favourable
reception by the Duke of Brunswick, he also obtained the
suffrage of the Great Frederick himself, whose last moments
he witnessed. To the successor of that monarch, on the
very day of his accession, he transmitted a letter, in which
he ventured to give some advice, with which the young so¬
vereign did not appear to be offended, though he felt him¬
self under no obligation to follow it. Subsequently, being
desirous to open the eyes of Frederick-William respecting
the reveries of the Illuminati, Mirabeau composed a pamph¬
let, in which he unsparingly ridiculed Lavater and Count
Cagliostro. Nor, amidst these various occupations, did he
lose sight of the interests of France. His despatches, ad¬
dressed to M. de Calonne and to the Duke de Lauzun,
communicated ample diurnal details respecting the cabi¬
net of Berlin ; and being always famished for money, as
well as devoured by ambition, we find him in each despatch
demanding gratifications and advancement. Meanwhile,
a secret statistical table of Germany chanced to fall into
his hands. He at once perceived its importance, and ma¬
naged to get it translated by means of a valet who knew
only German, and a French secretary who understood no
language but his own. At the same time he acquired
ample literary materials, and was indebted to Major Mau-
villon for some invaluable documents, which, when classed
and arranged by himself, formed the elements of his book
on the Prussian monarchy (Monarchie Prussienne.) But
his activity was too great to escape notice, and Frederick-
William, not relishing the perspicacity and vigilance of so
close an observer, ordered him to quit the Prussian terri¬
tory, in which he had resided about eight months. He
returned to Paris, and soon became deeply involved in fresh
agitation and intrigue.
M. de Calonne was then placing his plans of administra¬
tion under the protection of the first notables, whom he had
M I R A B E A U.
abeau.just convoked. Mirabeau at once plunged into these discus-
v—"'sions, in the only way compatible with his precarious ex¬
istence, namely, by publishing a violent diatribe, entitled
Denonciation de VAgiotage, in which personalities were ac¬
cumulated without reserve against both Calonne and Necker.
The consequence was an order of the king, which con¬
demned the pamphleteer to imprisonment in the castle of
Saumur; but Mirabeau evaded the intended punishment,
and, having placed himself in safety, published the Suite
de la Denonciation ; and in his Lettres a, M. Lacretelle, as
well as in his Correspondance avec Cerutti, he scrupled not
to assail the reputation of Necker, which was then at its
height. These productions appear to have made a consi¬
derable impression. In fact, Mirabeau gained much cele¬
brity by his polemical writings. At a time when political
subjects had not yet entered into the circulation of com¬
mon ideas, when the art of pamphleteering was scarcely
cultivated, and only a small number of writers ventured to
engage in this species of warfare, they were attractive no¬
velties ; and their effect was enhanced by his dogmatic
and tranchant manner of handling subjects which he had
scarcely studied, and especially by the haughty and ar¬
rogant tone which he assumed towards his adversaries.
But if he had aggrandized his reputation as a writer, his
personal character had sunk to the very lowest possible state
of degradation. His discreditable employment as a sort
of licensed spy at Berlin, his open connection with the
enemies of Necker, and his ingratitude to Calonne, made
him be regarded as a dangerous enemy and a slippery
friend ; whilst his lawsuits with his family, his elopements,
his imprisonments, and his morals, could not be overlooked,
even in a city so lax as Paris ; and hence his name was
pronounced with detestation, and his company shunned, qs
if he had carried about with him some deadly infection.
But common fame is almost always in excess either on the
one side or the other. He was by no means the abandoned
and demoralized monster he was at this time generally
thought to be ; on the contrary, there were high and re¬
deeming qualities in his nature, which afterwards displayed
themselves on a great theatre of action; and, amidst alfhis
excesses, he never lost his respect for virtue, nor his taste
for the society of those whose principles and habits formed
a perfect contrast to his own.
In 1788, his Monarchic Prussienne appeared at Paris, in
eight volumes 8vo, with an atlas in folio. This production
consisted of a work written for him by Major Mauvillon,
and of extracts from different memoirs procured at great
expense. No one can for a moment suppose that, during
a residence of only eight months at Berlin, Mirabeau could
himself have executed a work of such magnitude, in which
every possible information had been introduced respecting
t e geography, productions, manufactures, commerce, and
military condition of Prussia, as well as concerning the re-
igion, education, legislation, and administrative system of
that country. But he had the merit of employing the ta¬
lents of an officer who was scarcely known to the govern¬
ment he served; and the Prussian ministers must have
een much surprised at finding that a man who had resid-
e so short a time in the country' could singly undertake
so arduous .a task, and succeed in supplying them with
more materials than could be found in the united offices
o their several departments. “ The work,” says Dumont,
Js an illustration, by facts, of Adam Smith’s principles of
po itical economy ; and it clearly proves that Prussia has
a ways been a sufferer whenever she has departed from
these principles.”
His next publication was one of a much less creditable
c aracter. 1 he Histoire Secrete du Cabinet de Berlin is an
m iscreet revelation of the diplomatic manoeuvres of Mi¬
rabeau, written in a spirit of bitter criticism, with all the
icentious freedom of a libel; and it excited general indig-
vol. xv. °
289
nation against the author, who had unscrupulously violated Mirabeau.
the secrets of hospitality, and the confidence of his friends,s v 
as well as that of the government, in order to supply pabu-
um to public malignity. In this disgraceful production,
the Emperor Joseph II., the king of Prussia, and particu-
larly Prince Henry, who was then at Paris, were all equally
ill treated. Louis XVI. conceived that some satisfaction
was due to the diplomatic corps, who had been so grossly
assailed, and accordingly the libel was adjudged by the
parliament to be burned by the hands of the common hang¬
man. The worst passage of Mirabeau’s life is the publica¬
tion of the Letters to Sophie; but that of the Berlin Cor¬
respondence is equally without justification, although on
different grounds. In extenuation of this proceeding, it has
been observed, that the whole object of his existence de¬
pended upon the supplies which it furnished ; that without
it his election in Provence wmuld have been hopeless. But
this is a sorry topic, even of palliation.
Great events were now near at hand. On the 27th of
December 1788, the long-expected royal proclamation ap¬
peared, definitively convoking the States-general for May
1789. Need we ask whether Mirabeau now bestirred him-
self; whether or not he was off to Provence, to the assem¬
bly of the noblesse, with all his faculties screwed to the
stickmg-place ? A prospect had at length opened to him
of rising superior to the humiliation of his youth, and the
contempt attached to the precarious and degraded life he
had led ; he seems to have had a presentiment of the part
which he was soon destined to perform in a mighty revolu¬
tion, now about to commence ; and he lost no time in taking
means to bring about the accomplishment of his destiny!
In the list of the popular candidates his name was accord¬
ingly proclaimed, in all parts of Provence, beside that of
Raynal; and he laboured with unwearied activity in sti¬
mulating public feeling, proclaiming the necessity of poli¬
tical regeneration, denouncing abuses, exposing tyranny and
misgovernment, agitating and contending by day, writing
pamphlets and paragraphs by night, and, in short, strain-
mg every nerve to attain the first and grand object of his
ambition. Nevertheless, when he presented himself in the
assembly of the noblesse to vote with his peers, the latter
excluded him, upon the pretence that the possessors of
fiefs alone had the right of sitting amongst them. Against
this fatal decision, which confirmed the alienation of the
most dangerous enemy which the ignorance and insolence
of a privileged order raised up for their own overthrow,
Mirabeau protested in eloquent and energetic terms, ex¬
posing the folly of his order, and prognosticating the
doom which it was now preparing for itself. We can
only afford room for two paragraphs of this celebrated
remonstrance.
“ What have I done that was so criminal ?” he exclaim¬
ed. “ I have wished that my order were wise enough to
give to-day what will infallibly be wrested from it to-mor-
that it should receive the merit and glory of sanc¬
tioning the assemblage of the three orders, which all
Provence loudly demands. This is the crime of your
‘ enemy of peace.’ Or rather, I have ventured to believe
that the people might be in the right. Ah, doubtless, a
patrician soiled with such a thought deserves vengeance.
But I am still guiltier than you think; for it is my belief
that the people which complains is always in the right;
that its indefatigable patience invariably waits the utter¬
most excesses of oppression, before it can determine on
resisting; that it never resists long enough to obtain com¬
plete redress, and does not sufficiently know, that to strike
its enemies into terror and submission, it has only to stand
still; that the most innocent as the most invincible of all
powers is the power of refusing to act. I believe after this
manner; punish the enemy of peace.”
“ In all countries, in all times, aristocrats have implaca-
2 o
290
M I R A B £ A U.
Mirabeau-biy persecuted the people’s friends; and if, by some sin-
"v ' gular combination of fortune, there chanced to arise such
an one in their own circle, it was he above all whom they
struck at, eager to inspire wider terror by the elevation of
their victim. Thus perished the last of the Gracchi by
the hands of the patricians; but, being struck with the
mortal stab, he flung dust towards heaven, and called on
the avenging deities; and from this dust sprang Marius,
—Marius, not so illustrious for exterminating the Cim-
bri as for overturning in Rome the tyranny of the no¬
blesse.”
It is admitted by his enemies, that during his sojourn
in Provence, Mirabeau gave proofs of equal ability and
moderation. Surrounded by seditious movements, he re¬
peatedly acted as mediator between the insurrection and
the authorities, who would probably not have been sorry
to find an occasion or pretext for proceeding against him.
He restrained the violence of the multitude, by whom he
was borne along in triumph ; and being recommended to
the suffrages of the electors of the liers-etat, he was pro¬
claimed deputy both at Aix and at Marseilles. He made
choice of the former, and immediately set out for Paris,
to endeavour to arrange certain prosecutions which he had
drawn upon himself by the publication of his despatches
from Berlin. On the 4)th of May 1789, Madame de Stael,
looking from a window in the principal street of Versailles,
as the deputies walked in procession from the church of
Notre Dame to that of Saint Louis to hear high mass and
be there constituted States-general, saw and above all dis¬
tinguished the Count de Mirabeau amongst those nobles
who had been deputed to the third estate. “ The opinion
men had of his genius,” says the celebrated daughter of
Necker, “ was singularly augmented by the fear enter¬
tained of his immorality; and yet it was this very immo¬
rality which straitened the influence his astonishing facul¬
ties were to secure him. You could not but look long at
this man, when once you had noticed him. His immense
black head of hair distinguished him amongst them all;
you would have said his force depended on it, like that of
Samson. His face borrowed new expression from its very
ugliness ; his whole person gave you the idea of an irregu¬
lar power, but a power such as you would figure in a tri¬
bune of the people.” This description of his personal ap¬
pearance seems to be as just as it is striking. In regard
to character, he was so fully aware that if he had enjoyed
personal consideration all France would have been at his
feet, that there were moments when he would have con¬
sented to pass seven times through the heated furnace to
purify the name of Mirabeau.
Mirabeau’s history during the remaining twenty-three
months of his life falls not to be written here; yet it is
an astonishing passage, into which, short as it proved, are
crowded the history of the Revolution in its first develop¬
ment, and that of the sudden and undisputed ascendency
which he gained over the National Assembly, the Revo¬
lution itself, and indeed all France. When he appeared
in the hall of the States-general, and his name was first
read out, a disapproving murmur arose from the assembly,
followed by hooting, instead of the applause with which
some other well-known names had been greeted. Insult
and contempt showed how low he stood in the estimation of
his colleagues. He perceived and felt the disrespect into
which he had fallen ; yet by his lofty and undaunted bear¬
ing he evinced his inherent sense of superiority, and
scowled defiance at the murmurers. He was indeed the
member of members ; the most notable single element in
that remarkable assembly; the man who, after a little
time, was to become a power in the Revolution, to brave
the court, to overawe the factions, and to exercise an un¬
disputed supremacy. In one of those moments which are
cardinal, and decisive for centuries, he visibly saved, by
his own force and energy, the existence of the Constituent Mira:
Assembly. On the 23d of June, the royal proclamation's—
was promulgated, ordaining the assembly to dissolve, and
to meet again on the morrow as the separate third estate.
A military force was at hand ; the king’s orders were ex¬
press ; and the Bastille, or even the scaffold itself, might
be the penalty of disobedience. Yet Mirabeau disobeyed.
When all around him were dismayed and panic-stricken,
he raised his commanding voice to restore their faltering
courage, and to re-animate that assembly which had but
lately murmured at the very sound of his name. De Brgze
entered with the king’s renewed order to separate. “ Gen¬
tlemen,” said he, “ you have heard the king’s commands.”
“ Yes, sir,” replied Mirabeau, “ we have heard what the
king has been advised to say ; and you, who cannot be the
interpreter of his meaning to the States-general, you who
have neither vote, nor seat, nor right of speech here, you
are not the man to remind us of it. Go, sir, tell those
who sent you that we are here by the will of the nation,
and that nothing but the force of bayonets shall drive us
hence.” This was not a mere bravado. It was giving
form and expression to feebler but similar sentiments; it
was imparting energy to less concentrated and less re¬
solute wills. Mirabeau possessed in a high degree the
courage produced by excitement; and he was endowed
with wonderful presence of mind. Hence he went through
the Revolution like a force, commanding and overrul¬
ing all. Whilst innumerable theorists and pedants were
manufacturing their paper constitution, which “ proved
but the almanac of a single year,” he looked not at spe¬
culations about social contracts, but at men and things;
discerning what was to be done, and straightway proceed¬
ing to do it. Fie alone was capable of saving the monarchy
on the one hand, and of repelling anarchy on the other.
He fascinated, overawed, and subjugated every one. When
the court found it necessary to treat with him, even Marie
Antoinette was charmed with the tribune of the people,
whom she had had so much cause to dread and to hate. In
a word, he was the man of the Revolution, the king of that
mighty popular movement, whilst he lived; and only with
life would he in all probability have lost that command of
it, which, by his power, his address, and his presence of
mind, he had gained. But, unhappily, his allotted months
were fast running out. Never w^ere such wonders, such
prodigies, crowded into so short a space of time; but
the waste of energy rapidly impaired even his iron frame ;
and his last hour, a sorrowful one for France, was nigh at
hand.
His health was now rapidly declining. 11 If I believed in
slow poisons,” said he to Dumont, “ I should think myselt
poisoned. I feel that I am dying by inches, that I am
consuming in a slow fire.” Dumont observed to him that
his mode of life would long ago have destroyed any man
less robust than he. Not an instant of rest from seven in
the morning until ten or eleven at night; continual con¬
versations, agitations of mind, and excitement of every
passion; too high living, in food only, for he was tem¬
perate in liquor. “ You must be a salamander,” said Du¬
mont, “ to live in the fire which is consuming you.” The
irritation of his system, at this time, produced ophthalmia,
and, whilst he was president of the assembly, he some¬
times found it necessary to apply leeches to his eyes, m
the interval during the adjournment of the sitting from
the morning to the evening; and he attended the assembly
with his neck covered with linen, in order to staunch the
blood. His parting wrords to Dumont were memorable.
“ I shall die at the stake,” said he, “ and we shall never
perhaps meet again. When I am gone, my value will be
appreciated. Misfortunes to which I have put a stop were
overwhelming France in every direction; but that base
faction whom 1 now overawe will again be let loose upon
M I R A B E A U.
abeau. the country. I have none but direful anticipations. Ah,
v—/ray friend, how right were we when, in the beginning, we
tried to prevent the commons from being declared a Na¬
tional Assembly. This is the origin of the evil. Since
they have gained that point, they have not ceased to show
that they are unworthy of confidence. They wanted to
govern the king, instead of being governed by him ; but
neither they nor he will govern ; a vile faction will rule
the country, and debase it by the most atrocious crimes”
In the same prophetic spirit, and with the same instinc¬
tive penetration, he observed to Talleyrand, “I take with me
the last shreds of the monarchy.” The severity of his judg¬
ments was, at the time, attributed to hatred or jealousy ;
but it has been fully confirmed by succeeding events; nor
was there a man of any consequence in the assembly, the
sum of whose conduct did not correspond with the opinion
which Mirabeau had formed of him. His last illness,
which was acute enteritis, brought on by excesses, lasted
only four or five days, during which he suffered the most
excruciating agony; yet, in the intervals of pain, when
the dreadfully violent fits were over, he would resume his
serenity, his mildness, and his amiable attentions to those
around him. He perceived that he was an object of ge¬
neral interest, and he never for a moment ceased to speak
and to act as if he were a great and noble personage per¬
forming his part. In the extreme agony of convulsions, and
covered with a chilly perspiration, there were moments
when it required more than the force of a philosopher to
support life; yet he preserved to the last his spirit un¬
broken, and, to use the happy expression of Talleyrand,
dramatised his death. This extraordinary man expired
in the arms of his friends, on the morning of the 2d of
April 1791. No religious aspirations arose to hallow or
console his last moments; he died professing the most de¬
cided materialism, the blank and cheerless creed of the
time.
Mirabeau had a degree of confidence in his own powers,
which supported him in difficulties under which another
would have sunk. His imagination loved whatever was
great, and his mind possessed extraordinary powers of dis¬
crimination. He had natural good taste, which he had culti¬
vated by reading the best authors of several nations. With¬
out any depth of information, he made good use of the little
he possessed; but, whether from some natural defect of
judgment, or from the influence of feeling and passion, he
often proved an unsafe guide in speculation, and still more
frequently in action. What he possessed beyond other men
was an eloquent and impassioned soul, which, the instant
it was excited, animated every feature of his countenance;
and nothing was more easy than to bring on the requisite
degree of excitement. He had been accustomed, from his
youth, to consider the two great questions of politics and
government; but he was not qualified to enter deeply into
them. The work of discussion, examination, and doubt,
was beyond his reach ; he had too much warmth and effer¬
vescence of mind for didactic method or laborious appli¬
cation. His mind proceeded by starts and leaps, but his
conceptions were bold and vigorous. He abounded in for¬
cible expressions, of which he made a particular study; and
he was peculiarly qualified to shine in a popular assembly,
at a stormy period, when force and audacity were the ne¬
cessary passports to success.
Of his genius, the best monuments which remain are
his speeches, and these were not always, indeed seldom,
ms own composition. Dumont, Duroverai, Claviere, Rey-
az, and other men of distinguished ability, did more than
assist him. But some of the finest are known to have
een his own ; arid the greatest passages, those which pro¬
duced the most magical effects, were the inspiration of
t ie moment. Indeed he never appeared greater than when
called to preside over the assembly, and of course thrown
291
entirely upon his own resources. Envy had contributed Mirabeau.
to his elevation; his enemies had hoped that, in the pre¬
sident s chair, a portion of his natural fire would be quench¬
ed, and that his influence would suffer a corresponding
dimmutmn. But they found themselves wofully disappoint¬
ed in their calculation. Never had this office been so well
filled, and he displayed in it a new kind of talent. He intro¬
duced order and clearness into the proceedings ; he simpli¬
fied the forms, which were but ill understood; he explained
a question 01 put down a tumult by a single word; he dis¬
tinguished himself by the precision of his observations,
and his answers to the several deputations at the bar, which
were always remarkable for dignity and elegance; and by
his activity, impartiality, and presence of mind, he in¬
creased his reputation, and added splendour to his talents
in an office which had proved a quicksand to many of his
predecessors. “ His enemies, and those jealous of his elo¬
quence,” says Dumont, “ who had voted for him, in order
thereby to cast him into the shade and reduce him to si¬
lence, were bitterly disappointed when they saw him add
another wreath to the chaplet of his glory.”
At the same time, it must be confessed that no incon¬
siderable portion of his reputation, both as an orator and a
writer, was usurped and fictitious. He felt himself abso¬
lutely incapable of writing upon any subject, except he
was guided and supported by the work of another. His
style, naturally strained, degenerated into turgescence, and
he was soon disgusted with the emptiness and the incohe¬
rence of his own ideas. But when he had materials to
work upon, he could prune and connect them, impart to
them a greater degree of life and force, and impress upon
the whole the stamp of true eloquence. In fact, he gave
splendour to whatever he touched, by introducing here and
there luminous thoughts, original expressions, and passages
full of fire and eloquence. But the most remarkable fa¬
culty he possessed was that of discovering obscure talents ;
applying to each the degree of encouragement necessary
to its peculiar character; and animating those who posses¬
sed them with his own zeal, so as to make them eagerly
co-operate in a work of which he was to reap all the cre¬
dit. This was the great secret of his success. “ When I
worked for Mirabeau,” said Dumont, “ I seemed to feel the
pleasure of an obscure individual who had changed his
children at nurse, and introduced them into a great family.
He would be obliged to respect them, although he was not
their father.” Indeed Mirabeau attached himself so strong¬
ly to his adopted children, that he felt for them the affec¬
tion of a parent; and, even in his last illness, he gave to
M. de Talleyrand a speech upon wills, which had been
written for him by Reybaz, saying, “ There ! these are the
last thoughts the world shall have of mine; I deposit this
manuscript with you; read it when I am no more; it is
my legacy to the assembly.” Such was the Count de Mira¬
beau. On his very deathbed he preserved his thirst for
artificial fame, when he had acquired so much personal
glory that his reputation required not to be decked out
with the laurels of others. He had an insatiable appetite
for appropriating the labours of others.
As a political orator Mirabeau was in some respects su¬
perior to all other men. He had a rapid intuition, a quick
and sure perception of the feelings of the assembly, and
well knew how to apply his entire strength to the point of
resistance, without exhausting his means. No orator ever
did so much with a single word or phrase, nor hit the mark
with so sure an aim; none but Mirabeau ever forced the
general opinion by a happy insinuation, or by a strong ex¬
pression. In the tribune he was immoveable; no agita¬
tion in the assembly had the least effect on him ; and he
retained the command of his temper, even under the se¬
verest personal attacks. But one thing was wanting to
make him a perfect political orator, namely, the power of
M 1 R A B E A U.
292
Mirabeau. discussion. His mind could not embrace a chain of rea-
''■“’“V’^soning or evidence, nor could he refute methodically; and
hence, after a brilliant exordium, he had often no alterna¬
tive but to abandon the field to his adversaries. He was
powerless in reply, because he had not taken the pains to
anticipate objections and discuss details. Satisfied with
a happy turn of expression, or a striking thought, he never
gave himself the trouble of studying a subject sufficiently
to be able to discuss it, and maintain the opinion he had
advanced. He seized every thing with marvellous faci¬
lity, but developed nothing. He wanted the practice of
refutation; this great art, so indispensable to a political
orator, was altogether unknown to him. The triumph of
Mr Fox consisted in the possession of that talent which
Mirabeau wanted; in reply he was irresistible. He recapi¬
tulated all the arguments of the adverse party, put them
in a new light, and gave them more force ; yet having
thus placed himself in the most difficult situation imagi¬
nable, he never appeared stronger than when he seemed
about to be overthrown. The only speakers in the Na¬
tional Assembly who possessed any share of this faculty
were Maury, Clermont-Tonnere, Barnave, and Thouret.
Mirabeau’s voice was full, manly, and sonorous ; and being
always powerful yet flexible, it could be heard as distinct¬
ly when he lowered as when he raised it. His ordinary
manner of speaking was slow; and, in his impassioned mo¬
ments, the feeling which made him dwell upon certain
words to give them emphasis prevented him from ever
speaking rapidly. Amongst his personal advantages he
counted his robust frame, his size, and his strongly-marked
features seared with the small-pox. His ugliness was so
great as almost to become proverbial; but his natural va¬
nity, almost as exaggerated as his deformity, even drew
from its excess materials of self-gratification. “ Personne,
disait-il, ne connait la puissance de ma laideur.” The power
of his eye, however, was undeniable ; and the spirit and ex¬
pression which his mind threw into his countenance made
it any thing rather than uninteresting or disgusting.1
After what has been said, it is scarcely necessary to dwell
on his personal character. Though not himself a moral
man, he had a decided taste for the society of those whose
rigidity of principle and severity of morals contrasted with
the laxity of his own ; and, even in the midst of his exces¬
ses, he had preserved a certain dignity and elevation of
mind, combined with an energy of character, which distin¬
guished him from the effeminate and exhausted rakes that
swarmed in Paris. Slave as he too generally proved him¬
self to the love of indulgence, his courage was above all
suspicion; and even his share of a virtue far more rare,
fortitude under calamity, surpassed that of most other
men. All the hardships he had undergone, all the tor¬
ments he had suffered from so many forms of ingenious
persecution, never for a moment infused any bitterness
into his disposition, which was originally kind and benevo¬
lent. “ I never knew a man,” says Dumont, “ more jealous
of the esteem of those whom he himself esteemed, or one
who.could be acted upon more easily, if excited by the
sentiment of high honour.” But, unfortunately, there was
nothing uniform and permanent in his character. He was
the creature of impulse, and obeyed too many impetuous
masters. When burning with pride or jealousy, his pas¬
sions were terrible; he was no longer master of himself,
and committed the most dangerous acts of imprudence.
In connecting himself with the court, during the last six
months of his life, Mirabeau had no other object than to
gratify his habits of expensive indulgence, and to become
prime minister. He was not a traitor to the popular cause, Mir ,au
because he was too able a tactician to commit so great a po-
litical error; but it is nevertheless impossible not to agree
with Dumont in reprobating the sudden turn which he
took, when policy required a suspension of hostilities, and
the quick transition from menaced and even boastful de¬
struction, to absolute neutrality. If not sold to the court,
he was at least paid by it; and although it might be true
that his object was, if possible, to save the monarchy, yet
the mode in which he proposed to accomplish this object
was neither creditable in itself, nor likely to be attended
with success ; whilst the “ enormous price” paid for his ex¬
pected services fixes the indelible stain of venality on his
memory. Still his death was a great calamity to France.
Whilst Mirabeau lived, Robespierre and his satellites durst
no more have ventured to show themselves, than bats to fly
about in the sunshine of noonday. Fie was as omnipotent
in the Jacobin Club as in the Constituent Assembly.
Some anecdotes of this extraordinary man may not be
altogether out of place here. He was fond of nicknames,
and often peculiarly happy in bestowing them. He called
the king of Prussia Alaric-Cottin ; he designated Sieyes by
the name of Mahommed; he called D’Espremenil, a conspi¬
rator in a small way, Crispin- Cotaline; he baptized the rigid
Camus by the appellation of the Drapeau Rouge, because
he had a fiery countenance, with a blood-coloured nose;
and he painted Lafayette by the sobriquet of Grandison-
Cromwell. Of Necker, to whom he was invariably unjust,
he observed, “ He is like a clock which always goes too
slowlyand again, “ Malebranche saw every thing in
God,” said he, “ but Necker sees every thing in Necker.”
Of the National Assembly he remarked, “ It has Hannibals
enow, it only wants a Fabius.” Speaking of the illusions
which, having once governed men, were for ever destroy¬
ed, he said, “ We have long been looking through a magic
lantern, but the glass is now broken.” “ When a pond is
full,” said he, “ a single mole, by piercing the bank, may
cause an inundation.” Dining one day with the Count de
Montmorrin, he was asked by the latter what he thought
of his brother, who, being a fat and heavy man, was call¬
ed by the people Mirabeau- Tonneau, or Barrel-Mirabeau.
“ He would be a man of wit and a scapegrace in any fa¬
mily but ours,” replied Mirabeau. The viscount, how¬
ever, was also an epigrammatist in his own way. Being re¬
proached by his friends with having, one evening, attended
the assembly almost in a state of inebriation, Barrel-Mira¬
beau replied, “ My brother has left me only that vice.”
Mirabeau had very wisely determined to decline every duel
during the sittings of the National Assembly ; and hence
doubts have been entertained of his personal courage,
although without the shadow of a foundation. “ They can
procure as many bullies as they like,” said he, “ and thus,
by duels, get rid of every one who opposes them. For if
a man killed ten of these fellows, he might fall by the ele¬
venth.” All his ambition was centred in the idea of be¬
coming prime minister of France, because he thought, and
not without reason, that he could eclipse every minister
who had preceded him. He felt himself powerful enough
to attract within the sphere of his patronage every man of
distinguished abilities, and he conceived he would be able
to form a constellation of talents, the brightness of which
would dazzle Europe.
Besides the works to which particular reference has al¬
ready been made in the course of this article, Mirabeau was
the author of the following, viz. 1. Sur Moses Mendelsohn
et la Reforme Politique des Juifs, London, 1787, in 8vo; 2.
r e arch reply of lalleyrand is well known. Mirabeau was dilating on the qualities required in him who should aspire to govern
rance U1R er a iree constitution : “ 11 taut qu’il soit eloquent, fougueux, noble,” and so on he went, enumerating qualities notoriously
esman added, Et qu’il soit trace' de la petite verole, n’est-ce pas ?” ’
— x c* v/v/notitunuxi ; -Li laut qu ll I
possessed by himself 5 when the witty statesman
I R
■abello Lettre sur Cagliostro et Lavater, Berlin, 1786 ; 3. Obser-
j II vations sur Bicetre, Paris, 1788; 4. Lettre a, Guibert sur
”^son Eloge de Frederic, et son Essai de Tactique, ibid.
1788 ; 5. De I’Usure ; 6. Aux Bataves sur le Stathoude-
rat, 1788; 7. Conseils a un jeune Prince qui veut refaire
son Education, 1788; 8. Theorie de la Royaute, d’apres
Milton, Paris, 1791 ; 9. Lettres a un de ses Amis en Al-
lemagne (Mauvillon), ecrites de 1786 a 1790, Brunswick,
1792; 10. Lettres a Champfort, Paris, 1797 ; 11. Elegies
de Tibulle, et Baisers de Jean Second, Tours, 1796, in
three vols.; 12. Lettres Inedites de Mirabeau, Paris, 1806.
(Dumont, Souvenirs de Mirabeau; Memoires Biogra-
phiques, Litteraires, et Politiques de Mirabeau, Paris, 1834-
1836; Biographic Universelle, art. Mirabeau; Edin¬
burgh Review, vol. Ix$ ; Chaussard, Esprit de Mirabeau,
Paris, 1797 and 1804).
MIRABELLO, one of the circles into which the Turk¬
ish island of Candia is divided. It is a fruitful district in
the north-east part of the island, and yields a surplus of
corn, oil, and fruits. The chief place, of the same name,
is situated on the Bay of Spinalonga, where there is a good
anchorage. It is the see of a bishop, and contains 1500
inhabitants. Long. 25. 5. E. Lat. 35. 15. N.
MIRACLE, in its original sense, is a word of the same
import with wonder; but in its usual and more appropriate
signification it denotes “ an effect contrary to the esta¬
blished constitution and course of things, or a sensible de¬
viation from the known laws of nature.”
That the visible world is governed by stated general
rules, or that there is an order of causes and effects esta¬
blished in every part of the system of nature which falls
under our observation, is a fact which cannot be contro¬
verted. If the Supreme Being, as some have supposed, be
the only real agent in the universe, we have the evidence
of expei ience, that, in the particular system to which we
belong, he acts by stated rules. If he employs inferior
agents to conduct the various motions from which the phe¬
nomena result, we have the same evidence that he- has
subjected those agents to certain fixed laws, commonly
called the laws of nature. Upon either hypothesis, effects
which are produced by the regular operation of these laws,
or which are conformable to the established course of
events, are properly called natural; and every contradic¬
tion to this constitution of the natural system, and the cor¬
responding course of events in it, is called a miracle.
If this definition of a miracle be just, no event can be
deemed miraculous merely because it is strange, or even
to us unaccountable; since it may be nothing more than
a regular effect of some unknown law of nature. In this
country earthquakes are rare; and for monstrous births
perhaps no particular and satisfactory account can be
given ; yet an earthquake is as regular an effect of the es¬
tablished laws of nature as any of those with which we are
most intimately acquainted ; and, under circumstances in
which there would always be the same kind of production,
the monster is nature’s genuine issue. It is therefore ne¬
cessary, before we can pronounce any effect to be a true
miracle, that the circumstances under which it is produced
e known, and that the common course of nature be in
some degree understood; for in all those cases in which
we are totally ignorant of nature, it is impossible to deter¬
mine what is, or what is not, a deviation from its course,
iracles, therefore, are not, as some have represented
lem, appeals to our ignorance. They suppose some an-
ecedent knowledge of the course of nature, without which
tii ProPer.judSment ^nnot be formed concerning them,
lough with it their reality may be so apparent as to pre¬
vent all possibility of a dispute.
Tims, were a physician to cure a blind man of a cata-
rac by anointing his eyes with a chemical preparation
'mch we had never before seen, and to the nature and ef-
M I R
293
fects of which we were absolute strangers, the cure would Miracle,
undoubtedly be wonderful; but we could not pronounce s-——
it miraculous, because, for any thing known to us, it might
be the natural effect of the operation of the unguent upon
tiie eye. But were he to recover his patient merely by com¬
manding him to see, or by anointing his eyes with spittle,
we s iould with the utmost confidence pronounce the cure
to be a miracle, because we know perfectly that neither
tiie human voice nor human spittle have, by the establish¬
ed constitution of things, any such power over the diseases
, e/e\ No one is now ignorant, that persons appa¬
rently dead are often restored to their families and friends
by being treated in the manner recommended by the Hu¬
mane Society. To the vulgar, and sometimes even to men
of science, these effects appear very wonderful; but as
they are known to be produced by physical agency, thev
can never be considered as miraculous deviations from the
law* of nature. On the other hand, no one could doubt
of his having witnessed a real miracle who had seen a per¬
son that had been four days dead come alive out of his
grave at the call of another, or who had even beheld a
person exhibiting all the symptoms of death instantly re¬
suscitated merely by being desired to live. So easy is it,
in all cases in which the course of nature is understood,
to determine whether any particular event be really a mi¬
racle ; whilst in circumstances where we know nothing of
nature and its course, even a true miracle, were it perform¬
ed, could not be admitted as such, nor carry any conviction
to the mind of a philosopher.
If miracles be effects contrary to the established consti¬
tution of things, we are certain that they will never be
performed on trivial occasions. The constitution of things
was established by the creator and governor of the uni¬
verse, and is undoubtedly the offspring of infinite wisdom
pursuing a plan for the best of purposes. From this plan
no deviation can be made but by God himself, or by some
powerful being acting with his permission. The plans de¬
vised by wisdom are steady in proportion to their perfec¬
tion, and the plans of infinite wisdom must be absolutely
perfect. From this consideration some men have ventur¬
ed to conclude that no miracle was ever wrought, nor can
rationally be expected; but maturer reflection must soon
satisfy us that all such conclusions are hasty.
Man is unquestionably the principal creature in this
world, and apparently the only one in it who is capable of
being made acquainted with the relation in which he
stands to his Creator. We cannot, therefore, doubt but
that such of the laws of nature as extend not their opera¬
tion beyond the limits of this earth were established chief-
ly, if not solely, for the good of mankind; and if, in any
particular circumstances, that good can be more effectually
promoted by an occasional deviation from those laws, such
a deviation may reasonably be expected. Were man, in
the exercise of his mental and corporeal powers, subjected
to the laws of physical necessity, the circumstances sup¬
posed would indeed never occur, and of course no miracle
could be admitted. But such is not the nature of man.
Without repeating what has been said elsewhere (see
Metaphysics, part iii. chap. 5) of necessity and liberty,
we shall here take it for granted that the relation between
motives and actions is different from that between cause
and effect in physics ; and that mankind have such a com¬
mand over themselves as that by their voluntary conduct
they can make themselves in a great degree either happy
or miserable. We know likewise from history, that, by
some means or other, almost all mankind were once sunk
in the grossest ignorance of the most important truths;
that they knew not the Being by wLom they were created
and supported; that they paid divine adoration to stocks,
stones, and the vilest reptiles ; and that they were slaves
to the most impious, cruel, and degrading superstitions.
294
MIRACLE.
Miracle.
From this depraved state it was surely not unworthy of
the common Father of all to rescue his helpless creatures,
to enlighten their understandings that they might perceive
what is right, and to present to them motives of sufficient
force to engage them in the practice of it. But the un¬
derstandings of ignorant barbarians cannot be enlightened
by arguments, because of the force of such arguments as
regard moral science they are not qualified to judge. The
philosophers of Athens and Rome inculcated, indeed, many
excellent moral precepts, and they sometimes ventured to
expose the absurdities of the reigning superstition; but
their lectures had no influence upon the multitude ; and
they had themselves imbibed such erroneous notions re¬
specting the attributes of the Supreme Being, and the na¬
ture of the human soul, and converted these notions into
first principles, of which they would not permit an exami¬
nation, that even amongst them a thorough reformation
was not to be expected from the powers of reasoning. It
is likewise to be observed, that there are many truths of
the utmost importance to mankind which unassisted rea¬
son could never have discovered. Amongst these we may
confidently reckon the immortality of the soul, the teims
upon which God will be reconciled to sinners, and the
manner in which that all-perfect Being may be acceptably
worshipped ; about all of which philosophers were in such
uncertainty, that, according to Plato, “ whatever is set
right, and as it should be, in the present evil state of the
world, can be so only by the particular interposition of
God.”
An immediate revelation from heaven seemed, therefore,
the only method by which infinite wisdom and perfect
goodness could reform a bewildered and vicious race. But
this revelation, at whatever time we suppose it given,
must have been made directly either to some chosen in¬
dividuals commissioned to instruct others, or to every man
and woman for whose benefit it was ultimately intended.
Were every person instructed in the knowledge of his
duty by immediate inspiration, and were the motives to
practise it brought home to his mind by God himself, hu¬
man nature would be wholly changed : Men would not be
masters of their own actions ; they would not be moral
agents, nor by consequence be capable either of reward or
of punishment. It remains, therefore, that if God has
been graciously pleased to enlighten and reform mankind,
without destroying.that moral nature which is essential to
virtue, he can have done it only by revealing his truth to
certain chosen instruments, who were the immediate in¬
structors of their contemporaries, and through them have
been the instructors of succeeding ages.
Let us suppose this to have been actually the case, and
consider how those inspired teachers could communicate
to others every truth which had been revealed to them¬
selves. They might easily, if it was part of their duty,
deliver a sublime system of natural and moral science, and
establish it upon the common basis of experiment and de¬
monstration ; but what foundation could they lay for those
truths which unassisted reason cannot discover, and which,
when they are revealed, appear to have no necessary re¬
lation to any thing previously known ? To a bare affirma¬
tion that they had been immediately received from God,
no rational being could be expected to assent. The teach¬
ers might be men of known veracity, whose simple asser¬
tion would be admitted as sufficient evidence for any fact
in conformity with the laws of nature; but as every man
has the evidence of his own consciousness and experience
that revelations from heaven are deviations from these
laws, an assertion so apparently extravagant would be re¬
jected as false, unless supported by some better proof than
the mere affirmation of the teacher. In this state of
things, we cannot conceive any evidence sufficient to make
such doctrines be received as the truths of God, except the
power of working miracles committed to him who taught
them. This would, indeed, be fully adequate to the pur- v
pose. For if there were nothing in the doctrines them¬
selves impious, immoral, or contrary to the truths already
known, the only thing which could render the teacher’s
assertion incredible, would be its implying such an inti¬
mate communion with God as is contrary to the establish¬
ed course of things, by which men are left to acquire all
their knowledge by the exercise of their own faculties.
Let us now suppose one of those inspired teachers to tell
his countrymen that he did not desire them, upon his ipse
dixit, to believe that he had any preternatural communion
with the Deity, but that for the truth of his assertion he
would give them the evidence of their own senses; and
after this declaration, let us suppose him immediately to
raise a person from the dead in their presence, merely by
calling upon him to come forth out of his grave. Would not
the only possible objection to the man’s veracity be re¬
moved by this miracle ? and would not his assertions that
he had received such and such doctrines from God be as
fully credited as if it had related to the most common oc¬
currence ? Undoubtedly it would; for when so much pre¬
ternatural power was visibly communicated to this person,
no one could possibly have reason to question his having
received an equal portion of preternatural knowledge. A
palpable deviation from the known laws of nature in one
instance, is a sensible proof that such a deviation is possible
in another; and in such a case as this, it is the witness of
God to the truth of a man.
Miracles, then, under which we also include prophecy, are
the only direct evidence which can be given of divine in¬
spiration. When a religion, or any religious truth, is to
be revealed from heaven, they appear to be absolutely
necessary to enforce its reception amongst men ; and this is
the only case in which we can suppose them necessary, or
believe for a moment that they ever have been or will be
performed.
The history of almost every religion abounds with re¬
lations of prodigies and wonders, and of the intercourse
of men with the gods ; but we know of no religious sys¬
tem, those of the Jews and the Christians excepted, which
appealed to miracles as the sole evidence of its truth and
divinity. The pretended miracles mentioned by Pagan
historians and poets are not said to have been publicly
wrought in order to enforce the truth of a new religion
contrary to the reigning idolatry. Many of them may be
clearly shown to have been mere natural events; others of
them are represented as having been performed in secret,
upon the most trivial occasions, and in obscure and fabulous
ages long prior to the era of the writers by whom they are
recorded; and such of them as at first view appear to be
best attested, are evidently tricks contrived for interested
purposes, to flatter power, or to promote the prevailing su¬
perstitions. For these reasons, as well as on account of
the immoral character of the divinities by whom they are
said to have been wrought, they are altogether unworthy
of examination, and carry in the very nature of them the
completest proofs of falsehood and imposture.
But the miracles recorded of Moses and of Christ bear
a very different character. None of them is represented
as wrought upon trivial occasions. The writers who men¬
tion them were eye-witnesses of the facts, which they af¬
firm to have been performed publicly, in attestation of the
truth of their respective systems. They are, indeed, so
incorporated with these systems, that the miracles cannot
be separated from the doctrines; and if the miracles were
not really performed, the doctrines cannot possibly be true.
Besides all this, they were wrought in support of revela¬
tions which opposed all the religious systems, superstitions,
and prejudices of the age in which they were given; a cir¬
cumstance which of itself sets them, in point of authority,
■ rac]f
"y-
miracle.
racle.
infinitely above the Pagan prodigies, as well as the pre-
/ tended miracles of the church of Rome.
It is indeed, we believe, universally admitted, that the
miracles mentioned in the book of Exodus and in the four
Gospels might, to those who saw them performed, be suf¬
ficient evidence of the divine inspiration of Moses and of
Christ; but to us it may be thought that they are no evi¬
dence whatever, as we must believe in the miracles them¬
selves, if we believe in them at all, upon the bare autho¬
rity of human testimony. Why, it has been sometimes
asked, are not miracles wrought in all ages and countries ?
If the religion of Christ was to be of perpetual duration,
every generation of men ought to have complete evidence
of its truth and divinity.
To the performance of miracles in every age and in
every country, perhaps the same objections would lie as to
the immediate inspiration of every individual. Were those
miracles universally received as such, men would be so
overwhelmed with the number rather than with the^rceof raele as the raising „f a house ora^sW^imoX^'
their authority, as hardly to remain masters of their mm .  . , T. IIUU air,
their authority, as hardly to remain masters of their own
conduct j and in that case the very end of all miracles
would be defeated by their frequency. The truth, how¬
ever, seems to be, that miracles so frequently repeated
would not be received as such, and of course would have
no authority; because it would be difficult, and in many
cases impossible, to distinguish them from natural events.
If they recurred regularly at certain intervals, we could
not prove them to be deviations from the known laws of
nature, because we should have the same experience for
the one series of events as we have for the other; for the
regular succession of preternatural effects, as for the esta¬
blished constitution and course of things.
Be this, however, as it may, we shall take the liberty to
affirm, that, for the reality of the Gospel miracles, we have
evidence as convincing to the reflecting mind, though not
so striking to vulgar apprehension, as those had who were
contemporary with Christ and his apostles, and actually
saw the mighty works which he performed. To the ad¬
mirers of Mr Hume’s philosophy this assertion will appear
an extravagant paradox; but we hope to demonstrate its
truths from principles which, consistently with himself,
that author could not have denied. He has indeed en¬
deavoured to prove,1 that “ no testimony is sufficient to
establish a miracle and the reasoning employed for this
purpose is, that “ a miracle being a violation of the laws
of nature which a firm and unalterable experience has es¬
tablished, the proof against a miracle, from the very na¬
ture of the fact, is as entire as any argument from expe¬
rience can be ; whereas our experience of human veracity,
which (according to him) is the sole foundation of the
evidence of testimony, is far from being uniform, and can
therefore never preponderate against that experience
w uch admits of no exception.” This boasted and plau¬
sible argument has been examined by Dr Campbell,2 who
justly observes, that so far is experience from being the sole
oundation of the evidence of testimony, that, on the con¬
trary, testimony is the sole foundation of by far the great¬
er part of what Mr Hume calls firm and unalterable ex¬
perience ; and that if in certain circumstances we did not
give an implicit faith to testimony, our knowledge of events
would be confined to those which had fallen under the im¬
mediate observation of our own senses.
kind which Mr Hume has acknowledged sufficient to es-
tabhsh even a miracle. “ No testimony,” says he, “ is'
su raemt to establish a miracle, unless the testimony be of
such a kind that its falsehood would be more miraculous
than the fact which it endeavours to establish. When
one tells me that he saw a dead man restored to life, I
immediate y consider with myself whether it be more pro-
bable that this person should either deceive or be deceived,
or that the fact which he relates should really have hap¬
pened. I weigh the one miracle against the other; and
according to the superiority which I discover, I pronounce
my decision, and always reject the greater miracle.” In
this passage every reader may remark, what did not escape
the perspicacious eye of Dr Campbell, a strange confusion
ot terms; but as all miracles are equally easy to the Al-
rnighty, and as Mr Hume has elsewhere observed, that
“ the raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so
little of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a mi-
295
Miracle.
j • iiau cApufceu inu supmsiry or
is opponents reasoning, and overturned the principles
rom which he reasons, we are persuaded that he might
a e y lave joined issue with him upon those very prin-
cip es. o us, at least, it appears that the testimony upon
uc i we leceive the Gospel miracles is precisely of that
candour obliges us to suppose, that by talking of greater
and less miracles, and of always rejecting the greater, he
meant nothing more but that, of two deviations from the
known laws of nature, he always rejects that which in it¬
self is least probable.
If, then, it can be shown that the testimony given bv
the apostles and other first preachers of Christianity to the
miracles of their Master, would, upon their supposition
that those miracles were not really performed, have been
as great a deviation from the known laws of nature as the
miracles themselves, the balance must be considered as
equally poised by opposite miracles ; and whilst it conti¬
nues so, the judgment must remain in a state of suspense.
But if it shall appear, that in this case the false testimony
would have been a deviation from the laws of nature less
probable in itself than the miracles recorded in the Gos¬
pels, the balance will instantly be destroyed; and, by Mr
Hume s maxim, we shall be obliged to reject the supposi¬
tion of falsehood in the testimony of the apostles, and ad¬
mit the miracles of Christ to have been really performed.
In this argument we need not waste time in proving
that those miracles, as they are represented in the writ¬
ings of the New Testament, were of such a nature, and
performed before so many witnesses, that no imposition
could possibly be practised upon the senses of those who
affirm that they were present. From every page of the
Gospels this is so evident, that the philosophical adversa¬
ries of the Christian faith never suppose the apostles to
have been themselves deceived, but boldly accuse them of
bearing false witness. But if this accusation be well
founded, their testimony itself is as great a miracle as any
which they record of themselves or of their Master.
It has been shown elsewhere (see the article Metaphy¬
sics), that by the law of association, which is one of the
laws of nature, mankind, in the very process of learning to
speak, necessarily learn to speak the truth ; that ideas and
relations are in the mind of every man so closely associated
with the words by which they are expressed in his native
tongue, and in every other language of which he is mas¬
ter, that the one cannot be entirely separated from the
other; that therefore no man can on any occasion speak
falsehood without some effort; that by no effort can a man
give consistency to an unpremeditated detail of falsehood,
Rnt rf n 7 ,, 7 consistency to an unpremeditated detail ot falsehood,
is nnnrmcm*’^ ' 1 jias exposed the sophistry of if it be of any length, and include a number of particulars ;
} T OllGnt S rc^sonin^r. nvprt'urnpfl tllP r^rinr'inl^o onrJ  T*  _ _ 1 ^ ^ _ •
and that it is still less possible for several men to agree in
such a detail, when at a distance from each other, and
cross-questioned by their enemies.
This being the case, it follows, if the testimony of the
apostles to their own and their Master’s miracles be false,
1 Essay on Miracles.
3 Dissertation on Miracles.
296
M I R
M I R
Miracle, either that they must have concerted a consistent scheme
—-'r-—^ of falsehood, and agreed to publish it at every hazard ; or
that God, or some powerful agent appointed by him, must
have dissolved all the associations formed in their minds
between ideas of sense and the words of language, and ar¬
bitrarily formed new associations, all in exact conformity to
each other, but all, at the same time, in direct contradiction
to truth. One or other of these events must have taken
place, because, upon the supposition of falsehood, there is no
other alternative. But such a dissolution and formation of
associations as the latter implies must, to every man who
shall attentively consider it, appear to be as real a miracle,
and to require as great an exertion of power, as the re¬
surrection of the dead. Nor is the supposed voluntary
agreement of the apostles in a scheme ot falsehood an
event less miraculous. When they sat down to fabricate
their pretended revelation, and to contrive a series of mi¬
racles to which they were unanimously to appeal for its
truth, it is plain, since they proved successful in their
daring enterprise, that they must have clearly foreseen
every possible circumstance in which they could be placed,
and have prepared consistent answers to every question
which could be put to them by their most inveterate and
most enlightened enemies ; by the statesman, the lawyer,
the philosopher, and the priest. That such foreknowledge
as this would have been miraculous, will not surely be de¬
nied ; since it forms the very attribute which we find it
most difficult to allow even to God himself. It is not,
however, the only miracle which this supposition would
compel us to swallow. The very resolution of the apostles
to propagate the belief of false miracles in support of such
a religion as that which is taught in the New Testament, is
about as great a miracle as human imagination can easily
conceive.
When they formed this design, either they must have
hoped to succeed, or they must have foreseen that they
would fail in their undertaking; and, in either case, they
chose evil for its own sake. They could not, if they fore¬
saw that they would fail, look for any thing but that con¬
tempt, disgrace, and persecution, which were then the ine¬
vitable consequences of an unsuccessful endeavour to over¬
throw the established religion. Nor could their prospects
be brighter upon the supposition of their success. As they
knew themselves to be false witnesses and impious deceiv¬
ers, they could have no hopes beyond the grave ; and by
determining to oppose all the religious systems, supersti¬
tions, and prejudices of the age in which they lived, they
wilfully exposed themselves to inevitable misery in the
present life, to insult and imprisonment, to stripes and
death. Nor can it be said that they might look forward
to power and affluence when they should, through suffer¬
ings, have converted their countrymen ; for so desirous
were they of obtaining nothing but misery as the end of
their mission, that they made their own persecution a test
of the truth of their doctrines. They introduced the Mas¬
ter from whom they pretended to have received these
doctrines, as telling them, “ that they were sent forth as
sheep in the midst of wolves ; that they should beMeliver-
ed up to councils, and scourged in synagogues ; that they
should be hated of all men for his name’s sake ; that the
brother should deliver up the brother to death, and the
father the child; and that he who took not up his cross and
followed after him was not worthy of him.” The very
system of religion, therefore, which they invented and re¬
solved to impose upon mankind, was so contrived, that the
worldly prosperity of its first preachers, and even their ex¬
emption from persecution, was incompatible with its suc¬
cess. Had these clear predictions of the Author of that
religion, under whom the apostles acted only as ministers,
not been verified, all mankind must have instantly perceiv¬
ed that their pretence to inspiration was false, and that
Christianity was a scandalous and impudent imposture. Miak
All this the apostles could not but foresee when they form-'—-' w
ed their plan for deluding the world. Hence it follows,
that when they had resolved to support their pretended re¬
velation by an appeal to forged miracles, they wilfully, and
with their eyes open, exposed themselves to inevitable
misery, whether they should succeed or fail in their en¬
terprise; and that they concerted their measures so as not
to admit of a possibility of recompense to themselves, either
in this life or in that which is to come. But if there be a
law of nature, for the reality of which we have better evi¬
dence than we have for that of others, it is, that “no man
can choose misery for its own sake,” or make the acquisition
of it the ultimate end of his pursuit. The existence of other
laws of nature we know by testimony and our own obser¬
vation of the regularity of their effects. The existence of
this law is made known to us not only by these means, but
also by the still clearer and more conclusive evidence of
our own consciousness.
Thus, then, do miracles force themselves upon our as¬
sent in every possible view which we can take of this in¬
teresting subject. If the testimony of the first preachers
of Christianity was true, the miracles recorded in the Gos¬
pel were certainly performed, and the doctrines of our re¬
ligion are derived from heaven. On the other hand, if
that testimony was false, either God must have miracu¬
lously effaced from the minds of those by whom it was
given all the associations formed between their sensible
ideas and the words of language, or he must have endow¬
ed those men with the gift of prescience, and have im¬
pelled them to fabricate a pretended revelation for the
purpose of deceiving the world, and involving themselves
in certain and foreseen destruction.
The power necessary to perform the one series of these
miracles may, for any thing known to us, be as great as
that which would be requisite for the performance of the
other; and, considered merely as exertions of preterna¬
tural power, they may seem to balance each other, and to
hold the mind in a state of suspense. But when wre take
into consideration the different purposes for which these
opposite and contending miracles were wrought, the ba¬
lance is instantly destroyed. The miracles recorded in the
Gospels, if real, were wrought in support of a revelation
which, in the opinion of all by whom it is received, has
brought to light many important truths which could not
otherwise have been made knowm to men ; and which, by
the confession of its adversaries, contains the purest moral
precepts by which the conduct of mankind w as ever di¬
rected. The opposite series of miracles, if real, was per¬
formed to enable, and even to compel, a company of Jews,
of the lowest rank and of the narrowest education, to fa¬
bricate, with the view of inevitable destruction to them¬
selves, a consistent scheme of falsehood, and, by an appeal
to forged miracles, to impose it upon the world as a reve¬
lation from heaven. The object of the former miracles is
worthy of a God of infinite wisdom, goodness, and power.
The object of the. latter is absolutely inconsistent with
wisdom and goodness, which are demonstrably the attri¬
butes of that Being by wfflom alone miracles can be per¬
formed. Hence it follows, that the supposition of the
apostles bearing false testimony to the miracles of their
Master, implies a series of deviations from the laws of na¬
ture infinitely less probable in themselves than those mi¬
racles ; and therefore, by Mr Hume’s maxim, we must ne¬
cessarily reject the supposition of falsehood in the testi¬
mony, and admit the reality of the miracles. So true it
is, that for the reality of the Gospel miracles we have evi¬
dence as convincing to the reflecting mind, as those had
who were contemporary with Christ and his apostles, and
witnesses to their mighty works. (h. h. h. h.)
MIRANDE, an arrondissement of the department ot
M I R
indola the Gers, in France, extending over 742 square miles. It
|| comprehends eight cantons, divided into 229 communes, in-
'apore. habited by 74,500 persons. The capital, a city of the same
v~name, situated on the river Baise, is fortified, and contains
2100 inhabitants. Long. 0. 11. E. Lat. 42. 33. N.
MIRANDOLA, a city of the duchy of Modena, in Italy.
It stands in a marshy situation on the river Burana, whence
a canal is carried to the Secchio. It is surrounded with
walls, and has a cathedral and fifteen other churches, with
about 7000 inhabitants. It was the capital of an independ¬
ent duchy of the name till the year 1710, when the last
sovereign of the house of Pico ceded it to Modena for about
L. 100,000.
MIRECOURT, an arrondissement of the department
of the Vosges, in France, 524 square miles in extent. It
is divided into seven cantons, and subdivided into 156
communes, containing 71,500 inhabitants. The chief
place is the city of the same name situated on the river
Maudon. It contains 5200 inhabitants, who are occupied
in making lace and musical instruments, especially violins
and hand-organs. Long. 5. 5. E. Lat. 48. 50. N.
MIREPOIX, a city of France, in the department of
the Upper Garonne and arrondissement of Pamiers. It is
situated on the i iver Levs, in a district rich in good wine,
and contains 450 houses, with 3100 inhabitants. In the
neighbourhood a large quantity of jet is found, the pro¬
curing and polishing of which is said to employ one half
of the population. Long. 1. 47. E. Lat. 43. 7. N.
MIRGOROD, a circle of the Russian province of Pul-
towa, extending in east longitude from 33. 37. to 34. 51.
and in north latitude from 49. 51. to 50. 28. It is a dis¬
trict rich in corn, cattle, honey, wax, and fruits. The ca¬
pital, of the same name, is a city situated on the river
Khoral, 918 miles from St Petersburg, containing three
churches, 9/0 houses, and 7637 inhabitants. Lon°\ 33
27. E. Lat. 48. 50. N. °
MIRIAM. See Mary.
MIRROR, a name for a looking-glass, or any polished
body, the use of which is to form the images of distant ob¬
jects, by reflection of the rays of light.
Mirrors are either plane, convex, or concave. The plane
reflect the rays of light in a direction exactly similar to
that in which the latter fall upon them, and therefore repre¬
sent bodies of their natural magnitude. The convex make
the rays diverge much more than before reflection, and
therefore greatly diminish the images of objects; whilst the
concave, by collecting the rays into a focus, not only magni¬
fy objects, but burn very fiercely when exposed to the rays
of the sun, and hence such specula are commonly known
by the name of burning mirrors. See Burning Mirrors.
In ancient times mirrors were made of some kind of me-
? ’ an . a passage of the Mosaic writings we learn that
those mirrors used by the Jewish women were made of brass,
the Jews certainly had been taught to use that kind of
mirrors by the Egyptians; and hence it is probable that
brazen mirrors were the first kind used in the world. Any
md of metal, indeed, when well polished, reflects power-
uhy; but of all others silver reflects the most, though it
ias been in all countries too expensive a material for com¬
mon use. Gold is also a very powerful reflector; and me-
^ s, or even wood when gilded and polished, act as burnincr
mirrors. Polished ivory, or straw nicely plaited together!
largTscale^8 Ca^a^e kurmng> if constructed upon a
invfntion of gJass, and the application of quick-
be,came generally known, it has been uni-
a y employed for such plane mirrors as are used for
ornaments to houses.
a- ^own Hindustan, in the province of
of a ro 8 ’ a?^.f1istr^ct' Chunar. It is situated at the foot
ge of hills on the south bank of the river Ganges.
vol. xv. &
M I S
The town consists of handsome European houses and na
T^th clusters of Hindu temples crowding
the banks of the Ganges, and making a lively appearance
when seen from the river. It is one of the greatest inland
trading towns in Hindustan, and the depot of all the cot¬
ton from Agra and the Mahratta countries. It has also
an extens^e manufacture of carpets, and some iron-works.
Several opulent merchants and indigo planters, both native
and European, reside in the town and its vicinity. The
35.VE Lat^ 25'To BenareS is thirt^ miles- Long. 83.
MISADVENTURE, in common language, signifies any
UnM<ISAaNCTHRtnPVh//keS P,aCe With°Ut beingforeseen.
MISANTHROPY (from a/tfoj, hatred, and dwW0f,
man), a general dislike or aversion to man and mankind
In this sense it stands opposed tophilanthropg, or the love
or mankind.
MISCHNA, or Misna (from iteravit), a part of
the Jewish lalmud. I he Mischna contains the text, and
the Gemara, which is the second part of the Talmud, con¬
tains the commentaries ; so that the Gemara is, as it were
a glossary on the Mischna.
I he Mischna consists of various traditions of the Jews
and explanations of several passages of Scripture. These
traditions serve as an explication of the written law, and
supplement to it; they are said to have been delivered to
Moses during the time of his abode on the Mount; and he
is supposed to have afterwards communicated them to
Aaron, to Eleazar, and to his servant Joshua, by whom they
uere transmitted to the seventy elders, and from them to
the prophets, who communicated them to the men of the
grea.t sanhedrim, from whom the wise men of Jerusalem
and Babylon received them. According to Prideaux’s
account, they passed from Jeremiah to Baruch, from him
to Ezra, and from Ezra to the men of the great synagogue,
the last of whom was Simon the Just. The latter delivered
them to Antigonus of Socho, from whom they came down
in regular succession to Simeon, who took our Saviour in
his arms; to Gamaliel, at whose feet Paul was educated;
and last of all to Rabbi Judah the Holy, who committed
them to writing in the Mischna. But Dr Prideaux, re¬
jecting this Jewish fiction, observes, that after the death of
Simon the Just, about 299 years before Christ, arose the
Mischnical doctors, who, by their comments and conclu¬
sions, added to the number of those traditions which had
been received and allowed by Ezra and the men of the
great synagogue; so that towards the middle of the second
century after Christ, under the empire of Antoninus Pius,
it was found necessary to commit these traditions to writ!
ing; more especially as their country had considerably
suffered under Hadrian, and many of their schools had been
dissolved, and their learned men cut off, and thus the
usual method of preserving their traditions had failed.
On this occasion Rabbi Judah, being rector of the school
at Tiberias, and president of the sanhedrim in that place,
undertook the work, and compiled it in six books, each con¬
sisting of several tracts, which altogether make up the num¬
ber of sixty-three. (Prideaux, Connex. vol. ii. p. 468, 9th
edit.) This learned author computes that the Mischna was
composed about the 150th year of our Lord; but Dr
Lightfoot says, that Rabbi Judah compiled the Mischna
about the year of Christ 190, in the latter end of the reign
of Commodus, or, as some compute, in the year of Christ
220. Dr Lardner is of opinion that this work could not
have been finished before the year 190, or later. {Collec¬
tion of Jewish and Heathen Testimonies, vol. i. p. 178.)
Thus was formed the book called the Mischna, which the
Jews have generally received with the greatest veneration.
The original has been published with a Latin translation
by Surenhusius, with notes of his own and others from
the learned Maimonides, in six vols. folio, Amsterdam,
2 p
297
Misadven¬
ture
, . II
Mischna.
298
MIS
M I S
Misde- 1698-1703. It is written in a much purer style, and is
meanour not nearly so full of dreams and visions, as the Gemara.
jl . MISDEMEANOUR, in Law, signifies a crime. Every
M.ispn- crime is a misdemeanour ; yet the law has made a distinc-
jiions.^ ^ ketween crimes of a higher and a lower kind; the
former being denominated felonies, and the latter misde¬
meanours.
MISE, in law-books, is used in various senses. 1 hus it
sometimes signifies costs or expenses; in which sense it is
commonly used in entering of judgments in actions perso¬
nal. It is also used to signify the issue to be tried on the
grand assize; in which case, joining of the mise upon the
mere right, is putting in issue between the tenant and de¬
mandant, the question as to who has the best or clearest
right.
MISELAR, a mountainous island in the Eastern Seas,
of an irregular form, and fifteen miles in circumference.
It lies off the Bay of Tappanooly, on the west coast of Su¬
matra. Long. 98. 30. E. Lat. 1. 39. N.
MISENUM, or Misenus, in Ancient Geography, a pro¬
montory, port, and town in Campania, situated to the south¬
west of Baiae, in the Sinus Puteolanus. Here Augustus
had a fleet, called Classis Misenensis, for guarding the
Mare Inferum ; as he had another at Ravenna for protect¬
ing the Mare Superum.
Upon this peninsula a villa was built by Caius Marius,
with a degree of elegance which gave great offence to the
most austere amongst the Romans, who thought it but ill
suited to the character of so rough a soldier. Upon the
same foundation Lucullus, the plunderer of the eastern
world, erected an edifice, in comparison of which the for¬
mer house was only a cottage ; but even his magnificence
was eclipsed by the splendour of the palace which the em¬
perors raised upon the same spot. To these proud abodes
of heroes and of monarchs, which have long been levelled
to the ground, a few fishing huts and a lonely public house
have succeeded; and men resort thither to tipple perhaps
on the identical site where the voluptuous masters of the
world quaffed Chian and Falernian wines.
MISER, a parsimonious person who is at the same time
rich ; or a wretch covetous to extremity, whom avarice
has divested of all the charities of human nature, and ren¬
dered an enemy even to himself.
MISERICORDIA, in Law, is an arbitrary fine imposed
on any person for an offence; it is called misericordia, be¬
cause the amercement ought to be but small, and less than
that required by Magna Charta. If a person be outrage¬
ously amerced in a court that is not one of record, the
writ called moderata misericordia lies for moderating the
amercement according to the nature of the fault.
MISFEASANCE, in law-books, signifies a trespass.
MISITRA, or Mistra, a city of Greece, in the Morea,
one of the largest in the peninsula. It is situated upon a
wide plain, watered by two streams, and said to have been
raised out of the ruins of ancient Sparta, which was two
miles from the modern city. The country around was
fertile, but has been neglected; and the population of the
city has declined from 16,000 to 4000. It still produces
some good silk, but is commonly considered as an un¬
healthy place.
MISNOMER, in Law, misnaming a person, or mis¬
taking his name.
MISPRISIONS, a term derived from the old French,
mespris, a neglect or contempt, are, in the acceptation of
English law, generally understood to be all such high of¬
fences as are under the degree of capital, but nearly bor¬
dering thereon. It is said that a misprision is contained in
every treason and felony whatsoever; and that, if the king
so please, the offender may be proceeded against for the
misprision only. Upon the same principle, whilst the juris¬
diction of the Star Chamber subsisted, it was held that the
king might remit a prosecution for treason, and cause the
delinquent to be censured in that court, merely for a high
misdemeanour ; as happened in the case of Roger earl of
Rutland, in the 43d of Elizabeth, who was concerned in thev
Earl of Essex’s rebellion. Misprisions are generally divided
into two sorts; negative, which consist in the concealment
of something which ought to be revealed; and positive,
which consist in the commission of something which ought
not to be done.
MISSAL, the Roman Catholic book, containing the se¬
veral masses which are said on particular days. It is de¬
rived from the Latin word missa, which, in the ancient
Christian church, signified every part of divine service.
MISSENDEN, a town of the county of Buckingham
and hundred of Aylesbury, thirty-one miles from London.
It is situated on the high road to Buckingham, and near
to it is a mansion called Abbey House, built upon the site
of a monastery of Black Nuns. The population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 1411, in 1811 to 1576, in 1821 to 1735, and
in 1831 to 1827. About two miles from this place is
Little Missenden, a pleasant village, containing, in 1801,
625, in 1811, 678, in 1821, 814, and in 1831, 937 inhabi¬
tants.
MISSIO, amongst the Romans, was a full discharge
given to a soldier after twenty years’ service, and it dif¬
fered from the exauctoratio, which was a discharge from
duty after seventeen years’ service. Every soldier had a
right to claim his missio at the end of twenty years.
MISSION, in Theology, denotes a power or commission
to preach the gospel. Jesus Christ gave his disciples their
mission in these words, “ Go and teach all nations.” The
Catholics reproach the Protestants with this, that their
ministers have no mission, as not being authorized in the
exercise of their ministry, either by an uninterrupted suc¬
cession from the apostles, or by miracles, or by an extra¬
ordinary proof of a vocation. But many amongst us deny
that any other mission is necessary for the ministry than
the talents necessary to discharge it.
Mission is also used for an establishment of people
zealous for the glory of God and the salvation of souls,
and who go and preach the gospel in remote countries and
among infidels. See Religious Missions.
MISSISSIPPI, one of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, is situated between 88°'30' and 91° 50° of west lon¬
gitude, and 30° 8' and 35° of north latitude. It is bounded
on the north by Tennessee, on the south by the Gulf of
Mexico and part of Louisiana, on the east by Alabama,
and on the west by Louisiana and the River Mississippi.
It is above three hundred miles in length, and one hundred
and sixty miles in average breadth, containing a super¬
ficies of fifty thousand square miles. The surface of this
state is diversified by a number of distinct ranges of hills
of moderate elevation, besides a succession of eminences
called blufirs, which in some cases approach to the river,
and at other times are seen several miles from it. The
bases of the Walnut Hills, Grand Gulf, Natchez, White
Cliffs, and Loftus Heights, are washed by the river Mis¬
sissippi. Two of these ranges divide the state nearly in
its whole extent, and separate it into sectional divisions.
As we recede from the river, the bluffs spread out into a
kind of undulating table-land, but in many instances the
richest table-lands have precipitous benches, by which
they are exposed to what agriculturists technically term
“ washing.” By this casualty the land is divided into deep
ravines, and the richest parts of the state are subjected to
it. In the northern part of the state, which is undulating,
the soil is deep, black, and rich, and in its natural state
is, to a considerable extent, covered with cane-brakes,
like some of the more southern parts of the state. Ihe
north-west part of the state is agreeably variegated with
hills and valleys of great fertility, and fine springs abound.
: ;sis- In the lower parts of Mississippi, bordering on the river,
MISSISSIPPI.
299
rocks, stones ot any size, and even gravel, are seldom seen
-"'above ground. The whole western limit of this state is
washed by the river Mississippi, which has here a remark¬
ably circuitous course. The flat margin of the river on
this side is less valuable than similar soil upon the opposite
bank. It is an inundated swamp, thinly inhabited, and
covered with dense forests.
The most considerable river whose course is wholly con¬
fined to the state is the Yazoo. It rises near the limits
of Tennessee, and, taking a north-westerly course, flows
through a high, pleasant, and salubrious country, which,
however, is chiefly claimed and inhabited by Indians. There
is a fine building stone on this river, in situations favourable
for conveyance to New Orleans. The next in importance
is the Pearl, which is navigable for fifty miles. The Pas¬
cagoula, which has a course of two hundred and fifty miles
before it falls into the Gulf of Mexico, is likewise capable
of considerable navigation. The Big Black, which, mea¬
suring its meanders, has a course of two hundred miles,
is navigable for fifty miles. It enters the Mississippi just
above the Grand Gulf. The Homochitto is also a consider¬
able stream, but the other rivers and creeks are compara¬
tively small. r
The climate of Mississippi is thus adapted to the growth
of cotton. It is mild, and in some parts delightful; but
the state being exposed to the winds of the north-west,
the winters are occasionally severe, though very irregular
m point of temperature. From the swampy nature of the
western border, this part of Mississippi is not very healthy ;
the other parts, however, are salubrious. A considerable
portion of this state still remains in its primitive condition,
and is covered with thick forests of oak, hickory, lime,
sassafras, cotton-wood, magnolia, poplar, and other valu¬
able trees ; and the swamps abound with cypress. Almost
all kinds of grain fruits, and vegetables can be cultivated. MIsm.
ic sugar-cane has hitherto been attempted only upon its sippi-
southern frontier. The sweet orange is raised in some'
par s, and in the middle regions figs, grapes, and other
fruits arrive at full perfection. But the grand staple of
tie state is cotton, and hitherto it has been found more
profitable than any other production, although its price has
diminished nearly two thirds within these few years. Most
of the respectable farmers raise Indian corn enouch to
meet their own consumption, and also rear hogs sufficient
to supply them with bacon.
When Mississippi was admitted into the Union in 1817
^ngnnuTunt th.at’ after P^g a debt of
1,250,000 dollars to Georgia, and indemnifying certain
claimants, five per cent, of the net proceeds of the public
lands lying within the state shall be applied to the forma¬
tion of roads and canals. To facilitate this end several
privileges were granted, such as exemption of the public
lands from taxation; and in 1829 a board of internal im¬
provement was formed, for the purpose of carrying the
views of government into effect. In consequence of this
arrangement, a number of railways and canals have been
constructed, or are in progress. Ample public funds have
also been set apart for the endowment of schools, but edu¬
cation is not very generally diffused, as the legislature has
not enforced the establishment and support of suitable
schools. An institution called a college has been incor¬
porated at Shieldsborough, and another, called Jefferson
College, at Washington, near Natchez. Besides these,
there are a few flourishing seminaries of education in the
principal towns. The religious bodies in this state are
Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, and
Episcopalians. The following is a tabular view of the po¬
pulation of the counties and county towns, according to the
census of 1830.
Counties.
Population.
Adams, S. W 
Natchez city...
Amite, S. W 
Claiborne, W 
Copiah, S. W. M.
Covington, S. M..
Franklin, S. M 
Greene, S. E 
Hancock, S 
Hinds, M.
Jackson, S. E....
Jefferson, S. W.
Jones, S. M 
Lawrence, S. M.
Lowndes 
Madison, E 
Marion, S 
Monroe, E 
Perry, S. E 
Pike, S 
Rankin, W 
Simpson, S. M...
Warren, W  
Washington 
Wayne, E 
Wilkinson, S. W.
Yazoo, W 
12,1291
2,790 J
7,943
9,818
7,024
2,549
4,622
1,849
1,961
8,619
Total population in 1830...
1,789
9,755
1,471
5,321
3,342
4,973
3,701
3,855
2,285
5,402
2; 084
2,666
7,861
1,976
2,778
11,693
6,550
County Towns.
Natchez.
Liberty  
Port Gibson....
Gallatin 
Williamsburgh.
Meadville 
Leaksville 
Pearlington 
Jackson 
Raymond 
Jackson, C. PL.
Fayette 
Ellisville 
Monticello 
Columbus 
Livingston 
Columbia 
Hamilton 
Augusta 
Holmesville 
Brandon 
Westville 
Vicksburgh 
Princeton 
Winchester 
Woodville 
Benton 
Distance in miles from
Jackson.
112
122
67
53
83
105
171
200
136,806, of whom 65,659 were slaves.
19
213
93
134
88
134
31
120
150
137
151
16
56
54
119
165
148
64
Washington.
1146
1156
1101
1087
1087
1139
1046
1135
1035
1053
1073
1127
1054
1120
900
1066
1097
916
1063
1128
1051
1090
1089
1154
1008
1182
1075
300
Missis¬
sippi.
MISSISSIPPI.
Natchez is much the largest town, and the principal seat
of commercial transactions. It is romantically situated on
the east bank of the river Mississippi, on a very high bluff,
about two hundred and eighty miles above New Orleans,
in long. 91° 25' west, and lat. 31° 34' north. It is the
principal town in this region for the shipment of cotton to
New Orleans. Great numbers of boats are always lying
here, and in the autumn and winter Natchez presents an
animated and bustling aspect, but in summer little busi¬
ness is transacted. The streets are broad ; many of the
buildings are in very good style, and the whole has the
appearance of cleanliness, comfort, and opulence. T. he
Bank of the State of Mississippi, a United States’ Branch
Bank, and the Planters’ Branch Bank, are at Natchez. The
first has a capital of one million, and the last a capital of
three millions of dollars.
Monticello is a flourishing village situated on Pearl Ki-
ver, and was some years ago the seat of government; but
Jackson, near the head of the same stream, is now the po¬
litical metropolis. It has a central, healthy, and pleasant
situation, but the inhabitants are not numerous. Vicks-
burgh, below the Walnut Hills, on the Mississippi, has risen
up within these few years, and has already become a place
of great trade. Gibson Post, which is situated on Bajmu
Pierre, about thirty-five miles above Natchez, is a village
of considerable importance. Shieldsborough, Greenville,
Woodville, Winchester, Washington, and Warrenton, are
also flourishing places.
On the 1st of January 1832, the unsold lands, to which
the Indian and the foreign titles had been extinguished,
amounted to 21,211,465 acres. At the same date the In¬
dians still claimed 6,529,280 acres, and 733,244 acres had
been set apart for the erection of schools and for goyein-
ment purposes. The manufactures and shipping of this
state are too unimportant to require particular mention.
In 1836 there were in Mississippi five banks, to which
a number of branches were attached. Printing was intro¬
duced about the beginning of the present century, and in
1834 thirteen newspapers were published within the state.
Mississippi was admitted into the Union in 1817. Ihe
constitution and laws bear a common resemblance to those
of the other states. The legislative body is styled a general
assembly, consisting of a senate which is elected triennial-
ly, and a house of representatives which is elected annu¬
ally. The rights of citizenship are enjoyed by those who
have a freehold or an interest in real estate. The gover¬
nor serves two years, and is eligible only four years out of
six. The judiciary consists of a supreme and circuit court,
together with subordinate courts appointed by the legis¬
lature. The judges are appointed by the legislature, and
hold their offices during good behaviour. The state is
divided into seven circuits or districts, and one judge and
a district attorney are chosen by the electors of each dis¬
trict ; and a circuit court is held in each county twice every
year. This court has original jurisdiction in civil causes, in
which the sum in controversy exceeds fifty dollars. All
persons above twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the
United States, are electors.
A great number of Indians still hold possession of con¬
siderable tracts of country in this state. The principal
tribes are the Chactaws and Chickasaws, the number of the
former being estimated at 20,000, and that of the latter
at about 4000. They are at present in a semi-savage state;
but many of them have good houses, slaves, enclosures,
and cattle. Schools have been established amongst them
for the reception of Indian pupils, and there are missionary
stations whence the truths of Christianity are diffused over
the country.
Valley of the Mississippi.—This name has been given
to the vast tract of country which is watered by the Missis¬
sippi river and its numerous tributary streams, and which
is included between the Alleghany and the Rocky Moun- My
tains. Mr Flint, in his volume descriptive of this large sipJ
and important part of North America, also includes in it'wv
those portions which are watered by the comparatively
small rivers Mobile, Pearl, and others of West Florida on
the east side, and the Sabine, Brassas, and Colorado of
Texas on the west side. If we include the minor valleys
traversed by these streams, the great valley of the Missis¬
sippi is bounded on the south by the Gulf of Mexico, and
extends on the south-east to Cape Florida. Running along
that cape in a northerly direction, the boundary on the east
passes those table elevations which separate the waters of
the Mobile and Tombigbee from those of the rivers of
East Florida; thence it proceeds through what has been
designated the country of the Indian nations, and touch¬
ing the north-western extremity of Georgia, it reaches the
Alleghany Mountains, which constitute the eastern boun¬
dary. On the north no mountain ridges indicate the line
of demarcation between this valley and the basins of the
lakes, or between the waters of the Mississippi, and those
which flow northward into Lake Winnipeg, Hudson’s Bay,*
and the Arctic Ocean; but the valley is generally consi¬
dered as terminating on the north where it begins to re¬
ceive its waters. The Rocky Mountains define the west¬
ern boundary ; and one of the southern ridges of this chain
divides the waters of Arkansas and Red Rivers from those
of the Rio del Norte, and traverses Coahuila and Texas to
the low grounds on the Gulf of Mexico. The valley ot
the Mississippi thus stretches over twenty degrees oflati-
tude, exclusive of Cape Florida, and about thirty degrees
of longitude.
No other valley on the globe, with the exception of that
which is drained by the river Amazon, can be compared in
extent with that of the Mississippi; and it probably sur¬
passes all others in the richness and variety of its soil, and
in its general adaptation to the support and comfort of ci¬
vilized men. In extent it resembles a continent; and in
beauty and fertility it is the most perfect garden of nature.
It is, however, unnecessary to enter into a particular ac¬
count of it as a whole, the individual states into which it is
divided being all described separately. The history of its
settlement, although interesting, would stretch this article
to an unreasonable length. It is given generally in that
on America, to which the reader is referred; and also
more particularly under the heads of the various states em¬
braced within the limits of the great valley.
Mississippi River.—This river is the largest in the
United States, and also one of the largest in the world.
Until the year 1832, when an expedition to ascertain its
source was undertaken by order of Congress, it was un¬
known in our geography, that above Cass Lake the Missis¬
sippi separates into two forks, and that it derives its origin
from Itasca Lake, which is situated 182 miles above Cass
Lake. This is a beautiful sheet of water, seven or eight
miles in extent, and lying amongst hills of diluvial forma¬
tion, surmounted with pines. The outlet of Itasca Lake
is about ten or twelve feet broad, butof little depth. Ihe
Mississippi is considered as originating at an altitude of
1500 feet above the Atlantic, in latitude 48° north, and lon¬
gitude 96° west. Its length is about 3160 miles, and it falls
into the Gulf of Mexico at Balize, in latitude 29° 6', and
longitude 89° 30'. Its general course in ascending above
Cass Lake is north of west as far as Lac Travers; then
south to its primary forks, which is continued, following
up the east fork to Rubbakunna Lake, and lor some t is
tance farther. It then varies a short distance north and
north-wTest, then south-west and south ; and, finally, south¬
west to its main source in Ussawa Lake. The portage
thence to Itasca Lake is west-south-west. Both these lakes
appear to rise in springs on the high ground, and they are
separated by about six miles of country. The Mississippi
1 :sis
)i.
M I S
traverses more degrees of latitude than any other river'in
America, and consequently the varieties of climate and ve-
“^getable productions which it passes through are very great.
It occupies about a thousand miles of the distance between
the arctic circle and the equator. Long as it is, however,
the Mississippi has a tributary longer than itself, the Mis¬
souri. Like the Niger, its mouth was discovered by navi¬
gating down its current; but, unlike that stream, which so
long held the geographical world in suspense, its sources
have also been sought from its central parts. Its entire
course has at length been ascertained; and we may now ap¬
peal with full certainty to the Balize and to Itasca Lake as
its extreme points. At the latter it is a placid basin of trans¬
parent spring water ; at the former it is as turbid as the
earth which it holds in suspension can make it, and carries
forests of floating trees on its turbulent bosom. Below the
junction of its primary forks it expands at very unequal
distances into eight sheets of clear water, each of which
possesses features worthy of admiration. Four of these,
Lac Travers, Cass Lake, Winnipeg, and Lake Pepin, are
lakes of respectable magnitude and striking scenery. The
broadest parts of its channel lie in the central parts of the
valley of the Mississippi. Its depth is great in all its low^er
parts, and increases as it flows on to the gulf, and its gene¬
ral descent and velocity are such as to appear very striking
characteristics. We are not aware that it has been sounded
in such a manner as to justify any estimate of its average
depth. At Natchez, about 400 miles from its mouth, it
has been stated to be from 100 to 150 feet deep, and this
increases the lower we descend. From the Falls of St
Anthony, to a few miles below the river Des Moines, in
latitude 40°, the Mississippi is about half a mile broad.
Below the rapids which occur at this place its average
breadth is about a mile; its cun-ent is about two miles an
hour, and its average depth about four feet. Where it re¬
ceives the Missouri, it is a mile and a half wide. The
mouth of the Missouri is about half a nnle wide, and when
these are united, they constitute a stream about three
quarters of a mile in breadth, very deep, and having a fu¬
rious boiling current. The medium current is about four
miles an hour, but it is often much greater. Its average
width during the remainder of its course does not exceed
a mile. In estimating its breadth, we refer to the space
between the banks of its regular channel. At every flood
it overspreads a vast tract of country, principally on its
western side, which is from ten to fifty miles in breadth
through the last five hundred miles of its course; and
most of the water which overflows below Red River goes
to the Gulf of Mexico without returning to the river. The
country thus overflowed is generally without any habitable
spots, but is covered with cypress, cotton-wood, or coarse
grass, and its waters abound with alligators. The number
of the tributaries of the first, second, and third class, is
so great that it would form a labour of some research to
determine it. The Missouri, the Ohio, the Red River,
and the Arkansas, are of the noblest order. The first-
named stream flows in a little below 39°, the Ohio be¬
tween 37° and 36°, the Arkansas between 34° _and 33°,
and the Red River a little below 31°. Below the latter
nver there are many large outlets, but no considerable
streams join the Mississippi. After receiving the Missouri,
tie course of this great river is so serpentine as to present
very few “ reaches,” or places where it is so straight that
an extent of three or four miles can be seen at one time,
n many places the low alluvial tract upon its borders is
t irty or forty miles in breadth. From the sources of the
river to the mouth of the Missouri the annual flood ordi¬
narily commences in March, and does not subside till the
end of May; and its medium height is fifteen feet. Be-
ween the Missouri and the mouth of the Ohio the an¬
nual flood is twenty-five feet. For a great distance be-
M I S
301
mv this point it is fifty feet; but it subsides above Nat- Missouri,
chez, and thence gradually to the mouth of the river.'
Between the Missouri and the Ohio the most shallow parts
of the channel have six feet of water when it is lowest.
I hence to the St Francis, between latitude 35° and 34°,
there are several shoal places, where, when the water is
low, pilots are perplexed to find a proper depth. Below that
point there is no difficulty for vessels of any draught, except
to And and preserve the right channel. There are no tides
in the Mississippi, although a variation of a few inches in
the height of the water is sometimes observed both during
the day and night; but even at the very mouth of the river
the water is at all times fresh, and no ebb and flow cor¬
responding with those of the ocean are observed. Its navi¬
gation is at all times attended with some danger, on ac¬
count of the raging power of the current, and the nume¬
rous trees which it dislodges on its banks and bears away
in its course. Steam-boats, however, are admirably fitted
to avoid these dangers ; and the navigation above New Or¬
leans is every year becoming more and more confined to
them, flat boats still bring down much produce, but al¬
most no other vessels besides steam-boats are seen ascend¬
ing the river. R> ^
MISSOURI, one of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, is situated between 88° 17' and 94° 30' of west lon¬
gitude, and 36° and 40° 30' of north latitude. It is 270
miles in length by 220 in breadth, and contains an area
of about 60,000 square miles. If is bounded on the north
and west by the Missouri territory; on the east and north¬
east by the Mississippi, which separates it from Illinois;
on the south-east by the Mississippi, which separates it in
this quarter from Kentucky and Tennessee; and on the
south by Arkansas territory.
A large portion of this state, situated in the south-east
quarter, is low, swampy, full of lakes, and in many places
liable to inundation. Beyond this region, which is gene¬
rally marked by a bold line of rolling and fertile high lands,
the country gradually becomes mountainous, and continues
so to the Osage and its tributaries. It then becomes
bioken and hilly, until it opens upon the boundless belt
of prairies which spreads beyond the western limits of the
state. 4 he best land is situated between the Missouri
and the Mississippi; and no part of this vast tract is moun¬
tainous, consisting chiefly of alluvial and hilly prairies of
a very rich soil. 1 he importance of large navigable rivers
to a civilized and commercial people is well known; and
no quarter of the globe is so amply provided in this re¬
spect as Missouri, the greater part of rich and easily cul¬
tivated soil stretching along the banks of majestic streams.
The Mississippi sweeps along its eastern border 550 miles,
receiving in its course the great river from which the state
derives its name. The Missouri, entering the western
boundary, traverses the state, receiving on either side tri¬
butaries, which, if not contrasted with the stream into
which they empty their waters, would deserve the title of
fine rivers. The Osage, rising in the angle between Ar¬
kansas and Kansas Rivers, on the vast plains west from the
state of Missouri, carries its serpentine but navigable vo¬
lume into Missouri River, near the centre of the state.
I he St Prancis and White Rivers rise in this state, and
flowing southward, connect it with the Arkansas. A great
many large and beautiful rivers enter the Missouri as tri¬
butaries. Some of these have a course in the state, but
most of them belong to the territory of Missouri.
The soil of this state is as varied as the surface, every
quality being found, from the most productive and inex¬
haustible alluvium, to tracts of sterile clay or siliceous
sand. According to Mr Flint, there is a specific differ¬
ence between the alluvium of the two rivers Mississippi
and Missouri; the bottoms of the latter being more loamy
and sandy, and those of its rival more clayey and sub-
MISSOURI.
302
Missouri, stantial. On the eastern border, and near the streams
s generally, a dense forest covered Missouri; although in
some parts naked prairie encroaches upon the streams.
Speaking in general terms, the south-east section is allu¬
vial, and liable to a partial annual inundation; the south¬
western is mixed prairie and “ flint hill” land ; the northern
section, west from the Mississippi and north from the Mis¬
souri, contains, as we have already said, the choicest land
in the state. The soil of the upland prairies is far inferior
to that of the alluvial prairies. Upon the whole, the good
lands of this country have in general a great degree of fer¬
tility; and there is scarcely any part sufficiently level for
cultivation which does not produce good crops of corn with¬
out manure, whilst in many instances the poorer lands are
found to be better for wheat than the richer. The prairies
are in general level, and of an intermediate character be¬
tween the richer and poorer uplands ; and the bottoms of
all the water-courses are rich. The geographical extent of
Missouri, and its great diversity of soil, admit of a corre¬
sponding variety of vegetable productions. Wheat and In¬
dian corn have been the staples of this state during the
comparatively short period that any part of it has been cul¬
tivated. Its soil also produces the other kinds of grain in
perfection. Cotton is raised in the south-eastern section ;
tobacco thrives well; and flax and hemp are likely to be¬
come largely cultivated. Turnips and bulbous-rooted ve¬
getables grow to a great size. Pumpkins, squashes, and
melons, are nowhere raised in greater abundance; and sweet
as well as Irish potatoes thrive sufficiently well. Culti¬
vated grasses have hitherto not succeeded so well as the
other articles of culture. At present the fodder provided
for the stable in winter is chiefly corn, its leaves and husks,
with what is called prairie grass. This is a coarse and
tall grass, covering the prairies in the greatest abundance.
All the fruits of the northern and middle states thrive in
an uncommon degree. Three species of vine are com¬
mon in all parts of the country ; whilst the warmth of sum¬
mer, and the dryness of the atmosphere, peculiarly fit this
state for the cultivation of the medicinal plants, rhubarb,
palma Christi, and the poppy. Indeed many parts of
it are likely to rival the best tracts east of the Mississippi
in the abundance of their productions. “ This state,”
says Mr Flint, “ has lands already, fit for the plough, suf¬
ficient to produce wheat enough for the whole United
States. Prairies of hundreds of thousands of acres of first-
rate wheat-lands, covered with grass, and perfectly free
from shrubs and bushes, invite the plough; and if the
country were cultivated to a proper extent it might be¬
come the granary of the world.” “ Above all countries,”
says the same writer, “ this is the land of flowers. In the
season, every prairie is an immense flower garden. In the
early stages of spring rises a generation of flowers, whose
prevalent tint is peach-blossom; the next is a deeper
red ; then succeeds the yellow, and. to the latest period
of autumn the prairies exhibit a brilliant golden hue.”
Agriculture in all its forms, either as an art or as a
science, is yet in its infancy in Missouri, as it may be sup¬
posed to be in any newly-settled country where nature
has done so much. The climate is extremely fickle and
variable, and the changes of temperature are very great.
During three winters in five the Mississippi is passable on
the ice at St Louis. Receding from the Atlantic, it is in
this state that the frigid winds of the north-west are first
experienced in all their force. The prevailing winds fol¬
low the direction of the Mississippi Valley ; those from the
northward are cold, but the southern winds are warm. The
wfinter commences about Christmas, and is frequently se¬
vere ; but the summers are very warm, and as the coun¬
try is bare, and open to the sun’s influence, whilst the soil
is of a warm and sandy texture, calculated to admit the
solar rays, a great quantity of caloric is imbibed. Less
rain falls here than in New England, or the southern states, Missot
and the atmosphere is much drier and more bracing. It'w. ^
is, however, cold and windy; but successive years vary so
much that a general rule can scarcely be laid down. Un¬
certain as are the revolutions in meteorology elsewhere,
they are proverbially variable in the state of Missouri and
the adjacent regions. In regard to health, this state has
a somerwhat suspicious character; but in course of time,
by cultivation, draining, and similar operations, it is likely
to become as salubrious as any other in the Union. Al¬
though but a few years since a tenement in any degree su¬
perior to a temporary log-hut was a very rare object, the
progress of civilization is marked by the rapid disappear¬
ance of those primitive structures, and the substitution of
brick and stone houses. Bears, wolves, panthers, buffaloes,
elks, deer, the mole called gopher, the bite of which is said
to be poisonous, the prairie dog, rattle snakes, and other rep¬
tiles, are found in this state. Great varieties of water-
game swarm on the lakes, ponds, and rivers during certain
seasons of the year. Generally speaking, the hunter will
find in no country a finer field for his pursuits. The do¬
mestic animals are the same as in other parts of the United
States.
Missouri is rich in minerals and metals, and it has be¬
come celebrated for immense deposits of lead ore, chiefly
of galena. It is dug out in various parts of the state ; but
there is a district extending nearly a hundred miles in
length and forty in width, which is particularly distin¬
guished for its lead mines. The centre of the district is
about seventy miles south-west from St Louis, and about
half as far from Herculaneum on the Mississippi. The
ore is found in imbedded masses, and appears evidently to
be a deposit. Coal in immense strata also exists in Mis¬
souri, and iron ore forms no inconsiderable part of many
of the hills. The other minerals discovered are plaster,
manganese, zinc, antimony, cobalt, various kinds of ochre,
common salt, nitre, plumbago, porphyry, jasper, calce-
dony, and marble. There are as yet but few public roads,
although Congress has paid attention to the construction of
railways and other public works. A railroad from Ma¬
rion city to Palmyra has been commenced ; and it is in¬
tended to continue it to New York, the capital of Shelby
county, and thence to the Missouri, near Chariton. Ano¬
ther has been projected extending from St Louis to Fay¬
ette, upwards of a hundred miles in length; and another
leading from St Louis to the lead mines in Washington
and Franklin counties. With a few exceptions, the habit¬
able parts of Missouri constitute one vast plain, so that roads
are easily constructed, and those which have been made are
remarkably good, and passable at all seasons of the year.
In 1825, commissioners of the United States laid out a
road through the wilderness, leading from Missouri to Mex¬
ico ; and the Osages, by treaty, in consideration of 800
dollars, granted the right of making and using the road
through their lands.
In reference to trade, it is not to be supposed that Mis¬
souri, so recently settled, can have much, excepting in such
articles as are immediately supplied by nature. Accord¬
ingly, lead and fur constitute the staples of commerce.
The lead annually smelted exceeds three millions ol
pounds, a considerable quantity certainly, but nothing
compared with what might readily be obtained. There
is doubtless ore enough of the best quality to supply the
whole world with lead. The commerce in this article,
therefore, is likely to increase rapidly; for the mines are
rich, and the part of the country in which they are situat¬
ed is remarkable for its salubrity, as w^ell as for the fertility
of its soil, and its fine streams. Shot-towers are erected
at Herculaneum and other places; and great quantities ot
shot are exported. St Louis is the centre of the fur trade.
Boats are continually passing between this town and New
MISSOURI.
,uri. Orleans. Since Mexico achieved its independence, consi¬
derable commercial intercourse has been established with
the interior provinces of that republic, by means of the
road above mentioned. Amongst other companies incor¬
porated by the legislature within these few years are, the
Missouri Insurance Company, capital one hundred thou¬
sand dollars, and the privilege to increase it to four hun¬
dred thousand; the St Louis Marine Railway Company;
the St Louis Hospital; the St Louis Water-Works; and
the St Louis Marine and Fire Insurance Company. The
bank of the United States has an office of discount and de¬
posit at St Louis. There are various other companies
established throughout the state, amongst which may be
mentioned an iron foundery on a respectable scale in the
vicinity of St Louis, and one or two large establishments
at Bellevue, in the mine country, which smelt their own
iron from mines in the immediate vicinity.
The most numerous denominations of Christians in Mis¬
souri are Methodists, Presbyterians, and Catholics. Accord¬
ing to the American Almanac for the year 1837, the United Missouri.
Jprethren or Moravians had thirty-three ministers, twenty-v-"-*
four churches or congregations, and two thousand com-
municants ; whilst the Catholics had thirty-nine ministers.
Rehgmus instruction and good schools are less esteemed
and less common in this new state than in most others in
the Union. St Louis College, a Catholic institution, was
founded in 1829: in 1836 there were fifteen instructors,
nine alumni, two hundred students, and 7500 volumes in
the libiaiy attached to it. Corporations have been form¬
ed for a number of academies, colleges, and seminaries of
education; and the legislature has passed an enactment
to sell all the lands appropriated to the interests of edu¬
cation, and apply the funds thence arising to the pur¬
pose for which it was intended. There are a number of
convents in the state, to which young females are sent
to be educated. In 1810 there was only one newspaper
in the state, but in 1836 the number had increased to fif¬
teen.
Population of the Counties and County Towns in 1830.
Counties.
Population.
County Towns.
Boone 
Callaway  
Cape Girardeau.
Chariton 
Clay 
Cole 
Cooper 
Crawford 
Franklin 
Gasconade  
Howard  
Jackson  
Jefferson 
Lafayette  
Lincoln  
Madison 
Marion 
Monroe 
Montgomery 
New Madrid 
Perry 
Pike. 
Ralls 
Randolph 
Ray 
St Charles 
St Franchise 
St Genevieve 
St Louis 
Saline 
Scott 
Washington 
Wayne 
Total population...,
8,829
6,102
7,430
1,776
5,342
3,006
6,019
1,709
3,484
1,548
10,844
2,822
2,586
2,921
4,060
2,371
4,839
3,900
2,351
3,377
6,122
4,346
2,962
2,657
4,322
2,386
2,182
14,907
2,893
2,136
6,797
3,254
140,074
Columbia 
Fulton 
Jackson 
Chariton 
Liberty 
Jefferson City..
Booneville 
Little Piney 
Union 
Gasconade 
Fayette 
Independence..
Herculaneum...
Lexington 
Troy 
Fredericktown.
Palmyra 
Monroe 
Lewistown 
New Madrid....
Perryville 
Bowling Green.
New London...,
Randolph 
Richmond 
St Charles  
Farmington 
St Genevieve....
St Louis  
Walnut Farm...,
Benton 
Potosi 
Greenville.
Distance from
Jefferson City. Washington
56
32
208
79
190
51
98
79
47
65
177
164
138
97
170
190
129
67
278
187
132
167
96
149
123
152
168
134
85
236
127
200
891
967
856
1031
1142
980
1023
989
901
939
1017
1129
886
1090
913
894
984
998
932
892
882
948
961
1042
1101
876
912
874
856
1038
861
915
908
Of this population 24,990 are slaves. In 1836 it was estimated at 210,000, being an increase of 70,000 in less than
six years.
The commercial capital of Missouri, and the principal
town west of the Mississippi, is St Louis. It is situated on
t e western bank of the above-named river, eighteen miles
y water below the junction of the Missouri, fourteen above
orm ^ ^aramac> thirty below that of the Illinois, and
-00 above that of the Ohio, being in long. 89.36. W., and lat.
38. 36. N. The situation of the town is elevated, pleasant,
healthy, and admirably adapted for commerce. The ground
upon which it stands rises gradually from the first to the
second bank, which is forty feet above the place upon which
St Louis is chiefly built. On this bank are the fortifica¬
tions erected in early times for the defence of the place.
304
MISSOURI.
Missouri. The town extends two miles along the river, in three pa-
■“'-v'''—^ rallel streets, which are intersected by others crossing them
at right angles. It contains several places of public worship,
amongst which is a Catholic cathedral. It has also a spa¬
cious town-house, a theatre, a land office, a bank, a mu¬
seum, two or three printing offices, a brewery, and several
mills. Many of the houses are built of stone, but not a
few are entirely constructed of wood. It is in a state of
rapid improvement, and fast increasing in population and
trade. Its situation is advantageous and interesting, being
more central with regard to the whole territory belonging
to the United States than any other considerable town;
and, uniting the advantages of the three great rivers Mis¬
sissippi, Missouri, and Illinois, with their numerous branches,
whilst it possesses unrivalled facilities for trade, it will
in all likelihood become a great city, and the centre of a
very extensive commerce. An idea of the present state of
the trade of St Louis, and the rate at which it increases,
may be formed from the following abstract made from the
steam-boat register.
1831. 1835.
Number of different boats arrived 60 121
Number of arrivals 532 803
Aggregate amount of tonnage 7769... 15,470
The country around and to the west of St Louis, for a dis¬
tance of fifteen miles, is an extended prairie of a very luxu¬
riant soil. This town was settled, principally by French
emigrants from Kaskaskias, soon after the peace of 1763,
when France ceded to Great Britain her right to all the
country eastward of the Mississippi. It came to the United
States by the cession of Louisiana in 1803. The popula¬
tion at that time was below 1000; in 1830 in had risen to
5852 ; and at present (1837), judging from the increase of
trade, it cannot amount to less than 10,000 or 12,000.
The other towns in the state of Missouri are, with a few
exceptions, of but small size and little importance. Hercu¬
laneum is situated on the western bank of the Mississippi,
thirty miles below St Louis, upon a narrow alluvial plain,
hemmed in on all sides but that facing the river by high
and romantic bluffs, rendered still more imposing by a num¬
ber of shot-towers planted on their summits. This is the
chief place of deposit for the lead of the lead mines. St
Genevieve is situated at the upper extremity of a beauti¬
ful alluvial prairie about a mile westward of the Mississippi.
The town is finely situated, and has some trade, most of
the lead for exportation being brought to it. The popu¬
lation amounts to about 1500. New Madrid is situated on
the Mississippi, about fifty miles below the mouth of the
Ohio. Next to Natchez, it is the most noted landing place
for steam-boats on the Mississippi above New Orleans. It
is chiefly deserving of mention from having, along with the
country around it, been visited, in 1811 and the following
year, by two of the most terrible and destructive earth¬
quakes which ever laid waste the works of man and nature.
Jefferson, a new town above the mouth of the Osage, on
the south side of the Missouri, has become, since the seat
of government was removed there, the position of the
public buildings ; but not being a fortunate selection, it
has not greatly prospered. Franklin is situated on the
northern bank of the Missouri, 150 miles by land above St
Louis. It is estimated to contain above 200 houses, and
about 1200 inhabitants. It is surrounded by the largest
body of rich Jpnd in the state, and is the centre of a po¬
pulous region of opulent and respectable farmers. Potosi,
the county town of Washington, is the centre of the mine
district. It is situated in a pleasant valley surrounded by
hills, sixty-five miles south-west, from St Louis. St Mi¬
chael is an old French village amongst the mines, and there
are a number of other small villages in the same district.
St Charles, on the Missouri, is a pleasant village, contain¬
ing about 1200 inhabitants. It was for a number of years
the political metropolis of the state; and no place in the Missk
western territory has a more interesting country adjoining'^—- £
it than this village. The other places are too small to re¬
quire particular description.
This state adopted its present constitution, and was ad¬
mitted into the Union, in 1820. In its general features it re¬
sembles those of the other states. The senators are elect¬
ed for four years, and the representatives for two. The
governor is elected for four years. The judicial power is
vested in a supreme court, a chancellor’s court, and circuit,
and other subordinate courts, the judges of which hold
their offices during good behaviour. Every free citizen
who has resided a year in the state, and the last three
months preceding the election in the district, is entitled
to a vote in that district. The legislature meets at Jef¬
ferson every second year, on the first Monday of Novem¬
ber. The article which allowed the existence of slavery in
the state was long and bitterly contested in the national le¬
gislature ; but the admirers of the whip and chain prevailed.
There is nothing, either interesting or remarkable in the
history of Missouri. It formed a part of the extensive
country of Louisiana which was purchased from France by
the United States in the year 1803. Although French set¬
tlements were commenced at St Louis and St Genevieve as
early as 1764, yet, at the time when the country was pur¬
chased, this portion of it contained but few inhabitants.
In 1804 this country was separated from the rest of Loui¬
siana, and erected into a territorial government by the
name of the Territory of Louisiana, which was afterwards
altered to the Territory of Missouri, and lastly to the State
of Missouri. Immigration at first proceeded rapidly, but
received a check in the year 1811 from the sickliness of
the season ; and the late war also effectually repressed for
a time the increase of the country. In 1817 various causes
conspired to retard the advancement of this state. Im¬
provements of every description not only came to a dead
pause, but seemed to retrograde. This continued for seve¬
ral years; but in the year 1824 prosperity advanced anew,
the tide of immigration once more set towards Missouri,
and it has ever since continued to improve.
Missouri Territory, a tract of country belonging to
the United States, which is bounded on the north by the
British possessions, on the east by the North-west Terri¬
tory, Illinois and Missouri, on the south and south-west by
the territories of the Mexican republic, and on the west
by the Rocky Mountains. It is 900 miles in length by
800 in breadth. The belt of land on the western bank of
the Mississippi, which is partially wooded, is generally
from 200 to 400 in breadth. Then commence the vast
prairies which constitute so striking and impressive a fea¬
ture in the immense country stretching beyond the Mis¬
sissippi and the Missouri. It is for the most part a plain,
more or less covered with grass, and in many places fertile;
but in others it presents only an ocean of moving sand.
Countless multitudes of buffaloes, elks, and other wild ani¬
mals, graze upon it. The principal sources of the Missouri,
Arkansas, and Red River, are found in this territory; and
several large branches of the Mississippi, above the Mis¬
souri, come from the north-western part of the same vast
country. Of the Rocky Mountains, which are as yet but
imperfectly known, Mr Flint, in his Geography of America,
gives the following account.
“ The Rocky Mountains commence in the unexplored
regions to the north-west of the United States, and, rang¬
ing across the sources of the Missouri, the Roche Jaune,
Platte, Arkansas, and Red River, in the Mexican states
of Texas and Coahuila, they diverge and unite with the
ranges of Mexican mountains. They separate the waters
of the great tributaries of the Mississippi from those that
fail into the Columbia or Multnomah, the great lake of
Buenaventura, and other waters of the Pacific. They
MIS
iiouri. have a far greater extent than the Alleghany Mountains
'are of a wider range, and for the most part run, like them^
in parallel ridges, though generally more ragged, detached,
and broken, and are by no means so regular. They are
also of a character decidedly more primitive. Their black
precipitous, and frowning appearance has probably given
them the name of the Rocky Mountains. Their bases
have an elevation of between 3000 and 4000 feet above
the level of the sea. James’s or Pike’s Mountain has been
given as about 12,000 feet in height. As this vast range of
mountains is as yet but very imperfectly known, there is
little reason to doubt that many of the peaks, when more
fully explored and more accurately measured, will be found
to approach much nearer in height to the highest ranges
in Mexico than has been commonly supposed. Most of
the more elevated summits are above the limit of perpe¬
tual congelation. In one respect they resemble the Al-
leghanies. In numerous places the waters that run into
the Pacific rise near those that fall into the tributaries of
the Mississippi. Thus has nature kindly provided points
of easy transit from the eastern to the western side of
these frowning and apparently impassable barriers of na¬
ture. By communications of unquestionable veracity, from
persons engaged in the Missouri Fur Company, we learn
that, following up the valleys of the sources of the Platte
to the opposite valleys of waters that fall into the Great
Lake of Buenaventura, on the other side, a good road was
found, and easily passable by loaded waggons.” This vast
inland sea is one hundred miles in length by from sixty
to eighty in breadth, and its waters are much salter than
those of the ocean.
J^iere are other ranges of mountains, which traverse
difterent parts of this territory; as the Black Hills, the Ozark
Mountains, the Masserne, and others. There are also fer¬
tile belts of land on the margins of most of the rivers, and
some of them have a great extent of rich country. As
we recede from the rivers, the soil becomes poor, and ex¬
tensive deserts are found in the southern regions. In such
a vast extent of level country, naked and open, the climate
must ot course in a great measure depend upon latitude.
Immediately beyond the state of Missouri and the Arkan-
ssas territory, the climate is mild and temperate; but it
gradually becomes similar to that of Canada. There are
very few settlements of whites in this vast country, and
none so considerable as to have any established govern¬
ment. At Council Bluffs there is a military post, having
one regiment of infantry. Many tribes of Indians still
possess vast tracts of country. The Sioux are the most
abouHIO 00 thC Wh°le number has been estimated at
Missouri, a very large river of the United States, which
unites with the Mississippi a little beyond the thirtieth
egree of north lat. It originates in the Rocky Mountains,
and takes the name of Missouri in lat. 45. 10. north, and in
ong. i 10. west, where the three branches, Jefferson, Gal-
in, and Madison unite. These head branches of the Mis¬
souri are navigable to a considerable extent before their
junction. Where the river makes its escape from the Rocky
a ?.ua*'ains> ** presents a spectacle of rare sublimity. For
a distance of about six miles the rocks rise 1200 feet per-
5=U'arly.frr the water’s edSe- Tbe river is consi-
y^shed in width where it rushes through these
ttiIIo8 k i 6 , .ocky Mountains. One hundred and ten
tv ® ?elowr this chasm are the stupendous cataracts of
piaRfMlSS0Unr °ne of which has a perpendicular fall of
fpff y seven feet, but according to Mr Flint of ninety-eight
a cpV; °^about seventeen miles the river may be termed
BivtJp3 °‘ cataracts. Not far below these falls Maria’s
ahlact r0m nor*b j°ins the Missouri. It is a consider-
ame stream, as are also the Dearborn, Fancy, Manoles, Big
ry, and others, which enter still farther down. Below
V O-L. Xy, , —
M 1 T 305
these the Missouri receives the waters of the Roche Jaune Misterbi.
r lellow btone, probably its largest tributary. It rises
m the same ranges of mountains as the main river, and in
many respects resembles it. It is a broad, deep, and sweep¬
ing stream, and at its junction appears to be the larger of
the two, entering from the south by a mouth of 850 yards
wide. Its course is commonly calculated at 1600 miles,
a?l ^ntranC-e 1STSaid t0 be 1880 miles ab°ve the mouth
of the Missouri. It was selected by the government as an
e igible situation for a military post and an extensive set¬
tlement. At the junction of the Yellow Stone, the Mis¬
souri has wide and fine bottoms, but unfortunately its banks
are almost destitute of timber, which will retard its settle¬
ment for a long time. A great many rivers join the Mis¬
souri below this. The following are the most considera-
bie: Knife River ; Cannon-Ball River, which is 140 yards
wide; Chienne, which is boatable 800 miles; Poncas, Qui-
Courre, White Stone, Big Sioux, Floyd’s, and many other
streams, all enter on the south side. La Platte, which has
a longer course than any tributary of the Missouri, comes in
rom the south side. It rises in the same ranges of moun-
tams which give birth to the parent stream, and, measur-
cd by its meanders, is supposed to have a course of 2000
miles before it joins the principal stream. It is nearly a mile
m width at its entrance; but, as its name imports, is shal¬
low, and not boatable except at its highest flood. Kansas,
a large tributary from the south, has a course of 1200 miles,
and is boatable nearly the whole of its course. From the
north side, the following, amongst other streams, flow
into the Missouri: the Grand River, which is large, long,
deep, and boatable for a great distance; the Nowada, Little
Platte, Charatous, Bonne Femme, and Manitou.
'^'b®.wbcde length of the Missouri, above its junction with
the Mnssissippi, has been estimated at above 3100 miles.
Add to this the distance from the mouth of the Missouri
to the Gulf of Mexico, and the total will be nearly 4400
mues. The Missouri is much longer than the Mississippi
before their junction, and has a much greater volume of
water. It is about half a mile in breadth at its mouth, but
is wider in a great part of its course. (r. r. r.)
M1STERBIANCO, a town of the island of Sicily, in
the kingdom of Naples and the province of Demone, 118
miles from Palermo. It stands upon Mount AStna, and is
the Monasterium Album of Pirro. The situation is healthy,
and the inhabitants are 3500. It is surrounded with ba¬
saltic rocks and warm baths.
MISTRETTA, a parliamentary city of the island of
Sicily, in the kingdom of Naples and province of Demone,
seventy-eight miles from Palermo. It stands on the north
shore, near the mouth of the river Nebroden, on an elevat¬
ed and healthy situation. It contains 8000 inhabitants.
MU CHAM, a village of the county of Surrey, in the
hundred of Wallington, seven miles from London. It is
pleasantly situated on the river Wandle, a stream remark-
able. ior its trouts, and for the number of mills turned by
it within a short distance. The population amounted in
1801 to 3466, in 1811 to 4175, in 1821 to 4453, and in
1831 to 4387.
MI ICHELSTOWN, a post-town of Ireland, in the
county of Cork, 132 miles south-west from Dublin. It is
built on the site of an ancient town called Brighgobban,
said to have been founded by a saint of whom a relic was
long preserved. Lord Baron Kingston here founded an
establishment called the College, where a number of de¬
cayed gentlemen and gentlewomen are comfortably pro¬
vided for. Long. 8. 21. W. Lat. 52. 54. N.
MITE, a small piece of money mentioned in St Luke’s
Gospel (xii. 59, and xxi. 2). In the Greek it is
quadransy or a quarter of the Roman denarius; so that
the mite was worth about seven farthings, or nearly two¬
pence of our money.
2 Q
anco
II
Mite.
306 M I T
Mithras MITHRAS, Feasts of, in Antiquity, were celebrated
II amongst the Romans in honour of Mithras or the Sun.
Mithnda- most anc;ent instance of this amongst the Romans
x .occurs in an inscription dated in the third consulate of
Trajan, or about the year of our era 101. This is the de¬
dication of an altar to the Sun under the name of Mithras,
and inscribed Deo Soli Mithrce. But the worship of Mi¬
thras was not known in Egypt and Syria in the time of
Origen, who died about the year of Christ 263 ; although
it was common at Rome for more than a century before
this time. The worship of Mithras was proscribed at
Rome in the year 378, by order of Gracchus, prefect of
the praetorium. According to Freret, the feasts of Mi¬
thras were derived from Chaldaea, where they had been
instituted for celebrating the entrance of the Sun into the
sign Taurus.
MITHRAS, or Mithra, a god of Persia and Chaldaea,
supposed to be the Sun, and whose worship was introduced
at Rome. He is generally represented as a young man,
whose head is covered with a turban after the manner of
the Persians; and he supports his knee upon a bull lying on
the ground, one of the horns of which he holds in one
band, whilst with the other he plunges a dagger in his
neck.
MITHRIDATES, the name of several kings of Pontus.
Mithridates, surnamed Eupator, and also the Great,
succeeded to the throne at the age of eleven, about 123
years before the Christian era. The beginning of his
reign was marked by ambition, cruelty, and artifice. He
murdered his own mother, who had been left by his father
co-heiress of the kingdom ; and he fortified his constitu¬
tion by drinking antidotes against the poison with which
his enemies at court attempted to destroy him. He early
inured his body to hardship, and employed himself in the
most manly exercises, often remaining whole months in
the country, and making frozen snow and the earth the
place of his repose. Naturally ambitious and cruel, he
spared no pains to acquire power and dominion. He mur¬
dered the two sons whom his sister Laodice had by Aria-
rathes king of Cappadocia, arid placed one of his own chil¬
dren, when only eight years old, on the vacant throne. This
violent proceeding alarmed Nicomedes king of Bithynia,
who had married Laodice the widow of Ariarathes, and
ultimately involved Mithridates in a quarrel with the Ro¬
mans. Mithridates never lost an opportunity by which he
might lessen the influence of his adversaries ; and in or¬
der the more effectually to destroy their power in Asia,
he commanded that all the Romans who were in his
dominions should be massacred. This was done in one
night, and no less than a hundred and fifty thousand ac¬
cording to Plutarch, or eighty thousand according to
Appian, became the victims of his cruelty. This atro¬
cious butchery called aloud for vengeance. Aquilius,
and soon afterwards Sylla, marched against Mithridates
with a large army. The former was made prisoner; but
Sylla obtained a victory over the generals of Mithridates ;
and another decisive engagement rendered the great
Roman captain master of all Greece, Macedonia, Ionia,
and Asia Minor. This adverse fortune was aggravated
by the loss of about two hundred thousand men, who
were killed in the different engagements; and Mith¬
ridates, weakened by repeated reverses both by sea and
land, sued for peace from the conqueror, which he obtain¬
ed on hard terms. But he soon took the field again with
an army of a hundred and forty thousand infantry and
sixteen thousand horse, consisting of his own forces and
those of his son-in-law Tigranes king of Armenia. At the
head of this army he made himself master of the Roman
provinces in Asia; none dared to oppose his conquests;
and the Romans, relying upon his fidelity, had withdrawn
the greater part of their armies from the country. But
M I T
the news of his warlike preparations were no sooner heard Miti
than Lucullus the consul marched into Asia, and without || j
delay blocked up the camp of Mithridates, who was then
besieging Cyzicus. The Asiatic monarch, however, escap-^V'
ed, and fled into the heart of his kingdom. Lucullus pur¬
sued him with the utmost celerity, and would have taken
him prisoner after a battle, had not the avidity of his soldiers
preferred the plundering of a mule loaded with gold to the
taking of a monarch who had exercised such cruelties
against their countrymen. The appointment of Glabrio to
the command of the Roman forces, instead of Lucullus,
proved favourable to Mithridates, who recovered the great¬
er part of his dominions. But the sudden arrival of Pom-
pey soon put an end to his successes. During the night
a battle was fought near the Euphrates, and an universal
overthrow ensued ; but Mithridates, bold in his misfor¬
tunes, rushed through the ranks of the enemy at the head
of eight hundred horsemen, five hundred of whom perish¬
ed in the attempt to follow him. He fled to Tigranes his
son-in-law, who however refused him an asylum, although
he had previously supported him with the collected forces
of his kingdom. Mithridates found a safe retreat amongst
the Scythians ; and though destitute of power, friends, and
resources, he yet meditated the overthrow of the Roman
empire, by penetrating by land into the very heart of Italy.
But these wild projects were rejected by his followers,
and he sued for peace. It was denied to his ambassadors;
and the victorious Pompey declared, that, in order to ob¬
tain it, Mithridates must ask it in person. The proud mo¬
narch scorned to trust himself in the hands of his enemy,
and resolved to conquer or to die. His subjects, however,
refused to follow him ; and, having revolted against his au¬
thority, made his son Pharnaces king. The latter showed
himself ungrateful to his father ; and, according to some
writers, he even ordered his parent to be put to death. This
unnatural treatment broke the heart of Mithridates, who
obliged his wife to poison herself, and attempted to do the
same himself. But his attempt was in vain. The frequent
antidotes he had taken in the early part of his life had
strengthened his constitution against the poison ; and when
this proved unavailing, he attempted to stab himself. The
blow did not prove mortal; and a Gaul who happened to
be present, gave bim, at his own request, the fatal stroke,
about sixty-four years before the Christian era. Such were
the misfortunes, the abilities, and the miserable end, of
a man who supported himself so long against the whole
power of Rome, and who, according to the declarations of
the Roman authors, proved a more powerful and indefati¬
gable adversary than Hannibal, Pyrrhus, Perseus, or An-
tiochus. It is said that Mithridates conquered twenty-four
nations, whose different languages he knew and spoke with
the same ease and fluency as his own. As a man of letters
he also deserves attention. He was acquainted with the
Greek, and even wrote in that language a treatise on bo¬
tany. His skill in physic is well known ; and even now
there is a celebrated antidote which bears his name, and
is called mithridate. The great work of Adelung has also
been called by his name.
MITRA was a cap or covering for the head, worn by
the Roman ladies, and sometimes by the men ; but it was
looked upon as a mark of effeminacy in the latter, especi¬
ally when it was tied upon their heads.
MITRE, a sacerdotal ornament worn on the head by
bishops and certain abbots upon solemn occasions, being a
sort of high cap, pointed and cleft at top. The high priest
amongst the Jews wore a mitre or bonnet upon his head;
and the inferior priests of the same nation had likewise
their mitres, but in what respect they differed from that
of the high priest is uncertain. Some writers contend that
the ancient bishops wore mitres; but this is by no means
a settled point.
re
and
II .
Veil.
MIT
Mitre Island, a small uninhabited island in the South
Pacific Ocean, with two remarkable promontories. Lone.
169. 55. E. Lat. 11. 49. S.
MITTAU, a city of the province of Courland, in Euro¬
pean Russia, and the capital of a circle of the same name.
It is in a marshy situation, at the junction of the river
Drive with the Aa. It was once fortified, but the walls
have gone to decay. The ancient palace of the dukes of
Courland has been repaired for an imperial residence, but
never so occupied. It contains seven churches, and, in¬
cluding the suburbs, 740 houses, with 12,420 inhabitants.
There is here a college, with nine professors, and a library
of 16,000 volumes. It has little trade except at a great
fair, which continues four weeks. Long. 23. 20. E. Lat.
56. 45. N.
MITTIMUS, as generally used, has two significations.
First, it signifies a writ for removing or transferring of re¬
cords from one court to another. Secondly, it signifies a
precept or command in writing, under the hand and seal
of a justice of the peace, directed to the gaoler or keeper
of some prison, for the receiving and safe keeping of an
offender charged with any crime, until he be delivered by
due course of law.
MITWEIDA, a city of the kingdom of Saxony, in the
circle of Leipsig, and bailiwick of Rochlitz. It stands on
the river Ztchopau, and is one of the most considerable
places in Germany for the manufacturing of cotton goods.
It contains 508 houses, and 3860 inhabitants.
* MITYLENE, or Mytelene, in Ancient Geography, a
celebrated, powerful, and affluent city, the capital of the
island of Lesbos. It received its name from Mitylene, the
daughter of Macareus, a king of the country. It is great¬
ly commended by the ancients for the stateliness of its
buildings and the fertility of its soil; but more especially
for the great men it produced, particularly Pittacus, Al¬
caeus, Sappho, Terpander, Theophanes, Hellanicus, and
others. It was long a seat of learning; and, with Rhodes
and Athens, it had the honour of educating many of the
great men of Rome and Greece. In the Peloponnesian
war, the Mitylenians suffered greatly for their revolt
against Athens; and in the Mithridatic wars they had the
boldness not only to resist the Romans, but to disdain the
treaties which had been concluded between Mithridates
and Sylla.
MIXTURE, a compound or assemblage of several dif¬
ferent bodies in the same mass. Chemical mixture is at¬
tended with many phenomena which are never observed
in simple mixtures; such as heat, effervescence, &c. To
chemical mixture belong the union of acids and alkalies,
the amalgamation of metals, the solution of gums, &c.; and
upon it depend many of the principal operations of che¬
mistry.
M1ZEN, or Mizzen, in nautical language, is a particular
mast or sail. The mizen-mast stands in the sternmost part
of the ship. In some great ships there are two of these, in
which case that next the main-mast is called the main-
ant^ khat next the poop the bonaventure mize.n.
MIZRAIM, or Misraim, the dual name of Egypt, em-
p oyed in Scripture to denote the upper and lower divi¬
sions of that country. It sometimes occurs in the singu-
mTv Z°r KingS’ xix* Isaiah’ xix’ Micah> vii->
iNEILL,1 Hector, a distinguished Scottish poet, born
on tie 22d of October 1746, at Rosebank, on the Esk, and
a most amongst the classic woods of Hawthornden. Here
is afher, descended from an old respectable family in the
sout of Argyleshire, had retired from military service to
enj°y the undisturbed calm of domestic life. Pecuniary cir-
M N E
307
cumstances, however, ere long forced him, with his family, M‘Neill.
from this choice retreat, to occupy a farm on the banks of'
Loch Lomond, where part of the boyhood of Hector, the
youngest and favourite child, was spent amongst those
scarcely less beautiful or less classic scenes, on which the
young eyes of Buchanan and Smollett had gazed with de-
hght; and where their “rural pipe,” as well as his own,
was first tuned to freedom and love.
His early education, with the exception of a short time
spent at a school in the neighbourhood, was solely conduct¬
ed by his father at home, who, along with the common
branches, carefully imbued his mind with piety and good
morals, and, with parental fondness and pride, also encou¬
raged his boyish passion for the muses. Preparatory, how¬
ever, to going to Bristol to the house of a wealthy mercan¬
tile relative, who had promised to provide for young Hector
the latter was, at the age of twelve, sent to Glasgow for two
years, to acquire those branches immediately applicable to a
commercial life. On his arrival at Bristol, he was occupied
for a short time in the counting-house of his relative, and
in completing his commercial education previously to his
departure for the West Indies. Having spent three years,
with neither comfort nor success, in mercantile pursuits in
Antigua, and other three with strict honour and integri-
ty in a civil capacity, in the office of the provost-marshal
of Granada, he returned to his native land with the ac¬
quisition of the French language, but with no more wealth
than when he departed.
Both his mother and sister had died in his absence, and
his father did not survive his return above a year and
a half. The small inheritance to which he thus succeed¬
ed he sunk in an annuity ; but this only enabled him in¬
dolently to waste six valuable years in a connection which,
howsoever regarded in the islands he had left, is still pro¬
perly dishonourable in this, and which must, no doubt, as
much as “ the idle propensity of rhyming,” have impeded
his future success in life. Ihe loss of his annuity by
bankruptcy, however, broke the spell which had bound him,
and urged him to seek some resource for warding off the
immediate approach of want.
In this emergency, through the interest of a friend in
London, he was appointed to the office of assistant-secre¬
tary in the flag-ship of Admiral Geary. Having made two
cruises, the one under Admiral Geary, and the other under
Admiral Darby, he resigned a situation which necessity
alone had made him at first accept. Soon afterwards, how¬
ever, he was induced to undertake the same office in the
flag-ship of Sir Richard Bickerton, appointed to the East
Indian station. During this service he was present in the
last naval engagement with the able French commander
Sufti ein ; and though his inkstand before him was swept
away by the first broadside, and a block fell over his head
on the quarter-netting, he evinced more calm intrepidity
than the lyric bard of Rome in the battle of Philippi, or
the unrivalled orator of Greece on the field of Chteronea.
Before leaving the Indian shores, on the conclusion of
peace with America, he visited Surat, the sculptured ex¬
cavations of Elephanta, and “smilingSalsett’s cave-wrought
coast.’ An account of these singular remains of Indian
superstition and antiquity, his first attempt at authorship,
beguiled the tedium of his voyage home, and was after¬
wards published in the Archseologia. Neither enriched
w ith the gold of India, nor secured in a competence by a
permanent appointment, he returned to Scotland after an
absence of five years, where, to his mortification, he found,
as too frequently happens, that success or adversity is con¬
sidered as the proof of good or bad conduct.
able cirr!^laCC°r^anCj ^he Poet’s usual orthography of his name, this article ought to have been placed under Mac, but unavoid-
c cuvum&tances rendered this impracticable.
308
M N E
M N E
M‘Neill. The reversion of his bankrupt annuity being still un-
“v—-' settled, and economy necessary, he retired for two years
to a humble residence in the neighbourhood of Stirling,
distinguished alike by the beauties of nature and the me¬
morials of national glory and independence. In this re¬
tirement, enhanced by the contrast of vertical suns and
tropical scenes, and so congenial to thought and the muses,
he produced the beautiful descriptive poem of “ The Links
of Forth,” which gained him the enlightened friendship of
Mr Graham of Gartmore.
The exhausted state of his pecuniary resources, how¬
ever, compelled him to revisit the West Indies. On his ar¬
rival in Jamaica he was appointed to an office in the cus¬
tomhouse at Kingston ; but the debilitating effects of fever,
and other circumstances connected with his duties, obliged
him to repair to the upland vale of Guanaboo, whose lively
hues of vegetation, and “ coolness wafted in perfume” from
the orange, the logwood, and the lime (citrus medicay var.)
at once exhilarated the mind and invigorated the consti¬
tution. Here, by a providentially good fortune, he met
with two old school-fellows, whom distance and time now
more closely united in friendship, and who, with a liberali¬
ty becoming their wealth, made him share in their success.
At the request of the distinguished Dr Currie, he drew up
an impartial statement “ on the treatment of the negroes,”
which was published at Liverpool by his esteemed friend,
to whose memory he has done justice, both in “ The Scot¬
tish Muse,” and in “ The Rose o’ Kirtle
“ And ye wha mourn at Currie't urn,
Or weep by Mersey’s river,
Learn, that the rose that virtue blows,
Though dead, will bloom for ever.”
Upon his passage home he composed the second canto of
the sweetly wild poem of “ The Harp,” founded. on a
tradition of the Hebrides, and communicated to him by
Graham of Gartmore, with whom, on his return to Stirling¬
shire, he lived for nearly two years in the closest intimacy
of friendship. From prudential motives, however, and
perhaps not a little in the spirit of “ not burning his harp
for woman,” he retired from this loved abode to Argyle-
shire, in order to break off a mutual attachment between
him and a near relative of his patron. But this separation
told on his sensitive and feeling frame, though the inte¬
resting scenery of Argyleshire, the society of friends, and
the composition of admired songs to the favourite airs of
the country, considerably alleviated his tender pain.
Welcomed, from the popularity of his songs, by the
fashionable society of Glasgow, he was, by the liberality of
a friend, about to engage there in business, when, on the
breaking out of the revolution in France, the commerce and
prosperity of that city experienced a reverse so severe as
completely to prevent the execution of his intentions. Soon
after he was afflicted with a nervous disorder, which, by im¬
proper treatment, continued about six years. During this
malad "xed his residence for a time in a cottage near
the fielu ot Bannockburn, “ dear to the muse, but doubly
dear to'liberty.” Here, unable either to read or write above
a few minutes without distress, he, like the blind minstrels
of other times, composed “ Scotland’s Skaith,” by memory
alone; the happiest effort of his genius, and which induced
his countrymen to consider him as the gifted bard on whom
the inspiring mantle of Burns had fallen. The sequel to
this simple, pathetic tale, which ran through fourteen edi¬
tions in a year, he composed in the same manner, and pub¬
lished under the title of “ The Waes of War but this
was not so well received, from its being then considered as
satirically reflecting upon the Dutch campaign.
In the hope of recovery from his long-protracted com¬
plaints, although by many deemed irremediable, he again
sailed for Jamaica. This voyage happily contributed alike
to restore his health and to afford him a future competence.
By the death of one of the companions of his boyhood, Mnet
the Grahams of Three-Mile-River, whose kindness and nicu
liberality he had formerly experienced when in Jamaica, he N'“"v'
now received a legacy, and the surviving brother settled on
him an annuity for life. Under his friendly roof, previously
to his return, he wrote “ The Scottish Muse,” descriptive
of the various vicissitudes of his own poetical life; and
also a grateful epitaph to his deceased friend, as in duty
he might “ with a brother’s woes record his own.”
Upon his aAival in Scotland, almost like one risen from
the grave, when the voice of envy is silenced by death, a
species of posthumous fame hailed his return. With the
well-deserved emoluments of his poetical labours, and an¬
other bequest of an intimate medical friend in Jamaica, in
addition to his annuity, he spent the evening of his days
in the capital of his native land, in the enjoyment of pub-
licly-awarded honour, lettered ease, and comparative
affluence. Here he published “ The Pastoral or Lyric
Muse of Scotland,” illustrative of the music and song of
the Scottish Arcadia—the green hills and dales of the
Teviot, Tweed, and Yarrow: also two satirical poems,
entitled “ Town Fashions,” and “ Bygane Times and Late
Come Changes.” His last literary efforts were “ The Scot¬
tish Adventurers,” and an unpublished autobiography in
three volumes, which has been the chief guide in this brief
account. Such were the calm labours of the years spent
in Edinburgh, till the 15th March 1818, when, at an age
beyond the common limit of human existence, he closed
his frequently adverse, but not inglorious career, leaving a
name endeared to his countrymen, and embalmed in the
song of his father-land.
Born a poet, with a musical ear, a melodious voice, and
a feeling mind, Macneill’s disposition ill accorded with the
rough life of the British seamen, and still less with the
cautious acquiring habits of the merchant. From his at¬
tachment to truth, he was free, undisguised, and even se¬
vere ; quick in temper, yet serene and social; proudly ho¬
nourable, yet warm and benevolent. True to nature and feel¬
ing, as a poet he excels in the simple and pathetic; and
though his humour and satire be less successful, his man¬
ner is serious and his aim uniformly well directed.
In the year 1801 an edition of his poetical works issued
from the London press, in two vols. 12mo. The second
edition, Edinburgh, 1806, in two vols. 12mo, contains ad¬
ditional songs, The Rose o’ Kirtle, and Verses on Dr Doig,
to whom the beautiful octavo edition of Scotland’s Skaith,
Edinburgh, 1795, is dedicated. The third edition, Edin¬
burgh, 1812, in two vols. 12mo, does not, as might be sup¬
posed, contain the following poems, though written after
the publication of the preceding edition : The Pastoral or
Lyric Muse of Scotland, Edinburgh, 1808, 4to; Town Fa¬
shions, or Modern Manners delineated, Edinburgh, 1810,
12mo; Bygane Times and Late Come Changes, Edinburgh,
1811, 12mo.
His publications in prose are, an Account of the Caves
of Canara, Ambola, and Elephanta, in the eighth volume
of the Archaeologia, 1787 ; On the Treatment of the
Negroes in Jamaica, Liverpool, 1788; and The Scottish
Adventurers, or the Way to Rise, a historical tale, two
vols. Edinburgh, 1812, 8vo. (s. s.)
MNEMONICS. Some ancient writers speak of an ar¬
tificial memory, and lay down rules for attaining it. Si¬
monides the poet is said first to have made this discovery,
or at least to have occasioned its being made. The story
told of him is this. Being once at a feast, he recited a
poem which he had composed in honour of the person
who gave the entertainment; but having made a large
digression in praise of Castor and Pollux, his patron, when
he had repeated the whole poem, only gave him half the
sum he had promised, telling him that he must get the
rest from those deities who had an eqi^gjiiare in the ho-
M N E
j :mo. nour of his performance. Immediately afterwards, Simo-
s. nides was informed that two young men were without,
-■ ■'•'''and must needs speak with him. He had scarcely quit¬
ted the house, when the room where the company was as¬
sembled fell down, killed all the persons in it, and so mu¬
tilated the bodies that, when the rubbish was removed,
they could not be distinguished one from another; but Si¬
monides, calling to mind the place which every one had
occupied, was by that means enabled to distinguish them.
Hence it came to be observed, that fixing a number of
places in the mind, in a certain order, served as a help to
the memory; for we find by experience, that upon return¬
ing to places once familiar to us, we not only remember
them, but likewise many things which we both said and
did in them. This effort of Simonides was afterwards im¬
proved into an art, and its nature is simply this: You are
required to form in your mind the idea of some large
place or building, which you may divide into a great num¬
ber of distinct parts, ranged and disposed in a certain or¬
der.- These you are frequently to revolve in your thoughts,
until, beginning at any part, you are able to run them
over one after another without hesitation. Then you are
to impress upon your mind as many images of living crea¬
tures, or any other objects which are most likely to affect
you, and to be soonest revived in your memory. These,
like characters written in short-hand, or like hieroglyphics,
will stand to denote an equal number of words, which can¬
not so easily be remembered. When therefore you have a
number of things to commit to memory in a certain order,
all that you have to do is, to place those images regularly in
the several parts of your building ; and thus, by going over
several parts of the building, the images placed in them
will be revived in the mind, by which means the things or
words themselves will arise in the order in which you de¬
sire to remember them. The advantage of these images
seems to be this, that, as they are more likely to affect
the imagination than the words for which they stand, they
will for that reason be more easily remembered. Thus, for
instance, if the image of a lion be made to signify strength,
and this word strength be one of those which I am to
remember, and be placed in the porch, then, in going over
the several parts of the building, when I come to the
porch I shall sooner be reminded of that image than of
the word strength. Of this artificial memory both Cicero
and Quintilian have spoken; but we know not of any mo¬
dem orator who has ever made use of it. It seems in¬
deed to have been a laborious way of improving the me¬
mory, if it serves that end at all, and fitter for assisting
us to remember any number of unconnected words than
a continual discourse, unless in as far as the remembrance
of one word may enable us to recollect others. It is, how¬
ever, in allusion to it that we still call the parts of a dis¬
course places or topics, and say, in the first place, in the
second place, and so on.
In Germany this art was revived by M. Aretin ; and a
pupil of his, M. Kaestner, was permitted to teach the new
doctrine at Leipzig, but on the express condition of not
allowing his hearers to write down his lectures. The fol¬
lowing account is given of this art in a letter from Paris
written in the beginning of 1807 : “ During my resi¬
dence,” says the writer, “ in this metropolis, I heard a great
deal of a new method of mnemonique, or of a method to
assist and fix our memory, invented by Gregor de Fein-
aigle. Notwithstanding the simplicity with which he an¬
nounced his lectures in the papers, I could not determine
myself to become a pupil of his, as I thought to find a
quack or mountebank, and to be laughed at by my friends
for having thrown away my cash in such a foolish man-
M N E
ner. Perhaps I should hesitate to this moment about the
utility of this newly-invented method to assist our natural
memory, had I not had the pleasure of dining at his ex¬
cellency s, the Count de Metternich, the Austrian ambas- >
sador, who followed, with all his secretaries, the whole
course of lectures ; they all spoke very advantageously of
it, likewise several other persons of the first rank I met
there. In consequence of this I was inserted into the list
of pupils, and I follow at this moment the lectures. All
I can tell you about this method is, it is a very simple
one, and easy to be learned, adapted to all ages and sexes.
All difficulties in such sciences as require an extraordinary
good memory, for instance, the names and epochs in his¬
tory, are at once overcome and obviated. There is not
one branch of science to which this method cannot be ap¬
plied. It is easy to be perceived that such an invention
cannot pass without some critique, and even sarcasms, in
the public prints ; some of them were very injurious, and
plausible enough to mislead the public, who, knowing no¬
thing of the method, are always more ready to condemn
than to assist. M. Feinaigle, to answer all these critics at
once, adopted a method not less public for Paris than the
public papers, but less public for the rest of Europe. He
gave a public exhibition to about 2000 spectators, in which
he did not appear at all, only about twelve or fifteen of his
pupils ; each of them made such an application of the me¬
thod as his situation in life required. The principal parts
were the following : History, about names and years ; geo¬
graphy, with respect to longitude, latitude, number of in¬
habitants, square miles, &c.; grammar in various lan¬
guages, about different editions of the same work; pan¬
dects, their division, and title of each book, title, &c.;
different systems of botany, poetry, arithmetic, &c. At
last one desired the company to give him one thousand
words, without any connection whatsoever, and without
numerical order; for instance, the word astronomer, for
No. 62; wood, for No. 188 ; lovely, for No. 370; dynasty,
for No. 23; David, for No. 90, &c. till all the numbers
were filled; and he repeated the whole, notwithstanding
he heard these words without order, and but once, in the
numerical order; or he told you what word was given
against any one number, or what number any one word
bore. It is still more striking, but certainly also more
difficult, to retain as many numbers, however great they
may be. For words and numbers I could venture myself,
with the greatest safety, as far as one hundred of each;
and I am sure, after having fixed them once, which is
done in less than ten minutes, I could repeat them to you
at any period, without ever thinking any more of them.”1
Feinaigle afterwards delivered lectures on the same sub¬
ject to crowded audiences in London, Edinburgh, Glas¬
gow, and other towns; but we do not find that any of his
pupils received improvement from his instructions, and very
few of them could give any account of his method.
MNEMOSYNE, in fabulous history, a daughter of
Ccelus and Terra, who married Jupiter, by whom she had
the nine Muses. The word mnemosyne signifies memory ;
and therefore the poets have rightly called Memory the
mother of the Muses, because it is to that mental endow¬
ment that mankind are indebted for their progress in sci¬
ence.
MO A Isle, in the Eastern Seas, is situated off the east¬
ern extremity of Timor, and intersected by the 128th de¬
gree of east longitude. Lat. 8. 20. S.
MOAB, in Ancient Geography, a country of Arabia
Petraea, so called from Moab the son of Lot, to whose pos¬
terity this country had been allotted by divine appointment
(Deut. xi. 9). It was originally occupied by the Emim,
309
Mnemo¬
syne
, II
Moab.
1 Phil. Mag. 28, 93,
310 M O C
Moat a race of giants extirpated by the Moabites. Moab an¬
il ciently lay to the south of Ammon, before Sihon the Amo-
Mocha. rjte stripped both nations of a part of their territory, which
was afterwards occupied by the Israelites (Numb, xxi.) ;
and then Moab was bounded by the river Arnon to the
north, the Lacus Asphaltites to the west, the brook Zared to
the south, and the mountains Abarim to the east.
MOxlT, Ditch, or Fosse, in Fortification, a deep trench
dug round the rampart of a fortified place, to prevent sur¬
prises. See Fortification.
MOATAZALITES, or Separatists, a religious sect
amongst the Turks, who deny all forms and qualities in
the Divine Being, and divest God of his attributes.
Amongst the Turkish divines two opinions are entertain¬
ed concerning God. The first admits metaphysical forms or
attributes, as, that God has wisdom, by which he is wise ;
power, by which he is powerful; eternity, by which he is
eternal; and so of the rest. The second allows God to
be wise, powerful, eternal; but does not admit any form or
quality in God, for fear of admitting a multiplicity. Those
who hold the latter opinion are called Moatazalites ; they
who adopt the former, are denominated Sephalites. This
sect is said to have first invented the scholastic divinity : it
is subdivided into no less than twenty inferior sects, which
mutually brand one another with infidelity.
MOBILE, a city, port of entry, and capital of Mobile
county, in Alabama, one of the United States of North
America. It is situated on the west side of Mobile River,
at its entrance into the bay, thirty miles north of Mobile
Point, which is upon the east side of the mouth of the bay,
fifty-miles west by north from Pensacola, and 160 miles
east from New Orleans. Although its site is dry and plea¬
sant, in rear of it there are swampy lands and stagnant
waters, and near it is a sterile country of pine woods. It
possesses a considerable trade in cotton, and in this re¬
spect ranks next to New Orleans and Charleston. The
value of the exports of domestic produce from Alabama in
1829 amounted to 1,679,385 dollars, and nearly the whole
of this must have been shipped at Mobile. The exports
have since considerably increased. This city has a regu¬
lar steam-boat communication with New Orleans through
Lake Ponchartrain. During most of the year steam-boats
are constantly plying between this place and the towns on
the river, and many vessels are continually loading at the
wharfs for distant ports. In January 1836, the Mobile and
Tennessee Railway Company was incorporated. This work
is to extend from the city or bay of Mobile to some point on
the Tennessee River, and thence north to the Tennessee
line. Mobile has a bank, and issues two daily papers. The
population is estimated at between 4000 and 5000. Long.
88. 21. W. Lat. 30. 40. N.
Mobile, Moveable, any thing susceptible of motion, or
that is capable of being moved either by itself or by some
other prior mover.
Primum Mobile, in the ancient astronomy, was a ninth
heaven or sphere, imagined to exist above those of the
planets and fixed stars. This was supposed to be the first
mover, and to carry round all the lower spheres along with
it ; communicating to them a motion by which they re¬
volved in twenty-four hours. But the diurnal revolution
of the planets is now accounted for without the assistance
of any such primum mobile.
Perpetuum Mobile. See Perpetual Motion.
MOCHA, one of the principal ports of the Red Sea,
and the chief city of the province of Yemen, in Arabia.
It has a handsome appearance from the sea, all its build¬
ings being white-washed, and several of its minarets over¬
topping the other buildings, whilst some of the tombs, which,
as in many eastern cities, are handsome structures, break
the monotonous view of the flat roofs which are common
in Mahommedan cities. But if the eye is pleased by the
M O C
external aspect of the place, these ideas are quickly dis¬
pelled by a nearer view, owing to the filth which covers
the streets and all the open places, and the mean and ruin¬
ed state of many of the houses, which, being generally built
of unburnt bricks, with little lime, are destroyed by the
introduction of moisture, which decomposes the fragile ma¬
terials of which these buildings are composed, and the bricks
in consequence return to their original state of mud. The
principal edifice is the residence of the Dola, which is
large and lofty, having one front to the sea, and another
to a square, which forms the only regular portion of the
town. The other sides of this square are occupied by the
residences of the other public functionaries, and by one ex¬
tensive serai built by the Turks whilst they were in pos¬
session of the place. Those houses which front the sea,
with their turreted tops and fantastic ornaments of white
stucco, make a respectable appearance. They have most¬
ly small and irregularly-placed windows, and in the upper
apartments they substitute for glass a thin strata of a trans¬
parent stone found in a mountain near to Sana. These
windows are mostly of a circular form. The houses are but
rudely finished in the interior, the floors and roofs being
made of chunam, and very uneven ; the passages in them
are long and narrow, and their staircases very steep. Those
of the lower classes are still more rude, being mere huts
of brick covered in the inside with mats, and sometimes
in the outside with a little clay, with which the roof is
thatched. The town is fortified by a wall sixteen feet
towards the sea,"but thirty feet towards the land; and
it extends for about a mile in nearly a straight line facing
the sea, and afterwards takes a circular direction. It is
of no strength, and would be shattered to pieces by the
first shock of artillery; in some places, indeed, it would
scarcely bear the firing of its own cannon. Nor are the
forts which defend it in any better condition. They might
all be levelled to the ground by a single broadside from an
English man-of-war. Its only use was to repel an irregu¬
lar attack of the Wahabee cavalry. The garrison consists
of about 200 musqueteers and eighty cavalry, who receive
two dollars of pay per month, and provide their own arms
and ammunition. Mocha possesses a considerable trade,
and is the channel through which the intercourse of Eu¬
rope with this part of the world is carried on. Coffee is
the main staple, and is indigenous to the country, which
produces it in great abundance, and of unrivalled excel¬
lence. It was introduced from Arabia into Aleppo and
Damascus, and other great cities. It became known in
France and England in the middle of the seventeenth cen¬
tury ; the demand for it increased, and it became a source of
wealth ; but the shrub having been transplanted to the West
Indies, the cheaper coffee of these countries, though ol in¬
ferior quality, rivalled the produce of Mocha in the Euro¬
pean markets. The whole quantity of coffee produced at
Mocha, amounting, according to the estimate of Lord Va-
lentia, to 4,880,000 lbs. was formerly conveyed to Jidda,
where it was purchased by merchants from Europe or from
India, and partly also from America. Mocha also carries
on a considerable trade in myrrh, frankincense, and gum-
arabic, which commodities are brought from the opposite
coast of Berbera, in Africa ; in balm of Gilead or of Mekka,
a resinous juice much used in the East as a cosmetic; in
senna, of which about 30,000 cwt. are exported; in sharks
fins, rhinoceros’ horns and hides, acacia and civet from the
interior of Africa. Grain and piece-goods are imported to
a considerable amount from Bombay. The trade is carried
on by about 250 Banians or Gen too merchants, who are sub¬
ject to great oppression, and who are only induced to remain
from the great profits which they realize. Three per cent,
of custom duty is imposed on English goods, and on those
of other foreigners five per cent. A three-masted vessel pays
384 dollars on its arrival, and vessels with two masts only
MOD
ha one half each. Mocha is not a city of any antiquity. It
does not appear to have been known so far back as four
el‘ centuries. When it was visited by Alphonso Albuquerque
"^in 1513, it seems to have been an inconsiderable place.
The first attempt to open a trade with it was in 1610, by
the British expeditions under Sharpey and Sir H. Middle-
ton. It was here that the latter was treacherously surpris¬
ed and made prisoner with a number of his men, though
he afterwards obtained his release, and exacted satisfac¬
tion for the injuries which he had received. The Dutch
took the lead amongst the Europeans in establishing a
factory here; and they were followed in 1708 by the French,
and afterwards by the English, who at length engrossed
almost the whole trade, till they found formidable rivals in
the Americans. The surrounding country is a dreary plain
of arid sand, environed by mountains, and covered with
a saline efflorescence, scarcely relieved in some parts by
embrowned leaves and stunted vegetables, whose burnt ap¬
pearance does not diminish,the dreariness of the scenery.
Dates grow in abundance around the town, but, like every
thing else, are affected by the poverty of the soil from which
they spring. The south-east wind, which blows for eight
months of the year, and passes over the burning sands of
Africa, renders the climate intensely hot. The north¬
west wind, which blows for the other four months, is also
hot, as it passes over the burning sands of Arabia. It is
supposed by travellers that the town does not contain above
5000 inhabitants. Long. 43. 20. E. Lat. 13. 20. N.
Mocha, an island off the coast of Chile, above sixty
miles in circumference. It is fertile, and was formerly
settled by Spaniards, but it is now uninhabited. It is, how¬
ever, frequented by whale ships belonging to England and
the United States.
MOCKWANPORE, a district of Hindustan, situated
principally between the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth
degrees of north latitude, and bounded on the south by
Bettiah and Tirhoot in Bahar. It is a fertile valley, and
produces abundance of rice. The capital is of the same
name; it is situated on a hill, surrounded by a stone wall,
and forms a hill-fort of considerable strength. Long. 85.
18. E. Lat. 27. 28. N.
MODAIN, Ul, a village of Irak Arabi, which occupies
the site of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, on the eastern bank of
the Euphrates. Little else remains excepting ruins of those
once magnificent cities. It is twenty miles south-east of
Bagdad.
MODANIA, a town of Asia Minor, situated on a gulf
of the same name, on the Sea of Marmora. It was ancient¬
ly called Myrlea and Apamea, the ruins of which are still
visible. It is fifteen miles north-west of Bursa.
MODBURY, a town in the county of Devon and hun¬
dred of Ermington, 210 miles from London. It has some
few cloth manufactories, and a good market on Thursday.
It is celebrated for its white ale. The population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 1813, in 1811 to 1890, in 1821 to 2194, and
m 1831 to 2116.
MODE, a word of the same general import with man¬
ner, is used as a technical term in grammar, metaphysics,
an"^music* See the articles on these subjects.
MODEL, in a general sense, signifies an original pat-
tern, proposed for any one to copy or imitate.
This word is particularly used, in building, to signify an
nrti cial pattern made in wood, stone, plaster, or other
matter, with all its parts and proportions, being intended
t e better conducting and executing some great work,
to give an idea of the effect it will have in its proper
imensions. In all great buildings, it is much the surest
ay to make a model in relief, and not to trust to a bare
esign or draught. There are also models for the build-
n^tr° , , Ps’ an.^ ^or many other purposes.
o els are likewise used in painting and sculpture; and
MOD
311
hence, in academies, they give the term model to a naked Model,
man or woman, disposed in several postures, to afford an'
opportunity to the scholars to design them in various views
and attitudes.
Models in imitation of any natural or artificial substance
are most usually made by means of moulds composed of
faster of I aris. For the purpose of making these moulds,
this kind of plaster is much fitter than any other sub¬
stance, on account of the power it has of absorbing water,
and soon condensing into a hard substance, even after it
has been rendered so thin as to be of the consistence of
cream. This happens in a shorter or longer time, accord¬
ing as the plaster is of a better or worse quality • and its
good or bad properties depend very much upon its age, to
which, therefore, particular regard ought to be had. It is
sold in the shops at very different prices, the finest beino-
made use of for casts, and the middling sort for moulds. It
may be very easily coloured by means of almost any kind
of powder excepting what contains an alkaline salt; for this
would chemically decompose the substance of the plaster,
and lender it unfit for use. A considerable quantity of
chalk would also render it soft and useless, but lime har¬
dens it to a great degree. The addition of common size
will likewise render it much harder than if mere water is
made use of. In making either moulds or models, how¬
ever, we must be careful not to make the mixture too thick
at first; for if this be done, and more water be added to
thin it, the composition must always prove brittle and of a
bad quality.
The particular manner of making models, or casts, as
they are also called, depends on the form of the subject to
be taken. The process is easy where the parts are ele¬
vated only in a slight degree, or where they form only a
right or obtuse angle with the principal surface from which
they project; but where the parts project in smaller
angles, or form curves inclined towards the principal sur¬
face, the work becomes more difficult. This observation,
however, holds good only with regard to hard and inflexi¬
ble bodies; for such as are soft may often be freed from
the mould, even although they have the shape last men¬
tioned. But although this be the case with the soft ori¬
ginal substance, it is not so with the inflexible model when
once it is cast.
The moulds are to be made of various degrees of thick¬
ness, according to the size of the model to be cast; they
may be from half an inch to an inch, or, if very large, an
inch and a half. Where a number of models are to be
taken from one mould, it will likewise be necessary to have
it of a stronger contexture than where only a few are re¬
quired ; and this for very obvious reasons.
It is much more easy to make a mould for a soft sub¬
stance than a rigid one, as in any of the viscera of the ani¬
mal body ; for the fluidity of the mixture makes it easily
accommodate itself to the projecting parts of the substance ;
and as it is necessary to inflate these substances, they may
be very readily extracted again by letting out the air
which distended them.
When a model is to be taken, the surface of the origi¬
nal is first to be greased, in order to prevent the plaster
from sticking to it; but if the substance itself be slippery,
as is the case with the internal parts of the human body,
this need not be done. When necessary, it may be laid
over with linseed oil, by means of a painter’s brush. The
original is then to be placed on a smooth table, previously
greased or covered with a cloth, to prevent the plaster from
sticking to it; then the original is surrounded with a frame
or ridge of glaziers’ putty, at such a distance from it as will
admit the plaster to rest upon the table on all sides of the
subject for about an inch, or as much as is sufficient to
give the proper degree of strength to the mould. A suf¬
ficient quantity of plaster is then to be poured as uniform-
312
MOD
MOD
Model.
ly as possible over the whole substance, until it be every¬
where covered to such a thickness as to give a proper
substance to the mould, which varies in proportion to
the size. The whole must then be suffered to remain in
this condition until the plaster has attained its hardness.
When the frame is taken away, the mould may be invert¬
ed, and the subject removed from it; and when the plaster
is thoroughly dry, let it be well seasoned.
The moulds being thus formed and seasoned, they must
next be prepared for the casts by greasing the inside of
them with a mixture of olive oil and lard in equal parts,
and then filled with fine fluid plaster, and the plane of the
mould formed by its resting on the surface of the table
covered to a sufficient thickness with coarse plaster, to
form a strong basis or support for the cast where this sup¬
port is requisite, as is particularly the case where the thin
and membranous parts of the body are to be represented.
After the plaster is poured into the mould, it must be suf¬
fered to stand until it has acquired the greatest degree of
hardness it will receive ; after which the mould must be
removed: but this will be attended with some difficulty
when the shape of the subject is unfavourable; and in
some cases the mould must be separated by means of a
small mallet and chisel. If by these instruments any parts
of the model should be broken off, they may be cemented
by making the two surfaces to be applied to each other
quite wet, then interposing betwixt them a little liquid
plaster, and smoothing the joint after being thoroughly
dry. Any small holes which may be made in the mould
can be filled up with liquid plaster, after the sides have
been thoroughly wetted, and smoothed over with the edge
of a knife.
In many cases it is altogether impracticable to prepare
a mould of one piece for a whole subject; and therefore
it must be considered how this can be effected in such a
manner as to divide the mould into the fewest pieces.
This may be done by making every piece cover as much
of the pattern as possible, without surrounding such pro¬
jecting parts, or running into such hollows, as would not
admit a separation of the mould. It is impossible, how¬
ever, to give any particular directions in this matter which
can hold good in every instance, the number of pieces of
which the mould is to consist being always determined
from the shape of the pattern. Thus the mould of the
human calculus will require no more than three pieces,
but that of an os femoris could scarcely have fewer than
ten or twelve. Where any internal pieces are required,
they are to be first made, and then the outer pieces after
the former have become hard.
To make a mould upon a hard and dry substance, we
must, in the first place, rub the surface of it smoothly over
with the mixture of oil and lard above mentioned. Such
hollows as require internal pieces are then to be filled up
with fluid plaster ; and whilst it continues in this state, a
wire loop must be introduced into it, by which, when har¬
dened, it can be pulled off'. The plaster should be some¬
what raised in a pyramidal form around this wire, and af¬
terwards cut smooth with a knife whilst yet in its soft state ;
preserving two or three angular ridges from the loop to
the outer edge, that it may fix the more steadily in the
outer piece of the mould to be afterwards made upon it.
Let the outer piece then be well greased, to prevent the
second piece from adhering; the loop being enclosed with
some glaziers’ putty, both to prevent the second piece
from adhering, and to preserve a hollow place for the cord.
To form the second or outside piece, mix a quantity of
plaster, proportioned to the extent of surface it is to cover
and the intended thickness of the mould. When it is just
beginning to thicken, or assumes such a consistence as
not to run off very easily, spread it over the internal piece
or pieces as well as the pattern, taking care at the same
time not to go too far, lest it should not deliver safely; and M#
as the plaster becomes more tenacious, add more upon thes*,r
pattern, until it has become sufficiently thick, keeping the
edges square and smooth like the edge of a board. The
plaster should be spread equally upon all parts, which is
best done by a painter’s pallet knife or apothecary’s bolus
knife; but for this the instrument should be somewhat less
pliable than it is commonly made.
When the outside piece becomes hard, the edges are
to be pared smooth, and made nearly square with a small
pointed knife. Little holes of a conical shape are to be
made with the point of a knife, about an inch distant from
one another, according to the size of the piece. These
are designed to receive the fluid plaster in forming the
adjacent parts of the mould, and occasion points corre¬
sponding to the hollows; and they are intended to preserve
the edges of the different pieces steadily in their proper re¬
lative situations. The third piece is then to be formed in
a manner similar to the second, greasing the edges of the
former plentifully with hog’s lard and oil, to prevent the
pieces from adhering to each other. Thus the pattern is
to be wholly enclosed, only leaving a proper orifice for
pouring in the plaster to form the model; small holes be¬
ing also bored in the mould opposite to the wire-loops fix¬
ed in the inside pieces, through which a cord is to be con¬
veyed from the loop to confine such pieces during the time
of casting. In some cases, however, it is not necessary
that the mould should totally enclose the pattern; for in¬
stance, where a model is to be made of a pedestal, or a
bust of any part of the human body. The bottom of such
moulds being left open, there is accordingly ample room
left for pouring in the plaster.
After the mould is completely formed, it is next to be
dried either naturally or by a gentle artificial heat, and
then seasoned in the following manner. Having been
made thoroughly dry, which, if the mould is large, will re¬
quire two or three weeks, it is to be brushed over plenti¬
fully with linseed oil boiled with sugar of lead, finely le¬
vigated litharge, or oil of vitriol. The inside and joints of
the mould should be particularly well supplied with it. If
the mould be large, it is needless to attend to the outside;
but when the moulds are small, it will not be improper to
boil them in the oil, by which means their pores are more
exactly filled than could otherwise be done. After the
moulds have undergone this operation, they are again set
by to dry, when, being greased with olive oil and hog’s
lard, they are fit for use. If linseed oil be used for greas¬
ing the moulds, it will in a short time impart a disagree¬
able yellow colour to the casts.
The mould being properly prepared and seasoned, no¬
thing more is requisite to form the model than to pour into
it the finest liquid plaster of Paris. After a layer of this,
about half an inch in thickness, has been formed all round
the mould, the coarser kind may be used to fill it up en¬
tirely, or to give to the model the thickness required.
Besides the models which are taken from inanimate bo¬
dies, it has been frequently attempted to take the exact
resemblance of people whilst living, by using their face as
the original of a model from which to take a mould; and
the operation, however disagreeable, has been submitted
to by persons of the highest ranks in life. A considerable
difficulty occurs in this, however, by reason of the per¬
son being apt to shrink and distort his features when the
liquid is poured upon him ; neither is he altogether with¬
out danger of suffocation, unless the operator understand
his business thoroughly.
To avoid the former inconvenience, it will be proper to
mix the plaster with warm instead of cold water, by which
means the person will be under no temptation to shrink;
and to prevent any danger of a fatal accident, the follow¬
ing method is to be practised: Having laid the person
VI
M O D
■na. horizontally on his back, the head must first be raised by
means of a pillow to the exact position in which it is na¬
turally carried when the body is erect; then the parts to
be represented must be very thinly covered over with fine
oil of almonds by means of a painter’s brush; the face is
then to be first covered with fine fluid plaster, beginning
at the upper part of the forehead, and spreading it over the
eyes, which are to be kept close, that the plaster may not
come in contact with the globe ; yet not closed so strong¬
ly as to cause any unnatural wrinkles. Then cover the
nose and ears, plugging first up the meatus auditoriusw'wh
cotton, and the nostrils with a small quantity of tow rolled
up, of a proper size, to exclude the plaster. During the
time that the nose is thus stopped, the person is to breathe
through the mouth. In this state the fluid plaster is to be
brought down low enough to cover the upper lip, observ¬
ing to leave the rolls of tow projecting out of the plaster.
When the operation has been thus far carried on, the plaster
must be suffered to harden ; ,after which the tow may' be
withdrawn, and the nostrils left open and free for breath¬
ing. I he mouth is next to be closed in its natural position,
and the plaster brought down to the extremity of the chin.
Begin then to cover that part of the breast which is to be
represented, and spread the plaster to the outsides of the
arms and upwards, in such a manner as to meet and join
that which has been previously laid on the face. When
the whole of the mass has acquired its due hardness, it is
to be cautiously lilted, without breaking or giving pain to
the person. After the mould is constructed, it must be
seasoned in the manner already directed; and when the
cast is taken, it must be separated from the mould bv
means of a small mallet and chisel. The eyes, which are
necessarily shown closed, are to be carved, so that the eye¬
lids may be represented in an elevated posture ; the nos¬
trils must be hollowed out, and the back part of the head,
from which, on account of the hair, no mould can be taken,
must be finished according to the skill of the artist. The
edges of the model are then to be neatly smoothed off, and
the bust fixed upon its pedestal.
The method of making models in plaster of Paris is un¬
doubtedly the most easy way of obtaining them. When
mode s, however, are made of such large objects that the
model itself must be of considerable size, it is vain to at¬
tempt making it in the way above described. Such mo-
e s must be constructed by the hand with some soft sub¬
stance, as wax, clay, putty, and the like ; and it being ne¬
cessary to keep all the proportions mathematically exact,
the construction of a single model of this kind must be a
W0\Tnnreat labo.ur and exPense, as well as of time.
MODENA, an independent sovereign state in the north
ot Italy, the chief of which bears the title of his Royal
-Highness the Duke of Modena, Reggio, Mirandola, Massa,
and Carrara, and is descended from a branch of the Aus¬
trian family. This sovereign is descended from the house of
JCiSte, one of the most ancient families in Europe. A mem-
er °V™ J101186’ then settled in Lombardy, became Mar-
qms of Modena, in 960; and his successor, in 1097, obtain-
nf A 6 tt PjWer over Milan and Genoa, under the name
lZZu u . e was the ft>untler of that family, one branch
which having settled in Bavaria, and afterwards becoming
1 ssessed of Brunswick, in Germany, gave origin to that
th rnon^rc^ls °f which five in succession have filled
rao-o i ef Great Britain. During the civil wars which
8 in taiy ,n the course of the thirteenth century, when
Fprr/^TVT11^ rePubfics were formed, the territories of
Fsto ^’i. oa<:”a’ and Reggio, chose the then Marquis of
rinr V <.iZZ-° wbo ba<^ nttained great respect as a war-
jjp’. °r leir supreme lord. One of his successors, Borso
dena a Jo’ ln 1452’ raised t0 the dignity of Duke of Mo¬
ll hat/ egpo by the Emperor Frederick 111., Alfonzo
vol ^xv n° e^t*mate mafo issuG obtained from the Em-
mod 323
?fr)rAU^0lph ,n\ Permi.ssion t0 nominate as successor a Modena.
X I l/VJ ill
"nCJe,by a doubtful or left-handed marriage';
who had gained the sovereignty under the name of Caesar
Lste, and from whom are descended the present reign-
ing race. Ihese have since gained from the popes some
ditional territory, and also a portion from the emperors
oi iginally granted as feudal tenures, but successively affirm¬
ed as permanent sovereignty. The last acquisition was
Carrara, gained by the marriage of the duke with the
heiress of the duchies of Massa and Carrara in 174,1 The
issueof this marriage was onjy a daughter, who married the
Archduke Ferdinand of Austria, the brother of Joseph II.
r °^0Pi diL Wl!°Se SOn 8ucceeded to the dominions.
in G96 the French expelled the duke, and his territory
was formed into a province of the ephemeral Cisalpine re¬
public ; and, by the peace of Campo Formio, the duke was
to receive an indemnification in Suabia. It then became
a part of Bonaparte’s kingdom of Italy; but after his fall,
it was, by the congress of Vienna in 1814, restored to the
ancient family which had before possessed it.
^ 1 his state extends in north latitude from 43. 56. 10. to
44. 57. 30. and in east longitude from 10. 20. 25. to 11
17. 2. It is bounded on the north by the Austrian king¬
dom of Lombardy and by Guastalla, on the east by the
papal dominions, on the south-east by Tuscany, on the
south by Lucca, on the south-west by Tuscany, and on the
west by Parma. It extends over 2140 square miles, and
contains at present 395,000 inhabitants, being one of the
most densely-peopled districts in Europe. The Apennine
Mountains form a part of the southern division of the ter-
ritory, and the rest is generally a level plain, very gra¬
dually declining towards the north, and watered by several
small sti earns which finally unite in the river Secchia, and
empty themselves into the Po. There are numerous canals,
formed chiefly for the purpose of irrigation. The soil is
generally fertile. The system of cultivation so nearly re¬
sembles that already fully described in this work under the
head of Lombardy, that the reader is referred to that ar¬
ticle. We have only to remark here, that the olive trees
are much more numerous than in Lombardy, and that the
oil expressed from their fruit is much esteemed, and forms
an article of the export trade.
1 he cnief product is silk, some of which is organized
before being exported, but most of it is seat to foreign
markets in the raw state: a small portion only of it is ma¬
nufactured into finished goods within the territory. The
other fabiics are of hemp and flax, and only for domestic
consumption. The country is divided into six ecclesiasti¬
cal dioceses, each with a bishop, and in the capital an arch¬
bishop ; and the whole of the inhabitants adhere to the
Roman Catholic church, with the exception of about 1200
Jews, who reside chiefly in and around the capital. It
contains ten cities, sixty-three market-towns, forty-nine
communes, and 463 villages. The larger cities and their
population are, Modena with 27,000 inhabitants, Reggio
with 18,000, Massa with 7000, and Carrara with 4000; the
others, though they were once walled, are now inconsider¬
able. The annual revenue of the whole state amounts to
about L. 150,000, the chief part being derived from patri¬
monial estates ; and besides that, the duke enjoys the valu¬
able property of the ancient house of Obizzi, near to Tre¬
viso in Austrian Lombardy, which is said to produce him
annually L.20,000. The expenditure of the state is nearly
equal to the annual income; and the whole debt does not
quite amount to the revenue of half a year. The duke
maintains an armed force, which, including 100 cavalry
and his guards, amounts to about 1800 men.
The capital city, of the same name, is in north latitude
44. 34. and in east longitude 11. 7. 25. It is situated on
the banks of a canal, by which it is connected with the
rivers Secchia and Panaro, and is surrounded with walls
2 it
314 MOD
Moderator and defended by bastions; but it is not deemed capable of
il. much defence, more especially as the citadel is very weak.
JVTodica. ^ jg a we]i.]3uiij; eity, wjth a broad street, the Cor so, run-
v ning from one gate to the opposite one. The houses are
handsome, and mostly furnished with piazzas on the ground
floor. The most distinguished building is the ducal palace.
It is surrounded with a garden, which is used as a place
of recreation for the inhabitants. It is built of marble,
contains a library of 80,000 volumes, and many antiquities;
but the collection of paintings, which was formerly the
chief attraction, has been transferred by sale to Dresden.
The cathedral, the theatre, the opera-house, and the bar¬
racks, are the other most remarkable edifices in the city.
There are within the city no less than fifty churches, of
which twenty-six formerly belonged to religious houses.
Of late the duke has restored the Jesuits, and the order is
more flourishing here than in any of the other cities of
Italy. There is a university with seven professors, a gym¬
nasium, a scientific society, an academy for nobles, and a
veterinary college. But there is little trade of any kind,
and the inhabitants chiefly depend on the expenditure of
the court for their subsistence.
MODERATOR, in the schools, the person who pre¬
sides at a dispute, or in a public assembly. Thus the pre¬
sident of the annual assembly of the church of Scotland
is styled moderator.
Modern, or Modor, a city of the circle of Presburg, in
the Austrian kingdom of Hungary. It stands at the foot
of the Carpathian Mountains, and has a Catholic and a Lu¬
theran church, and a lyceum for the latter sect. It con¬
tains 592 houses, and 4573 inhabitants, who make some
good woollen cloths. It is situated in longitude 17. 11.
57. E. and latitude 48. 20. 14. N.
MODESTY, in Ethics, is sometimes used to denote hu¬
mility, and sometimes to express chastity or purity of
sentiments and manners. The idea of modesty is not a
chimera, a popular prejudice, or an illusion arising from
laws and education. Nature, which speaks the same lan¬
guage to all men, has, with the unanimous consent of na¬
tions, annexed contempt to female incontinence. To resist
and to attack are laws of her appointment; and whilst she
bestows desires on both parties, they are in the one accom¬
panied with boldness, in the other with shame. To indi¬
viduals she has allotted long spaces of time for the pur¬
poses of self-preservation, and but moments for the propa¬
gation of their species. What arm more gentle than mo¬
desty could she have put into the hands of that sex which
she designed to make resistance ?
If it were the custom for both sexes to make and receive
advances indiscriminately, vain importunity would not be
prevented. The fire of passion would never be stirred up,
but languish in tedious liberty; the most amiable of all
feelings would scarcely warm the human breast, and its ob¬
ject would with difficulty be attained. That obstacle which
seems to remove this object to a distance, in fact brings it
nearer. The veil of shame only makes the desires more
attractive. Modesty kindles that flame which it endea¬
vours to suppress ; its fears, its evasions, its caution, its
timid avowals, its pleasing and affecting finesses, speak
more plainly what it wishes to conceal than passion could
ever do without it.
MODICA, a city of the island of Sicily, in the kingdom
of Naples, in the province of Noto, 120 miles from Paler¬
mo. It is the capital of a district of the same name, which
extends over 120,000 square miles, and contains 80,000 in¬
habitants, who are said to be the most active and wealthy
of any of the inhabitants of Sicily, and produce the most
abundant supplies of corn, tobacco, oil, wine, soda, hemp,
wool, canary seed, cheese, and butter, which is chiefly ex¬
ported to Malta. The city is built amongst straggling
craggy rocks, but contains several beautiful edifices, espe-
M O G
cially a fine Franciscan convent and two hospitals. Al-M^
though situated in a humid atmosphere, it contains 21,000
inhabitants. M ij
MOD1LLIONS, in Architecture, ornaments in the cor-s"'w
niche of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite columns.
MODI US, a Roman dry measure for all sorts of grain,
containing thirty-two heminae, or sixteen sextarii, or one
third of the amphora, amounting to an English peck. See
Measure.
MODULATION, the art of forming any thing to a
certain proportion.
Modulation, in Music, derived from the Latin modu-
lari. This word, in our language, is susceptible of several
different significations. It frequently means no more than
an air, or a number of musical sounds properly connected
and arranged. Thus it answers to what is sometimes un¬
derstood by the word tune, and likewise expresses the
French word chant. But the precise and technical accep¬
tation to which it ought to be confined, is the art of com¬
posing melody or harmony agreeably to the laws prescrib¬
ed by any particular key, rather than of changing the key,
or of regularly and legitimately passing from one key to an¬
other.
MODULE, in Architecture, a certain measure, or di¬
mension, taken at pleasure, for regulating the proportions
of columns, and the symmetry or disposition of the whole
building. Architects generally choose the semidiameter
of the bottom of the column for their module, and this
they subdivide into parts or minutes.
MOEN, or Moenhoe, an island in the Baltic Sea, part
of the kingdom of Denmark. It is separated by a narrow
strait on the north from Zealand, and by one still narrower
on the west from Falster. It extends over ninety-five
square miles, or about 61,000 acres, and contains one
town and three villages, with 2500 inhabitants. The soil
is generally good, producing excellent corn, especially
barley and fruit, culinary vegetables, and flax in abun¬
dance. The annual surplus of corn is commonly 10,000
quarters. Agriculture and the fisheries are the chief em¬
ployments of the inhabitants. The capital, Stege, is situat¬
ed on a small bay, in longitude 11.3.4. E. and latitude 55.
N., and contains a population of about 1000 persons.
MOFFAT, a small well-built town, and a celebrated
watering-place, of Scotland, in the county of Dumfries. It
is situated on a beautiful eminence near the junction of the
Annan and Moffat waters, and is on all sides except the
south encompassed by hills of various elevation. In the
neighbourhood, especially to the north and west of the
town, are sheltering plantations, which impart consider¬
able beauty to the environs, as well as an air of comfort
to the place itself. It consists principally of one main
street, looking from the gentle declivity on which Moffat
stands towards the south ; and a fine prospect of the vale
beneath is thus afforded. This street is judiciously laid out,
spacious, and well calculated to form an agreeable prome¬
nade for both inhabitants and strangers. The church, which
is a substantial stone edifice, wms built towards the close of
the last century. Besides this place of worship, the town
is provided with a meeting-house for the United Associate
Synod. Much of the town is new ; and amongst the build¬
ings are two good inns, various minor houses of entertain¬
ment, and many private ones in which comfortable lodgings
may be obtained. The medicinal springs, which give cele¬
brity to the place, and render it a favourite resort for in¬
valids, are three in number; one of them is sulphureous,
and the other two are chalybeate. The first is useful in
cutaneous diseases, and the other two in affections of the
stomach, and other complaints. The population of the town
and parish wras, in 1821, 2218, and in 1831, 2221.
MOGADORE, or Mogodore, but by the natives called
Suera or Saweera, is a considerable sea-port of Morocco,
M O G
iano in the province of Shedma. This town, which was built
by Sidi Mohammed in 1760, stands upon a sandy beach
jl9, y forming a peninsula, the foundation of which is rocky, and is
'“separated from the cultivated country by a range of shifting
sand-hills. A chain of rocks, extending from the northern
to the southern gate, defends the town from the encroach¬
ments of the sea ; but at spring-tides it is nearly insulated.
It consists of two parts, a citadel and an outer town. The
customhouse, treasury, residence of the alcaid, and the
houses of the European merchants, are situated in the
former. The factory of Mogadore consists often or twelve
mercantile houses of different nations, whose owners, from
the protection granted to them by the emperor, live in com¬
plete security from the Moors, and keep them at a rigid
distance. With the exception of those who belong to the
body of foreign merchants, the Jews are compelled to re¬
side in the outer town, which, however, is walled in and
protected by batteries, as well as the citadel. Mogadore
was built according to plans,furnished by a French en¬
gineer ; and, as far as parapets, ramparts, embrasures, cava¬
liers, batteries, and casemates, constitute a fortress, this is
one; but these are of so flimsy and imperfect construction
as to be incapable of protecting the place for any length of
time against a regular force. The streets are laid out in
right lines, but they are unpaved and very narrow. The
houses, although lofty and regular, have a sombre aspect,
from there being few windows facing the street. There
is a handsome market-place surrounded with piazzas, and
the public buildings have a neat appearance ; but the si¬
tuation is ill chosen, the immediate neigbourhood being an
absolute desert. The port is formed by a curve in the
land, and by an island nearly two miles in circumference,
situated about a quarter of a mile from the shore ; but as
there is only ten or twelve feet of water at ebb-tide, large
vessels he at anchor a mile and a half west of the battery,
which extends along the west side of the town. The mouth
of the harbour is narrow, yet a heavy sea rolls in; but be¬
hind the island the anchorage is good. The battery, like
the other defensive works of Mogadore, is much more re¬
markable for its beauty than its strength. The roadstead
is very much exposed at certain seasons; and this port,
although the only one in the empire which maintains a re¬
gular and uninterrupted commercial intercourse with Eu¬
rope, is in many respects inferior to that of El Waladia.
besides, the town is invested with shifting sand-hills, which,
b own about by the winds of winter, prove a great annoy¬
ance. In the neighbourhood are cultivated parts, where
barley and millet are chiefly raised; and there are also
truits and esculent vegetables produced, principally pome-
granates, melons, figs, pomatas, and pease as good as those
ot Lngland. Notwithstanding many disadvantages, the cli¬
mate of Mogadore is salubrious, and not inimical to Euro¬
peans. Considerable quantities of that leather which bears
tbe name of the empire is prepared at this place. The
population, according to Jackson, is 10,000; but other au-
tnonties estimate it as high as 30,000, which is certainly
an?mWxTrf,0n- LonS* 9* 35- 30* W. Lat. 31. 32. 40. N.
MUG NANO, a town of the kingdom of Naples, in the
dl Lavoro’ containing 5766 inhabitants.
nn CU a seaP°rt of Laristan, in Persia, which has
I one ot the most secure roadsteads in the Persian Gulf. It
is tomed by Cape Bostana to the eastward, and by Point
er es to the west. It is capable of containing the largest
f s># and the entrances are about ten miles asunder,
it ns eighty miles south of Ear.
• f a celebrated nation of Asia, whose conquests
_Ter times wen? the most rapid and extensive of any
nr\ ^ efrecor^ed in history. They themselves deduce their
Nnfl0 T or’ as they call him, Japhis, the son of
nr it c l°n 1 urk was’ according to them, the first king,
n, o those nations who are now known by the separate
M o g
315
denominations of Turks, Tartars, and Moguls • and the Tor xr i
^rs especially assert, that their proper designation is Turks ' °gU ^
To this prince is attributed many of those inventions which
retnrHr110118 COmT^y aSCribe t0 their first sove¬
reigns. He was succeeded by Taunak, in whose reign the
whole posteuty of lurk were divided into four large tribes
denominated the ordas of Erlat, Gialair, Kauginjnd Ber-
las or Perlas; from the last of which the famous Timour-
tha?0frAhnzea Kh’ ^ desCended* this time till
that ot Alanza Khan we meet with nothing remarkable
kinrG i • „ * uclllg rmmersed in all
kinds of luxury universally apostatized into idolatry.
Having two sons, Tartar and Mogul, he divided his domi
mnns j   _ • uiiii
These two nations had not long existed before they be¬
gan to make war upon each other ; and after long conten¬
tion, the event at last was, that II Khan, emperor of the Mo¬
guls, was totally overthrown by Siuntz Khan, emperor of
the lartars; and so complete was the defeat that the Mo°-ul
nat*?n *fem,s have been almost exterminated. Only two
ot II khan s family survived this disaster. These were
kajan his youngest son, and Nagos his nephew, who were
both of the same age, and had both been married the same
year. I hese two princes,, with their wives, had been taken
prisoners by Siuntz Khan, but found means to effect their
escape to their own country, where they seized upon all
the cattle which had not been carried off by the Tartars, an
act that was easily done, as there were none to dispute the
property with them ; then stripping some of the slain, they
took their clothes and retired into the mountains. They
passed several mountains without much difficulty, and at
last advanced to the foot of one exceedingly high, which had
no way over it but a very small path made by certain ani¬
mals, called, in the Tartar language, archara. This path
they found themselves obliged to make use of, although it
was so narrow and steep that only one could pass at a time,
and he was in the most imminent danger of breaking his
neck at the least false step. Having ascended the moun¬
tain on one side by this path, they descended by the same
on the other; and were very agreeably surprised to find
themselves in a most delightful tract, interspersed with ri¬
vulets and charming meadows, abounding with a vast va¬
riety of delicious fruits, and enclosed on all sides by inac¬
cessible mountains, in such a manner as to shelter them
from the future pursuits of the Tartars. Here they lived
some time, and gave this beautiful country the name of
Irgana-kori) in allusion to its situation ; irgana signifying,
in the old language of the Moguls, a valley, and kon, a
steep height.
In process of time these two families increased greatly.
Kajan, whose posterity was the most numerous, called his
descendants Kajath ; but the people springing from Nao'os
were divided into two tribes, one of which received the
appellation of Nagosler, and the other that of Durlagan.
The two Mogul princes and their descendants lived in
this place for more than four hundred years; but the lat¬
ter having found it too narrow for them, meditated a return
to the country from which their forefathers had been dri¬
ven. bor some time, however, this proved impracticable,
as the path which conducted their ancestors had been long
previously destroyed. At last they discovered that one
part of the high mountain above mentioned was not very
thick in a certain place; and also, that it consisted entirely
of iron ore. To this, having before set fire to a layer of
wood, and another of charcoal, placed along the foot of the
mountain, they applied seventy large bellows, and at last
melted the mountain in such a manner that an opening
was made, large enough for a loaded camel to pass; and
through this passage they all marched out with great joy.
The Moguls having thus issued as it were from a new
316 MOGUL S.
Moguls, world, overthrew the Tartars in their turn, and continued This prediction, if any such there was, Temujin most Mot.
s—to form a considerable nation till the time of their great literally fulfilled. At the time of his fathers decease, his^'—- j
hero Temujin, afterwards called Genghiz Khan, whom subjects amounted to between thirty and forty thousand
they extol in the most extravagant manner. It is difficult, families ; but of these about two thirds quickly deserted,
however, to say, at the time when Temujin made his ap- and Temujin was left almost without subjects. When only ,
pearance, how far the dominions of the Moguls extended, thirteen years of age, he fought a bloody battle against
or in what estimation they were held by their neighbours, these revolters ; but he was either defeated, or gained an
It seems to be pretty certain that great part of the vast indecisive victory, so that he remained in obscurity for
region now known by the name of Tartary was then in a twenty-seven years longer. His good fortune at last he
state of considerable civilization, and likewise extremely owed to the friendship of \ ang Khan, who ruled over a
populous, as we find mention made of many cities which great number of lartar tribes to the north of Kitay, and
the Moguls destroyed; and the incredible multitudes has been heard of under the name o^Pr ester John amongst
whom they slaughtered abundantly prove the populousness the Europeans. Phis prince took lemujin under his pro¬
of the country. On the east, the country of the Moguls tection ; and a rebellion having afterwards been raised
and Tartars had the great desert which divides lartary against himself, lemujin was made his general, and the
from China; on the west it had the empire of Karazm, khan was kept in possession of his throne. Soon after
founded by Mahmoud Gazni; and on the south were the this, Temujin subdued the tribes which had revolted from
countries now known by the name of Hindustan, Siam, himself, and treated them with the utmost barbarity.
Pegu, Tonquin, and Cochin-China. Thus it comprehended This happened in the year 1201; but Yang Khan, in-
the eastern part of Modern Tartary, and all Siberia. This stead of continuing the friend of Temujin, now became
whole region was divided amongst a great number of Ay- jealous, and resolved to destroy him by treachery. With
macks or tribes, who had each one or more khans, accord- this view he proposed a marriage between Temujm’s son
ino- as it happened to be more or less numerous, or di- Juji and his own daughter, and another between Temu-
vided into branches. Amongst these, that of the Kara-its jin’s daughter and his own son. Temujin was invited to
was the most powerful. Their prince assumed the title of the camp of Yang Khan, in order to celebrate this double
Great Khan, and, amongst the rest, the Moguls were tribu- marriage ; but having received intelligence of some evil
tary to him ; but, according to the Chinese historians, both intention against him, he excused himself to Vang Khan’s
the one and the other were tributary to the emperor of messengers, and desired that the ceremony might be put
Kitay or Katay. t0 some other time.
China was divided into two parts; the nine southern A few days after the departure of these messengers,
provinces being in the hands of the Chinese emperors of Badu and Kishlik, two brothers, who kept the horses of
the Song dvnasty, who kept their court at Hang-chew, the one of Vang Khan’s chief domestics, came and informed
capital of the province of Chekyang ; and the five north- Temujin, that the Grand Khan, finding he had missed his
ern provinces, excepting part of Shensi, being possessed aim, was resolved to set out instantly, and to surprise him
by the Kin, a people of Eastern Tartary, from whom are next morning, before he could suspect any danger, le-
descended the Manchoo Tartars, who are at present mas- mujin, alarmed at this intelligence, quitted his camp in
ters of China. This vast dominion was named Kitay or the night time, and retired with all his people to some
Katay, and was divided into two parts; that which be- distance. He was scarcely gone when Vang Khan s troops
longed to China was properly called Kitay; and the part arrived, and discharged an incredible number of arrows
which belonged to Tartary was called Karakitay, in which amongst the empty tents; but finding nobody there, they
some even include the territories of the Moguls, Kara-its, pursued lemujin in such haste that they fell into great
and other tribes which form the subject of the present disorder. In this condition they were suddenly attacked
history. The western part of the empire of Kitay was and routed by Temujin, after which ensued an open war
possessed by a Turkish prince, who had lately founded with Vang Khan.
there a new kingdom called Hya, and whose capital city By this quarrel almost all the princes of Tartary were
was Hya-chew, now Ninghya in Shensi, from which the put in motion, some taking part with Temujin, and others
kingdom took its name. To the west of Hya lay Tangut, with Vang Khan. But at last fortune declared in favour
a country of great extent, and formerly very powerful, but of the former. Vang Khan was overthrown in a battle,
at that time reduced to a low state, and divided amongst where he lost forty thousand men, and was obliged to tty
many princes, some of whom were subject to the empe- for refuge to a prince named layyan Khan, who was e
ror of Hya, and others to the emperor of China. All mujin’s father-in-law, and his own enemy, and by whom
Tartary to the westward as far as the Caspian Sea, with he was ungenerously put to death. Temujin immediately
the greater part of Little Buckharia, which then passed began to seize on his dominions, great part ot winch ro¬
under the general name of Turkestan, was subject to luntarily submitted ; but a confederacy was formed agams
Ghurkhan, Khurkhan, or Kaver Khan ; to whom even the him by a number of Vang Khan’s tributaries, at the ea
Gazni monarchs are said to have been tributary. This of whom wrasJamuka, a prince vvho had already distmguis
Ghurkhan had been prince of the Western Kitan or Lyau, ed himself by his enmity to lemujin ; and even layyan
who, when driven out of Kitay by the king, settled in Little Khan himself was drawn into the plot, through jea ousy
Buckharia, and the country to the north, wdiere they of his son-in-law’s good fortune. But Temujin wa*
founded a powerful state about the year 1124. prepared ; and in the year 1204 he attacked layyan an.
Thus the Moguls, properly so called, had but a very entirely routed his army, killed himself, and took Ja'nu|.
small extent of empire which could be called their own, if prisoner, whose head he caused instantly to be struc o ,
indeed they had any, when Temujin made his appearance, after which he marched against the other tribes w o a
This hero is believed by the Tartars to have been of divine conspired against him. Ihese he quickly reduced, too
origin, since his family could be traced no farther back a city called Kashin, where he put all to the swor "
than ten generations. The names and transactions of his had borne arms against him ; and subjugated all the og
predecessors are equally uncertain and unimportant. He tribes in 1205. ,
himself, however, was born in the year 1163, and is said Temujin having now none to oppose him, called a gene
to have come into the world with congealed blood in his diet, which he appointed to be held on the first day o
hands; whence it w'as prognosticated that he would be a spring in the year 1206; that is, on the day in which t
great warrior, and obtain the victory over all his enemies, entered Aries. To this diet were summoned all the g
MOGULS.
■rulg. lords, both Moguls and Tartars ; and in the mean time, to
r—''establish good order in the army, he divided his soldiers
into bodies of ten thousand, a thousand, a hundred, and
ten men, with their respective officers, all subordinate to
the generals, or those who commanded the bodies of ten
thousand; and these were to act under his own sons. On
the day of holding the diet, the princes of the blood and
great lords appeared dressed in white. Temujin, habited
in the same manner, with his crown on his head, sat down
on his throne, and was complimented by the whole assem¬
bly, who wished him the continuance of his health and
prosperity. After this they confirmed the Mogul empire
to him and his successors, adding all those kingdoms which
he had subdued, the descendants of whose vanquished
khans were deprived of all right or title to them ; and af¬
ter this he was proclaimed emperor with much ceremony.
During this inauguration, a pretended prophet declared
that he came from God to tell the assembly, that thence¬
forth Temujin should assume and bear the name of “ Gen-
ghiz Khan,” or “ the Most Great Khan of khans pro¬
phesying also, that his posterity should be khans from ge¬
neration to generation. This prophecy, which was no doubt
prompted by Temujin himself, had a surprising effect on
his subjects, who from that time concluded that all the
world belonged of right to them, and even thought it a
crime against heaven for any body to pretend to resist them.
Genghiz Khan having now reduced under his subjection
all the wandering tribes of Moguls and Tartars, began to
think of subjugating those countries to the south and south¬
west of his own, where the inhabitants were much more
civilized than his own subjects; and the countries being
full of fortified cities, he must of course expect to meet
with more resistance. He began with the emperor of
Hya, whose dominions he invaded in 1209, and who at last
submitted to become his tributary. But in the mean time
Genghiz Khan himself was supposed to be tributary to the
emperor of Kitay, who, in 1210, sent him an officer de¬
manding the customary tribute. This wras refused with
the utmost indignation, and a w^ar commenced, wdiich end¬
ed only with the dissolution of the empire of Kitay.
In the year 1216, Genghiz Khan resolved to carry his
arms westward, and therefore left his general Muchuli to
pursue his conquests in Kitay. In his journey westward
he overthrew an army of three hundred thousand Tartars
who had revolted against him ; and in 1218 he sent am¬
bassadors desiring an alliance with Mohammed Karazm
Shah, emperor of Gazna. His ambassador was haughtily
treated; the alliance was, however, concluded, but soon
afterwards broken, through the treachery, as it is said, of
the Karazmian monarch’s subjects. This brought on a war,
attended with the most dreadful devastations, and which
ended with the entire destruction of the empire of Ka¬
razm or Gazna.
After the reduction of Karazm, part of the Moguls broke
^ran or Persia, where they also made large conquests,
whilst others of their armies invaded Georgia and the
countries to the west; in both cases committing such enor¬
mities that the Chinese historians say both men and spi¬
rits burst with indignation. In 1225, Genghiz Khan re¬
turned to Hya, where he made war upon the emperor for
laving sheltered some of his enemies. The event was,
t at the emperor fell in battle, and his kingdom was con¬
quered, or rather destroyed ; but this was the last exploit
o the cruel conqueror, who died in 1227, as he marched
to complete the destruction of the Chinese.
lie Mogul empire, at the death of Genghiz Khan, ex-
ended over a prodigious tract of country, being more than
eighteen hundred leagues in length from east to w est, and
upwards of a thousand in breadth from north to south.
s pnnces, however, were still insatiable, and pushed their
conquests upon all sides. Oktay wras acknowledged em¬
peror after Genghiz Khan, and had under his immediate
government Mogulestan, or the country of the Moguls pro-
peGy so called, with Kitay, and the countries eastward to
the Tartarian Sea. Jagaty, his brother, governed under him
a great part of the western conquests. The country of the
Kipjacks, and others to the east and north-east, north and
north-west, were governed by Batu or Patu, the son of Ju-
ji, who had been killed in the wars; whilst Tuli or Toley,
another son of Genghiz Khan, had Khorassan, Persia, and
that part of India which had been conquered. On the
east side the Mogul arms w'ere still attended with success;
not only the empire of Kitay, but the southern part of
China, was conquered. On the west side matters con¬
tinued much in the same way till the year 1254, when
Magu, or Menkho, the fourth khan of the IMoguls, raised
a great army, which he gave to his brother °Hulaku or
Hulagu, in order to extend his dominions westward. In
1255 he entered Iran, where he suppressed the Ismae-
lians or Assassins, of whom an account is given under the
article Assassins ; and twro years afterwards he advanced
to Bagdad, which he took, and cruelly put to death the
caliph, treating the city with no more lenity than the Mo-
guls usually treated those places which fell into their
hands. Every thing was put to fire and sword ; and in the
city and its neighbourhood the number of slain, it is said,
amounted to one million six hundred thousand. The next
year he invaded Syria. The city of Damascus was de¬
livered up, and, as it made no resistance, the inhabitants
were spared; but Aleppo being taken by storm, a greater
slaughter ensued there than had taken place at Bagdad,
not even the children in their cradles being spared. Some
cities of this country revolted the next year, or the year
after; but having again fallen into the hands of the Mo¬
guls, they were plundered, and the inhabitants butchered
without mercy, or carried into slavery.
Hulaku died in 1264, and at his death we may fix the
greatest extent of the Mogul empire. It now compre¬
hended the whole of the continent of Asia, excepting part
of Hindustan, Siam, Pegu, Cochin-China, and a few of the
countries of Lesser Asia, which had not been attacked by
them ; and during all these vast conquests no Mogul army
had ever been conquered, except one by Jaloloddin. From
this period, however, the empire began to decline. The
ambition of the khans having prompted them to invade the
kingdoms of Japan and Cochin-China, they were miserably
disappointed in their attempts, and lost a great number of
men. The same ill success attended them in Hindustan,
and in a short time this mighty empire broke into several
smaller ones. The governors of Persia, being of the family
of Genghiz Khan, owed no allegiance to any superior ; and
those of Tartary were similarly circumstanced. The Chi¬
nese threw off the yoke, and thus the continent of Asia
wore much the same face that it had done before Genghiz
Khan began his conquests.
The successors of Hulaku reigned in Persia till the}7ear
1335; but that year Abusaid Khan, the eighth from Hu¬
laku, having died, the affairs of that country fell into con¬
fusion for want of a prince of the race of Genghiz Khan to
succeed to the throne. The empire, therefore, was divided
amongst a great number of petty princes, who fought against
each other almost without intermission, till, in the year
1369, Timour Beg or Tamerlane, one of these princes, hav¬
ing conquered a number of others, was crowned at Balkh,
with the pompous title of “ Sahib Kharan,” that is, “ the
emperor of the age, and the conqueror of the world.” As
he had just before taken that city, and destroyed one of his
most formidable rivals who had shut himself up in it, the
new emperor began his reign with beheading some of the
inhabitants, imprisoning others, burning their houses, and
selling the women and children as slaves. In the year 1370
he crossed the Sihun, made war on the Getes, and attacked
317
Moguls.
318 M O G
Moguls. Karazm. Next year he granted a peace to his enemies;
'''—'v——^ but two years after, he again invaded the country of the
Getes; by the year 1379 he had fully conquered that
country, as well as Khorassan ; and from that time he con¬
tinued to extend his conquests in much the same manner
as Genghiz Khan had done, though with less cruelty. In
1387 he had reduced Armenia, Georgia, and all Persia;
the conquest of which last was completed by the reduction
of Ispahan, seventy thousand of the inhabitants of which
were slaughtered on account of a sedition raised by some
rash or evil-disposed persons.
After the reduction of Persia, Timour turned his arms
northward and westward, subduing all the countries to the
Euphrates. He took the city of Bagdad ; subdued Syria;
and having ravaged great part of Russia, returned to Per¬
sia in 1396, where he splendidly feasted his whole army.
In 1398 he crossed the Indus on the 17th of September,
invaded Hindustan, reduced several fortresses, and made a
vast number of captives. However, as he was afraid that,
in case of any emergency, these prisoners might take part
with the enemy, he gave orders to his soldiers to put all
their Indian slaves to death ; and, in consequence of this
inhuman order, more than one hundred thousand of these
poor wretches were slaughtered in less than an hour.
In the beginning of the year 1399, Timour was met by
the Indian army, whom, after a desperate battle, he de¬
feated with great slaughter, and soon afterwards took the
city of Delhi, the capital of the country. Here he seated
himself on the throne of the Indian emperors; and here
the schei’ifs, kadis, and the principal inhabitants of the city,
came to make their submission, and begged for mercy. The
tame elephants and rhinoceroses were likewise brought to
kneel before him as they had been accustomed to do to the
Indian emperors, and made a great cry as if they implored
his clemency. These war elephants, one hundred and
twenty in number, were, at his return, sent to Samarcand,
and to the province where his sons resided. After this,
at the request of the lords of the court, Timour made a
great feast, at which he distributed presents to the princes
and principal officers.
Delhi at this time consisted of three cities called Seyri,
Old Delhi, and Jehan Penah. Seyri was surrounded with
a wall in the form of a circle. Old Delhi was also walled,
but much larger, lying south-west of the other. These
two parts were joined on each side by a wall; and the third,
situated between them, was called Jehan Penah, wdiich was
larger than Old Delhi. Penah had ten gates; Seyri had
seven, three of which looked towards Jehan Penah; and
this last had thirteen gates, six to the north-west, and seven
to the south-east. Every thing seemed to be in a quiet
posture, when, on the 12th of January 1399, the soldiers of
Timour, being assembled at one of the gates of Delhi, in¬
sulted the inhabitants of the suburbs. The great emirs
were ordered to put a stop to these disorders ; but their
endeavours proved ineffectual. The sultanas having a
curiosity to see the rarities of Delhi, and particularly a
famous palace adorned with one thousand pillars, built by
an ancient king of India, went with all the court into the
city; and the gate being on that occasion left open for
every body, above fifteen thousand soldiers got in unper¬
ceived. But there was a far greater number of troops in
a large place between Delhi, Seyri, and Jehan Penah, who
committed great disorders in the two last cities. This
made the inhabitants in despair fall on them; and many,
setting fire to their houses, burnt their wives and children.
The soldiers, seeing this confusion, did nothing but pil¬
lage the houses, whilst the disorder was increased by the
admission of more troops, who seized the inhabitants of
the neighbouring places that had fled thither for shelter.
The emirs, to put a stop to this mischief, caused the gates
to be shut; but they were quickly opened by the soldiers
U L S.
within, who rose in arms against their officers, so that by Most.
the morning of the 13th the whole army had entered, and'wv
this great city was totally destroyed. Some soldiers car¬
ried out as many as an hundred and fifty slaves, men, wromen,
and children; nay, some of their boys had twenty slaves
a piece to their share. The other spoils, in jewels, plate,
and manufactures, were immense ; for the Indian women
and girls were adorned with precious stones, and had
bracelets and rings on their hands, feet, and even toes, so
that the soldiers were loaded with them. On the 15th, in
Old Delhi, the Indians retired into the great mosque to de¬
fend themselves ; but being attacked there by the Tartars,
they were all slaughtered, and towers erected with their
heads. A dreadful carnage now ensued throughout the
whole city, and several days were employed before the in¬
habitants could be made to quit it entirely; and as they
went forth, the emirs took a number of them into their ser¬
vice. The artisans were also distributed amongst the princes
and commanders; all but the masons, who were reserved for
the emperor, in order to build him a spacious stone mosque
at Samarcand.
After this terrible devastation, Timour marched into the
different provinces' of Hindustan, everywhere defeating
the Indians who opposed him, and slaughtering the Ghe-
bres or worshippers of fire. On the 25th of March he set
out on his return, and on the 9th of May he arrived at Sa¬
marcand. In a few months after his arrival he was obliged
to undertake an expedition into Persia, where affairs were
in the utmost disorder on account of the misconduct of his
son, whom he had appointed sovereign of that empire.
Here Timour soon settled matters, after which he again set
out on an expedition to the westward, reduced many places
in Georgia which had not submitted before, and invaded
and conquered Syria. At the same time he quarrelled with
Bajazet the Turkish sultan, then engaged in an enter¬
prise against Constantinople, in which he would probably
have succeeded had not Timour interposed. At first the
cause of this quarrel was, that Bajazet had demanded tri¬
bute from a prince who was under Timour’s protection,
and is said to have returned an insulting answer to the Tar¬
tar ambassadors who were sent to him on that account.
Timour, however, who was an enthusiast in the cause of
Mahommedanism, and considered Bajazet as engaged in
the cause of heaven when besieging a Christian city, was
very unwilling to disturb him in so pious an enterprise, and
therefore undertook several expeditions against the princes
of Syria and Georgia, in order to give the Turkish mo¬
narch time to cool and return to reason. Amongst other
places he again invested the city of Bagdad, which had
cast off its allegiance to him ; and having taken it by as¬
sault, he made such a dreadful massacre of the inhabitants,
that one hundred and twenty towers were erected with
the heads of the slain. In the mean time Bajazet continu¬
ed to give fresh provocation, and even protected one Kara
Yussuf, a robber, who had openly insulted the caravan ol
Mekka, so that Timour at length resolved to make war up¬
on him. The sultan, however, foreseeing the danger of
bringing such a formidable enemy against himself, thought
proper to ask pardon, by a letter, for what was past, and to
promise obedience to Timour’s will for the future. This
embassy was graciously received; and Timour returned
for answer, that he would forbear hostilities, provided Ba¬
jazet would either put Kara Yussuf to death, or send him to
the Tartar camp, or expel him from his dominions. Along
w ith the Turkish ambassadors he sent one of his own, tell¬
ing Bajazet that he would march into the confines of Anato¬
lia, and there wait his final answer.
Though Bajazet had seemed at first willing to come to an
agreement with Timour, and evidently dreaded his superior
power, yet he now behaved in such an unsatisfactory man¬
ner that the Tartar monarch desired him to prepare for
M O H MO II
: iair war; upon which he raised the siege of Constantinople,
■ 11 and having met Timour with an army greatly inferior to
3] iwk. Tartars, was utterly defeated and taken prisoner. Ac-
"'“'cording to some accounts he was treated with great huma¬
nity and honour; whilst others inform us that he was shut
up in an iron cage, against which he dashed out his brains
the following year. At any rate, it is certain that he was
not restored to liberty, but died in confinement.
This victory was followed by the submission of many
places of Asia Minor to Timour ; and the Greek emperor
owned himself tributary, as did likewise the sultan of Egypt.
After this Timour once more returned to Georgia, which
he cruelly ravaged; and then he marched to Samarcand,
where he arrived in the year 1405. Here, being now an
old man, this mighty conqueror began to look forward to
that state which at one time or other becomes the dread of
all living creatures; and Timour, in order to quiet the re¬
morse of his conscience, came to a curious resolution, which
he communicated only to his intimate friends. This was,
that “ as the vast conquests he had made were not ob¬
tained without some violence, which had occasioned the
destruction of a great number of God’s creatures, he was
resolved, by way of atonement for his past crimes, to per¬
form some good action, namely, to make war on the infi¬
dels, and exterminate the idolaters of China.” This atone¬
ment, however, he did not live to accomplish, for he died
the same year, of a burning fever, in the seventy-first year
of his age and thirty-sixth of his reign.
Upon the death of Timour, his empire fell immediately
into great disorder, and the civil wars continued for five
or six years ; but at last peace was restored, by the settle¬
ment of Shah Rukh, Timour’s son, on the throne. The lat¬
ter, however, did not enjoy the empire in its full extent,
or indeed much above one half of it; having only Karazm,
Khorassan, Kandahar, Persia, and part of Hindustan.
Neither was he, though a brave and warlike prince, able
to extend his dominions; yet he transmitted them to his
son Ulug-Beg, who proved a wise and learned monarch,
and is famous for the astronomical tables which he caus¬
ed to be composed, and which are well known at this
day. Ulug-Beg was killed in 1448, by his son Abdallatif,
who six months after w as put to death by his own soldiers.
Upon the death of Abdallatif, Abdallah, a grandson of
8hah Rukh, seized the throne ; but, after reigning one
year, he was expelled by Abusaid Mirza, the grandson of
Miran Shah, the son of Timour. His reign was one con¬
tinued scene of wars and tumults, until at last he w as de¬
feated and taken prisoner by one Hassan Beg, who put him
to death in 1468. From this time we may look upon the
empire of Fimour as entirely dissolved.
^ On the death of the above-mentioned monarch, his son
Laber succeeded him, but was soon driven out by the Us-
beck Tartars ; after which he resided some time in Gazna,
whence he made incursions into Hindustan, and at length
became master of the whole empire, excepting the king¬
doms of Dekkan, Guzerat, and Bengal. See Hindustan.
MOHAIR, in commerce, the hair of a particular kind of
goat frequent about Angora, in Turkey, the inhabitants of
which are all employed in the manufacture of camblets
made of this material.
Some give the name of mohair to the camblets or stuffs
made of this hair, and of which there are two kinds; the
ti? sn?00t^ anc^ ptam? and the other watered like tabbies.
he difference between the two consists only in this, that
the latter kind is calendered, and the other not. There are
a so mohairs both plain and watered, the woof of which
consists of wool, cotton, or thread.
MOHAWK, a large branch of the Hudson, or North
I iver, of the state of New York, in North America. It rises
m t e north-east part of Oneyda county, about twenty
mi es north of Rome, to which place it runs in nearly a
south direction, and then turns eastward towards the Hud-
son, which it enters by several mouths between Troy and
Waterford, after a course of about one hundred and thirty-
five miles. I he stream of the Mohawk is unequal, having
many breaks and rapids, and two considerable falls. With
the aid of canals, however, it is rendered navigable from
ochenectady to Rome ; but it chiefly serves the purposes of
navigation by supplying water to the canals in its immediate
vicinity. It is remarkably well adapted for supplying wa¬
ter-power for all manufacturing purposes. The land upon its
borders is rich, and fitted for all agricultural purposes: The
banks of this river were originally peopled by the Mohawks,
an Indian tribe remarkable for courage and ferocity.
MOHILEW, a province of the European Russian empire.
It is situated in N. lat. from 51. 58. to 55. 13., and in
E. long, from 28. 47. to 32. 53., and is bounded on the north
by Witepsk, on the north-east by Smolensk, on the south¬
east and south by Tschernigow, and on the west by Minsk.
It contains 45,008 square wersts, or 17,978 square miles.
It is divided into twelve circles, and contains 1,084,600
inhabitants, who live in twelve cities, fifty-five towns, and
so great a number of small villages and farms, that they
have not been accurately ascertained. There is a subdivi¬
sion into a kind of Greek parishes, each surrounding the
310 churches of that religion. Mohilew is one of the dis¬
tricts which was taken from Poland in the year 1772, and,
with Witepsk, formed one province under the name of
White Russia; but, in 1802, a division was made into two
provinces, the one called that of Witepsk, and the other that
of Mohilew. The people of this province, from being a mix¬
ture of Russians and Poles, have formed for themselves a
peculiar dialect, compounded of the language of these two
races, with an intermixture of Latin, Moldavian, and Ger¬
man. The greater part of the inhabitants adhere to the or¬
thodox Greek church, but many are of the united Greek
religion; and there are many Catholics, who have an arch¬
bishop, and several churches and monasteries. There are
also 40,000 Jews, who have synagogues in most of the towns.
The province is generally a level plain, intersected by nu¬
merous streams ; and the soil, though for the most part
sandy, is moderately fertile. More corn is grown than the
consumption requires in almost every year, and, after a de¬
ficient harvest in Poland and Germany, large supplies are
furnished to these countries. The woods are extensive, and
yield large stores of timber of every description required
either for fuel or for the construction of houses or ships.
The chief productions, besides corn and wood, are black
cattle, sheep ; wool, hemp and flax, and their seed ; honey,
wax, bacon and bristles, with tallow and hides. These are
conveyed both to the Baltic and to the Black Sea by
means of the navigable rivers. Some iron is found, which
is used for making scythes and other agricultural imple¬
ments ; but the mines do not yield a quantity sufficient for
the demand.
Mohilew, a city, the capital of the Russian province
of that name, and of the circle in which it stands. It is si¬
tuated on the river Dnieper, 564 miles from St Petersburg.
It is surrounded with walls, and has broad, well-paved
streets, one square, sixteen churches, four monasteries,
2100 houses, and 16,900 inhabitants. From its situation
on a great river, it is the chief place where the commercial
transactions of the province centre, and whence goods are
transmitted to Riga, Konigsberg, Memel, and Dantzig.
Long. 48. 4. 30. E. Lat. 53. 54. N.
Mohilew, a circle of the Russian province of Podolia,
which extends in N. lat. from 48. 14. to 49. 5., and in E.
long, from 27. 45. to 28.19. The river Dniester flows upon
the southern side, and conveys the water of the smaller
streams to the Black Sea. The circle produces excellent
wheat and other corn, with tobacco, hemp, and flax, in
abundance. The capital, a city of the same name, is situ-
319
Mohilew.
320
M O I
MOL
Mohur- ated on theDniester, 1106 miles fromStPetersburg. Itcon-
bunge tains several Greek and Catholic churches, 1176 houses,
P and 7200 inhabitants. Long. 35. 41. E. Lat. 48. 25. N.
0lJre^ . MOHURBUNGE, a district of Orissa, in the province
of Hindustan, situated between the 21st and 33d degrees
of N. lat. It is a hilly, unfertile district, and derives its
revenues chiefly from the Hindu pilgrims who visit the
temple of Juggernaut.
MOIDORE, a Portuguese gold coin, of the value of
L.l. 7s. sterling.
MOIRA, a post-town of Ireland, in the county of Down,
ninety miles north from Dublin. It has a handsome church,
two dissenting meeting-houses, and a free school. Moira
Castle is situated in the vicinity of the town. Long. 6. 6.
W. Lat. 54. 27. N.
MOISSAC, an arrondissement of the department of the
Tarn and the Garonne, in France, 372 square miles in ex¬
tent. It comprehends six cantons, which are divided into
sixty-seven communes, with a population of 61,800 persons.
The capital is the city of the same name, situated in a
fertile district, through which flows the Tarn, which soon
after joins the Garonne. It contains 9800 inhabitants, who
are chiefly occupied in trading with Bordeaux, to which
city it conveys flour, oil, wool, wine, and a great deal of
saffron, for the trade with the colonies. Long. 1. 17. E. Lat.
44. 8. N.
MOIVRE, Abraham de, a very learned mathemati¬
cian, was born in the year 1667, at Vitry in Champagne,
in France, where his father was a surgeon. After the re¬
vocation of the edict of Nantes, he proceeded to England.
Before he left France, he had commenced the study of the
mathematics ; and having perfected himself in that science
in London, he was obliged, by necessity, to teach it. But
Newton’s Principia, which accidentally fell into his hands,
' showed him how little progress he had made in a science
of which he thought himself master. From this work he
acquired a knowledge of the geometry of infinites with as
great facility as he had learned the elementary geometry ;
and in a short time he was enabled to rank with the
most celebrated mathematicians. His success in these
studies procured him a seat in the Royal Society of Lon¬
don, and in the Academy of Sciences at Paris. His merit
was so well understood in the former, that he was thought
capable of deciding in the famous dispute between Leib¬
nitz and Newton concerning the differential calculus. He
published a Treatise on the Doctrine of Chances in 1738,
and another on Annuities in 1752, both extremely accu¬
rate. The Philosophical Transactions contain many in¬
teresting memoirs of his composition. Some of these treat
of the method of fluxions ; others of the lunula of Hippo¬
crates ; others of physical astronomy, in which he resolv¬
ed many important problems; and others of the analysis
of games ot chance, in which he followed a different course
from that of Montmort. Towards the close of his life he
lost both his sight and his hearing; and the demand for
sleep became so great that he required twenty hours of it
in a day. He died at London in 1754, aged eighty-seven.
His knowledge was not confined to the mathematics; and
he retained to the last a taste for polite literature. He was
intimately acquainted with the best authors of antiquity,
and was frequently consulted about difficult passages in their
works. Rabelais and Moliere were his favourite French
authors; indeed -he had them by heart, and one day ob¬
served to an acquaintance, “ that he would rather have
been Moliere than Newton.” He recited whole scenes of
the Misanthrope, with that delicacy and force with which
be remembered to have heard them recited atParis seventy
years before, by Moliere’s own company. The character,
indeed, was somewhat similar to his own. He judged se¬
verely of mankind, and could never conceal his disgust at
.the conversation of a fool, or his aversion to cunning and
dissimulation. He was free from the affectation of science, n
and no one could have known that he was a mathematician
except from the accuracy of his thoughts. His conversa- Moli,
tion was general and instructive. Whatever he said was''^'1
well digested and clearly expressed. His style possessed
more strength and solidity than ornament and animation •
but he was always correct, and he bestowed as much pains'
on his sentences as on his calculations. He could never
endure any bold assertions or indecent witticisms against
religion.
MO LA, a city of the kingdom of Naples, in the pro¬
vince of Bari. It stands on the sea-shore, but has no good
haven. It contains 7664 inhabitants, many of whom are
occupied in the fisheries, and others in the cultivation of
vines and olive trees.
Mola Salsa, in Antiquity, was barley parched, and af¬
terwards ground to meal or flour, after which it was mixed
with salt and frankincense, with the addition of a little
water. Thus prepared, it was sprinkled between the horns
of the victim before it was killed in sacrifice. This act
was called immolatio, and was common to both Greeks and
Romans ; with this difference, that the mola of the Romans
was of wheat.
^ MOLD, or Mould, a town of the county of Flint, in
North Wales, in the hundi’ed of its own name, 207 miles
from London. It consists of one long and wide street, and
has a market on Saturday. It is an ancient borough, and,
in conjunction with Rhyddlan, Overton, Caerwis, Caergwr-
ley, St Asaph, and Holywell, returns one member to the
House of Commons. Of late extensive cotton-works have
been established at this place. The population amounted
in 1801 to 4235, in 1811 to 5083, in 1821 to 6268, and in
1831 to 8086.
MOLDAVIA, a principality nominally under the Turk¬
ish government. It was the ancient Transalpine Dacia,
and received the name it now bears in the fourteenth cen-
tury, from the principal river which drains it. It extends in
east longitude from 25. 13. to 28. 26., and in north latitude
from 45. 24. to 48. 17., occupying 17,017 square miles. It
is bounded on the north and the east by the Russian pro¬
vince of Podolia, from which it is divided by the river
Pruth, and in part by the Danube ; on the south by Wal-
lachia, and on the south and west by the Austrian pro¬
vinces of Transylvania and Gallicia. Its great divisions are
into Upper and Lower Moldavia, the former being subdi¬
vided into four, and the latter into nine circles. It is dif¬
ficult to determine the precise amount of the population;
some authorities state it as low as 300,000, and others, es¬
pecially Camperhausen, make it to be near 600,000, since
a part of the country has been transferred to Russia. The
people are mostly of the Wallachian race, but there are in¬
termixed with them many Greeks, Armenians, Jews, gipsy
slaves, and Hungarians. The prevailing religion is that
ot the Greek church, which has an archbishop, three bishops,
87 monasteries, and 931 churches. The Catholics do not
exceed 12,000, and have 13 churches, forming a part of
the diocese of Nicopoli. There is a seminary for educa¬
tion at the capital, Jassy, but very little attention is paid
to the instruction of the mass of the people. The govern¬
ment is conducted by a delegate from Turkey, called a
waiwode, who purchases the office. He must be a Greek;
and, after being installed, he has a most unlimited degree
of power, by the exercise of which he seeks to reimburse
himself for the price of his purchase. This viceroy, as well
as his wife, is considered as of princely rank, and maintains
a court and army ; but he is subject to sudden recall, and to
heavy payments, at the will of the capricious or greedy ca¬
binet of Constantinople. There is scarcely any written law;
but what is by courtesy called justice is administered by the
divan, of which the Archbishop of Jassy is president, and
the other members are the several higher public function-
mol
taole aries. In each circle there is an inferior court, from which
roiiere *P!fals Cai] be, to the divan- The waiwode has a
body-guard of 400 men, and a force of 3000 military,
chiefly Arnaut Greeks, who are regularly trained.
The Carpathian Mountains, on the western frontier
send out spurs, which gradually diminish in height as they
approach the eastern side, and present the appearance of
a beautiful!} undulating country. The soil is stony on the
east, but gradually improves in fertility as it approaches
the rivers ; and the greater part is abundantly productive
amply rewarding the labour which is applied to it, notwith¬
standing the excessive heat of the summers, and the in¬
tense cold of the winters. The corn is excellent, especial¬
ly the summer or hard wheat. The wine is good, and pro¬
duced in abundance. Excellent cattle are fattened in the
meadows ; and good flax, hemp, honey, wax, and all kinds
or fruits, are most abundant. There is little of trade or
manufactures, as each family produces and consumes the
necessaries of life in filth and idleness, and seems to re¬
quire none of the gratifications of civilized man, whilst
they indulge all the lower passions of our nature with lit¬
tle moral restraint.
Mole, in Architecture, a massive work formed of large
stones laid in the sea by means of coffer-dams, extended
either in a right line or an arc of a circle, before a port,
which ,t serves to close ; to defend the vessels in port from
the impetuosity of the waves,' and to prevent the passage
of ships without leave. It is frequently fortified.
Mole is also sometimes used to signify the harbour it¬
self, which it serves to form and defend.
Mole (moles), amongst the Romans, was also used for a
kind of mausoleum, built in the manner of a round tower on
a square base, insulated, encompassed with columns, and
covered with a dome. The mole of the Emperor Hadrian
now the casfie of St Angelo, was the greatest and most
stately of all the moles. It was crowned with a brazen
pme-apple, in which was a golden urn containing the ashes
of the emperor.
nrf;?LFf pTA’ t Cjty °f the kinSdom of Naples, in the
pro nice o Bari. It is situated on the sea-shore, and has a
ha. hour, which is fit only for the reception of small vessels,
but fiom it an extensive fishery is carried on. It is a place
of various manufactures, each upon a small scale. The
most considerable is the refining of saltpetre on account of
the government, which yields about 10,000 quintals yearly.
t m 7 m,the Seat °f a bishoP’ who has a handsome ca-
tPni ' i ,ere ar^s,x other churches and five monas-
enes, and also a collegiate institution for the education of
P0Pu,ation amounts to 11,496.
lehrnfpi • Jean'Baptiste Pouuelin, the most ce-
lebrated comm writer of France, was born at Paris on the
a merrhiar Ua7 ^ He VVaS the SOn of Jean Poquelin,
foCd 7 P terur’ and °f Marie Cress6> whose father
o1™ tbet,sam® Being designed by his parents
to succeed them in their business, he was early employed
aT:;iS tbe]m and’ at 1,1 e age of fourteen, all he had
tunat-p] ■ iWaf a ltde reading, writing, and arithmetic. For-
uspfl - 't- md a Sraodfather, who, being a lover of plays,
H6tel di B meS t0 take^he boy alongst with him to the
el fle Bourgoyne.^ This was sufficient to inspire him
tha Lr f°r, hlS situation, and a desire to acquire
prived W-Vr 0f,Wfeh be feIt that he had been de-
to nermif P’1 1 dlfficulty he prevailed on his parents
to the Tnll lm t0c 7iU( y’ and be.was sent as 3 day-scholar
vourablp eg.e.^lermont- Circumstances the most fa-
that spm- ° US 75tu?e and bis genius attended him in
Bourbon 1Ip7’ 7;?i)ad.as bis class-fellow Armand de
became aft nnCe,° vvbose affectionate protection
sion* Hards to him upon more than one occa-
Cha'Dellp°tf)er W 10 7 °Wed tile same course of study was
voPL x’y 6 natUral S°n °f Lbaillier, a ric» magistrate,
M O L
321
smdi!'and'Schted^Jw, frecept0^ the «'«l>rated Gas- MoW
studies Bern?,0 7 d th him■ aS the companion of his'  
for his travels in 1 7r 3 Pr'°r Cbdd’ but afterwards famous
dRoosit on nf? Gassendb struck with the happy
lessons which lieimve to'h hlm 1° ^ private
was equally enjojld by Cyr™ “ot
profit qu„e so much by the opportuni^hus aSed him
I iom the conversations of Gassendi, who had combated*
and often with success, Aristotle and Descartes the two
great rival powers of ancient and modern phSphy P0
quelin conti acted the habit of not submitting his reason to
any other authority than that of demonstrated truT Th^
ethical system of Epicurus, almost equally calumniated bv
t Pnad7r?TS a?d Vs foUowers, was that which Poquelin
n ac opted, and which he ever afterwards professed But
Ins studies were destined soon to experience an interruption
Poquelin the father held the office of domestic upholsterer
to the king; but being prevented by bad health from dis-
sionfffiB ltS-duties’ the son> who bad obtained the rever-
sion of the situation, was obliged to attend Louis XIII. in
his journey to Narbonne in the year 1641. Having returned
wi i ie court to Paris, his passion for the stage, which
ad first induced him to study, revived more" strl %
than ever. It has been said by some that he studied law
foi a time, and that he was even called to the bar. But
this seems at least doubtful; or, if true, he must soon have
bandoned his legal studies for those more attractive and
fasematmg pursuits in which he afterwards attained unri-
valled eminence, and became the restorer of genuine co¬
medy in France. The passion of Cardinal Richelieu for
dramatic amusements had communicated itself to the na¬
tion; and everywhere in the capital private theatres were
pened, where Rotrou and Desmarets, Corneille and Scu-
dery, were indiscriminately applauded. Poquelin assem¬
bled several young persons who had, or thought they had,
a talent for declamation; and this society, which soon
eclipsed all the others, was called the Jllustre Theatre. It
was then that Poquelin resolved to follow his vocation, as-
sumed the name of Moliere, in order, as it should seem,
that his parents might not have to reproach him with pros¬
tituting their name on the boards of a playhouse.
But the troubles of the Fronde interrupted the amuse-
ments of the theatre, and during this ridiculous tempest
ohere disappeared; nor did he show himself again until
the royal authority had reconquered its sway by transactions
Tria p0V!r/aI ,tban arms• B>tids interval, extending from
1648 to 16o2, he was probably occupied with the compo¬
sition of some of those pieces which were afterwards ex¬
hibited to the public. His first regular production was the
Ttour(k,ox Blunderer, which was represented at Lyons in
A53. Upon his arrival in that city, he had found another
company of comedians* whom the public, however, prompt-
y abandoned for his, and the principal performers of which
then attached themselves to his fortunes, never more to
separate. With this reinforcement he repaired to Beziers,
where his old class-fellow, the Prince of Conti, was hold¬
ing the states of Languedoc. Being specially instructed
to amuse the city, the assembly, and the prince, he brought
out in succession all the pieces in his little repository, which
had just been enriched with the Depit Amoureux. The
prince, delighted with his wit and his zeal, offered to em¬
ploy him as his secretary; but this he declined, observing,
“ I am a tolerable author, but I should make a very bad
secretary.” Having continued for some time his strolling
performances in the south of France, he at length approach¬
ed the cajiital, to which he was attracted by the secret
hope of hotter fortune and greater fame; and when he
actually returned thither in the year 1658, he again ob¬
tained the protection of his august college-companion, and
through it acquired still more elevated patronage, name-
2 s
322
Moliere.
MOL
ly, that of Monsieur, brother of the king, and also the fa¬
vour of the king himself. It was under their auspices, and
in their presence, that, on the 3d of November 1658, he
opened that theatre which, in less than fifteen years, he
enriched with more than thirty works, the half of which
are masterpieces. Paris, which was now appealed to, con¬
firmed the judgment of the provinces, and in the capital
the Etourdi and the Depit Amoureux were as successful
as they had been in the south of France. On entering upon
this new career, he had no other guide than his genius ;
but it proved all-sufficient.
The Precieuses Ridicules appeared in 1659, and at once
struck with consternation those haughty coteries where
affectation perverted at once the understanding and the
feelings, and whose jargon infested literature as well as
society. This was succeeded by the Cocu Imaginaire, in
which he combated Scarron with his own weapons, and suc¬
ceeded, by manners more true, a gaiety more natural, and a
buffoonery in better taste. Don Garde de Navarre, a he¬
roic comedy, imitated from the Spanish, was but coldly
received ; but the Ecole des Maris, a comedy at once of
manners, character, and intrigue, and of which the Adel-
phi of Terence had furnished the fundamental idea, was
completely successful. The Fdcheux was produced the
same year, 1661, and was played at Vaux in presence of
Louis XIV. a few days before that monarch caused to be
arrested, and imprisoned for the rest of his life, the minis¬
ter who then entertained him. The Ecole des Femmes ap¬
peared in 1662, and, as might have been expected, excited
a violent sensation, during the prevalence of which the
author was assailed on all sides, and with every species
of abuse ; but in his Critique de l’Ecole des Femmes, which
came out in 1663, he took ample vengeance on the envi¬
ous fools and prudes who had leagued together to vilify
that masterpiece. The same year he produced the Im¬
promptu de Versailles, by way of reprisal on Boursault, who
had attacked him in an impudently satirical piece, entitled
Le Portrait du Peintre. The Marriage Force, 1664, is
drawn from Rabelais, whom Moliere, like La Fontaine,
freely put in requisition ; and, the same year, he composed
the Princesse d'Elide, the subject of which belongs to the
Spanish theatre. In 1665, Moliere produced his Festin
de Pierre, and also EAmour Medecin, which last, he says,
was proposed, written, learned, and represented in five
days. The following year he brought out first the Mis¬
anthrope, and next Le Medecin malgre lui, the subject of
which is taken from one of the old Fabliaux.
In 1677, besides the Fagotier, and Le Sicilien, out Amour
Peintre, he conceived and executed the Tar tuffe, one of
the boldest and best of his compositions. The idea of
bringing upon the stage religious hypocrisy, in an age
when devotion was the mode, certainly evinced no ordi¬
nary hardihood on the part of the incomparable writer ;
but, notwithstanding, he triumphed over all opposition.
“ Les faux devots,” says one of his French biographers,
“ furent frappes de terreur ; des hommes vraiment pieux
en con^urent des vives alarmes; ils ne voyaient pas sans
horreur le profane theatre s’arroger, pour ainsi dire, un
droit de jurisdiction en matiere sacree. Et dans ce zele
ardent d’un comedien centre un vice dont 1’eglise gemis-
sait en secret, ils n’appercevaient qu’une envie mal de-
guisee d’insulter a la vertu meme dont ce vice empruntait
les dehors. Quand on songe au nombre, a la puissance,
des personnes que les calculs d’un odieux interet ou les
erreurs d’un zele respectable avaient liguees centre le Tar-
tvffe, on ne peut etre surpris des difficultes qu’eprouva la
representation ; on doit 1 etre seulement que Moliere soit
parvenu a les surmonter.’’ In 1668, he produced the Am¬
phitryon and EAvare, both imitated, and in part borrow¬
ed, from Plautus, and also George Dandin, a comedy; in
1669, Pourceaugnac, a farce, containing some scenes high¬
ly comic, and the Amans Magnifiques, in which he ridi- Moliet?
cules the chimeras of astrology, with which many persons -vv
were then infatuated; and, in 1670, the Bourgeois Gentil-
homme, of which the king said, “ Vous n’avez encore rien
fait qui m’ait tant diverti, et votre piece est excellente.”
The Fourheries de Scapin, Psyche, and La Comtesse d'Es-
carhagnas, came out in 1671 ; and the following year he
produced the Femmes Savantes, which was condemned
before being heard, as much from apprehension as any
other cause. His last comedy was Le Malade Imaginaire,
1673, which terminated the dramatic career of Moliere.
Upon the day when this piece was acted for the fourth
time, the author suffered severely from a pain in the chest,
and his friends endeavoured to persuade him not to play.
He persisted, however, and, in the entertainment of the
piece, at the moment when he pronounced the word Juro,
he was seized with convulsions, which he endeavoured in
vain to conceal under a forced smile. He was removed
to his house, where some hours afterwards he died from a
vomiting of blood, which appears to have suffocated him.
His death took place in the evening of the 17th of Febru¬
ary 1673, in the fifty-second year of his age. As he had
died in a state of excommunication, the curate of Saint-
Eustache, his parish, refused him ecclesiastical sepulture.
“ What!” exclaimed his widow, “ do they here refuse him
sepulture? In Greece they would have raised altars in
his honour.’’ This objection was overcome, however, and
his remains were interred in the cemetery of Saint-Joseph.
All that we learn respecting the personal character of
Moliere is greatly to his honour. Happy in the society of
his friends, he was respected and beloved by his equals; and,
though courted by the great, he retained to the last the
original simplicity of his character. Marshal Vivonne, the
great Conde, and even Louis XIV., treated him with that
familiarity which considers the distinction of merit as pla¬
cing its possessor upon a level with the highest accidents of
birth or fortune ; but this flattering notice neither corrupt¬
ed his heart nor misled his understanding. He was kind,
generous, and liberal alike of his means and his influence;
he had an honest consciousness of superiority, which exalt¬
ed him above envy, whilst his disposition prompted him to
do all the good in his power. He assisted Racine in his
difficulties, and, by the encouragement he gave to that poet,
proved instrumental in bringing forward a genius destined
to become the glory of the French stage. T he occupation
of Moliere in lashing the vices and follies of his time natural¬
ly drew upon him the indignation of those who had smarted
under the poignant keenness of his wit; throughout his
whole career, indeed, he had been pursued by satirical li¬
bels ; and even after his death, his enemies, carrying their
resentment beyond the grave, assailed his memory, in sar¬
castic epitaphs. The author of one of these pieces had the
ill fortune, or the stupidity, to offer it to the great Conde:
“ Plut a Dieu,” said the hero sternly, “ que celui dont tu
me presentes 1’epitaphe, fut en etat de me presenter a
tienne ! ” The only one of these productions possessing
any point is the following :—
Roscius hie situs est tristi Molierus in urna, ,
Cui genus humanum ludere, Indus erat.
Dum ludit mortem, mors indignata jocantem
Corripit, et mimum fingere soeva negat.
The French nation has with one voice assigned to Mo¬
liere the first and highest place amongst its comic authors.
Nor does there appear to be any reason whatever for im¬
peaching the validity and the soundness of this judgmen
Of all the dramatic writers who illustrated the age o
Louis XIV., no one attained a higher reputation, or more
nearly reached the acme of perfection in his art. Indee ,
Voltaire boldly pronounces him the most eminent comic
poet that any age or country has produced; nor is t ns
opinion peculiar to the author of the Henriade.
M O L
foliere. Louis XIV. insisted upon Boileau telling him whom he
•-'y'-—'considered as the most original writer of his time, Boileau
answered, Moliere. The French comic poet is always the
satirist of vice and folly, and of these alone; virtue, with
him, is ever sacred. The characters he selected for ridi¬
cule were mostly peculiar to the times in which he lived •
but he has nevertheless managed to render each as it were*
the type of a class, and thus to impart to his delineations
an universality which must prevent them from ever be¬
coming obsolete. The external manifestations of vice and
folly may change with time, and vary according to the fluc¬
tuations of fashion, caprice, or accident; yet the essential
elements of human character and passion will remain always
the same; and Moliere penetrated too deeply below the sur¬
face not to distinguish the permanent from* the accidental,
and to catch those generic indications which are at all times
equally significant. Fie possessed comic powers of the
very highest order, and wit of the purest kind ; his mirth
is unalloyed with bitterness, and'his pleasantry is always
innocent. IFis comedies in verse, such as the Misanthrope
and the Tartuffe, constitute a specific variety of their class,
in which vice is exposed in the style of elegant and po¬
lished satire, although with a formal gravity ill suited to our
notions of the comic. His verses have all the freedom
and fluency of conversation, yet he is said to have passed
whole days in fixing upon a proper epithet or a suitable
rhyme. In his prose comedies, though there is a profes¬
sion of ridicule equally pointed and effective, yet there is
nothing to offend the most fastidious purity, or to throw
contempt on sobriety and virtue. But, with all these high
qualities, Moliere has also some acknowledged defects. He
is not happy in the unravelling of his plots. More atten¬
tive to the strong exhibition of character than to the con¬
duct of the intrigue, he seems to be carried away by this
natural predilection; and hence the denouement is fre-
quently brought about with too little preparation, and with¬
out sufficient attention to probability. The scene is wound
up on a sudden, and in a manner which leaves an impres-
S1°f ^*saPP0^ntmenb mixed with a conviction that, in
unfolding the character, the author has neglected the in-
ddents. In his rhymed comedies he is sometimes not
sufficiently interesting, and many of the speeches are by
far too long; whilst, in his shorter pieces, intended to serve
as interludes or entertainments, the comic often degene¬
rates into the farcical. Upon the whole, however, few
writers ever possessed the genuine spirit and attained the
true end of comedy so perfectly as Moliere. His Tartuffe
m the graye style, and his Avare in the gay, are account¬
ed by his countrymen his two greatest masterpieces. The
rrench Academy, which had declined admitting him as a
member on account of his profession, sought to render to
, memory the homage which it had considered itself oblig¬
ed to refuse to his person, and in the year 1778 ordered his
us to be placed in the hall containing the portraits of
academicians, with this inscription, proposed by Saurin:
Rien ne manque a sa gloire ; if manquait la notre
M O L
323
And, not content with this, it proposed, as the subject of
compeution for a prize, an eulogium on Moliere. The
«m ^fSS j ^andulate was Chamfort, who evinced much
fif, "• and discrimination in judging and praising the pro-
uctions of the great dramatist.
hnt tithe w?rk.s °f Moliere there have been many editions,
DuhlUh!/KnCTPal are the folI°™g, viz. 1. The edition
vols 19 d byoL£?range and Vinot’ Paris’ 1682> in eight
°f Amsterdam, by Jacques Lejeune,
1684 ^ m bve vcds‘ l2iri(>> and that of the same,
stein rqT V°IS- 12r 5 3- That of Amsterdam, by Wet!
i/f1’ 7m vols. 12mo; 4. That of Joly, with Me-
oires suv la Vie et les Ouvrages de Moliere by De '
Serrp Pn • i rvo i • . ^ nor ages ae Moliere by De h
re, Pans, 1734, in six vols. 4to; 5. A reprint of the pre
la
“edSPnfe,1fn3|,“ v„.s 12mo; 6. That of Am- Molu, J
Stt ^
fF™ eh8 Language**6 ‘I’6 beS‘ ^
nied with a life nf Mpf'’ ’ ^ * °f Petltot> accompa-
reflections on each pie'cT ParfriTirTn^rvX’svo1!
deiigns^ HoX Verne,6 atf^fV r e"gra,in*“ fro“
discoursedand a comment y °f Mohere’ a Preli“”fy
MOLINISTS, in ecclesiastical history a sect in thii
man Catholic church, who follow the doctrineandVenUme^s'
grace6 HeU'taSnthatrrlSPeCting ?ufflcient and efficacious
g ace. we taught that the operations of divine grace were
entu-eJy consistent with the freedom of human wfll • and he
introduced a new kind of hypothesis to remove the’diffmul
ties attending the doctrines of predestination and liberty and
to reconcde the jarrmg opinions of Augustines, ThomisS
, i-Pe^gians, and other polemical divines. He affirmed
that the decree of predestination to eternal glory was found-
mderiS0nfffiPr710US ^now,ledge and consideration of the
e its of the elect; that the grace, from the operations of
which these merits are derived, is not efficacious by its own
wmTfl E0™ °nly-’ alS0 by the ofVur own
in which thTlTV1 admiaistered ia those circumstances
Inch the Deity, by that branch of his knowledge which
iscaUed saentia media, foresees that it will be efficacious
The kind of prescience denominated in the schools scien-
eveZedmh-1Shtba- foi;eknowledge of future and contingent
fi c VV, UC1 arises from an acquaintance with the nature
and facul ties of rational beings, the circumstances in which
they shall be placed, the objects which shall be presented
to them, and the influence which these circumstances and
objects must exert on their actions.
wffif ?fl]INOf IS*TS’ f SeC.t amonSst tke Roman Catholics
who adhere to the doctrine of Molinos. These are the
same with those otherwise called Quietests, whose chief
principle is, that men ought to annihilate themselves in
order to be united to God, and afterwards remain in quiet-
ness of mind, without being troubled for what shall happen
to the body. Molinos, the author of these opinions, was
a Spanish priest, and was born in the year 1627. His sixty-
eight propositions were examined in 1687, by the pope and
the inquisitors, who decreed that his doctrine was false and
permcious, and that his books should be burned. He was
obhged to recant his errors publicly in the Dominican
church, and was condemned to perpetual imprisonment.
He was then sixty years of age, and had been spreading
fus doctrine twenty-two years before this time. He died
in prison in 1692.
MOLISE, a province of the kingdom of Naples, which
extends in east longitude from 14. 7. to 15. 5., and in
north latitude from 41. 18. to 41. 51., being 1261 square
miles in extent. It is divided from the province of Terra
di .Lavoro by the snowy mountains of Matese, the highest
chain of the Apennines, whence the principal rivers, the
Biferno, the I rigno, and the Tammaro, have their sources,
ihe province comprises nine cities, sixteen market-towns,
and seventy-seven villages, with 206,670 inhabitants, chief¬
ly subsisting by agricultural labour, and having few manu¬
factures and little commerce. Molise produces sufficient
corn, oil, and wine for the consumption; and of the first it
forms a kind of granary for Campania. Hemp, flax, and silk
are also produced, but in small quantities. The capital is
the city of Campobasso.
MOL1TERNO, a city of Naples, in the province of Prin¬
cipal) Citeriore. It is situated between two branches of
the river Maglio, on an elevation, with a suburb extending
into the valley of Diana. It contains 5176 inhabitants.
324
MOLLUSCA.
Mollusca. Tire Molluscous animals to which our attention is to be di-
rected in this article, formed, for a long period, two distinct
objects of study. The naked species were considered as
constituting a particular group, to which the term Mollus¬
ca was in a great measure restricted; whilst the shelly spe¬
cies attracted a large share of attention, being known as
objects of study by the term Conchology. Of late years,
however, this kind of syTstematical separation of the naked and
shelly species has been supported by few advocates, whilst
those who have urged the propriety of their union have not
only7 been numerous, but acknowledged as the intelligent
and successful investigators of nature. In consequence of
these changes, which have taken place in public opinion by
the introduction of more correct notions of the principles of
classification, we have in this edition of our work, resolved
on incorporating the articles Mollusca and Conchology,
suppressing the latter term as unnecessary. Indeed, in a
physiological point of view, there is no definite boundary
between the naked and the shelly species, many of the re¬
puted naked species having shells concealed under their
integuments, while in many of the shelly species, the solid
plate or shell can only be reached by removing the sur¬
rounding soft or fleshy matter. But the propriety of aban¬
doning the old divisions wall become sufficiently obvious,
when we consider that all the species belong to one group
in the Invertebrate class of animals; that the organs of
the species have many points of resemblance; and that al¬
though differences prevail in the character of the protecting
covering-, the gradations from one condition of the integu¬
ments to another, are too minute, in many cases, to admit
of precise limits being fixed. We shall therefore consider
shells as peculiar modifications of the external coverings of
certain species, and, in this subordinate character, incorpo*
rate the naked and shelly species; having recourse to the
integuments, however, in connection with the other organs,
in the distribution of the genera and other divisions of the
class now denominated Mollusca.
In treating of this extensive division of the invertebrate
animals, we "shall confine our remarks to a general view of
their physiology, taking notice of the peculiarities of their
forms, organs, and functions. This will prepare us for a
condensed view of the progress of the science, in reference
to systematical arrangement, and the illustration of the cha¬
racters of those divisions or groups into which the species
may be distributed, whether for assisting the student in his
labours of investigation, or for facilitating the judicious dis¬
position of the established truths of the science. We shall
then advert, in the last place, to molluscous animals as ob¬
jects of utility. The limits of the article will unavoidably
restrict us to a very brief exposition of the various subjects
connected with this very extensive department of natural
history.
CHAP. I PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology Molluscous animals exhibit very remarkable differences,
J both in their form and in the number and position of their
external members. Neither head nor foot can be observed
in some species; the principal organs being enclosed in a
bag pierced with apertures for the entrance of the food, and
egress of the excrementitious matter. In others, with an
exterior still remarkably simple, cuticular elongations, term¬
ed Tentacula, surround the mouth, and a foot, or instrument
of motion, may likewise be perceived. This last organ is in
some free at one extremity, in others attached to the body
throughout its whole length. In many species _ there is .a Molluy
head, not, however, analogous to that member in the ver-V^y*
tebral animals, and containing the brain and organs of the
senses, but distinguished merely as the anterior extremity
of the body, separated from the back by a slight groove, and
containing the mouth and tentacula.
In many of the animals of this division, the different mem¬
bers of the body are in pairs, and are arranged, in reference
to a mesial plane, into right and left. In some, a part only
of the organs has respect to a mesial plane, other parts being
single, or in unequal numbers. In other species, the or¬
gans, which are not in pairs, are arranged round a central
axis, and give to the external form a radiated appearance.
But these characters are exceedingly variable and uncertain,
as indicating the limits of particular tribes ; since, in differ¬
ent parts of the same animal, modifications of all these forms
may be readily distinguished.
The skin of molluscous animals is more simple in its struc- Skin,
ture, than the same organ in the vertebral animals. The
cuticle is here very distinct; and, as in other classes, it is
thick and coarse where much exposed, but thin and delicate
in its texture, where it lines the internal cavities. A mu¬
cous web may be detected in the cuttle fish and slug, but of
great tenuity. The conum is destitute of a villous surface;
and on its central aspect it is so intimately united to cellu¬
lar substance, that its fibrous structure can scarcely be dis¬
tinguished. The muscular web may, in general, be readily
perceived. Its fibres proceed in various directions, accord¬
ing to the kind of motion to be executed, and extend or cor¬
rugate the skin at pleasure.
The appendices of the skin in this class of animals ought
to be carefully studied, as they furnish the most obvious
marks for distinguishing species, and for constructing divi¬
sions in their systematical arrangement. The appendices
of the cuticle are few in number, and perhaps ought to be
considered as limited to hairs. These, in some species, in¬
vest the surface regularly and closely, and may be observed
on those which live on land, as well as those which reside
in water. In some cases the hairs may be considered as
united, and forming continuous crusts or ridges. These
hairs, as well as the cuticle, are liable to be worn off, and in
some places can seldom be perceived, unless in early age.
The most important appendix to the skin, for such it must Snell,
be considered, appears to be the shell. This part is easily
preserved, exhibits fine forms and beautiful colours, and has
long occupied the attention of the conchologist. The mat¬
ter of the shell is secreted by the corium, and the form which
it assumes is regulated by the body ot the animal. It is
coeval with the existence of the animal, and appears previ¬
ous to the exclusion from the egg; nor can it be dispensed
with during the continuance of existence. The solid mat¬
ter of the shell consists of carbonate of lime, united with a
small portion of animal matter, resembling coagulated al¬
bumen. .
The mouth of the shell is extended by the application ot
fresh layers of the shelly matter to the margin, and its thick¬
ness is increased by a coating on the inner surface. These
statements are abundantly confirmed by the observations ot
Reaumur, (M6moires de VAcademic des Sciences, 1709))
whose accurate experiments have greatly contributed to the
elucidation of conchology. If a hole be made in the shell
of a snail, and a piece of skin so glued to the inner margin
as to cover the opening, the shelly matter wall not ooze out
from the broken margin of the fracture, and cover the out¬
side of the skin, but will form a coating on its inner surface,
MOLLUSC A.
jusca.
thus proving it to have exuded from the body of the animal.
- When a portion of the mouth of the shell of a snail is bro¬
ken off, and a piece of skin glued to the inner margin, re¬
flected outwardly, and fixed on the body of the shell, the
defective part is again supplied, and the matter added to the
inner surface of the skin, thus leaving the interposed sub¬
stance between the new formed portion and the fractured
edge. Similar experiments, repeated on a variety of shells,
both univalve and bivalve, by different naturalists, leave no
room to doubt that shells increase in size by the juxtaposi¬
tion of shelly matter from the common integuments.
Each calcareous layer is more or less enveloped in the
animal matter which we have already stated as being pre¬
sent ; so that the different layers of successive growth may,
by various processes, be distinctly exhibited. If the shell
has been exposed for a short time in the fire, the animal
matter will appear charred, and its black colour, contrasted
with the white earthy matter, will indicate the arrangement
of the different strata; in the same manner as the ivory and
enamel of a tooth can be distinguished, when subjected to
similar treatment. The same satisfactory results may be ob¬
tained by a different process. If the shell be steeped in
weak muriatic acid, the earthy matter will be dissolved, and
the flakes of albumen will remain as the frame-work of the
edifice.
The layers of grow th may often be distinguished on the
surface of the shell, in the form of striae or ridges, more or
less elevated, but parallel to the margin of the aperture.
Other inequalities may likewise be observed on the surface,
at right angles to the layers of growth, such as ridges,
knobs, and spines. T. hese last derive their origin from the
inequalities of the skin on which they have been moulded.
In some univalve shells, the layers of growth parallel to
the opening cannot be discerned; when exposed in the fire,
there is little darkening of colour; and when dissolved in
acids, but a feeble trace of animal matter remains. In the
fire, these shells crack in various directions, but exhibit no
trace of a scaly structure. By careful management with the
file, the shell may be separated into a central layer contigu¬
ous to the skin, and a peripheral layer, both similar in struc¬
ture, though frequently differing in colour. The shells
exhibiting such characters have been texxned. porcellaneous,
from their dense structure, and the fine polish which their
surface presents. I he formation of shells of this kind must
take place in a different manner from those of the first kind
which we have noticed.
If vve attend to the form of a young shell belonging to the
genus cypraea of Linnaeus, we may perceive that an addition
of shelly matter to the margin of the aperture, in the man¬
ner in which it is applied in other shells, wrould not enlarge
the cavity, but completely close the aperture. The increase
of the shell, (accompanied with a corresponding increase of
its inhabitant), must take place, therefore, either by ab¬
sorption of the accumulated shelly matter of the mouth, and
an elongation in the direction of the greatest curvature of
the shell; or the old shell must be thrown off, and a new one
produced, suited to the size of the animal. The former sup¬
position has not been entertained, the latter is now generally
received by naturalists, though there are a few individuals
unwilling to adopt such a view of the matter. The inner
coat of such shells appears to be a transudation from the
ody of the animal, and the outer one to be laid on the sur-
ace by the loose reflected lobes of the cloak. In many other
shells, portions of matter, more compact than the other parts,
roay be observed spread on the pillar, and applied to the
margin of the mouth by a similar process. Mr. Platt, in
support of Reaumur’s opinion, that shells are formed by jux-
taposition, against the objections of Mr. Poupart, (Phil.
vans. vol. liv. p. 43), erroneously considers the different
sizes of the cypreae as depending on the thickness of the
8 e increasing according to age, without admitting a cor-
325
responding increase of the dimensions of the contained ani- Mollusca.
mat, or cavity for its reception. '
Phe shells of the first kind which we have noticed, from
being formed of cones or layers applied to the inner edge of
the margin, and extending beyond it, have an imbricated
structure. Those of the second kind, consisting of layers
regularlysuperimposed,haveconsequentlya/a;/ima^struc-
ture ; but between the two kinds there are numerous inter¬
mediate links, formed by a combination of the two processes.
In some cases, the hard parts of the skin are not entitled
to the appellation of shell, but may rather be considered as
horn. Such are the coverings of the mandibles of the cut-
tie fish, the branchial lid of the aplysia, and the operculum
of the welk. Ihe two last appendices, however, though
horny in some species, are shelly in others.
The position of the shell, with respect to the constituent
layers of the integuments, exhibits very remarkable differ¬
ences. In some it appears instead of a cuticle, or at least
without an external membrane investing it. In general,
however, it occurs between the cuticle and the skin ; a po¬
sition which induced Cuvier (Lec.d’Anat. Comp. xiv. 11.) to
consider it as analogous to the mucous web of the vertebral
animals. Its intimate connection with the muscular sys¬
tem of the animal, and the protection which it affords, seem
adverse to such a conclusion. In many species the testa¬
ceous substance occurs in folds of the corium, or inserted
in its substance. In this position it never acquires the so¬
lid texture which shells exposed, or covered only by the
cuticle, exhibit. I hose shells which are thus concealed
are in general white; those which are more exposed are
frequently coloured. The colouring, however, does not de¬
pend on the direct exposure to the light, as some have im¬
agined, for many shells which are destitute of a cuticle are
white, wrhile many of those covered with a dense cuticle are
finely variegated beneath.
Between the skin and the shell neither vessels nor nerves
have been traced ; and the manner in which the latter is
formed, forbids us to expect their existence. Yet the shell
cannot be considered as dead matter, so long as it remains
in connection with the living animal. In those animals in
which the shell is external, there are muscles which connect
the animal with its internal surface, and the bond of union
being a substance soluble in water, the muscle can be de¬
tached by maceration. The analogy between shell and
bone is here obvious, although in the one case the connec¬
tion between the muscle and the bone is permanent, in the
other, between the muscle and shell, temporary, or frequent¬
ly changed during the life of the animal. But the vitality
of the shell, if I may use the expression, is demonstrated,
from the changes which it undergoes when detached from
the animal: the plates of animal matter harden: the epi¬
dermis dries, cracks, and falls off; and in many cases the
colours fade or disappear. We confess ourselves unable to
point out the means employed by the animal to prevent
these changes from taking place, by any process similar to
circulation. The difficulty, however, is felt in contem¬
plating the functions of hairs, nails, and feathers, in verte-
brated animals.
When the shelly covering consists of two or more pieces,
they are joined together, as the articulated bones in the
higher classes of animals, by ligaments. These, in some
cases, are of great thickness and strength, and, in con¬
sequence of their elasticity, assist in the motion of the dif¬
ferent parts.
In the molluscous animals the skin secretes a viscous,
adhesive substance, differing according to the medium in
which the animal resides, but in all cases calculated to re¬
sist its influence. It is probably owing to the lubricating
agency of this secretion, that both the cuticle and shell are
preserved from decomposition. The skin likewise secretes
the colouring matter by which the shells are variegated,
326
M O L L U S C A.
Muscular
system.
Molluscs. The glands from which it proceeds vary much in different
individuals, and even in the same individual in different pe¬
riods of growth.
The characters furnished by the skin and its appendices
are extensively employed in the systematical arrangement
of molluscous animals. Nearly all those characters which
distinguish the species, and many of those on which genera
are established, are derived from the form of the shell, the
tentacula, or the colour. This last character, however, is
one on which little dependence should be placed.
There is nothing peculiar intheMuscuiiAitSYSTEJvrof this
class of animals. Where the muscles are inserted in the
skin, as is usually the case, that organ is in some cases
strengthened by condensed cellular substance, and even ac¬
quires a leathery density.
Molluscous animals preserve themselves in a state of rest,
chiefly by suction and cementation. The organ which acts
as a sucker, is in some cases simple, soft, and muscular, as
the foot of the snail, while in others it is compound, and
strengthened internally by hard parts, as in the arms of the
cuttle fish. The force with which some animals adhere is
very considerable, and is strikingly displayed, for example,
when we attempt to detach a limpet from the rock.
The rest, which is maintained by cementation, in some
cases depends on a glairy secretion, which glues the body
of the animal to the substance to which it is disposed to be
attached. By such an expedient, the shells of snails adhere
to rocks, stones, and plants. It is probable that the bivalve
shells of the genus Cyclas, which readily adhere to the side
of a glass, secure their temporary attachment by means of
their glutinous cuticle. In other animals threads are pro¬
duced, termed a byssus, from particular glands, and while
one extremity is glued to the rock, the other remains in
connection with the animal. But there is an attachment
more durable than any of these, which takes place in some
shells, they being cemented to rocks or stones by calcare¬
ous matter, and retained in the same position during the
whole term of their existence.
The locomotive powers of the mollusca are confined to
creeping and swimming. The former action is performed
by alternate contraction and relaxation of the foot, or mus¬
cular expansion, which serves as a sucker, and is analogous
to the motion of serpents. The motion of swimming is
executed either by the serpentine undulations of the foot
and the body, or by the action of tentacula, or expanded
portions of the integuments. Many species are aided in
swimming, by being able to vary the specific gravity of their
body at pleasure, and either rise or sink in the water as
circumstances may require. In some, as the Janthina, there
is a cellular organ peculiarly destined for this purpose, which
may be regarded as in some measure analogous to the air-
bladder of fishes. In all these exertions the progress of mol¬
luscous animals is proverbially slow. Some bivalve shells
have the power of leaping or shifting their position by a
sudden jerk, produced by shutting the valves rapidly. This
is strikingly displayed in the common Scallop, and is less
perfectly exhibited in the river muscles. In a few instan¬
ces, especially among the slugs, a thread is formed of the
viscous secretion of the skin, by which the animal is enabl¬
ed to suspend itself in the air from the branches of trees
like a spider.
Although the progressive motions of molluscous animals
are comparatively slow, the other muscular actions are exe¬
cuted with ordinary rapidity. The irritability of some parts,
as the tentacula and branchiae, is so great, that the protect¬
ing movements are executed almost instantaneously, and
the organs are contracted or withdrawn into the body. But
these rapid exertions are only called forth in the moments
of danger.
The characters furnished by the muscular system, are of
great value in the discrimination of species, and in the con¬
struction of genera and higher divisions. They are inti- Mollm
mately connected with the habits of the animal, and merit -
the attentive examination of the philosophical naturalist.
In the molluscous animals the Nervous System is less Keivoii
complicated in its structure than in the higher classes, and system
the brain is not restricted in its position to the head. The
whole nervous system appears in the form of ganglia and
filaments. The principal ganglion, or the one to which the
term brain is usually applied, is seated above the gullet or
entrance to the stomach. It sends out nerves to the parts
about the mouth, the tentacula, and the eyes. It may be
considered as analogous to the cerebrum of the vertebral
animals. From this ganglion proceed two filaments, one
on each side, which in their descent inclose the gullet, and
unite underneath to form a second ganglion. From this
last, which has been compared to the cerebellum, numerous
filaments are likewise distributed to the parts around the
mouth, and to the other regions of the body. These fila¬
ments in some cases again unite, and form subordinate gan¬
glia. In many cases the brain and ganglia are of a reddish
colour, and granulated structure, while the nerves which
issue from them are white and uniform, as in the genus Ap-
lysia. The covering of the first ganglion, which is analo¬
gous to the dura mater, does not adhere to it closely, but
leaves a space filled with loose cellular matter. The tu¬
nics of the nerves are equally detached; and as they can
be inflated or injected readily, some have been led to sup¬
pose that the nerves were hollow, and others, that the tunics
were the vessels of the lymphatic system.
The organs of perception common to the higher classes
of animals, do not all exist in an obvious manner amongst
the mollusca. The touch, that universal sense, is here dis¬
played in many cases with great delicacy; and the tenta¬
cula, and the other cuticular elongations which we have al¬
ready referred to, contribute to augment its resources. The
sense of sight is by no means universally enjoyed by the in¬
habitants of this class. In a few species, the eye is con¬
structed on the plan of the same organ in the vertebral ani¬
mals. In general, however, it appears only as a black point,
the peculiar functions of which can only be inferred from
analogy. In many species there is no trace of an eye, con¬
sequently they cannot possess that varied information which
the others derive from that organ. Where eyes exist in
this class, they are uniformly two in number. In one tribe
only, namely the cuttle-fish, the rudiments of the organs of
hearing have been detected. The organs adapted to smell¬
ing cannot be exhibited, but the existence of the sense is
demonstrated by the facility with which molluscous animals
discover suitable food, when placed within their reach.
The sense of taste appears to exist, but it is difficult to point
out the particular parts of the mouth fitted for its residence.
As, however, particular articles of food are selected in pre •
ference to others, it may be concluded from analogy that
taste regulates the choice.
In the classification of the mollusca, the characters fur¬
nished by the nervous system, from the difficulty of their
detection and exhibition, have never come into use. But
those furnished by the organs of preception are highly priz¬
ed. Of these, the eye is the most obvious and constant.
It varies in position in different species; but, among indi¬
viduals of the same species its characters are constant.
In the cutaneous, muscular, and nervous systems, traces
of a general plan may be observed, according to which they
have been constructed in the different tribes. In the or¬
gans which remain to be considered, there is less uniformity
of structure, each family almost, being constructed accord¬
ing to a model of its own.
The time when molluscous animals feed has not been Digest *
carefully attended to. Those which live in the water aresyste'1,
beyond the reach of accurate observation. Those that re¬
side on land usually shun the light, and creep forth in the
iollusca. evenings to commit their depredations. During warm dry
weather, they stir not from their holes. ’ ^
The animals under consideration, feed equally on the
products of the vegetable and animal kingdom. Those
which are phyttvorous appear to prefer living vegetables and
refuse to eat those which are dried. We are not aware’that
putrid vegetable matter is consumed by them, although
many of the snails and slugs are found under putrid leaves
and decayed wood. In these places there is shelter from
the sun, together with dampness, so that it is difficult to de¬
termine, whether they sojourn in an agreeable dwelling, or
a well-stored larder. Those mollusca which are carnivo¬
rous, prey on minute animals in a living state, and many of
them greedily attack putrid matter.
The means employed to bring the food within the reach
of the organs of deglutition, are exceedingly interestino-,
both on account of their variety and success. Some are
provided with tentacula for securing their prey, and con¬
veying it to their mouth, as the cuttle-fish ; others protrude
a lengthened probosis, or an extended lip or tongue, as the
limpet, and thus bring their food into the mouth. By many
however, which are fixed to the same spot during the continu¬
ance of existence, or only capable of very limited locomotive
power, successful efforts are made to excite currents in the wa¬
ter, whereby fresh portions of it are brought in contact with the
mouth, and its animal or vegetable contents separated.
Where part only of any kind of food is taken into the mouth
at once, the lips are possessed of sufficient firmness to cut
°to p^ormTe oflkertl0nS’ ” t'1CT° COrnCOUS ma"dibles
In the mouth, there is scarcely any process performed
analogous to that of mastication, in the higher orders of ani-
SS‘ .^ hen the food is in the mouth, or entering into the
’ Tl!S mi/Xed Wlt7 Sa,hva’ as in the more perfect ani-
mals. I he salivary gland* in which it is secreted, are in
general of considerable size, divided into lobes, and, in some
cases, separated into distinct masses. In many species the
existence of a gullet is doubtful, as the food seenis to enter
tin St?TCh immedftely 5 while, in others, there is a por¬
tion of the intestinal canal which has some claim to the de¬
nomination.
d'he stomach, in many instances, is membranaceous, and
the intt?!- yibe df mfuished fo°m the remaining portion of
and m T nna In SOme cases’ however, it is strong
wffih^orne ar °f a bird’ and eve« fortified
In in kn°ibs f°r the reduction of hard substances,
in some species, the stomach opens laterally into the py-
tached to it m a mStanCeS’ P°ssesses a spiral ccecum at-
c,olhejT isfusuall7 °fveyy large dimensions, and seated
It k d /a • 0mach’ 7hlch it’ in many cases envelopes,
vestk mt° many l0bes’and receives numerous blood-
portarum nfn^ T hoJeve^1nothing analogous to the vena
Z ZLi (llJadruPeds- 1 he bile is poured, in some, into
the infpsf ’i ^ rVm otbers> into the pyloric extremity of
der. 11 by dlfferent openings. There is no gall-blad-
tesSf isno div1ision of the canal into small and large in-
lusca thpS '"I -6 hlgher daSSeS 5 or rather’ among the mol-
Herethp ? Ve 8126 °f the different P^ts is reversed,
nere the pyloric extremity is usually the largest, while the
in pronorr ’ t Th^ intestiae’ as in is short
is suK /° !he lengdl °f the body’ and fo its course,
one side o^h T 'T*'- Tbe anuS is’ in some’ Plancd on
it opens on Zltk! ” * “ “ teminal> B hile
ll JJld!ESll'VyStV'' istIlus more s!mpk “ its structure
spleen nor c t556.8' Il possesses neither pancreas,
hunger are , And’ ” ^ add’ ,hat the “lls “f
•tinence verf^eat. 4 “tervals, and tire power of ob-
mollusca.
oo
7
tensively^uscd'lrf ^ ^ SyStem a^ ^ MoUusl
mX The fn J c fi lniferi0r, d,Vlsions of mohuscous ani-^^,
anus" and tfJ t 16 the Position of the mouth and
tTveW coXdered"11 Ure/ ^ St°mach’ deServe tobe atfon-
Cmrr:r . iri d,a indlcating the habits of the species.
is converted into chymThTs^t ?r°CeSS by which the food Circulating
nor has the existencl of the 100,00““ ab^SIr'™'
the chyme been demonstrated. In this class of uniLnlc tL
XaXreXh0ePblo0dm theh0ffiCeS both °f iucteals and lym-
pnatics. I he blood is white, or rather of a bluish colour
investigated?^ ^ COnStitution yet remains to be
The circulating system of molluscous animals, exhibits
very remarkable differences in the different classes/ In all of
them, however, there is a systemic ventricle ; but the other
parts of the heart are not of constant occurrence.
Ihe circulating system furnishes few characters which
can be employed in systematical arrangements. The struc¬
ture of the systemic and pulmonary vessels does not ap-
pear to be co-ordinate with any particular plan of external
configuration and manner, as we see in the case of the
pteropoda and gasteropoda. In these, the organs of circu¬
lation are very much alike, while the externalTorms exhibit
very obvious differences.
The molluscous animals which respire by means of lungs
are few in number, and form a very natural tribe, which
Cuvier has termed gasterpodespulmones. In them the res¬
piratory organ is simple, consisting of a single cavity, on the
walls of which the extremities of the pulmonary artery are
spread. I his cavity communicates externally by an aper-
ture which the animal can open or shut at pleasure.
Ihe mollusca which breathe by means oi'gills, exhibit
very remarkable differences, in their number, structure, and
position. In some cases, there is a single cavity communi-
ca ing by an aperture, through which the water enters.
Ihe walls of this cavity exhibit an uneven surface, dispos¬
ed in ridges, which are the gills, and on which the pulmo¬
nic artery is expanded. This structure exhibits itself in
the (gasteropoda pectini-branchia. In many cases the gills,
t lough seated in a cavity, like the former, and equally ex¬
posed to the contact of the surrounding element, are two in
number, one on each side, as in the Cephalopoda. In the
Bivalvia, they are four in number, two on each side like
leaves, and extend the whole length of the body. In these,
the water is admitted at the pleasure of the animal.
The gills of other mollusca are seated externally, and
consist either of aborescent productions, or simple cuticular
elongations, within which the pulmonary artery terminates.
In some of these, as the Pteropoda, the branchial surface is
constantly exposed to the action of the surrounding water;
whilst in others, the cuticular expansions, which are analo¬
gous to gills, are retractile at the will of the animal. In
several examples, these cuticular elongations, which execute
the functions of respiration, are covered with moveable cilia,
well calculated to excite currents in the water, thus renew¬
ing the portions applied to the surface.
By means of the characters furnished by the circulating
a_ respiratory systems, the molluscous animals may be
divided into several distinct classes. But as we shall em-
ploy these characters in the construction of the different
divisions to be employed, it is unnecessary, in this place, to
enter into their details.
Peculiar secretions.—The molluscous animals are con- Secretions,
sidered as destitute of organs for the production of urine,
but they possess various organs for the secretion of peculiar
fluids or solids, some of which are useful in the arts.
The coloured fluid, which is secreted by the Cephalopo¬
da and some of the aquatic gasteropoda, appears to consist
chiefly of a peculiar mucus, united to a peculiar pigment.
The animals which furnish this secretion, eject it when in
328
M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. danger or irritated, and thus envelope themselves in a dark
cloud, and elude the pursuit of their foes. A milky secre¬
tion is poured forth over the surface of the skin of some
slugs when irritated. Other coloured secretions may like¬
wise be detected in the mollusca, to which we shall after¬
wards advert. The threadlike secretions, termed a byssus,
with which some molluscous animals, especially among the
Conchifera, fix themselves to other bodies, appear to be of
an albuminous nature. A few species in this division have
the power of secreting a luminous Its nature, and the
organs in which it is elaborated, have not been investigat¬
ed. It is probable that some animals, as those which have
the faculty of raising or lowering themselves in the water,
have likewise the power of secreting air into those organs
which contribute to their buoyancy.
Morbid secretions likewise occur amongst the animals or
this division, chiefly, however, amongst the Conchifera. The
most important of these are pearls, so much prized as orna¬
ments of dress. .
The organs of generation, some of which will be noticed,
afterwards in detail, furnish many important characters for
classification. The external openings are those which are
detected with the greatest facility, but the structure of the
internal organs exhibits more varied and discriminating
marks.
Condition. Condition of the Moeeusca.—Molluscous animals, in
reference to their condition, are divided, according to the si¬
tuation in which they reside, into three groups, which may
be termed terrestrial, fluviatile, and marine. I hose that
inhabit the land belong exclusively to the gasteropoda.
Among these, some prefer open pastures, others the rub-
bish of old walls, while not a few reside in woods or among
dead leaves and putrid plants. All the animals of this
group respire by means of a pulmonary cavity.
The fluviatile mollusca, or such as reside in fresh waters,
include not only many gasteropodous genera, but likewise
a few belonging to the Conchifera Amongst these, some
breathe air by means of a pulmonary cavity, and come to
the surface to respire. Such species frequent the more
shallow ponds and lakes. Others, respiring by means of
gills, are less dependent on the shallowness ot the water,
and consequently reside in different depths.
The marine mollusca include genera of all the classes.
Some burrow in the sand, or adhere to the rocks which are
left dry by the receding tide. These are termed littoral
species. Others, however, which have been denominated
pelagic, reside in the deep, and are seldom obtained but by
dredging, or when thrown ashore during storms.
The effect of temperature in regulating the distribution
of molluscous animals, has not been investigated with any
degree of care or success. Over the terrestrial and fluvia¬
tile species, it probably exercises a very powerful control,
greatly limiting their geographical range. In proof of this,
it may be stated, that the south of France possesses several
species not to be found in England, whilst in England, there
are a few which have not been detected in Scotland. But,
among the marine mollusca, the influence of climate is not
felt in the same degree. Living in an element, the bulk
and motions of which guard it equally from the extremes of
heat or cold, these animals, like the sea-weeds, have a very
extensive latitudinal and longitudinal range. Thus, some
are common to Greenland and the Mediterranean, others to
Britain and the West Indies. The mollusca of the tropical
seas, however, differ widely as a whole from those of the
temperate regions. Some of the forms appear to be peculiar
to warm regions, and, in general, the intensity of colour de¬
creases as we approach the poles. But as there have been
few cultivators of this branch of science, the geographical
distribution of the species has been but imperfectly explor¬
ed. Few' parts of either England or Scotland have been
surveyed by the eye of the helminthologist, so that many
species, the range of which is considered as limited, may Mollus
soon be found to be extensive.
If the observations are few and imperfect, wrhich have been
made on the influence of temperature, in regulating the
physical distribution of mollusca, we are still in greater ig¬
norance with regard to the power of habit. In the flcetz
rocks, the relics of marine and fluviatile mollusca are found
mixed in the same bed. This circumstance gave rise to the
inquiry, how far the mollusca of fresh w'ater can be habitu¬
ated to sea-water, and vice versa. In the account ot the
proceedings of the National Institute of France, for the year
1816, it is stated, that M. Beuchant, professor at Mar¬
seilles, has directed his attention to this subject. He found,
that all these animals die immediately, if we suddenly change
their place of abode ; but that, if we gradually increase the
proportion of salt in the water for the one set, and diminish
it for the other set, we can, in general, accustom them to
live in a kind of water wdiich is not natural to them. He
found, however, some species which resisted these attempts,^
and which could not bear any alteration in the quality ot
the water in which they reside. Before much confidence
can be placed in the accuracy of these results, it would be
desirable that the experiments w ere repeated and varied by
other observers. There are, indeed, many sources of error
to be guarded against. When we change animals from
fresh to salt water, or from salt water to fresh, we must
necessarily derange their motions, by compelling them to
reside in a medium of a different degree of density from the
one in which they have been accustomed to dwell, and to
which the arrangement of the different parts of the body is
adapted. By such a change of place, it would be difficult
for those which breathe air to come to the surface, and de¬
scend again in their new situation. In those with gills, the
application of a new kind ot fluid to the surface of such de¬
licate organs, would considerably influence the function of
respiration. The change of situation would likewise be
accompanied by a corresponding change of food, and con¬
sequently, not merely the organs of locomotion and respira¬
tion, but likewise those of digestion, would suffer a derange¬
ment in their operations. We know that the power ot suj-
fering in the animals of this class is very great, and that
they survive, though sadly mutilated. Some ot the snails
will live in a quiescent state for years, without food, and al¬
most without air. Unless, therefore, the animals subjected
to these experiments of a change of situation, have been
observed to thrive on the food which it spontaneously yields,
to execute their accustomed motions, and above all, to pro¬
pagate their kind, we shall be disposed to conclude, that
patient suffering has been mistaken for health and vivaci-
ousness for the power of accommodation. ,
The influence of the seasons, in regulating the motions
and habits of molluscous animals, has been but little attend¬
ed to. Those which live in the water, avoid the effects ot
low temperature, on the approach of winter, by retiring to
the deeper parts of the lakes or rivers in which they reside.
This migration, however, does not, in many cases, furnisa
the requisite security, so that they betake themselves to
burrowing in the mud in which they repose until increasing
warmth invites them to return to the open water.
Among the naked terrestrial mollusca, it may be observ¬
ed, that they burrow in holes of the earth, under the roots
of trees or among moss, and there screen themselves trom
sudden changes of temperature, and appear to spend the
winter in a state of torpidity. . ,
The different kinds of shelly mollusca which inhabit tne
land, such as those belonging to the genera Helix, Buli-
mus, and Pupa, not only retire to crevices of rocks and otner
places, for safety in the winter season, but they torm a
operculum or lid for the mouth of the shell, calculated
exclude the access of the air, and by the intervention oi
which they likewise adhere to the wall of their dwelling.
M O L L D S C A.
llusca.
829
rise of temperature, however, especially if accompanied by to the different form* nf ,
moisture, excites their revival and motion, and the lid be- obvious and tho I j eStl°nably theill0st Mollusca*
moisture, excites their revival and motion, and the lid be
comes detached. If we bring, for example, the Helix ne
moralis, from its cold abode, and in an apparently torpid
state, with the mouth of its shell closed by the lid and ad¬
hering to a stone, into a warm apartment, it will speedily
revive, especially if it be moistened with a little water,
burst open the lid and begin to crawl. If the animal be
again exposed to a low temperature, it again secretes ma-
obvious and the most ancient method. It was first employed'
by Aristotle, the father of natural history, and even in the
present day its admirers are warm in its praisei It is with
great propriety termed the artificial method, because the
characters employed have but a remote relation to the more
important functions of the animal. This eminent philoso¬
pher had the merit of forming the great divisions oi unival¬
ves and bivalves. He likewise separated the turbinated uni-
trials for a new lid, and speedily returns to its slumbers or valves from such as have bTinTpS spi'remd tomed
inactivity. _ The first formed opercula, m these animals, al- many genera, or rather families sHlrSZ A ed
ways contain a considerable proportion of carbonate of lime, which he imposed. * 1 retaining the names
a material which is found in smaller quantity in those of The progress of the shidv n-P tiro r. n u ,
after formation. If the animal has revived frequently dur- naked kS^ein^ n l ire!17 ? ly ^lluSCa (the
ing the winter, the last formed opercula will be observed to little progress fim many ages 'after Arisfoth had ThT Tu
consist ch,eiiy of annual matter, and Jx, be very thin. The his mltlmd of arranged, Meed"t firs^
first formed winter lid of the Helix Pomatia is of the con¬
sistence of card-paper.
All the land shelly mollusca appear tq have the power of
passing into a state of quiescence resembling torpidity, at
pleasure, and independent of low temperature. Thus, even
in midsummer, if we place in a box specimens of the Helix
hortensis, nemoralis aut arbustorum, without food, in a day
or two they form for themselves a thin operculum, become
attached to the side of the box, and assume a dormant con¬
sort which claims attention, is the Dictionarium Ostracolo-
gicum of Major, which was published in 1675. To him we
are indebted for the threefold division of shells into uni¬
valves, bivalves, and multivalves, and for an explanation of
the teims then employed by conchologistSi
• San1ie career’ *)ut wTh more brilliant success, Lan- Laneius
gms followed, and, in 1722, published his Methodus Nova '
lestacea Marina m suas Classes, Genera et Species distri-
buendu I he following character is given of this work by
duio, Iii this state of apparent torpidity they may be kept iSigent
for several years. No ordinary change of temperature pro- count of Testaceological Writers. (Linn Trans vol vii
duces anyeftec upon them, but they speedily revive if p. 156.) “ After having noticed a nmSde of mere de *
moistened or plunged in water. Even in their natural scribersUe now come fo an author^
aunts, they are often found in this dormant state, during of the title of a scientific one, and whose system so far as
Y 7there '7 a continucd marine testacea are concerned, (and of these alone’he treats!
• g - ?e J/eltxfiemoralis may frequently be certainly glances at the great clue to simplicity, which was
aiterwards so successfully and admirably seized by the great
reformer of natural history in general.” But Langius de¬
serves more praise than is here bestowed upon him. Be¬
fore his system appeared, the characters of the genera de¬
pended principally on the outline, and were of uncertain ap¬
plication. He remedied the defect, by directing the atten¬
tion of conchologists to the form of the mouth in univalves,
and to the structure of the hinge in bivalves. Among the
former, he constituted subdivisions of those oi'e superius
aperto, ore superius in canaliculum abeunte, and ore su¬
perius clauso. Amongst the latter, the circumstance did not
escape him, that some of these shells are equivalve, others
inequivalve ; some equilateral, others inequilateral. Hence
he may be considered as the founder of the inferior divi¬
sions of the artificial method, and as having furnished, to
modern conchologists, many useful hints, of which they have
availed themselves, without, however, acknowledging their
origin.
Another important improvement was effected by Brey-Ereynius.
observed several feet from the ground, and attached to the
stem or leaves of plants, with the mouth of the shell closed.
But it is not drought which influences these terrestrial
shelly mollusca to assume this quiescent state. The Suc-
cinea putris, a species in ordinary cases delighting in mois¬
ture, may readily be observed during summer in a dormant
state, high on the leaves of the Water Flag, having retired
from the moisture below'. In the same manner, and from
causes equally obscure, some of the marine shelly mollusca,
as the Limpet, Periwinkle, and Trochus, may be observed
m a quiescent state on the rocks, above the reach of the
fide. A shower, however, in general excites the Succinea,
as well as the Limpets and Periwinkles, to motion.
CHAP. II PROGRESS OF THE SCIENCE.
Naturalists have pursued a variety of methods in their
nrm^p??0^ this important bra“ch of Zoology, and have ^nomer important improvement was effected by Brey-
winrinlps ^ °i .arra‘?.^ment f°unded on very different nius in his Dissertatio Physica de Polythalamiis, 1732,in4to.
d me hodteal ^ " the f V This C°nsisted in SeParating from the ordinary univalves,’
the shelhv coverfnl hb« h°n ’f some’tbe fo™ sucb ^lls as possess a cavity divided by partitions into se-
the omaLn^ S of be-6n fxcl^vely attended toj while veral compartments, and in forming them into a division,
even d tbe ani^al ^sch has been overlooked, or which he termed Polythalamium. These shells are now
even disregarded. A few have made the habits of the ani- called Multilocular.
over the charamlr^K^^ 0thers.have Passed , The system of Tournefort, which was published by Gu- Tournefort
the shell a i i S i 1 7 X forms and stiucture of altieri, in his Index Testarum Conchyliorum qwe adservan-
the I f their a«endon exclusively to tur in Musceo Nicolai Gualtieri, Philosophi et Medici, Flo-
rentini, 1742, well deserves an attentive perusal. In his
observations on the bivalves, now denominated the acephal¬
ous mollusca, he drew the attention of conchologists to an
important character, and one of easy application, having ob¬
served that, in some genera, the valves do not close or unite
all round, but that, at certain places, the shell remains in
part open. Such shells, in modern language, are said to
gape.
The system of the celebrated Linnaeus, which ought now Linnaeus,
to be mentioned, is too w'ell known in this country to de-
In many of the other departments
2 T
- liaVc eummeu meir attention exci
he orm and structure of the contained animal. Lastly,
ere ave been a few, who, embracing all the circumstan¬
ces connected with the shell, the animal, and its habits, have
constructed systems at once natural and convenient. In the
o low mg sections we propose to consider these four classes
be d A*1 b ^6 ^tivators of this department of science may
Sei t. h—-Systems constructed from circumstances connect¬
ed with the characters of the Shell.
mj ' 10 oe mennoneu, is toe
< tangement of the testaceous mollusca, according serve particular notice.
330
M 0 L L U S C A.
Mollusca. of Zoology he effected the most important alterations; but
' his attempts to reform the science of conchology, were far
from being equally successful. To the subject he never
was much attached, nor does he appear to have availed him¬
self sufficiently of the labours of those authors whom we
have mentioned, and of others who preceded him. The
primary divisions which he employed, were those which
Major had established, and his genera, with a few excep¬
tions, were those in common use. His merit as a concho-
logist rests entirely on the accurately defined terms, the
concise specific characters, and the convenient trivial
names which he employed and introduced. The particu¬
lar consideration of the Linnaean genera, and the subse¬
quent changes which have been introduced into them, will
form the subject of a separate section.
For some time after the publication of the Si/stema Na¬
ture, the illustrious Swede enjoyed a very dangerous repu¬
tation. All his arrangements were regarded as of such high
authority, that it was considered as impious to attempt to in¬
troduce any change ; so that conchology, and along with it
the study of the mollusca, according to the artificial method,
remained a long time stationary. At last in France, a coun¬
try which refused to submit to the fetters of the Linnaean
school, several new systems were proposed, which had for
their object the restoration of those well-founded genera,
which Linnaeus, in his too great desire to simplify, had sup¬
pressed, and the accommodation of the divisions of the
science to those new relations which a more extensive know¬
ledge of species had discovered. In this number Bose stands
eminently conspicuous. In his work entitled Histoire Na-
turelle des Coquilles, des Vers et des Crustaces, and in the
conchological articles of the Dictionnaire d’Histoire Na-
turelle, he has favoured the world with a detail of his sys¬
tem, the outline of which we shall here present to our rea¬
ders :
Bose.
I. Coquilles Multivalves.
1. Les unes n’ont point de charniere.
Oscabrion, Anatif, Balanite.
2. Les autres en ont une.
Pholade, Taret, Fistulane, Anomie, Calceole.
II. Coquilles Bivalves.
i. Equivalves.
1. A charniere sans dents.
Pinna, Modiole, Moule, Anodonte.
2. A charniere garnie des dents.
A. A une dent.
Mulette, Crassalette, Paphie, Mactre.
B. A deux dents.
a. Simple, Trigonie, Tridacne, Hyppope, Cardite, Lu-
traire, Petricole, Venericarde, Solen, Capse, Sanguino-
laire.
b. Avec des sumumeraires.
Telline, Venus.
C. A quatre dents.
Bucarde, Meretrice, Lucine.
D. A beaucoup de dents.
Nucule, Petoncle, Arche, Cucullee.
Isocarde, Donace, Cyclade,
ii. Inequivalves.
1. A charniere sans dents.
Acarde, Radiolite, Vulselle, Marteau, Huitre, Avicule,
Peigne, Lime, Houlette, Cranie, Hyale, Linqule.
2. A une dent.
Came, Corbule.
3. A deux dents.
Spondyle, Plicatule, Placune, Pandore, Terebratule, Cal¬
ceole.
4. A plusieurs dents.
Perne.
III. Coquilles Univalves.
i. Uniloculaires.
1. Sans spirale.
A. En Calotte.
Patelle, Oscane.
B. En Tube.
Vermiculaire, Silicaire, Arrosoir.
2. En spirale.
A. L’ouverture entiere et sans canal a sa base.
Carinaire, Haliotide, Sigaret, Stomate, Argonaute, Con-
cholepas, Nerite, Natice, Helicine, Helice, Volvaire,
Bulle, Jacinthe, Turritelle, Cyclostome, Bulime, Sabot,
Toupie.
B. L’ouverture echancree et canaliculee a sa base.
Cerite, Pyrule, Rocher, Rostelaire, Strombe, Buccin,
Casque, Vis, Pourpre, Volute, Ovule, Tarriere, Porce-
laine, Cone.
. MolluS
'’-V
ii. Multiloculaires.
Nautile, Orbulite, Ammonite, Planulite, Camerine, Rotu-
lite, Turrilite, Baculite, Spirule, Orthocere, Hippurite,
Belemnite.
Isi
In this system which we have exhibited, the arrangement
is more methodical, and the genera are more definite, than
in the Linnsean system. It unquestionably holds the first
rank in the modern artificial methods.
There is a class of writers whose labours deserve some Microsco.
notice in this place. We allude to those who have devoted pic
their attention to the very minute shells, so common among
the sand on every sea-coast. These are too small to be
examined by the naked eye, and from the instrument em¬
ployed in their investigation, they are usually termed Mi¬
croscopic Shells. Plancus, in his work, De Conchis Arirnin-
ensibus minus notis, published in 1739, may be considered
as the first who drew the attention of conchologists to these
nearly invisible objects. J. F. Hoffman, in his Dissertati-
uncula de Cornu Ammonis nativo Littoris Bergensis in
Norvegia, published in the Transactions of the Electoral
Academy of Mentz, 1757, and in his essay de Tubulis Ver-
micularibus Cornu Ammonis referentibus, ibid. 1761, made
us acquainted with various species of minute nautili pro¬
duced on the northern shores. Nor did those discoveries
fail to excite interest in this country. Boys and Walker
devoted their attention to the subject, and gave to the world
the result of their labours, in a thin quarto, entitled, Tes-
tacea Minuta, rariora nuperrime detecta in arena littoris
Sandvicensis, London, 1784. Other observers, equally ar¬
dent and successful, have increased our knowledge of the
forms of these minute bodies, particularly Soldani, who, in
his Testaceographia ac Zoophytographia parva et micros-
copica, 1789 and 1795, exhibited many figures of the mi¬
nute shells of Portoferrara, &c. Mr. Adams likewise de¬
scribed the minute species which he observed on the coast
of Pembrokeshire, in the third and fifth volumes of the
Transactions of the Linncean Society of London, and other
species of British growth have been investigated by the au¬
thor of Testacea Britannica. We shall close this list with
noticing the Testacea Microscopica aliaque minuta ex gen-
eribus Argonauta et Nautilus ad Naturam Picta et De-
scripta, Vienna, 1798. It is the joint production of L. A.
Fichel and J. P. C. A. Moll, and merits an attentive perusal.
We are aware that such microscopic investigations are
regarded by some conchologists as useless, so that the mi¬
nute species are excluded from their systems. But it is
surely a strange method of proceeding in natural history, to
judge of the merits or importance of species from their size.
It is true that we are still ignorant of the inhabitants of
those shells, and may long continue to be so ; but our pre¬
sent know ledge of these shells has enabled us to fill up many
blanks, to perceive several new relations, and even to draw
some important conclusions.
At®.
M O L L U S C A.
331
ollusca. That this sort of inquiry has in many instances been in- made bv Adin^nn • -\t * n ■, a. , ,
1 .-^/judiciously conducted, all who are acquainted with the sub- published a/Paris’ in In N fle dt! Sene?al’ Mollusca.
ject must admit. Due care has not been taken to distin- classes of IwT tV i In ^V8 *yftem’ the ancient
guish these minute testacea from the fry of the larger shells wloyed under the >)va les’ an( Multivalves, are em- Adanson.
I that,he number of species has bin very W ** “d
multiplied. These remarks apply to several figures of
Walker, and to a still greater number of those of Adams.
Sect. II.—Systems constructed from Circumstances con¬
nected with the Habits of the Animal.
Fam.
S sterns
Ceasse I. Les Limaqons.
Sect. I. Les Limaqons Univalves.
  The authors of the preceding class have laboured to bring cornes? '' ^ lima?°nS univalves Tui “’o"1 ni yeux ni
| "S “ f perft,‘l°n f j'e artoicial system of conchology, and have Fam. 2. Les Hniacons univalves qui ont deux cornes et
“ni fn7 t,h“rarblt™r)' '"dependent of the habits les yeux plachs h leur racine et sur leur cote interne
»' of life of the contained animal. But the naturalists whom Fam. 3. Les lima^ns univalves qui ont quatres rarnes
we have now to consider, have traced these animals to their dont les deux exterieurs portent les yeux sur le sommet
lurlnng places, and arranged them according to the situation Fam. 4. Les limaqons univalves, qui „„t deux cornes et
in which they reside, instead of the forms which they ex- les yeux places it leur racine, et sur le c6te externe” ou pS
mD11’ i t. j i derriere. v
I »• , A' th.e head of this of conchologists, Dr. Martin Lis- Fan,. 5. Les limacons univalves qui ont deux cornes et
e stands pre-eminently conspicuous. His great work, en- les yeux poses un per, an dessus do leur racine 0^ leur
titled Histona sive Synopsis Methodica Conchyliorum, was cote externe.
begun in 1685, and completed in 1692. It will long remain
a monument of the extensive information and unwearied Sect. II. Les Lima^ons Opercules.
diligence of its author. The following synoptical view of Fam. 1. Limaqons opercules qui ont deux cornes, avec un
r °Ur ,earerS? coraPrchend its plan; the renflement, et qui portent les yeux ordinairement au dessus
Sill Id.
D7
villi
original should be consulted with care.
Lib. i. De Cochleis terrestribus.
Pars 1. De Buccinis terrestribus.
Pars 2. Cochleae nudae terrestres Limaces quibusdam
dictae.
Lib. ii. De Turbinibus et bivalvibus aquae dulcis.
Pars 1. De Turbinibus.
Pars 2. De Testaceis bivalvibus fluviatilibus.
Lib. iii. De Testaceis bivalvibus marinis.
Pars 1. De Testaceis bivalvibus, imparibus testis.
Pars 2. De Testaceis bivalvibus, paribus testis.
Pars 3. De Testaceis multivalvibus.
Lib. iv. De Buccinis marinis, quibusetiamvermiculi, den-
talia et patellae numerantur.
de leur racine, et a leur cote externe.
ham. 2. Limaqons opercules qui ont deux cornes sans
renflement, et les yeux places a leur racine, et sur leur cote
externe.
Fam. 3. Limacons opercules qui ont quatres cornes, dont
les deux exterieurs portent les yeux sur leur sommet.
Ceasse II. Les Conques Bivalves.
Fam. 1. Les conques bivalves qui ont les deux lobes du
manteaux separes dans tout leur contour.
Fam. 2. Les conques bivalves dont les deux lobes du
manteau forment trois ouvertures sans aucun tuyau.
Fam. 3. Les conques bivalves dont les deux lobes du
manteau fbrment trois ouvertures, dont deux prennent la
figure d’un tuyau assez long.
TEx,! rn „ ^ie presence or absence of an operculum or lid, gives
lA a.n to OW, by £ir Robert Sibbald in his Scotia rise, in this system, to a division of the univalves into two
He sections, and the families are established from circumstances
Illustrata is somewhat different from that of Lister.
divides the Testacea into two classes, land and water shells,
and the latter class he subdivides into fluviatile and marine!
His inferior divisions are destitute of precision, and the num¬
ber of species referred to limited.
The system of D’Argenville, which was so much esteem¬
ed and so long followed in France, is essentially the same
■with that of Lister in the higher divisions. The-plan is in¬
deed so simple, and in appearance so natural, that it has met
with many admirers. It has even been useful in encourag¬
ing naturalists to study particular departments of the science,
when they were prevented by their situation from devoting
their attention to the whole. It is probably to this circum¬
stance that we are indebted to Schroter for his observations
on the land shells' in the neighbourhood of Thangelstadt,
and on the river shells of Thuringia.
The preceding arrangements, formed according to the
situations in which the animals reside, and not according to
t eir external coverings, may be considered as the first at-
empts at a natural method in conchology. They serve as
connected with the number of the tentacula, and the num¬
ber and position of the eyes. The families amongst the bi¬
valves are arranged according to the structure of their cloak
or external covering. In the class of multivalves, which
w e have omitted in the table, the characters are taken from
the form and structure of the shell.
I he work of Geoftfoy, entitled, Trade Sommaire des Co- Geoffrey.
quilles tant fluviatiles que terrestres, qui se trouvent aux
environs de Paris, 1767, is constructed upon the principles
of Adanson. Here, however, the objects wTere not suffi¬
ciently numerous to admit of all the subdivisions of that
author, but he has made the form of the animal subservient
to the construction of generic characters.
After these attempts to classify the animals which inhabit Muller,
shells had been made in France, the celebrated zoologist of
Denmark, O. F. Muller, turned his attention to the same
subject. In the Zoologia Danica, which contains his di¬
gested views of the subject, he employs, in the construction
of his genera of univalves, the characters first used by Adan-
in ro uction to a new class of authors, whose views may son; but among the bivalves, besides the form of the tubes
sh ST ere(* aS °^a b'8bt;r or^er5 an(I t° whose labours we or syphon, he notices the construction of the branchiae and
a devote our attention in the following section. the presence or absence of a foot.
Sect. Ill—Systems constructed from Circumstances con- v Toour knowledge of theanirnals which inhabitbivalves,PG- p0li.
nected with the Form and Structure of the contained 1jyln>his ^pensive work, ilxe llistory ojthe Shells of the Two
Animal. J cncuies, made very important additions. In the construction of
'pi his families, which are six in number, he employs merely the
ous ^ ^ a^cmP^ any consequence to arrange testace- characters furnished by the syphon and foot. In the first family
anima s according to the soft parts of their bodies, was the animal has two syphons and a foot; in the second, there
332 MOLL
Mollusra. is only one syphon and foot; in the third, a syphon and no
''^“Y-w'feet; in the fourth there is an abdominal syphon and no feet;
in the fifth there is a foot but no syphon; while, in the sixth,
neither foot nor syphon can be discovered. In the forma¬
tion of his genera, Poli takes advantage of the various forms
of the cloak and the branchiae.
Cuvier. To the celebrated Cuvier, the conchologist is also under
the greatest obligations. By applying his vast knowledge
of anatomy to the examination of the molluscous animals, he
has unfolded many new conformations of parts, and exhi¬
bited many unlooked-for relations. The vast collection of
objects, the spoils of all the museums of the continent, which
Paris once possessed, lay open to his inspection, and his in¬
dustry appears to have been equal to the harvest which in¬
vited him to labour.
In his first attempts to classify the molluscous animals, as
contained in his Tableau Elementairede FHistoire Naturelle
desAnimaux (1798); and his Lemons d'Anatomic Comparee,
(1800-1805), he employed chiefly the characters which the
preceding writers had developed, in his inferior divisions ;
but in his primary distinctions, he distributed the mollusca
into three classes : Cephalopoda, having the head covered
with tentacula, serving- as feet; Gasteropoda, with the head
free, the animal crawling on the belly; and Acephala, hav¬
ing no distinct head.
Some years after the appearance of this classification,
Cuvier directed more of his attention to the internal struc¬
ture of the mollusca, and, by means of accurate dissections,
obtained a more intimate acquaintance with the organs and
functions of these animals than any of his predecessors had
acquired. The information which he thus gained was com¬
municated to the public at different periods, in the well-
known publication Annales du Museum d’Histoire Natu¬
relle de Paris. These papers, with some additional obser¬
vations, were at last published in a separate form, under the
title Memoires pour servir a Vhistoire et d VAnatomic des
Mollusques, Paris, 1816. In the following year he published
Le Regne Animal, distribue d'apres son organisation, in
which he arranged the mollusca according to his peculiar
views, from characters drawn exclusively from the animal.
In the third volume, of what may be termed the third edi¬
tion of that invaluable work, published in 1830, the same
arrangement, with the exception of a few modifications, was
adhered to.
He divides the mollusca into six classes, which he terms
Cephalopoda, Pteropoda, Gasteropoda, Acephala, Brachi-
opoda, and Cirrhipoda.
In the class Cephalopoda, the body is in the form of a
sack, open above, containing the branchiae, with a distinct
head, surrounded by fleshy elongations or arms, adapted for
moving the body or seizing prey. Into this class, along with
the Sepia of Linnaeus, Cuvier has inserted the multilocular
shells of his genus Nautilus and the genus Argonauta. But
it is to be feared, that our knowledge of the testaceous mol¬
lusca which inhabit the numerous multilocular shells, is too
limited to enable us to assign to all of them their true place
in a natural arrangement of animals.
In the second class, termed Pteropoda, the body is
closed, the head is destitute of the long fleshy arms which
distinguish the animals of the preceding division; two fin-
like membranes, situate,on the sides of the neck, and on
which the branchial tissue is in general spread, serve as or¬
gans of motion. There is only one shelly mollusca belong¬
ing to this class, viz., the anomia tridentata of Forskaehl,
now forming a part of the genus hyaloea.
The third class, which includes a great number of naked
and testaceous mollusca, and to which Cuvier gives the name
Gasteropoda, from the circumstance of the belly being
formed for crawling, has been subdivided into eight orders,
from circumstances connected with the organs of respira¬
tion.
use A.
In the first order, termed Pulmones, which breathe air, Mollusca
he has constituted two divisions, the terrestrial and the aqua- '^y^,
tic. The animals of the former live on land, and were in¬
cluded by Linnaeus in his genera Umax and turbo. They
are the land shells of most authors. Those of the division,
termed aquatic, live in the water, but require at intervals to
come to the surface to obtain fresh air. They constitute,
with a few exceptions, the fresh water shells of naturalists.
In the second and third orders, or Nudibranches and Infero-
branches, the species consist almost entirely of genera formed
from the animals which Linnaeus and many others included
in the genus doris. They are naked mollusca, and are like¬
wise destitute of any internal testaceous plate. The fourth
order, termed Tectibranches, contains animals whose branch¬
iae, like small leaves more or less divided, are situate on the
right side, or upon the back. The animals of this division
possess a shell, but it is in general placed beneath the com¬
mon integuments, such as the genus Aplysia and several
species of the genus Bulla. The fifth order, termed Heter-
opodes, have the gills plumore and dorsal, with the foot
compressed and vertical like a fin, with a small portion of
it only formed to act as an organ of adhesion, as in the other
gasteropoda. The Pectinibranches form the sixth order,
and are distinguished by the branchiae, which are like leaves
or threads placed parallel in one, two, or three lines, on the
surface of the pulmonary cavity, and by having the sexes
separate. It includes the whole of the marine species of the
Linnaean genera of turbinated univalves. Into this order,
Cuvier, from the consideration of other characters, has in¬
serted the genus Cyclostoma, which, according to the cha¬
racters indicated by the respiratory organs, belongs to the
Pulmones.
In the seventh order, termed Scutibranches, the bran¬
chiae are similar to those of the preceding order, but the
sexes are united, each individual being capable of impreg¬
nating or being impregnated. The shells in general are
cup-shaped, and destitute of a lid. It includes the genus
Halyotis, and many species of the old genus Patella. In
the last order, called Cyclobranches, the branchiae appear in
the form of small leaves or pyramids strung round the under
margin of the cloak. They enjoy a hermaphroditism simi¬
lar to those of the preceding order. The species of the
genus Patella which are allied to the vulgata, and tlie genus
Chiton, are included in this order.
In the fourth class, or Aceehala, he includes the bivalve
shells, distributing them into families, from characters near¬
ly similar to those which we have pointed out as having
been previously employed by Poli.
The fifth class, termed Brachiopoda, contains animals,
resembling those of the preceding class in having a cloak of
two lobes, but these are always open. The branchiae con¬
sist of small leaves placed on the inner margin of each lobe.
In place of a foot they have two retractile fleshy arms,
which are extensile. This class includes the Patella unguis
of Linnaeus, the genus Terebratula and the Patella anomala
of Muller.
The class Cirrhipoda, distinguished by the articulated
filaments with which the animals are furnished, contains the
species of the genus Lepas of Linnaeus. The shells belong¬
ing to the Linnaean genera Sarpula and Dentalium, are
transferred to the class termed Annelides.
This system of the molluscous animals is unquestionably
the most perfect of all those which have been published.
But, with all its excellence, we must inform the reader,
that many species, nay, whole genera, have their places as¬
signed them in this natural method, merely because the
shells occupied a similar position in the artificial system, the
form of the inhabitants being unknown.
Section IV—Mixed Systems.
In this section, we shall confine our remarks to the only
llusca. system of this kind of any consequence which has hitherto
'^appeared, and which is the production of the late industrious
Lamark, one ofthe most celebrated zoologists of the French
™0l- . ie e feS Animaux ™ns Vertebres, Paris,
ISO!, of this author embraces the whole range of animals in¬
cluded in the classes Insecta and Vermes of Linnaeus. Where
gating of the Mobusca hc divides them into two orders!
The first, termed Cephalous, from possessing a head, in¬
dudes the univalves The second, termed Acephalous, from
the absence of a head, includes the bivalves. This eminent
author greatly modified his views, as appears from what he
announced in Extrait du Coursde Zoologie, Paris, 1812
the prelude to his last and great work, Histoire Naturelle
des Animaux sans Vertebres, the fifth, sixth, and seventh vo¬
lumes of which refer to the Mollusca, he fortunately lived to
finish between the years 1818 and 1822. The arrangement
adopted m this invaluable work, has been greatly admired
a circumstance which induces us to give the following sy¬
noptical view of its contents. r s y
The species considered by the older naturalists as shells
and mollusca, are in this system of Lamark distributed into
three great divisions or classes, which he has denominated
Cirrhipeda, CoNCHiFERiE, and Moleusca. These classes
he has subdivided according to the following tabular view :
CIRRIPEDES.
, Animal‘^ molha, capite oculisque carentia, testacea, fixa.
orDus suhresiimnatiim irvovfi.i^i.  , .
M O L L U S C A.
333
ORDRE I CONCHIFERES DlMYAIRES.
.u'" •*» to-
' valves^tant rapprw:h^es^an,e a"’‘ «s
ie“r
(1.) Coquille, soit contenue dans un fourreau tubulpmr aicU , a
ses valves, soit entierdment, ou en parde in S n r i
de ce fourreau, soit saillante au-dehors. P
Les Tubicolees.
(2.) Coquille sans fourreau tubuleux.
(ay Ligament exte'rieur.
(t) Coquille, soit munie de pieces accessoires, e'trangSres h
s ses valves, soit tres baillante ant^rieurement. S
■Les Pholadaires.
(++) et mh,,‘e Kuiemmt
Cnrn,,. c u • 1 carentia, testacea, fixa
Corpus subresupmatum, marticulatum, tegumenti aonen-
dice inyolutum, dlsuper brachiiB leetacufaribu" dS
multiarticulatis instructum. ’
non Prominulum; maxillis transversali-
bus dentatis per pana dispositis. Brachia numero varia, in-
TSai ,;Wrdl.?atfa 5 sin^ula cerris geminatis, setaceis, mul-
tiarticulatis, cihatis tegumento corneo indutis, pediculo im-
P0A/rtlS! i,A?US tubum proboscedeum terminans.
Medulla longitudinalis nodosa, branchiae externae, inter-
dum absconditae ; circulatio corde vasculisque confecta.
/.esta sessihs vel pediculo flexili tendineo elevata;
valvis plunbus modo mobilibus, modb ferruminatis, tegu-
menti appendice intus vestitis.
Ordre Premier—Cirrhipedes Sessiles.
coouillp WS n a de Pgdoncule> et se trouve enferme dans une
coquille fixee sur les corps marins. La Louche est it la narri* 1
perieure et anterieure du corps. partIe SU‘
C Opercule Quadrivalve.
Gen. Tubinicelle, Coronule, Balane, Acaste.
2. Opercule bivalve.
Gen. Pyrgome, Creusie.
Ordre Second.—Cirriphedes Pedoncules.
la base Sfode TrT Par "" p6donCule tllbuleu^ mobile, dont
ferieure. m 68 C°rpS manns' ^ houcbe est presqu’ in-
<l'c)omi£iTn,!iJte“ent e,'''eI<’ppS |mr ia '“"”1™. Sa coquille
CqKle COm'^e8' “S“ “ 1,animal U”e issue libre>
Gen. Anatife, Pouce-pied.
^overture fait er,v0eloPpd Par sa tunique, mais qui offre une
n’a u nteneure. Sa coquille, formee de pieces se'parees
a pas besoin de s’ouvrir pour la sortie des bras1 de le animal.
Gen. Cineras, Otion.
CONCHIFERES.
11^“™'/“m0llia’ 'n'lrtit"lata- “ bivalvi perpetuo af-
brnsolEl0.1;0. !squeuullis; ore nudo, abscondito, parti,
lobos duoa ] tltut?’ lialhoumplo,corpustotumamplectante,
anbcp, ^ m-mf°™eS formante; laminis vix liberis vel
BranrLi^H^f8' (jeneratloov°-vivipara; copulatio nulla.
Circuhtin c ex iern*j intra corpus et pallium reconditm.
rari • op .,sernPexj cor uniloculare. Gangliones aliquot
» nervi vara ; at chorda medullaris nodosa nulla. Tes-
-Les Solenacees.
fb) Ligament intdrieur.
Les ATyaires.
(**) Conchifcres tenuipedes. Leur manteau n'a plus ou presque plus
ses lobes reumspar-devant; leur pied est petit, comprimd
le baillement de leur coquille est souvent peu considerable ’
(+) Ligament mteneur, avec ou sans complication de ligament^x-
Les Mactracees, Les Corbule'es.
(ft) Ligament uniquement exterieur.
Les Lithophages, Les Nymphacdes.
J ftw!s.Cl°Se aUX extre/mite/s lat4rales> l°rsqi|e les valves sont
(M0) LeUr Pied eSt applate> famelhforme ;
i^es ?]on.qujs> ,L®8 Cardiacees, Les Arcacees, Les Nayades.
(2) Coquille irreguliere, toujours inequivalve. ^
Les Camacees.
Ordre II.—Conchxferes Monomyaires.
Us n’ont qu’un muscle, qui semble traverser leur corps. Leur
coquille offre intdneurement une impression musculaire subcentrale
. Section. Ligament marginal, allonge sur le bord sublineaire.
(a) Coquille transverse, equivalve, ii impression musculaire allon-
gee, bordant le limbe superieur.
Les Tridacnees.
(b) Coquille, soit longitudinale, soit subtransverse, a impression
musculaire resserree dans un espace isole sans border lefimbe.
(t) Ligament au bord lateral de la coquille et toujours entier.
Les Mytilaces.
(ft) Ligament au bord inferieur de la coquille, ou divise.
Les Malicacees.
II. Section. Ligament non marginal, resserre dans un court espace
sous les crochets, toujours connu, et ne formant point un tube
tendineux sous la coquille.
(ay Ligament interieur ou demi interieur. Coquille regulaire, a
test compact non feuillete.
Les Pectinides.
fb) Ligament interieur ou demi interieur. Coquille irreguliere, ii
test feuillete, quelquefois papyrace.
Les Ostraciees.
III. Section. Ligament, soit nul ou inconnu, soit represente par
un cordon tendineux qui soutient la coquille.
faj Ligament et animal inconnus. Coquille tres-inequivalve.
Les Rudistes.
fbj Coquille adherente, soit immediatement, soit par un cordon
334
Mollusca.
M O L L U S C A,
tendineux qui la soutient et lui sert de ligament; 1’animal ayant
deux bras opposes, cilies et cirreux.
Les Brachiopodes.
MOLLUSQUES.
res. Coquille a ouverture entiere, n’ayant a sa base ni echan- Mollusc
crure dorsale subascendante ni canal. v j-
* Trachelipodes ne respirant que I’air. Coquille spirivalve, mutique ^
non distinctement nacree-
faJ Ceux qui babitent hors des eaux.
Animalia mollia, inarticulata, antice capitata; capite plus
minusve prominulo, oculis tentaculisque scepissime instructo,
aut brachiis pluribus superne coronato. Os, vel breve, vel
elongatum, tubulosum, exsertile, soepius partibus duris ar-
matum. Pallium varium ; modo marginibus liberis ad cor¬
poris latera, modo lobis in saccum coadunatis corpus par-
tim vaginans.
Branchiae variae, raro symmetricae; circulatio duplex, par¬
ticular^ et generalis. Cor uniloculare ; interdum auriculis
duabus divisis et valde remotis. Chorda medullaris nodosa
nulla; at gangliones sparsi rariusculi, nervique varii.
Corpus modo externe nudum, et intus vel partibus soli-
dis destitutum, vel testam aut corpora aliquot dura recon-
dens ; modo extus testa vaginante vel obumbrante tectum.
Testa nunquam valvis duabus oppositis et cardine margin¬
al! unitis composita.
I. Ordre.—Les Pteropodes.
Point de pied pour ramper, ni de bras pour se trainer ou saisir le
proie. Deux nageoires opposees et semblables, propres a la nata¬
tion. Corps libre, flottant.
1. Hyale; 2. Clio; 3. Cleodore; 4. Limacine; 5. Cym-
bulie; 6. Pneumodernie.
II. Ordre Les Gasteropodes.
Animaux a corps droit, jamais en spirale ni enveloppe dans une
coquille qui puisse le contenir en entier ; ayant sous le ventre un pied
ou disque musculeux uni au corps a peu pres dans toute sa longueur,
et servant it ramper.
Les uns nus, d’autres ombrages par une coquille dorsale, non en-
gainante, et d’autres encore contenant une coquille plus ou moins
cachee dans leur manteau-
I. Section—Branchies, quelle qui soit leur possition, s’elevant, soit
en fillets, soit en lames, soit en peignes ou panaches. Elies ne
respirent que 1’eau.
(Hydrobranches.)
(a) Branchies exterieures, placees au-dessus du manteau, soit sur
le dos, soit sur ces cotes, et n’etant point dans une cavite par-
ticuliere.
Bes Tritoniens.
fb/Branchies exterieures, placees sous le rebord du manteau, et
disposees en serie longitudinale, soit autour du corps, soit d’un
seul cote ; n’etant pas non plus dans une cavite particuliere
Les Phyllidiens, Les semi-Phyllidiens.
fcj Branchies placees dans une cavite particuliere sur le dos situee
anterieurement pres du cou.
Bes Calyptracions.
fdj Branchies placees dans une cavite particuliere, vers la partie
posterieure du dos, et recouvertes, soit par le manteau, soit
par un ecusson operculaire.
t Point de tentacles.
Bes Buleens.
++ Des tentacules.
Bes Baplysiens-
II. Section. Branchies rampantes, sous la forme d’un reseau vascu-
leux, sur la paroi d’une cavite particuliere dont 1’ouverture est
un trou que I’animal contracte ou dilate a son gro. Elies ne
respirent que 1'air libre.
( Pneumobranches.)
Aquatre, 1 Tentacules.
A deux )
fb J Ceux qui vivent dans les eaux, mais qui viennent respirer 1’air
a leur surface. Coquille a bords de 1’ouverture jamais reflechis.
Bes Bymneens.
** Trachelipodes ne respirant que 1’eau. Branchies saillantes en-
forme de filets, de lames ou de hupes, dans la cavite branchi-
ale. Coquille souvent nacree et souvent aussi ayant des par¬
ties protuberantes a sa surface.
fa J Coquille fluviatile, operculee, dont le bord gauche n’imite pas
une demi-cloison.
(t) Coquille a bords desunis.
Bes Melaniens.
(tf) Coquille a bords reunis.
Bes Pcristomiens.
fb J Coquille fluviatile ou marine dont le bord gauche imite une
demi-cloison.
Bes Neritaces.
c. Coquile marine, dont le bord gauche n’imite pas une demi*
cloison.
(t) Coquille flottante a la surface des eaux.
Bes Janthines.
(ft) Coquille non flottante, ayant 1’ouverture tres evasee; point de
columelle.
Bes Macrostomes.
(+++) Ouverture sans evasement particulier; des plis a la colu¬
melle.
Bes Plicaces.
(+f++) Point de plis h la columelle.
(aJ Les bords d 1’ouverture reunis circulairement.
Bes Scalariens.
fb) Les bords de 1’ouverture desunis.
Bes Turbinaces.
II. Section. Trachelipodes a siphon saillant, et ne respirant que
1’eau qui parvient aux branchies par se siphon. Tous sont
marins zoophages, despourvus de machoires et munis d une
trompe retractile. Coquille spirivalve, engamante, d ouverture,
soit canaliculee, soit echancree ou versante a sa base.
fa) Coquille ayant un canal plus ou moins long a la base de sou
ouverture, et dont le bord droit ne change point de forme avec 1’age.
Bes Canalifcres.
fb) Coquille ayant un canal plus ou moins long a la base de son
ouverture, et dont le bord droit change de forme avec Page et a un
sinus inferieurement. .
Bes Ailees.
fc) Coquille ayant un canal court, ascendant posterieurement, ou
une echancrure oblique en demi-canal a la base de son ouverture, ce
demi-canal se dirigeant vers le dos.
Bes Purpuriferes.
fd) Point de canal a la base de 1’ouverture, mais une echancrure
subdorsale, et des plis sur la columelle.
Bes Columellaires.
fe) Coquille sans canal, mais ayant la base de son ouverture echan-
cree ou versante, et ses tours de spire etant larges, compnmes, en-
roules de maniere que le dernier recouvre presque entierement tes
autres.
Bes Enroulees.
Bes Bimaciens.
III. Ordre.—Les Trachelipodes.
Le corps contourne en spirale dans sa partie posteneure, cette par-
tie etant separee du pied, et toujours enveloppee dans une coquille.
Le pied libre, aplati, attache a la base inferieure du cou, ou a la par-
tie anterieure du corps, et servant a ramper. Coquille spirivalve en-
gainante.
I. Section. Trachelipodes sans siphon saillant, et respirant en ge¬
neral par un trou. La plupart phytiphages et munis de machoi-
IV. Ordre Les C^phalopodes.
Manteau enforme de sac, contenant la partie inferieure du corps.
Tete saillante hors du sac, couronnee par des bras non articules, ga ¬
ins de ventouses, et qui environnent la bouche. Deux yeux sessi e ,
deux mandibules cornees h la bouche ; trois cceurs ; les sexes separes.
1. DIVISION CEPHALOPODES polythalames.
Us ont une coquille multiloculaire, partiellement ou completement
interieure, et enchassee dans la partie posterieure de leur corps.
MOLLUSC A.
usca. * Coquille multiloculaire k cloisons simples.
—Leurs cloisons out les bords simples et n’o/Trent point de sutures
' decoupees et sinueuses sur la paroi interne du test.
(1.) Coquille droite ou presque droite : point de spirale.
Les Orthocirees.
Gen. Belemnite, Orthocere, Nodosaire, Hippurite, Conilite.
(2.) Coquille partiellement en spirale ; le dernier tour se continu¬
ant en ligne droit.
Les Liiuolecs.
Gen. Spirale, Spiroline, Lituole.
(3.) Coquille semi-discorde, a spire excentrique.
Les Cristacees.
Gen. Renuline, Cristellaire, Orbiculine.
(4.) Coquille globuleuse, sphero'ides ou ovale ; a. tours de spire
enveloppans ou a loges reunies en tunique.
Les Sphervlees.
Gen. Miliole, Gyrogone, Melonie.
(5.) Coquille disco'ide, a spire centrale, et a loges rayoimantes du
centre a la circonference.
Les Radiolees.
Gen. Rotalie, Lenticuline, Placentule.
(6.) Coquille disco'ide, a spire central, et a loges qui ne s’etendent
pas du centre jusqu’a la circonference.
Les Nautilaces.
Gen. Discorbe, Siderolite, Polystomelle, Vorticiale, Num-
mulite, Nautile.
** Coquille multiloculaire, a cloisons decoupees sur les bords.
Les Ammonees.
Gen. Ammonite, Orbulite, Ammonocerate, Turrilite, Ba-
culite.
2. BIVISION CEPHALOPODES MONOTHALAMES.
Coquille uniloculaire, tout-a-fait exterieure, et enveloppant I'animal.
Gen. Argonaute.
3. DIVISION. CEPHLOPODES SEPIAIRES.
Point de coquille, soit interieure, soit exterieure. Un corps solide,
libre, crdtace ou corne, contenu dans I’inte'rieur de la plupart de ces'
animaux.
Gen. Poulpe, Calmaret, Calmer, Seche.
V. Ordre.—Les Heteropedes.
Corps libre, allonge, nageant horizontalement. Tete distincte ;
deux yeux. Point de bras en couronne sur la tete; point de pied
sous le ventre ou sous la gorge pour ramper. Une ou plusieurs na-
geoires, sans ordre regulier et non disposees par paires.
Gen. Carinaire, Firole, Phylliroe.
The authors of the first class of conchologists which we
have mentioned, employ exclusively the characters furnish¬
ed by the shell, and scarcely deign to tell us that there is
an animal attached to that shell. The authors of our third
class are anxious to keep the shell out of view, and draw
their distinctions from the animal; but they have failed in
the attempt. In extreme cases, the characters of the shell
are resorted to in the absence of distinctions furnished by
the animal.
Lamark perceived the inconvenience of separating these
two modes of examining molluscous animals, and fortunate-
y formed a very natural combination. We shall give his
c aracter of the genus Patella, as a specimen of this mixed
system.
Patella.
Corpus testa univalvi penitus obtectum ; capite tentacu-
is duobus acutis, basi externa oculferis. Branchiae infra
ve i marginem per totam corporis periphaeriam seriatim dis-
positae. Orificia pro generatione et ano ad latus dextrum
anticum.
Testa univalvis, non spiralis, animal obumbrans, clypi-
3S5
ata vel retuso conica, imperforata; fissura marginali destitu- Mollusca.
ta , cavitate simphci; apice anterius recurvo.
In this manner the generic character is dependent equally
on the shell and the contained animal, and that genus in a
system is consequently not sufficiently established in which
both these characters are not included. How many genera
are in this imperfect state! Were the same plan followed
m the description of species, everything we could wish for
would be detailed ; and our knowledge of the forms of mol¬
luscous bodies would approach to perfection. How much is
it to be wished that this plan of Lamark’s were generally
adopted in this country! conchology would assume a new
aspect, and the number of his votaries would rapidly increase.
The reader will have perceived, in the course of the Compara-
hasty review of those systems which we have enumerated, five excel-
that we have refrained from making any remarks on their ^ence °f
comparative excellence. This deficiency we now proposesystems*
to supply in the following observations.
The authors who have arranged testaceous bodies, with¬
out reference to the animals that reside in them, appear to
have mistaken the house for the inhabitant, and the thing
formed for the being that produced it. They have tom
asunder objects which are closely related, and united others
which differ in structure and economy. These are neces¬
sary consequences of an artificial system, and they become
more obvious in proportion as we descend in the scale of
being.
The examination of shells, according to this method, may
be viewed as the study of the osteology of the mollusca. It
has not for its object the investigation of living matter, but
of dry bones. Nor has it any of those advantages which
i esult from the study of the osteology of the vertebral ani¬
mals. A knowledge of the bones of these animals enables
us to ascertain many of their primary functions, the nature
and extent of their powers of motion, and even the food on
which they subsist. But our knowledge of shells does not
enables us to say, whether the animal can. crawl or swim;
whether it feeds on plants or animals. The reason is obvi¬
ous. AH the muscles inserted upon the shell are either
mere organs of adhesion, or destined to open and shut the
valves. None of those muscles connected with any of the
primary organs have any connection with the shell. That
the shell furnishes several most important characters, we
readily grant; but we are here reasoning against the pro¬
priety of attending to the shell, to the exclusion of the animal,
and, to this extent, our reasoning appears to be conclusive.
We are aw are, that, in the other departments of natural
history, the appearances which the external parts of an ani¬
mal exhibit are constantly employed in the construction of
orders and genera, and all the intermediate divisions. Thus,
for example, the bill, feet, and feathers of birds, furnish the
characters by which they are arranged in the system. Here,
however, it must be observed, that the combined informa¬
tion yielded by these parts, makes us acquainted with the
habits and organization of a bird. By means of these wre
can judge, and with certainty, not merely of its internal
structure, but the places which it frequents, and the food
which it consumes. Hence these characters may be appli¬
ed with equal propriety in an artificial as in a natural me¬
thod. But what opinion would we form of that ornitholo¬
gist, who could readily inform us that the cormorant has
fourteen tail feathers, and the shag only twelve, but who
was ignorant of the haunts of these birds, their food, and the
number of their young. We might prize him as a com¬
panion in surveying a museum, but he is alike a stranger to
science and nature.
Nor can we feel more respect for the student of mere
shells. He may be able to tell us the number of whorls in
a spiral univalve, or the form of the hinge in a bivalve ; but
if he knows not the nature of the organs of respiration, di¬
gestion, and reproduction of the animal to which the shell
336 M 0 L L
Mollusca. belongs, and contentedly remains in this ignorance, he has
yet to learn the value of method in natural history. He
cherishes with mistaken fondness the maxim of Linnaeus,
“ Nomina nosse oportet qui rem scire velit,” while he over¬
looks a more important object, expressed in the motto of
the Linnaean Society, “ Naturae discere mores.”
These remarks apply to the conchological labours of Lin¬
naeus and his followers, who have devoted their whole at¬
tention to the arrangements of the shells, without attending^
to the animals. We know that some of the admirers of
the Swedish naturalist presume to say, ‘ But our great au¬
thor was not wholly inattentive to the creatures for which
the beautiful and endless diversified receptacles that he had
characterised were designed. Among the generic marks
was included the name of the molluscous inhabitant; or,
where the animal differed from any which had a place in
other parts of his system, he described it at length.” (Linn.
Trans, vol. vii. 175.) Now, to what does all this attention
of Linnaeus amount ? In all the species which he has de¬
scribed, he has only noticed the animals of four of these,
and in a very slight manner ; and, with regard to the name
of the molluscous inhabitant which he included in his ge¬
neric marks, we hesitate not to say, that by this union he
has betrayed carelessness. To many British ears these terms
may sound harsh, but the proof of their correct application
in the present instance will be abundantly evident, if we
examine the references to the animals of a few of his ge¬
nera. The genus chiton is thus characterised ; “ Animal
Doris. Testae plures, longitudinaliter gestae, dorso incum-
bentes.” Are we not led to conclude from this chai-acter,
that the animals of the chiton exactly resemble the animals
of the doris genus, with the addition of the shells ? If this
be the case, how artificial is that system which places these
two genera in separate orders! Upon turning, however,
to the genus doris among his vermes mollusca, we find the
following characters assigned to it; “ Corpus repens, ob-
longum, subtus planum. Os antice subtus. Anus postice,
supra cinctus ciliis. Tentacula duo, supra corpus antice
intra foramina retractilia.” Now, the fine fringes around
the anus of the doris, which are the branchiae of the animal,
and form the essential character of the genus, are not to be
found in the animals of the chiton, whose branchiae are in
the form of leaves placed along the margin of the body, and
the anus is a simple pore.
According to the generic character of the mya, the ani¬
mal is an ascidia, with the appendage of a shell. Upon
turning to the genus ascidia, we find it said, “ Corpus fix-
um, teretiusculum, vaginans. Aperturae binoe, ad summi-
tatem ; altera humiliore.” To prove the impropriety of re¬
ferring the animal of the mya to the genus ascidia, we shall
only mention, that the former has a foot, and possesses a
locomotive power ; the latter has no foot, remains immove-
ably attached for life upon the substance to which it at first
adhered, and depends on the accidental bounty of the waves
for all its nourishment.
The animals of nearly all the univalves are represented
as belonging to the genus Umax. But, with the exception
of the restricted genus helix and bulimus, the animals of the
univalves are all generically different from the Umax. Their
tentacula are generally two in number, with t!;e eyes at the
base ; while the tentacula are four in the limax, with the
eyes at the tips of the two longest. These examples will
suffice to establish a truth so palpably obvious.
The principal objection against this system of employing
the shell, to the exclusion of the animal, arises from the
fact, that nature has not drawn a line of distinction between
the mollusca and the testacea. Thus, many of the vermes
mollusca of Linnaeus include shells in their bodies, as the
aplysia ; and many of his vermes testacea likewise are soft
on the outside, the shell being inclosed by the integuments,
as the helix laevigata, now constituting the genus Velutina.
U S C A.
We have another objection to this artificial system, and Mollw
one which we consider of great force ; that, wherever it '^y*
prevails, the form and habits of the animal are overlooked.
How fully is this truth illustrated in the works of the testa-
ceologists of this country ! We might examine all their
writings, from the Pinax of Merret to the Descriptive Ca¬
talogue of Maton and Raket, including the works of Pen¬
nant, Berkenhout, Da Costa, and Donovan, and learn little
more, besides the habitat, than that to every shell there is
an animal attached. Of this charge the names of Lister
and Montagu stand acquitted. The former has given us
several good dissections, and the latter minute descriptions
of the testaceous animals.
Whilst, in the preceding remarks, we have objected to all
arrangements taken exclusively from the characters of the
shell, we also disapprove of those systems founded exclu¬
sively on the characters of the animal. By the former class
of methodists, the simplicity of nature is sacrificed to their
peculiar views, and, by the latter, practical utility is disre¬
garded. Devoting their whole attention to the animal, the
later naturalists have overlooked the house in which it
resides ; the roof which shelters it from the blast; and the
walls which guard it from its foes. The former observ¬
ers possessed very limited views of nature, and erected
systems obviously artificial. To the systems of the latter,
the same objections will apply. Thus, for example, among
the univalves of Adanson, the families are formed from the
position of the eyes chiefly. That the black points which
we witness at the tips or at the base of the tentacula are
actually eyes, avc readily admit; but what influence have
these eyes on the habits of the animal ? or rather, does a
change of position of these organs occasion a corresponding
change in the habits of the animal? Unless this is answered in
the affinnative, we must consider such characters as equally
artificial with any employed by Linnaeus or his followers,
since they have no relation to any of the primary functions
of life.
The employment of characters taken exclusively from the
animal is attended with so many practical difficulties, that
it never can be introduced into general practice. If we find
a shell thrown ashore, the animal may be dead, or it may re¬
fuse for a time to display its organs, and prevent us from
arriving at its name and history. This defect, however,
is partly remedied when we can call to our aid the charac¬
ters furnished by the shell.
Another objection against this method arises from the well
known difficulties attending the preservation of the soft parts
of molluscous animals. To dry these, destroys their form and
texture ; to inject them is impracticable; and when put
into spirits of wine, they generally appear a shrivelled mass.
But the coverings of these animals are durable, and, since
they form a part of the animal; since they are produced at
first along with it, increase by the addition of new matter
from its body, and continue attached to it for life ; we must
condemn any classification from which the shell is excluded.
From these remarks, it will be obvious, that we consider
the mixed system as the most natural and the most useful.
It possesses all the advantages to which the other systems
lay claim, while it is free from their defects. It withdraws
part of our attention from the shell, because it is destitute
of peculiar vessels, and possesses no vital energy, to fix it
on those organs of the animal which are subservient to its
existence. It leads us to examine the whole animal, instead
of certain parts of it merely, and has a tendency to excite
us to become acquainted with the manners of a tribe, from
which, imperfect and artificial systems have hitherto with¬
drawn our attention.
Value of the Characters Employed.
It is of the utmost importance in the formation of any ar¬
rangement of natural bodies, to have an exact idea of the
M O L L U S C A.
ca. relative value of the characters used, and of their true sub-
ordination. This is a subject of vast moment, and too little
attended to by naturalists. We do not here consider that
character as of the highest kind, which is the most general,
but that which has the greatest influence over the faculties
and instincts of the animal. Had this subject been studied
with greater care, the science of conchology would, at this
period, have been in a more flourishing condition. To as¬
certain, in some degree, this subordination of character, is
the object of the following observations.
The division of the testaceous mollusca into three orders,
as adopted by Linnaeus, is confessedly artificial. The Mul-
tivalvia of that author possess no characters in common, nei¬
ther can they boast of a general resemblance. The first
genus, Chiton, consists of animals which belong to the ce-
phalous and gasteropodous mollusca. The animals of the
genus Lepas approach more nearly to the Crustacea than
the mollusca ; while the animals, inhabiting the genus Pho-
las, belong to the acephalous mollusca, and a*e closely con¬
nected with the Myae and Solenes. The shells of the first
genus are merely calcareous scales, arranged transversely on
the back of the animal. The shells of the second genus
are variously articulated, fixed, and either sessile or pedun¬
culated. The shells of the third genus are bivalves, with a
few accessory calcareous plates. It is to be hoped that mo¬
dern conchologists will avoid so incongruous a combination.
The two remaining divisions of Linnaeus, the bivalves
and univalves, are not only obvious, but natural. They in¬
dicate the existence of certain forms peculiar to the animals
whose shells are thus separated in the system. The uni¬
valve shells are inhabited by animals which possess a head,
and whose organs of motion are either tentacula situated on
the head, or a foot spread over the belly, as in the slug.
The animals of the bivalve shells, on the other hand, are
destitute of a head; some of them have no locomotive
power ; and, in others, the organ of motion is a fleshy foot,
which the animal can protrude at pleasure. These circum¬
stances point out the connection which subsists between
the organs of the animal, and the external forms of the shell;
a connection which, in every system, ought to be carefully
attended to.
is. It is somewhat difficult to point out, among the univalves,
the true subordination, or relative importance of the cha¬
racters employed by conchologists in describing them. We
have much to learn of their anatomy, and hence we cannot
with certainty point out the relation of the parts of the shells
to the organs which those parts protect. The form and struc¬
ture of the mouth of the shell, however, may be expected to fur¬
nish characters of the first-rate importance, and have always
attracted the notice of the student of testaceous bodies. The
very shape of the animal, together with its ordinary habits,
must necessarily depend, in a great measure, on the form of
the mouth.
la- In many genera, the mouth of the shell towards the base
l- 18 produced, and terminates in a groove or beak. These
univalves are termed canaliculated, and are readilv distin¬
guished from those whose mouth is entire. The differences
in the form of the shell in these two divisions is an index of
equally remarkable differences in the form of the animals.
I he canaliculated shells contain animals possessed of an
elongated tube for the purposes of respiration, and this canal
is destined for its reception and protection w hen expanded.
Lie animals whose shells are destitute of this canal, are
likewise destitute of this lengthened respiratory tube. Cir¬
cumstances of this kind induce us to believe, that shells,
agreeing in external form, in general, contain animals of a
similar organization. We consider this division of the uni¬
valves into canaliculated and entire, as obvious and natural.
The next character, in point of importance, appears to
depend on the direction of the revolutions of the spire. In
general, when a spiral univalve is placed upon its base, or
VOL. XV.
337
mouth, with its summit towards the observer, the mouth Mollusca.
will open on the right side of its axis or pillar, and the
whorls will be observed to revolve from right to left, be¬
ginning at the base, and ending at the summit. These
shells are termed dextral. In a few shells, however, this
order is reversed. I he mouth occurs on the left side of the
pillar in the above-mentioned position, and the whorls from
the mouth to the summit revolve from left to right. Shells
of this sort are termed sinistral, sometimes also heterostro¬
phe or heteroclite, and are generally called by dealers unique.
In the dextral shells, the animals have the external open- Dextral
ings of the rectum, penis, and uterus, on the right side ofsbells-
the body, and the heart on the left. In the sinistral shells,
these organs are placed on the opposite sides. Thus the
openings of the rectum and organs of generation are on the
left side, while the heart is situated on the right. Here
again we have an external character impressed on the shell,
which indicates certain arrangements in the organs of the
animals. We are aware that some conchologists consider
the sinistral shells as accidental varieties, and on that ac¬
count regard the character which is indicated as of inferior
importance. Bose, indeed, says, “ La cause de cette varia¬
tion dans la direction des spires, vient des circonstances
dans lequelles s'est trouve I’animal au moment de sa nais-
sance, et d’un obstacle qu'il a trouve lorsqu’il a voidu tour-
ner sa tete du cote que la nature lui a indique.” This ex¬
planation might have been received, had such changes in
the direction of the whorls been confined to one individual
or two, of particular species. But when we observe all the
individuals of particular species, nay even of genera with
their whorls thus invariably reversed, we are disposed to re¬
gard the occurrence as connected with the primary struc¬
ture of the animal, and not as the result of accident. Be¬
sides, the viscera of the animal of a reversed shell are not
placed in the same position in relation to its back or belly,
as the animals of the dextral species. A simple change of
direction in the spire, therefore, will not convert a dextral
into a sinistral species, and the character must be consider¬
ed as of a higher order than those employed for the separa¬
tion of the species merely. We consider sinistral shells as
belonging to distinct genera from those which are dextral,
it being inexpedient to make use of the character for higher
divisions.
Among many of the univalves, the animal is furnished Opercukt-
with a lid, by means of which it can close up the entrance ed shells,
of the shell after it has withdrawn itself into the cavity. It
is in general corneous, sometimes also calcareous. It is
usually flat, and attached to the superior and posterior part
of the foot of the animal. The shells which possess this lid
are generally termed operculated shells. They must not
be confounded with those land shells of which the animals
form a temporary covering to the mouth, previous to winter,
for the purpose of protecting them from the vicissitudes of
the weather. This lid, in the former case, is permanent, in
the latter deciduous ; in the former it adheres to the ani¬
mal, being in connection with it; in the latter only to the
margins of the mouth of the shell.
This character was first employed by Adanson in the con¬
struction of the second section of his class univalves, and
has been more or less attended to by succeeding concholo¬
gists. It is certainly a very general character, and at first
sight might be supposed worthy of forming some of the
higher divisions. It appears but rarely in the land shells,
more frequently in fresh water shells, and generally in the
marine species. It does not, as yet, appear to be connect¬
ed with any peculiar organization, although it must influ¬
ence to a certain extent the economy of the animal. Wei’e
we however, to employ it in higher divisions than generic
ones, some confusion would certainly arise. It would cause
the separation of many genera which are nearly allied, and
even divide several natural families. Thus, for example,
'l u
338
M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. among the porcellaneous shells, it would separate the olives
from cones, the former being destitute of an operculum,
while the latter possess one. These two genera, however,
belong to a natural family, the animals of both genera hav¬
ing a respiratory tube upon the head, and the eyes placed
on the sides of the tentacula, instead of being situated, as
in the other gasteropoda, on the tips or at the base. This
ch'cumstance is calculated to convince us of the necessity
of caution in the admission of characters. These may at
first appear to be of extensive occurrence, and well adapted
for the formation of families, but unless they exercise some
visible influence on the animal, they can never be employ¬
ed with propriety in a natural system, however convenient
they may be in an artificial arrangement. Operculated
shells may be considered as generically different from those
which are destitute of that organ, without any injury to the
natural method. It would even, in many instances, be con¬
venient.
Amongst univalve shells, considerable differences are ob¬
servable in the shape and position of the cavity of the shell.
In some cases this cavity is simply conical, while in others
it is conico-tubular, either revolving horizontally round a
centre, or spirally twisted upon an axis or pillar. These
circumstances furnish characters of great importance in an
artificial system, as by means of them all testaceous bodies
may be arranged into two tribes, the one possessing a pillar,
round which the tube of the shell is twisted, while the other
is destitute of any pillar. The former have been termed
Stuhdia, the latter Astulidia. As a natui’al character,
however, these distinctions are of inferior importance, and,
if employed would occasion a separation between the genera
Planorbis and Lymnasa, which are demonstrated by Cuvier
to be nearly related. In the formation of genera, it may
be employed with advantage, even in a natural system, aided
by the structure of the pillar, and the direction of the whorl.
The last character which we have to notice while speak¬
ing of the univalves, depends on the circumstance of the
cavity being entire, or divided into chambers, being unilo¬
cular or multilocular. In the multilocular testacea there
are a number of transverse plates, in some species perfor¬
ated, in others entire, which cross the cavity of the shell,
and, in general, divide the external cavity, in which the
animal resides, from the older and smaller ones, from which
it has receded. In an artificial arrangement, such distinc¬
tions may be employed with advantage, even in the forma¬
tion of the primary divisions, but we entertain doubts as to
the propriety of using them in a strictly natural method.
We are in a great measure ignorant of the animals which
inhabit the multilocular shells, yet as far as our knowledge
goes, we are induced to regard the distinction as merely
conventional, and as unconnected with any peculiar order
of organization. Such a division may be useful in the pre¬
sent state of the science, and may be permitted on that ac¬
count ; but in proportion as our knowledge of the mollusca
advances, this distinction will be deemed inexpedient. In¬
deed, were this division adopted, the genera Argonauta and
Nautilus would be torn from each other, although they are,
by Cuvier and many others, regarded as members of a fam¬
ily of cephalopodous mollusca. The Nautilus lacustris of
Lightfoot, now constituting the genus Segmentina, would,
in that case, likewise be separated from the genus Planor¬
bis, with which it is very closely allied. In the meantime,
until our knowledge of the multilocular testacea arrives at
a greater degree of perfection, such divisions may be em¬
ployed as convenient, and of easy application.
The preceding remarks apply to those shells which belong
to the cephalous mollusca. Among the bivalve shells,
which belong to the acephalous mollusca, the characters
which they exhibit are of very different degrees of import¬
ance. Here, as among the univalves, the appearance of the
shell enables us to form an idea of the organization of the
•n
animal, so that the pharacters thus furnished by the shell Moliu
may be safely employed in a natural system.
The bivalve shells, in general, possess the faculty of mov¬
ing from one place to another, or of attaching themselves
to rocks and stones, by means of temporary threads. These
are termed free shells. But there are others which secrete
at their birth a calcareous cement, which unites the shell
to the rock or stone immoveably for life. These last are
known by the name of fixed shells. If we thus consider
the difference in the economy of these two divisions of bi¬
valves, we may reasonably expect to find corresponding dif¬
ferences in their organization. The free shells contain ani¬
mals endowed with locomotion, and by consequence with
feet. In few of the animals which inhabit fixed shells can
a foot be observed. They are more simple in their orga¬
nization than the free shells, and are destitute of absorbing or
ejecting syphons, the place of these being supplied by holes
in the duplicature of the cloak. This last distinction, how¬
ever, is not peculiar to the fixed shells, although found in
all of them.
Among the free shells, a very important circumstance
occurs, which we have already noticed, viz. that some of
these adhere to rocks and stones by means of temporary
threads produced by the animal. They are termed byssl-
ferce. Independent of the utility of this power of produc¬
ing threads of attachment, to the economy of the animals,
the byssiferse must possess at least three organs of which
the other testaceous mollusca are destitute. The first of
these is a gland for the secretion of the substance of which
the threads are formed ; the second, a foot so constructed
as to be capable of spinning these threads and fixing them
to the rocks or other bodies to which they are intended to
adhere ; and the third is a muscle in the animal to which
the inner end of these threads may be attached, and which
muscle, in general, has the power of contraction and elon¬
gation. This character, then, appears perhaps of the very
highest order, so that, in a natural arrangement, we might
divide the molluscous bivalves into such as spin threads of
attachment, and such as do not. We must, however, con¬
fess, that the byssiferae have scarcely any other subordinate
characters in common, to warrant such an arrangement.
In general, the valves of which the shell consists close
upon each other in such a manner as to leave no opening.
In a few genera, however, the valves do not close upon
each other at one end, and sometimes at both; the point
of union being at one side or in the middle. The former
are termed close shells, the latter gaping shells. The cha¬
racter of gaping, so very obvious in the shell, is an index
of equally important distinctions which prevail in the ani¬
mal. In the gapers, the syphons, or the absorbing and
ejecting pipes, are two in number, and very long, and fre¬
quently united. The foot is contained in a sheath, from
which it issues at the pleasure of the animal. Besides, the
branchiae are always united, and equal in length to the tubes.
This character appears, therefore, equally important as the
former. It has hitherto been employed in the construction
of specific characters merely, rarely of genera.
When the two valves are of the same size and form, the
shell is said to be equivalve ; but when the one valve differs
from the other in these particulars, the shell is said to be
inequivalve. This character, so obvious and so commodi¬
ous, is not the index of any peculiar organization of the ani¬
mal. If employed in the higher divisions, it would separ¬
ate closely connected genera, and destroy some natural
alliances. The inequivalves, however, are for the most
part irregular in their growth. The molluscous inhabitants
have no lengthened syphon nor foot.
When we examine the inner surface of bivalves, we ob¬
serve some spots of a different colour and lustre from the
general surface. These are the places to w hich the muscles
adhered, which connected the animal with the shell, and are
M O L LU S C A.
isca. termed muscular impressions. They are either separate
and lateral, subcentral, or simple, or composite. This cha¬
racter was long employed by conchologists in their specific
distinctions, and sometimes in the formation of the genera.
It has been more recently employed by Lamark, as a character
of the first importance in the division of the bivalves. He
forms these shells into two sections, the first containing
those shells which have the muscular impressions separate
and lateral, and the second such as have only one subcen¬
tral, simple, or compound impression. However highly we
respect the conchological labours of this naturalist, we can¬
not join with him in the present instance, and elevate a sub¬
ordinate character to a primary rank. If, by muscidar im¬
pressions, he means those marks impressed on the valves of
the shells by the muscles which serve to close it, then his
character is unconnected with any of the primary functions
of the inhabitant. For is it of much consequence whether
the valves be brought into contact by the action of one
muscle or by the assistance of two ? In so far, the charac¬
ter is evidently artificial, when the impressions of the ab¬
ductor muscles only are employed. But he evidently uses
the term in a more extensive sense, to refer to those im¬
pressions left on the shell by some of the other muscles by
which the animal is attached to it. To the mere concho-
logist, these marks are of a very uncertain import, and
can never enable him to construct natural families, and the
student of the mollusca will employ more important distinc¬
tions. If we are to take all the muscular impressions into
account, the arrangement of Lamark must undergo great
alterations. Let us take the common mussel as an exam¬
ple. It is placed by the French Conchologist in the second
section, as having only one muscular impression, although
no less than four muscles adhere to each valve, destined for
the performance of very different functions. The largest
impression, which is situate near the obtuse end of the
shell and towards the posterior margin, belongs to the ab¬
ductor muscle, employed in closing the valves. Connected
with this impression there is a tongue-shaped mark, reach¬
ing nearly to the ligament. This mark is occasioned by
one of the lateral muscles for supporting the byssus, and by
one of the lateral muscles of the foot. The other muscle
for supporting the byssus, is inserted under the teeth which
occur at the beak. There is even another mark of adhe¬
sion on the margin of the shell, irregularly denticulated,
occasioned by the fringed margin of the cloak, which is
there united with the shell. This mark may be termed the
marginal impression. To which of these marks then are
we to attach the greatest importance ? To the impression
of the one abductor muscle, which is common to all shells,
-~to the marks of the muscle of the byssus, or to the in¬
dented mark of the fringed margin of the cloak. If we at¬
tend farther to Lamark’s arrangement, we shall find the
amacea separated from the Ostreacea, although the two
families possess numerous external and internal points of
resemblance. \\ e regard the muscular impressions as fur¬
nishing a convenient character for the construction of genera,
and the discrimination of species, but it is not worthy to
occupy so high a rank as Lamark has assigned to it.
As intimately connected with the muscular impressions,
we may here notice the ligament. It is a horny elastic
membrane, which serves to open the valves, when the ad-
uctor muscle relaxes. It is placed on the exterior margin
m some shells, and is concealed in others. When external,
it is stretched when the shell is closed, and wdien it is inter¬
na , it is compressed in similar circumstances. This cha-
lacter is very useful in the construction of genera, but it
oug it never to be employed in any of the higher divisions.
is not the index of any peculiar organization, neither does
i serve to unite natural families. Lamark, without due con-
si eration, regarded it as next in importance to the muscular
impressions.
339
The teeth of the hinge of bivalves, since the days of Lan- Mollusca.
gius, have been studied with care, and the characters which
they furnish have been employed, both in artificial and na¬
tural arrangements, in the construction of the primary divi-
sions. It would have been of some advantage to the science,
had conchologists ascertained the use of the teeth in the
economy of the animal, before forming any divisions from
their presence, absence, or position. They do not appear
to be the index of any peculiar organization, neither can
they be employed to bring together naturally allied families.
. e use of the adductor muscle is to close the shell • the
igament opens it ; and the teeth of the hinge seem destined
to modify and direct these movements. The characters
furnished by these three parts of the shell appear to be near¬
ly of equal importance, and fit only to occupy a very subor¬
dinate place. Were the circumstances connected with the
teeth of the hinge to become the foundation of the higher
divisions, many natural families would be broken. Thus,
the genus anodonta would be removed from the unio, al¬
though they are both fluviatile, possess one long subulated
foot, one syphon in the form of a hole, the summit of the cloak
furnished with cirri, the branchiae in part re-united, vivipa¬
rous, carrying the young in the branchiae. In short, it seems
to be a character fit only for generic and specific distinc¬
tions.
Bivalve shells have often been divided into equilateral
and inequilateral. These differences do not appear to be
the signs of any peculiar character of the animal, or any of
its functions. They must influence, to a certain extent, the
relation between the different parts, but this influence is not
sufficiently obvious. The character thus furnished is of an
uncertain kind. It is influenced by the age of the indivi¬
dual, and therefore can only be employed with caution in
specific distinctions.
The last character of the bivalves which we shall notice
is the power which some of them possess of piercing stones
and wood for the purpose of forming to themselves a retreat.
These are termed borers. It was supposed by many that
the animal secreted a liquor with which it dissolved the bo¬
dies into which it penetrated, but the sagacious Reaumur
soon ascertained that the boring was performed by means of
a rotatory movement of the larger valves. M. Fleurieu-
Bellevue states, that the calcareous stone in which the ru-
pellaria lithophaga is found, is often discoloured in the im¬
mediate neighbourhood of its recess. I his may arise from
other secretions of the animal, or even from the stagnant
sea water in the hole, and not from the action of the phos¬
phoric acid, or any other solvent supposed to be employed
by the animal. These would act equally on the shell as on
the calcareous rock. But the borers are not confined to
cal cai eons rocks, they also lodge in slate-clay, and other ar¬
gillaceous strata. This is very often the case with the Pho-
lades. But this character can never be extensively employ¬
ed, as the same species which, at one time, may be found
imbedded in stone, will be observed at another seated among
the roots of sea-weed, or buried among gravel.
^ From the preceding remarks it will appear obvious, that
there are many characters furnished by the shell, which give
us indications of corresponding peculiarities in the structure
of the animal, and on that account ought to be employed in
every natural arrangement. These characters have this cir¬
cumstance to recommend them, that they are obvious and
permanent. The objects which furnish them can be pre¬
served in our cabinets, and serve to perpetuate our recollec¬
tion of the appearances which the more perishable parts
have exhibited.
There is yet another class of characters to be considered,
very variously rated by different authors. These characters
are taken from the situation in which shells are found, whe¬
ther on the land, in fresh water, or in the sea.
This mode of dividing testaceous bodies has not been
340
M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. sufficiently attended to by conchologists, who have, in ge-
neral, condemned the plan, as founded upon an improper
principle, viz., the classification of animals from the places
which they frequent, instead of the forms which they exhi¬
bit. Such a mode of arranging the higher divisions of the
different classes we would readily censure; but when em¬
ployed in the inferior subdivisions of the testacea, we regard
it as an important and a natural character. We ask the truena-
turalist to say, which is the most important character, the hinge
having teeth or wanting projections, and the animal residing
in fresh water or in the sea? We anticipate with confidence
the preference which would be given to the latter, although
the decision might provoke a sneer in a mere collector.
Nature has evidently drawm a line of separation between
the three tribes, which it is not difficult to perceive.
The terrestrial testacea are destined to live on vegetable
matter. Their organs of respiration are suited to the me¬
dium in which they reside. Their organs of feeling are, in
general, more numerous than those of the fluviatile or marine
shells. The tentacula of the latter seldom exceed two,
while in the land shells the tentacula are, in general, four in
number. The eyes are likewise differently placed ; in the
aquatic testacea they are situate on the head, at the base
of the tentacula; whereas the eyes in nearly all the terres¬
trial species are placed on the tip of these organs. We might
also add, that no bivalve shells are found on the land; they
belong exclusively to fresh water and to the sea.
The fluviatile shells, though destined to reside in a differ¬
ent medium from the terrestrial, have in the greater number of
genera their organs of respiration (according to Cuvier) near¬
ly the same, and are, therefore, compelled to come occasion¬
ally to the surface to respire. They have usually two flat ten¬
tacula, with the eyes placed at the base. They may, in general,
be distinguished from the marine kinds by the superior thick¬
ness of their epidermes, their corneous colour, and semi-trans¬
parency.
The marine shells are the most numerous, the most beau¬
tiful, and the most highly prized of all the testacea. Many
of the univalves of this tribe possess a lengthened respira¬
tory tube, with a canal in the shell for its protection, a cir¬
cumstance not observed in the fluviatile testacea. There is
one circumstance which at once points out the difference in
structure between the fluviatile and marine testacea: the
fluviatile cannot live in salt water, nor the marine in fresh
water. This fact points out an arrangement in their orga¬
nization to which conchologists ought to pay attention.
These remarks are calculated to persuade conchologists
to attend to the character furnished by the habitation of
shells. In the formation of genera, it ought to be respected;
in the higher divisions it would be inconvenient. The care¬
lessness of Linnaeus with regard to this character, is the prin¬
cipal reason why his genus helix is such a confused and in¬
digested mass. Were the distinction arising from habitation
to be observed in the distribution of the testacea, no confu¬
sion could possibly take place. Some changes might be oc¬
casioned by it, but much practical difficulty would be avoided.
Indeed, so useful is the distinction, that conchologists, with¬
out avowing the propriety of the principle, have in many
instances observed it.
Having thus taken a short view of the different characters
employed by conchologists in the arrangement of the tes¬
tacea, and endeavoured to ascertain their relative import¬
ance, w e shall conclude this part of the article by an appli¬
cation of the principles we have established, to an examina¬
tion of the Linnsean genera, and to an enumeration of those
genera which subsequent naturalists have formed, without,
however, attempting to give even an approximation to many
of the modern divisions, which have been multiplied beyond
all bounds; as our present object is to convey to the reader
some farther remarks, illustrative of the history of the science,
rather than specific descriptions.
I.IXXvF.AX Gexkra.
1. Chiton The only change which has taken place in
this genus, of any consequence, is its transference to the
naked cephalous mollusca, effected by Lamark. The inha¬
bitants bear a near resemblance to those of the genus patella,
and belong to the order cyclobranehia of Cuvier. The mar¬
ginal ligament which connects the testaceous plates, even
after the extraction of the animal, is, in fact, the margin of
its cloak, and offers, in connection with the notches of the
plates, more certain and convenient distinctions for the dis¬
tribution of the species, than the number or appearance of
the valves, a character exclusively employed by Linnaeus.
2. Lepas This genus has undergone several important
alterations since the days of Linnaeus. As originally con¬
structed by that author, it contained shells which differ
widely from one another in habit and form. Bruguiere, the
celebrated French conchologist, separated the fixed shells
furnished with an operculum, under the name of Balanus,
and those which were seated on a peduncle, he retained un¬
der the generic name Anatifer. Lie thus suppressed entirely
the Linnman name of the genus. To the name of his first
genus, we have no objections, but the second, though it re¬
cords a curious fact in the history of popular errors, has been
injudiciously selected. The name Lepas has been retained
by the best British w riters, who have described seven species
which live in our seas. These are distributed into tw o sec¬
tions, according as the valves are five or more in number.
The Lepas anatifera is an example of the first division, and
the L. scalpellum of the second.
The genus balanus, as thus formed by Bruguiere, and re¬
presented by the lepas balanus of Linnaeus, contained nine¬
teen species. From these Lamark has separated the B.
diadema, testudinaris, and balanaris, to form his genus Co-
ronula. These shells are conical, and have the compart¬
ments formed into twelve areae, six of these being depressed,
and six elevated. They chiefly inhabit the skin of the whale,
the base of the shell being placed in the fat. Lamark has
likewise formed another genus, from tw'o species analogous
to the coronolulae, which he terms Tubicinella, and charac¬
terises it thus:—“Testa univalvis, regularis, non spiralis,
tubulosa, versus basin attenuata, utrique truncata; apertura
orbiculata terminali; operculo quadrivalvi.” The lepas stri¬
ata of Pennant is now the representation of a new genus
termed Creusia.
M. Dufresne (Annales da Museum, vol. i. p. 465), endea¬
vours to prove by very inconclusive reasoning, that these shells
are formed posterior to the birth of the animal. He supposes
that, when they become too small to contain the inhabitants on
account of their increasing size, the old shells are forsaken, and
more commodious dwellings formed, until the animal reaches
its full size. O ther proof however, than what the author ad¬
duces, is necessary to render the opinion probable.
Lamark, in his Systeme des Animaux sans vertebres,
placed these shells in a separate section at the end of the
bivalves, and among the acephalous mollusca. Afterwards
he considered them as constituting a particular division of
the crustaceous animals; and, lastly, he has assigned them
a place in his new class, which he terms Cirrhipibes.
3. Pholas.—This very natural genus was placed among
the multivalves by Linnaeus, in the twelfth edition of his
system. It is now united with the bivalves, the accessory
plates at the hinge being regarded as of subordinate import¬
ance. In other respects it has stood the test of modern in¬
novation, with the exception of the genus Gastrocieena
of Spengler, in which the teeth are obsolete. This includes
the pholas hians of Chemnitz, and the mya dubia of len-
nant.
4. Mya If we consider as definite the character as¬
signed to this genus by Linnaeus himself, we shall find that
it. excludes many species which differ from the M. truncata,
M O L L U S C A.
jj isca at present considered as the type of the genus. In this
^ shell, the valves gape at both extremities, the ligament is
internal, and placed on a thick erect tooth in one valve, not
inserted into the opposite side. As the M. vulsella of Lin¬
naeus is close at both ends, and destitute of a tooth, it has
been separated from the true myae, and formed into a dis¬
tinct genus by Lamark, under the title Vulsella. This
shell presented some difficulty to Linnaeus, as he placed it
at first among the Pinna;, and afterwards among the Mycc.
Even Bruguiere gave it a place among the oysters.
Another genus has been formed by Lamark from the mya
siliqua of Chemn. (Conch.vol. xi. p. 192, tab. 198, fig. 1934).
He calls it Glycimeris. Though nearly related to the true
myae, by gaping at both extremities, yet it differs from them
in the hinge, which is destitute of teeth, and in the ligament
being external.
A new genus was formed by M. M. Groye, (Annales du
Museum, vol. ix.), which he terms Paxopea, and assigns
to it the following characters :—“ Coquille transverse, bail-
lante inegalement au deux bouts, charniere semblable dans
Tune et dans fautre valve, ayant une callosite ou grosse dent
allongee, placee en avant et sur le corselet; decurrente sur
le bord interieur, relevee en arete, mousse et saillant poste-
rieurement; une dent cardinale conique un peu comprimee
et arquee, et sur le valve droit une fosette dans laquelle s’en-
grene la dent de la valve opposee; ligament exterieur, cro¬
chets peu protuberans, corselet large, deux impressions
musculaires dans chaque valve situees vers les extremites.”
The type of this genus is the mya glycimeris of Gmelin first
noticed by Aldrovandus. It is inserted among the British
shells by Mr. Donovan upon very slight authority. In the
construction of the genus, we think, that M. Groye has acted
properly, but there was no necessity surely for changing the
trivial name (of the first described species) bestowed upon
it by the discoverer. He has added another species from
Monte Pulgnasco in Parma. In the trivial name of this
species, we consider that he has been guilty of an act of
injustice. He has called it P. Faujas, in honour of Faujas
St. Fond, the zealous Professor of Geology in the Museum
of Natural History at Paris. But the truth is, that it was
found by M. Cortezi, Counsellor at Parma, and a success¬
ful investigator of the organic remains of that district. It
ought, therefore, to have obtained the name of P. Cortezi,
in honour of the discoverer, instead of the name of Faujas.
St. Fond, who received it from M. Cortezi, and whose sole
merit in the subject consisted in his bringing it in safety
to Paris.
The principal error of Linnaeus in the construction of this
genus, consisted in the insertion of fluviatile shells among
his marine species. Bruguiere I'eadily perceived this error,
and formed a new genus for their reception, which he called
Unio. But this group, now denominated Nayades by La¬
mark, includes the genera unio hyria, anadonta tridina, and,
we may add, alasmodon.
5. Solen.—This genus has undergone few changes since
the days of Linnaeus. The character has been somewhat
restricted, and those species have been removed, in which
the external margin is a little arcuated, and the cardinal
teeth articulated, and two in number, and formed by Lamark
into a new genus, which he terms Saxguinolaria. The
animals of this genus, according to Poli, differ from the so-
lens, in having the tubes of the syphon separate, and of
unequal length and thickness. The S. minutus of Linnaeus,
found in our seas, is referred to the genus Hiatella by
Cuvier, a genus very imperfectly defined, but nearly allied
to, if it be not identical with, the byssomia of the same au¬
thor, which includes the mytilus rugosus of Linnaeus.
6.. Tellina.—This extensive genus of Linnaeus, the es¬
sential character of which is to have an anterior inflection
or fold in each valve, and lateral teeth, includes many shells
which differ greatly in form and habit, and which disagree
even with his own definition. Hence several important im-
puivements have taken place in the distribution of the species.
i he first change in the genus of any consequence con¬
sisted in the separation of the fluviatile from the marine
species. This was accomplished by Scopoli, (Introd. ad
Fist' Mat. 397), who bestow'ed on them the generic name
o iSpluenum. Bruguiere afterwrards wantonly changed the
name to Gyclas, and this change has been embraced by
Lamark and other naturalists.
Another new genus of fluviatile shells, allied to the pre¬
ceding, has been formed by Bruguiere and Lamark for the
reception of one species. The genus is termed Galathea,
and the species G. radiata. Ihere are two approaching
hinge-teeth in the right valve, with a cavity in front, and
two distant hinge-teeth in the left, with an intermediate
large grooved callosity. The lateral teeth are of consider¬
able size. The ligament is external, and the muscular im¬
pressions are two in number, and lateral.
The Tellina incequivalvis presents characters which read¬
ily distinguish it from the other species with which Linnaeus
placed it.^ The shell is inequivalve and inequilateral; the
ligament is internal, and the lateral laminae are wanting.
Besides, the animal differs from the other inhabitants of the
tellinae, and is nearly related to the solens. Hence Brugu¬
iere formed a new genus for its reception, which he termed
Pandora.
There are several species of the genus tellina and Venus,
which Bruguiere and Lamark have formed into a separate
genus called Lucina, which is thus characterised:—“ Testa
bivalvis, aequivalvis, orbiculata, vel ovato transversa; nati-
bus arcuatis, postice versis. Cardo dentibus cardinalibus
1. s. 2. variabilibus; lateralibus 1. s. 2. remotis, interdum
subnullis.” To this genus Lamark brings the Tellina lactea
and divaricata of Linnaeus, and the muricata of Chemn.
(Conch, vol. xi. p. 209, tab. 199? fig. 1945-6), together with
the Yenus jimbnata, and Pcnsylvanica of Linnaeus, and the
Jarnaicensis of Chemn. (Conch, vol. vii. p. 24, tab. 39, fig.
403-9). Cuvier, however, has restored the T. lactea to the
genus Loripes, which Poli instituted for its reception.
7. Cardium—This is, perhaps, the best constructed
genus which Linnaeus formed. The characters are definite
and obvious, and all the species are naturally allied. Hence
few changes have taken place in their arrangement. The
animal constitutes a new genus in the system of Poli, which
he terms cerastis.
Cuvier is disposed to constitute a new genus under the
title Hemicardia, for the reception of the C. cardissa of
Chemn., commonly called the Venus-heart cockle. The
truncated appearance on the one side, and its being carin-
ated in the middle, point out a conformation of the inhabi¬
tant different from the true cockles. Of this new genus we
possess some fossil species.
8. Mactra—The ligament, in the marine bivalves, is,
in general, placed on the outside, but in this genus, of which
Lamark has formed his family mactreacea, the ligament
is internal, and inserted in a cavity at the hinge formed for
its reception. This family, as it stands at present, contains
several well characterised genera.
In the restricted genus, Mactra, as represented by the
M. stultorum of Linnaeus ; the shell gapes a little, and the
lateral teeth are strong, and lock into each other. The
shells with age arrive at a considerable thickness. The in¬
habitant belongs to the genus callista in the system of Poli.
The genus Crassatella of Lamark contains shells which
close exactly, and have the lateral teeth obsolete. He de¬
scribes seven fossil species, and eleven recent ones, viz.
mactra glabrata, {Encyclopedic Meth. tab. 257. fig. 3) ; ve-
nus divaricata of Martini, {Conch, vi. p. 318. tab. 30. fig.
317, 318,) under the title Crassatella contraria ; and the
341
Mollusca.
342 MOLL
Mollusca. following new species, rostrata, Kingicola (from King’s Is-
]and!) donacina, sulcata, subradiata, erycincea, cycladea,
and strata.
The genus Erycina is composed entirely of fossil species.
Lamark has assigned it the following character: “ Testa
bivalvis, equivalvis, inequilatera, transversa. Dentes car-
dinales bini, superne divergentes, cum foveola minima in¬
termedia : laterales compressi oblongi. Ligamentum fove¬
ola cardinali insertum.” From the situation of the ligament
being inserted in the small space between the teeth, the pit
or cavity is less than in any of the other genera. The mus¬
cular impressions are two in number.
The transverse mactrm, which gape, but are destitute of
lateral teeth, such as the M. lutraria of Linnaeus, compose
the genus Lutraria of Lamark. The species already men¬
tioned, and the mya oblonga of Gmelin, or mactra Mans of
Montagu, occur on our coasts ; the former in great abund¬
ance at the mouths of the European rivers.
The genus Uygulina, formed by Daudin, contains only
one species, existing in the cabinet of Favanne. It is un¬
certain from what country it came. It is a regular longi¬
tudinal shell. The hinge is formed by one small tooth be¬
tween two oblique pits. The muscular impressions are two
in number. It is figured in Deterville’s edition of Buffon.
(Hist. Nat. dcs Coquil. tom. xx. f. 2, 3.)
Another genus established by the same author, and termed
Erodona, is subtransverse, irregular, and gaping, the hinge,
in one valve, consisting of one hollowed tooth, and in the
other a depression between two eminences. It includes
two shells from the cabinet of Favanne. It is intermediate
between the mactrse and myae.
9. Donax. The shells of this genus are readily known
at first sight by their singular cuneiform shape. The hinge
, teeth are two in number, and the lateral teeth are spread¬
ing. The ligament is external, and, like the tellinae, it is
placed on the shortest side. This is a circumstance of rare
occurrence among the inequivalve testacea. The animal
belongs to the genus peronaea of Poli.
Lamark has instituted a genus nearly allied to the pre¬
ceding, termed Petricoua, the shells of which gape a little
at both ends. There is one hinge tooth in one valve, and
a bifid one in the other. The ligament is external; the
muscular impressions are two in number ; the structure of
the hinge teeth, and the absence of the lateral teeth, at once
distinguish this genus from the donax and venus. These
animals are likewise peculiar in their habits. Lamark quotes
the venus lithophaga of Retzius, Act. Acad. Tour. vol. iii.
]). 11, and the venus lapicida of Chemn. Conch, x. p. 356.
tab. 172, f. 1664-5. But Lamark’s genus has been again
altered by Fleurieu-Bellevue, who has formed his genus
Rupeluaria, from the V. lithophagus of Retzius, and an¬
other species termed striata. [Mem. de VAcad. de la Ro¬
chelle, ii. tab. 2, fig. 9.) In this genus the shell is transverse
and inequilateral, compressed in the anterior part, and
swollen behind. There are two crooked hinge teeth on
each valve, one simple, the other bifid. The ligament is
external, and there are two muscular impressions. The
donax irio belongs to this genus. The same author has
formed two other genera of borers. The first he terms Ru-
riooEA, having a transverse inequilateral shell, a little gap¬
ing at the ends ; no teeth or callosities. In an internal
projection of each valve, there is a pit for the ligament.
The other genus is named Saxicava. It is transverse,
inequilateral, and gaping, without teeth or callosity, or pit.
The ligament is external.
10. Venus. This Linnaean genus contains so many
species, that there is considerable difficulty in studying it.
The formation of new genera, from its men*bers, by dimi¬
nishing their numbers, must prove highly acceptible to the
student of conchology. Lamark has succeeded so far by
U S C A.
previously restricting the character of the original as fol- Moll: a,
lows: “ Testa bivalvis sequivalvis, binaequilatera transversa >*«“• w
vel suborbicularis. Dentes cardinales tres in utroque val-
va, ad nates basi convergentibus. Ligamentum externum,
nymphas labiaque obtegens.” The three diverging hinge
teeth constitute the essential character of the genus, so that
Lamark has been able to form three other genera from dif¬
ferent characters.
The genus Cytherea (the meretrix of Lamark’s Sys-
teme des Animaux) is thus characterised: “ Cardo dentibus
duobus tribusve approximatis, basi convergentes ; uno soli-
tareo remotiuscula sub ano.” It must be confessed that the
insulated teeth under the lunule, in the absence of other
characters, is obviously artificial. This genus contains
many species requiring subdivision.
The genus Venericardia, formed for the reception
of some fossil species, is thus defined: “Testa bivalvis,
sequivalvis, insequilatera, extus longitudinaliter costata. Den¬
tes cordinales sub-bini crassi oblique secundi.” The num¬
ber of hinge teeth, and the longitudinal ribs, readily distin¬
guish it from the genus Venus. It is very limited in recent
species.
Another genus instituted by Lamark, and termed by him
Capsa, has two teeth in one valve, and a bifid tooth in the
other, the type of which he considered to be the donax lavi-
gata of Gmelin.
It was in the construction of the characters A>f the genus
Venus that Linnaeus unfortunately indulged in obscene al¬
lusions. It is now time that the pages of natural history
were treed from such pollution. Other names, more ex¬
pressive, can easily be substituted, alike advantageous to
the interests of science, and the reputation of the illustrious
Swede.
11. Spondyxus—The shells which Linnaeus included
under this head are usually denominated prickly oysters.
The genus represented by the S. geederopus of Linnaeus.
The id. plicatula of the same author has been separated
from the spondyli, and placed in a new genus, under the
name Peicatuea. This genus differs from the former in
the valves wanting ears, and in the absence of the triangu¬
lar unisulcated space at the teeth of the under valve, so
characteristic of the parent genus.
12. Chama.—This is by no means a wrell constituted
genus in the Linnsean system, as it includes shells possess¬
ing very different characters. It has, accordingly, under¬
gone several important alterations. Bruguiere proceeded
so far by establishing tw-o new genera, and Lamark, follow¬
ing the same plan, has added three more to the number.
Those shells, which now belong to the genus Chama, are
irregular, inequivalve, and adhere to other botfies. The
hinge contains only one thick oblique tooth. It is repre¬
sented by the chama Lazarus of Linnaeus.
The genus Cardita, of Bruguiere, represented by the
C.variegata, (Lister, tab. 344, fig. 84.,) consists of equivalve
free shells, with the hinge furnished with two unequal teeth,
the one situated under the beak, the other lateral, under
the anterior margin.
The chama cor of Linnaeus appeared to Lamark possess¬
ed of sufficient characters to constitute a distinct genus,
which he has named Isocardia. It is an equivalve, free,
regular, heart-shaped shell, with two cardinal teeth, and a
separate lateral one, with separate, diverging, involuted
beaks. It is an inhabitant of the British Seas.
To Bruguiere we owe the institution of the genus Thi-
dacna, which is represented by the chama gig as of Lin¬
naeus, the largest shell in nature. The shell is equivalve
and free. The hinge consists of two compressed teeth, and
there is a gape at the lunule.
From the preceding genus of Bruguiere, Lamark has se¬
parated the chama hippopus of Linnaeus, and formed from
M O L L U S C A.
ollusca. it a new genus, which he calls hippopus. In its hinee it to . , .
resembles the tridacna, but differs in the structure of the in their structure™ in their J)rm and imbricated
lunule, which in this is closed. so]id tLtZT fW'h ** are of re^ular 8rowth and
The genus Diceras of Lamark, which he formed from the laws of anaSralTr^ bef.^e?a1rded as a violation of all
the chama bicorms of Bruguiere, approaches the isocardia incongruous materials is the?-fiClal System- Yet of such
in appearance, but the following character which he assigns, ed, w hich in suite of nil [ Linna;an •Senus1 ostrea comPos-
is fully sufficient for their discrimination : “ Testa bivalvis mirers intZ count/v im£erf^ions, has still its ad-
inaequivalvis, adherens: natibus conicis, maximis, divergen- Trans ) The first imnnrt ♦ PescriPtlve Catalogue, Lin.
tibus, in spiram irregularem contortis. Dens cardinalis tion of the genus consisted i^b076™6111 ^ thcrf0rma‘
maximus, crassus, concavus, auricularis in valvula majore. tens, which was executed hi P ^paratmn of the^ec-
du„m-ulare,» It occurs only in a LsU Brui„i.re anTe^st^ "Steen"
Before dismissing this Linnaean division of shells, we must S ^T?011.8 must ^
notice another genus which has beenadded to it byLamark, S adhLens ; ca^^ nimquivalvis,
from species brought from the Indian Seas. He terms it joris valvae rotate crescens I 1 ? * card!nalis ma‘
ethena, and originally described its generic character in the Impressio muscularis 'n "’1 ^"'■-■Menmtn.
following words: “ CoquUle bivalve, inequivalve,irreeul»re into two secHnns Lfifi lh ,SCnUS may be divideli
adherente, a crochets court, enfoncel da„rk bfse del ItainV 1 ,b ' the first llarinS,the "'“■■gin of the valves
valves et dcriges de cote. , Charniere^denM d^x t ^ ^ ^
pressions musculaires separees et laterales. Ligament demi- In conscnupnro nf'ihic ^ 91 . ,
interieur, enveloppant une callosite oblongee, et sortant en the ostrea malleus of LinnmulfLister^tfb^lT fsTfh^’
dehors par une fissure recourbee.” He has described four been formed into the genus MatIeIs’ Tht ?hf>il ’f
species winch are very rugged on the outside but finelv p-hups maeeeus. I he shell is free,
nacred within, and has placed the genus t his family 2 fn the Hmt hut J1 l’ " bySSUS’ haS n° teeth
—V11116 •n eXral aSpeCt’ the abS6nCe °f ment’ Pk^d obliquely1ClPlhe0LrgilnTeach0vllhveellgli
teeth, species make a near approach to the ostreacea. was for a long time highly prized by collectors
13. Arca. Linnaeus assimilated, under this genus, every The "enus Pectex imnp nf f ^clors; .
teeth^Th 0fwbic.llPresen^^d numerousmutuaHy inserted natural,'and most beautiful, in thetys^^ The shdUs
teeth, fhe shells winch were thus united, have numerous re- inequivalve and regular, the hin-e is destitute of teeth Id
lations, and constitute a very natural family. But in this family the internal lip-amonf k f °f; estltute 0i. tefth> an«
there are several groups of which Bergui^re formed sections T“eluf“e“^^^
Ihl r n ■genTa'l tThe^enuSarca is now restricted to From the ostrea perna, ephippium, and isoqonum Bru-
y,yn whlch dle bll?»e 18in a straight line, and guiere formed the genus Perna. The hinge! linear and
composed of numerous small lamelhform teeth, without la- cut into a number of lengthened parallel veins whieh Z
teia libs. 1 hey have obtained their name from their re- ceive the ligament. Th<?interstices are formed into teeth
semblance to a ship, when the shell is inverted. Many which simply oppose those of the other valve In the an-
en hi ft! thlS ger gapa a htt e at the SuPer,0r margin, to terior side of the valve, near the beaks, there is a callositv
enable the animal to send out those tendinous threads by and an opening for the byssus of the animal. “ ’
nnll /!t adheres t0 the rocks. The A. lactea, note, tetra- Lamark has constituted another genus, nearly allied to
° Thp and/^c‘a’ are natives of the British Seas. the pernae, which he styles Crenatula. The hinge in this
anil ano- i the hinge line. broken genus presents only a row of pits for the ligament, which
ti , ar’ belo“g t0 the genus ISucuea. In this genus makes it appear crenulated. The intermediate spaces are
e beaks are contiguous and turned a little backwards. The not formed into teeth, neither is there any callosity or
nmula> nuclea, mmuta, rostrata, and tenuis, are found on  — '■  ” ’ - - y ty’ or
our shores.
In the genus Pectuncueus, the hinge teeth are situated
on a curved line, the shell is nearly orbicular, and the mus¬
cular impressions, which are two in number, form each a
callous projection with a sharp margin. The arca pilosa, a
native of Britain, is referable to this genus. ^ 5l
In the genus Cucuee^a, the teeth of the hinge are simi- colour,
ar to the arcae, but at each extremity there are three or genus.
cucvilUtta nf'ph Paralb'L,nbs* ? is represented by the arca The genus Pedum of Bruguiere differs from the preced-
To the f Ch, vu- P*174-tab- 55. f. o26-528.) mg in the ligament being external, and attached toa long
tke genus.
only two in number, diverging and compressed, but they
are transversely grooved on each side. The muscular im¬
pressions are two in number in the recent species, T. pecl-
wafa, but in so'me of the fossil shells referred to in this ge-
aa8’ e r‘ Sowerpy could observe only one. The trigonia
opening for the byssus. He has figured twro new species,
which he terms avicularis and mytiloides, and a third is the
ostrea picta of Gmelin, (Chemn. Conch, vii. p. 243. tab 38
f. 575.)
Nearly related to the pectens is the genus Lima of Bru¬
guiere. The species differ, however, in the ligament being
in a great measure on the outside. They are all of a white
The ostrea lima is considered as the type of the
' ^  j .. . ... ... w. a ji— 111i i• y v_y\t/n tb.
vin. t. 72. ng. 669, 670,) is considered as the type of the
genus.
x o this family we must add two genera, possessed of very
singular characters. They have neither hinge nor ligament.
I he first, instituted by the celebrated botanist, Commer-
son, is termed Acardo. The valves are depressed and
nowfnrmcoi™ ui . , p T ' ° va ’ ^ LLimeu xccARDo. ane valves are depressed and
forniprl , aongwltb castaba, the small family of Tngonees nearly equal, and held together by the adductor muscle.
14 y jainar t a^ suggestion of M. \ alenciennes. I he species at present known come from the eastern coast
nus Err, STiRf1 *V i mnasus, in the construction of this ge- of Africa. The second is termed radiolites, and was insti-
charaetf, g lcr many sheLs totally clissimikr in form, tuted by Lamark. It differs from the former in the form
teratinn/' a‘V ,ablt’, and bence ^ bas undergone great al- of the valves, the inferior being turbinated, and the supe-
sociatp -S U1 6 lan(is succeeding conchologists. To as- rior convex or conical. The species occur only in a fossil
to tlio r111]0116 £,enus sbebs wbich remain immoveably fixed state, and have "1)660 long known to geognosts under the
few it, °C ■ am st0.nes. ii-0111 tbeir birth, and which exhibit title ostracites.
their°valr Slgn* ^ vitality than the opening and shutting of 15. Anomia. In the Linnaean system, this genus is equ-
ves, with those which possess a locomotive power; ally faulty as the last. It contains many species, which
344
JVI O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. differ greatly from one another and from the generic char¬
acter. Some are found recent on our shores, while others
occur only in a fossil state. Lamark, having rectified the
Linnaean character of the genus, has separated many species,
now grouped, into distinct genera. In the restricted genus
Anomia, the under valve has a hole or groove near the
beak, which is closed by a testaceous operculum. This ap¬
pendage is fixed to rocks or stones, and has a ligament at¬
tached to it.
In the genus Crania, represented by the Anomia crano-
laris of Linnaeus, the under valve is pierced by three holes,
which are oblique and unequal. The genus Gryphjea was
constituted from the Anomia Gryphus of Linnaeus. The
inferior valve is concave, terminating in a spirally involuted
beak, projecting upwards ; the upper valve is small, and re¬
sembles a lid. A transversely striated pit at the hinge con¬
tains the ligament. The only recent species known is called
G. angulata. Many species are found in a fossil state in
the rocks of this country.
Among the Anomia, Linnaeus placed the shells which
compose the genus Terebratula, the characters of which
are so obvious and distinct. In this genus, which is inequi-
valve and regular, the beak of the larger valve is produced,
and pierced with a hole, through which the ligament of ad¬
hesion passes. From the great extent of this genus in fossil
species, several subdivisions have been proposed.
From the Anomia placenta of Linnaeus, Lamark has form¬
ed his genus Plactjna. The hinge is remarkable for two
teeth on the one valve, placed like the letter V, the base
toward the beak, and two impressions on the other valve.
It occurs in the Indian Seas. The natives polish it for or¬
naments.
To Lamark we are also indebted for having formed the
genus Caeceoea from the anomia sandalum of Linnaeus.
The largest valve is sandal-shaped, and has at the hinge two
or three small teeth. 1 lie other valve is small, flat, semi-
orbicular, and resembles an operculum. It is frequent in a
fossil state in Germany.
Mr. Sowerby, in his valuable work on British Mineral
Conchology, has made us acquainted with several new
genera of fossil shells, which, by the older naturalists, would
have been inserted in the genus Anomia. The genus Pen-
tamerus is an equal-sided inequivalve bivalve, with one
valve, divided by a longitudinal internal septum into two
parts, the other by two septa into three parts or valves. Beaks
incurved, imperforate. He has figured three species of this
curious genus.
The genus Plagiostoma of Sowerby, is represented by
the Pectenites Plagiostomus of Luid, (tab. 10, f. 639,) and
is thus defined : “ An oblique eared bivalve, hinge destitute
of teeth or internal pit. Line of the hinge straight in one
valve, in the other deeply cut by an angular sinus.” He
gives figures of two species in his first volume, the gigan-
tea and the spinosa; and many others have been subse¬
quently detected.
The genus Dianchora is nearly related to the preced¬
ing, but in this the shell is fixed, and the attached valve has
an opening in place of a beak. The other valve is beaked
and eared.
The anomia spinosa of Linnaeus probably belongs to Mr.
Sow^erby’s genus Productus, wdiich he thus defines : “ An
equilateral unequal-valved bivalve, with a reflexed, more or
less cylindrical margin ; hinge transverse, linear ; beak im¬
perforate ; one valve convex, the other flat or concave ex¬
ternally.” But many new genera must be instituted, to
embrace all the fossil species which would have been re¬
ferred by Linnaeus to the genus Anomia.
16. Mytilus. Before proceeding to notice those new
genera which have been formed from the Linnaean mytili,
we may state, that the three parasitical species of the Sys-
tenia Naturce, belong to the genus Ostrea, to which they
have been transferred by late authors. But improvements Mollusc;;
of a more important kind have been effected. Linnaeus had's^yv
associated together in this genus both fluviatile and marine
shells. The former now constitute a very natural genus
termed Anodonta, formerly referred to, of which the British
rivers furnish several species. The muscular impressions
are three in number.
It was easy to perceive that the mytilus hirundo of Lin¬
naeus did not belong to the true mussels, it being an in¬
equivalve shell. Accordingly Lamark has constituted a new
genus for its reception, which he terms Avicuea. The
mytilus margaritiferns of Linnaeus is of this genus.
"Lamark, by restricting the characters of the genus myti¬
lus to include such species as have the beak terminal, has
in this manner separated the transverse species to form the
genus Modiola. The mytilus modiolus of Linnaeus is the
type of the genus. It is common on the British shores,
together with the modiola discors and discrepans. We are
at a loss to account for the scruples of Lamark (Annales
de Museuss, vol. x.) about considering this genus as byssi-
ferous. Had he ever examined the figure of the type of
the genus in tab. 53 of Zoologia Danica, all his doubts
would have been removed.
17. Pinna. No changes have taken place in this Lin¬
naean genus, except that a few new species have been added.
In the course of our review^ of the Linnaean genera of
bivalves, we have exposed some of those errors which the
Swedish naturalist committed in associating discordant spe¬
cies under the same genus. Perhaps our examination of
the univalves will make us better acquainted w ith the im¬
perfections of that system, and dispose us to prize those im¬
provements which subsequent naturalists have introduced.
18. Argonauta. This genus, which contains but fey
species, is highly prised by collectors, wdio call the princi¬
pal species by the name of paper nautilus. By restricting
the characters of this genus, so as to embrace only those
species in which the opening is interrupted by the involu¬
tion of the spire, and in which the dorsal ridge is double,
Lamark has been able to form the genus Caeinaria. In
this the mouth is entire, and the dorsal ridge, single. It is
represented by the argonauta ritrea of Gmelin.
18. Nautilus. Since the days of Linnaeus, our know¬
ledge of the multilocular testacea has been greatly enlarg¬
ed. He contented himself with arranging all the species
with which he wTas acquainted under one genus, but, in con¬
sequence of modern industry, even the genera exceed the
number of Linnaean species. Many recent species have
been discovered by the aid of the microscope, among the
sand on the sea shore, and a still greater number in a fossil
state among the calcerous strata. These newly discovered
kinds exhibit many different characters, and have compe -
ed conchologists to institute so many new genera for their
reception, that the genus Nautilus of Linnaeus appears rather
as the head of a family or order, than as a separate genus
of univalve shells. In this department the names of bru-
guiere, Lamark, Montfort, Parkinson, and Sowerby, deserve
respectful notice ; and it is from their writings that the fol¬
lowing remarks concerning the multilocular testacea rave
been extracted, d he multilocular testacea maj .be c iv i e
into three sections ; the first including those which are ob¬
viously spiral; the second, those wdiich are produce > an
the third, those which are of a globular or lenticular form.
These sections are merely provisional, and are only mten -
ed to render more obvious and intelligible our notices o
1 fllie spiral multiloculdr testacea. At the head ^
first division stands the modern genus Nautilus, wvv ic
the turns of the spire are contiguous, and the last vvhor
closes the others. The partitions are perforated by a u j
We possess on our shores several species of this genu.,
which the N. crispus is the most common.
M O L L U S C A.
j lusca. In form, the genus LenticulIna is nearly related to the
W. former. The margin of the mouth reaches to the centre
of the shell on both sides, and the partitions are destitute
of a syphon. Lamark is in possession of a recent shell of
this species from the sea near Teneriff.
The shells which Mr. Sowerby, in his Mineral Concho-
logy, has figured under the genus Elliesoeithes, have the
whorls conspicuous, although the mouth clasps the body
whorl. But it is easily distinguished from the other genera
with which it is related by its elliptical form.
The genus Discorbis of Lamark (formerly called by him
Planulites) bears a considerable resemblance to the nauti¬
lus in form, but the whorls are all apparent, and the parti¬
tions entire.
In the genus Rotalia, the spires approach to a conical
shape, and the marginated trigonal aperture is reflected to¬
wards the base of the shell. It consists of shells which are
now found in a fossil state.
The nautilus spirula of Linnaeus has afforded characters
for the construction of a new genus termed Spiruea. The
whorls are separate, the mouth orbicular, the partitions per¬
forated by a tube, and the last turn of the spire prolonged
in a straight line. 1 his last character was unknown to Lin¬
naeus, who had only seen the spiral body of the shell.
The genus Spiroeina has the last turn of the spire pro¬
duced like the preceding, but the whorls are contiguous.
The partitions are perforated by a tube.
The genus Lituola is allied to the spirula and spirolina
in the production of the last whorl. The spires of the body
are contiguous, and the partitions are pierced by a number
of holes.
In the preceding genera the inner walls of the cavity are
simple ; but in the tw o following, the walls are formed into
joints by sinuous sutures. I he first of these is the Ammo-
kites, including those shells which have been termed cor¬
nua ammonis. I he origin of this name is, by some, sought
for in their resemblance to the horns of a ram ; by others,
to their having been found near the temple of Jupiter Am¬
mon in Upper Egypt. By the Indians, the ammonites
sacer is considered as a metamorphosis of the god Vishnu,
and termed by them salgram or salgraman. It is found
among the peebles of the Gandica where it joins the Gan¬
ges. In this genus the whorls are contiguous, spiral, de¬
pressed, and obvious.
T-he Orbueites of Lamark differs from the ammonites
in the circumstance of the last whorl embracing and con¬
cealing the others. In both the syphon is marginal.
Nearly allied to the preceding is the Turrilites of
Montfoit. It is similar in internal structure, but while the
shells of the former are spirally discoid, those of the present
genus are spirally turreted, resembling a Turbo or Turri-
cula. Several species are figured by Sowerby in his Mine¬
ral Conchology.
The genus Scaphites, formed by Parkinson, possesses
very peculiar characters. It commences with a depressed
volution, the last turn of which, after being enlarged and
elongated, is diminished and reflected inwards.
2. Multilocular testacea with the shell produced. It
must be confessed, that the genera of this section are but
imperfectly understood. The recent kinds are too small to
admit of any investigation of the animal, so that we are
left entirely to conjecture.
The genus Hippurites is of a conical form, and either
straight or crooked. Within it is transversely chambered,
and furnished with two lateral, longitudinal, obtuse, con¬
verging ridges. The last chamber is closed by an operculum.
n the Orthocera the shell is straight or slightly bent,
an conical. The chambers are distinct, and pierced with
a ube. Me possess on our shores many minute species of
this genus.
The genus Baculites of Faujas St. Fond possesses a
VOE. XV.
345
structure similar to the ammonites, the inner walls being Mollusca.
articulated with sinuous sutures, and the partitions perfor-'
vt r> ,he she11 is fusiforrn or bent into two parallel limbs.
Mr. .Parkinson has contributed greatly to our knowledge of
this genus, and has termed it Hamites. We prefer the name
of the original discoverer to that of our English naturalist,
which is very faulty. For, according to Pliny, “ Hammites
ovis piscium similis est.”
In the Belemnites the shell is straight, conical, pointed,
solid at the summit, and furnished with a lateral gutter.
1 here is seldom more than one of the cells apparent, of a
conical form, the older ones having been effaced in succes¬
sion. The genus Tulaxodes of Guettard is not, perhaps,
entitled to be considered as distinct.
The Ampeexus of Sowerby belongs to this division. It
is nearly cylindrical, divided into chambers by numerous
tiansverse septa, which embrace each other with their re¬
flected margins. It contains one species from the limestone
rocks of Ireland, but we may add that it has been supposed
to belong to the zoophytes rather than the mollusca.
3. Multilocular testacea of a globular form. The first
genus of this section is the Milioea. The shell is com¬
posed of three or four oval cells, turning round an axis pa¬
rallel to their longest diameter. Many recent species of
this genus are common on our shores; they were included
by Montagu in his genus vermiculum.
In the Renulina the cells are narrow, linear, unilateral,
curved into a part of a circle, and all situate on the same
plane. The smallest cell forms a little arch round a mar¬
ginal axis, and the others are placed contiguous to this on
the same side. The species are all fossil.
The Gyrogoxa was for many years viewed as a shell of
a spheroidal form, composed of linear, curved, grooved,
pieces, terminating in two poles, the external surface obliquely
spiral, the spires terminating at each pole, and as found only
in a fossil state. But more recent observations have con¬
nected it with the seed vessel of the genus chara.
The shells of the genus Nummueites are remarkable for
their lenticular form. The external surface is smooth, and
the cells concealed, but internally the transverse shells are
disposed in a spiral discoid form. The cells are imperfor¬
ate ; they are the camerinae of Bruguiere, the helecites of
Guettard, and the discolithes of Fortis. This last author
supposes, that they are formed in the interior of an animal
analogous to the sepia. The same opinion may, with pro¬
priety, be entertained of many other genera of multilocular
testacea. Faujas St. Fond found a recent specimen of a
nummulite among the fragments of the corallina officinalis,
brought from the island of Corsica.
It is probable that the genus Lagexa, formed from the
serpulae lagence of Walker’s Testacea minuta Pariora, be¬
longs to the multilocular testacea; as in some of the species
we have observed the appearances of internal divisions.
As connected with this division of the Linnaean genera,
we may take notice of the British shell called by Lightfoot
Nautilus lacustris, (Phil. Trans. Ixxvi. tab. 1). The very
circumstance of its being a fresh water shell, distinguishes
it sufficiently from all those which we have been consider¬
ing, and its other characters are likewise peculiar. The
partitions are distant, and consist of three testaceous plates,
not united, which leave a sufficient opening between them
to allow the animal to protrude and withdraw itself. It con¬
stitutes a distinct genus, which has been termed Segmex-
tixa, from the trivial name bestowed on it by Solander,
which refers to the structure of the septa. Its place in the
system is next to the genus planorbis,
These genera of multilocular shells which we have enu¬
merated, are those which have been established with the
greatest attention. Many other genera might have been
enumerated, particularly those formed by Montfort, but the
character given of them by Cuvier will satisfy the curiosity
2 x
346
M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. of the reader. When speaking of the Conchyliologie Sys-
' tematique of that author, in reference to this subject, he
says, “ Oil presque toutes les especes et merne des varietes
sont eriyees en genres”
19- Conus—This genus is so very natural, that it has
undergone no changes since the days of Linnaeus, except by
the addition of new species. That author was acquainted
with thirty-five species and a few varieties; but M. Hawss
communicated to Bruguiere descriptions of one hundred and
forty-six, from specimens existing in his own cabinet. We
cannot boast of any British species.
20. Cyprjea—This genus is equally natural as the for¬
mer. It has undergone no change since the days of Major.
21. Buula.—This genuspi*esents to the mere conchologist
a source of great perplexity. It displays at once the absurdity
of dividing the molluscous animals into testaceous and naked,
since no such distinction is observable in nature. Many of
the shells which were formerly included in this genus are
found to be contained within the common integuments of
the animal. It was this circumstance which induced Lin¬
naeus to separate the Umax and the aplysiafrom the vermes
testacea. Both of these have shells, but they are concealed.
In imitation of the same principle, Lamark has formed a new
genus among the naked mollusca, called Buixjea, for the
reception of those bullae in which the shell is concealed.
The bulla aperta is the type of the genus. The bulla plu-
mula of Montagu is another shell included in the animal,
which is very closely connected with the genus Pleuro-
branchia of Cuvier. (Annales du Mm. v. 269). It may be
asked, are all the other bullae found in similar situations, and
consequently do they belong to the naked mollusca ? La-
mark considers, and apparently with reason, that all those
which are distinctly spirally involuted, and ornamented with
colours, are not entirely inclosed in the cloak of tire animal,
and ought therefore to be ranged with the testaceous mol¬
lusca. How few British species does this character include.
As originally constituted, the genus of Linnaeus contain¬
ed species of very different characters, so that many new
genera have been formed. To Bruguiere, Lamark, and Dra-
parnaud, we owe all the improvements which have taken
place.
The modern genus Bulla includes those shells which cor¬
respond with the following character :—“ Testa univalvis,
convoluta, ovato-gibbosa vel cylindracea: spiranon exserta,
apertura longitudine testae, labro acuto.” The B. ampulla
is the type of the genus.
I he genus O vula, instituted by Bruguiere, is more nearly
related to the cyprea than to the bulla. It differs, however,
from the former, in the left margin of the lip being smooth;
and from the latter, in the edges of the mouth being rolled
inwards, and in the shell being produced at both ends. The
B. ovum of Linnaeus is the type of the genus; the B. patula
of Pennant.
1 he bulla terebellum has been employed by Lamark to
constitute his genus Terebellum. The canal at the base
of the mouth, and the truncated pillar, furnish the generic
characters.
Linnaeus was for some time uncertain where to place those
shells which he at last inserted in the genus bulla, under the
trivial names ficus and rapa. These, with a few of the mu-
rices of the same author, constitute the genus Pyrula of
Lamark. Its canaliculated base removes it from the bullae,
while the short spire, the swelling of the last whorl, the
smooth pillar, and pyriform shape, distinguish it from all
those with which it is apt to be confounded. It is more
nearly allied to the Fusus than to any other.
The preceding genera consist of species which live in the
sea. The B. virginea is a terrestrial shell, and ought to
form a distinct genus next the bulinius. The B. fontinalis,
hypnorum, and rivalis, reside in fresh water. They have,
with much propriety, been formed into a distinct genus by
Draparnaud, which he calls Physa. They are all sinistral Sfo]lus«:
shells, and will require further division when the form of the
animal shall become the basis of generic distinction. The
fontinalis and hypnorum are natives of Britain.
In the genus Achatina of Lamark, the pillar is trun¬
cated as in the terrebellum, but the base of the mouth is
entire. It is represented by the bulla achatina of Linnseus.
To this genus we may refer the Buccinum acicula of Muller,
which is found in England, and the Helix octona of Lin¬
naeus, erroneously considered as a native of Britain.
22. Voluta.—This genus, as originally formed by Lin¬
naeus, depended, as he informs us, on the plicae of the pillar,
“ volutae genus facillime distinguitur columella plicata.” But
as this character belongs to many shells otherwise very dif¬
ferent in form, succeeding conchologists have separated
many species from the genus, and reduced it within more
natural limits. As it now stands it is thus defined, “ Testa
univalvis, ovata, subventricosa, apice papillari; basi emargi-
nata. Columella plicata; plicis inferioribus, majoribus, vel
longioribus.” The type of the genus is the voluta musica.
Bruguiere removed from the Li unman genus those species
which are destitute of a groove at the base of their mouth,
and of which Lamark formed the genera Auricula, Tor-
natella, and Volvaria. In the latter the spire is not
produced; in the former it is produced. To the genus au¬
ricula, which contains land-shells, the V. auris-midce and
auris-judce belong. The V. tornatilis is the type of the
genus tornatella. In his reference to the genus volvaria,
Lamark quotes the bulla cylindracea of Pennant and Da
Costa, as if they were one and the same. But Pennant’s
shell is a true bulla, while that of Da Costa is regarded as
the voluta pallida of Linnaeus, and probably belongs to this
genus.
In the genus Oliva, the turns of the spire are separated
externally by a very distinct gutter or canal, and the pillar
is obliquely striated. The voluta oliva of Linnaeus contains
many different species of this genus, which are remarkable
for the smoothness of their surface and the brilliancy of their
colours.
The Ancilla, which, like the former, is of a sub-cylin-
dric form, is destitute of the groove which separates the
whorls, and is characterised by an oblique callous ring at
the base of the pillar.
In the genus Mitra of Lamark, the spire is pointed in¬
stead of ending in a small knob, as in voluta, and the plicse
of the pillar increase in size from the base upwards, which
is the reverse in that genus. The V. episcopalis of Linnaeus is
the type of this genus, which contains many species much
sought after by collectors.
In the Columbella, the shell is oval, the spire short,
and the inner edge of the right lip is swollen. The V.
mercatoria is the type of the genus.
The Marginella is very distinctly marked by the pro¬
minent callous collar which surrounds the outside of the
right edge of the shell. The opening of the mouth at the
base is scarcely grooved. The V. glabella is the type of the
genus.
The Cancellaria is nearly related to the genus colum¬
bella, but the absence of the swelling of the lip, and the
presence of the compressed sharp plicse of the pillar, furnish
sufficiently obvious characters of distinction. The V. can-
cellata of Linnaeus is the type of the genus.
In the genus Turbinellus the shell is turbinated, sub-
fusiform, and canaliculated at the base, having from three
to five transverse compressed plicse on the pillar. The V.
pyrum is the type of the genus.
23. Buccinum—This is another of the Linnsean genera
of shells, which has undergone great alterations. As origi¬
nally constructed, it embraced many distinct groups of shells,
which Bruguiere and Lamark have since formed into ge¬
nera. The restricted character of the genus Buccinum is
1 lusca. thus defined by the last mentioned author : “ Testa unival-
v, /^vis, ovata vel elongata. Apertura oblonga, basi emargina-
ta, nudata, canali nullo. Collumella convexa plana.”
Bruguiere separated the genus Cassis, in which the
opening is oblong and denticulated on the right side, with
a short canal towards the back of the shell. The right
margin has a callous border. The Buccinum cornulum of
Linnasus is the type of the species.
The genus Terebra was likewise formed by the same
author. It is remarkable for its turreted form, the spire
being at least twice as long as the mouth, and the pillar at
the base twisted.
In the genus Nassa the groove in which the mouth ter¬
minates is reflected as in Cassis, but the left edge of the
mouth is callous, and forms upon the pillar a transverse fold.
The Purpura is readily distinguished from the Buccinum
and Murex, with which it has often been associated by its
naked compressed pillar, ending in a point at the base.
The genus Doeium is distinguished by its bellied forms
and transverse rings, together with the margin on the right
side being denticulated its whole length.
The genus Harpa is well known, and is distinguished by
its sharp parallel longitudinal ribs. The pillar is smooth
and pointed at the base.
In the genus Eburnea, the shell is smooth, and the pil¬
lar umbilicated and subcanaliculated at the base. The
buccinum glabratum is the type of the genus.
24. Strombus. This Linnaean genus is now converted
into a family, distinguished by the right margin changing
its form with age, and having towards the base an inden¬
ture or sinus. It contains four genera, strombus, rostel-
laria, pterocera, and hippocrenis.
In the genus Strombus, the canal is short, the right
margin is simple, and ends in a sinus. The S. pugilis of
Linnaeus is the type of this genus-
In the Rostelearia the canal is produced into a long
beak, the right edge of the mouth is entire, and rests above
on the spire, and is sometimes decurrent. The sinus is con¬
tiguous to the canal. The R. cornuta of Mart. (Conch, iv.
tab. 158. f. 1495,) is the type of the species.
In the Pterocera the canal is also lengthened, but the
right margin is dilated and digitated with a sinus near the
base. Ihe strombus pes-pelicani of our shores is of this
genus.
25. Murex. The modern genus of this name is thus de¬
fined by Lamark : “ Testa univalvis, ovata vel oblonga ;
basi caniculata; suturis varicoso-tumudis, sub asperis, lon-
gitudinalibus, et persistentibus.” In consequence of this
restriction, the following genera, among others, have been
instituted.
In the genus Fascioearia, the spires are destitute of
those longitudinal ribs which the murices always exhibit,
while the pillar is furnished with two or three oblique folds.
Ihe murex tulipa of Linnaeus is the type of this genus.
The shell of the genus Fusus is lengthened, generally
tusiform, destitute of longitudinal ribs, and bellied in the
middle or lower part with a smooth pillar and lengthened
canal. The F'.longicauda, (Lister, tab. 918, f. 11. A.) is the
type. v '
Ihe Peeurotoma is distinguished from the preceding
by a sinus or groove, which appears on the margin of the
right edge of the mouth, near its summit. It is represented
y the M. Babylonicus of Linnaeus. »
The genus Ceavatuea differs from the former, in pos-
atefl0^ a S^°rt cana^ an^ ought never to have been separ-
In the genus Cerithium, the mouth is oblique, termi-
fia ing below in a short truncated or recurved canal, and
reaving at the upper part a gutter more or less produced,
itie lympanotonos asper of Mart. (Conch. 4. p. 314. Tab.
fob. f. 1473,) is the type of the genus.
mollusc a.
347
mean svstem 1 L ^ lS ! ^ natUraI "enus in the Lin- Mollusca.
hands nf n i 1 haSi 1!nderSone few alterations in the ' v  
given riser n ^oloSists- T. perspectivus has ^
rtttw nh 1 , new and verY obvious genus, termed Soea-
u -i- ’ characterized by the internal spiral edge of the um-
“ tvSnerffhC™,,lat M An°ther S>‘edes' th<= ^4”
of an rr geT MoNodo^a, Which contains shells
‘ °yal fornh Wlth a rounded mouth, furnished with a
rVe0^ the tmncated Injecting base of the pil¬
ar the two margins are separated. The turreted trochi
of Limbus constitute the genus Pyramideeea
ie 1. terrestns of British writers is so imperfectlv de¬
scribed and figured, that it is impossible to assign it a place
in the system. It is nearly allied to the helix.^ P
27. IURBO. This very extensive genus has been ureatlv
chsmembered by modern conchologilts, in consequence of
l(.rn f-k.< TV"Ig n'Stll!-to the character in the following
teims. 1 esta univalvis, conoidea vel subturrita. Aper¬
tura Integra rotundata, edentula ; marginibus superne sem¬
per disjunctis ; columella basi planulata.” Our T. littoreus
is now considered as constituting the genus Littorina.
In the genus Scaearia, the mouth is circular and bor¬
dered, with the margins united. The spires are covered
with raised edged, slightly oblique, longitudinal ribs. The
famous wentletrap is the type of the genus.
Lamark thus defines his genus Delphinuea : “ Testa
univalvis subdiscoidea vel abreviato conica, solida, margari-
tacea, umbihcata; anfractibus subasperis. Apertura rotun¬
data, marginibus orbiculatim connexis.” The T. delphinus
is the type of the genus. There are many species of tur¬
bines common on our shores, which are excluded by the
preceding characters from the genera turbo and delphi-
nula, such as the striatus, cingellus, bryereus and others.
Ihey aie distinctly turreted, with the margins of the mouth
united, and constitute a genus termed Cenguea.
The Turbo terebra of Linnaeus serves as the type of an¬
other genus, termed Turriteeea, in which the margins of
the mouth are disjoined, the spire regularly turreted, and
the lip emarginated by a sinus. Nearly allied to the pre¬
ceding is the genus Phasianeeea, which Lamark thus de-
nnes : Testa univalvis, ovata vel conica, solida. Apertura
longitudinalis, ovata, integra; labro simplici acuto. Colu¬
mella laevis basi attenuta. Operculum calcareum vel cor-
neum animali adherens.”
Perhaps a rigorous examination of the turbines of British
writeis might justify the formation of one or two new gene¬
ra. In the genus Odostomia, the columella is furnished
with a tooth. The Turbo interstincta, unidentata, plicata,
bandmcensis and insculpta of Montagu, are of this genus.
They have no resemblance in their structure to the Lin-
naean volutae ; although they have been inconsiderately as¬
sociated with them by the authors of the Descriptive Cata¬
logue. The preceding genera are formed of marine shells ;
those that follow live on the land.
In the genus Cyclostoma, the mouth is circular, with
united, and often reflected margins. The animal is furnish¬
ed with an operculum. The T. elegans of Montagu is the
only British species of the genus.
The species which are related to the Turbo bidens per-
versus and muscorum of Linnaeus, constitute a very natural
family, which may be termed Pupacea, distinguished by
the mouth being furnished with teeth or testaceous lami¬
nae, and the last w horl nearly the same or less than the pre¬
ceding. P erhaps the most convenient way of dividing them
is into two sections, the fix'st including the dextral, and the
second the sinistral shells.
The dextral pupacea form two genera. The Pupa, as
originally constructed by Lamark, was equally faulty with
many of the old Linnaean genera. As it has been restrict¬
ed to include dextral shells, with the animal possessing four
tentacula, with eyes at the tips of the two longest, it can
848
MOLLUSC A.
Mollusca- embrace the wuscorum, sexdentatus, tridens, and juniperi
of Montagu. In the genus Carychium, formed by Mul¬
ler, the tentacula are only two in number, with the eyes
placed at the base. It is represented by the T. carychium
of Montagu.
The sinistral pupacea form likewise two genera. The
first, which is the Clausilia of Draparnaud, contains sinistral
shells, with the animal furnished with four tentacula, with
eyes at the tips of the two longest. This contains the fol¬
lowing British species, viz. bidens, perversa, biplicata,phca-
tula, and labiata. The other genus, called Vertigo, was
formed by Muller. The animal possesses only two tenta-
cula, with the eyes on their tips. The T. vertigo is the
type of the genus.
* 28. Helix. Linnaeus, in constructing this genus, at¬
tended only to the character of the mouth being contract¬
ed or lunated, without regarding the habits of the animals,
or even the other forms which the shells exhibited. Hence
natural genus Limnea, containing conical or turreted shells, Molluscs.;
with the right lip joined to the left at the base, and folding
back on the pillar. The H. stagnalis of Linnaeus, is the
type of the genus, of which we possess many British spe¬
cies. Two of these are truly amphibious, the octona and
fossaria.
The genus Planorbis, instituted by Geoffroy or rather
by Petiver, is remarkable for its discoid form, the spire re¬
volving nearly in a horizontal line, so that all the whorls
are obvious on both sides. Cuvier observed that the P.
cornea was a sinistral shell, and it remains to be ascertained
whether the whorls in the other species have a similar di¬
rection. We possess several British species of this genus.
The operculated divisions of fluviatile helices, is more
numerous than the preceding, containing at least six genera.
The genus Valvata was instituted by Muller to include
depressed shells with an orbicular mouth, the animal, fur¬
nished with three tentacula and a plumose appendage, con-
he has united globose, discoid, and turreted, terrestrial, flu- sidered as the branchife. The V. cristata (Helix cnst. of
viatile, and aquatic shells ; animals with two and with four Montagu), and piscinalis (the Turbo fontinalis of Montagu,)
tentacula, with and without an operculum, oviparous and are natives of this country.
viviparous. The genus> now denominated Paludina, instituted by
The marine species of Linnaeus are few in number. The Geoffroy, and afterwards employed by Montfort, is repre¬
genus Jaxthina of Lamark, has been formed from the H. sented by the H. vivipara of Linnaeus. The shell is ovate
janthina of Linn, a species of which has lately occurred at or oblong, with a regularly elevated rounded spire. The
several places of the Irish coast. The opening is triangu- aperture is entire, with the two lips united angularly at the
lar, and there is an angular sinus at the right edge. I he summit. The type of the genus, together w ith P. tentacu-
shell, which Linnaeus terms //. haliotoidea, is completely lata and acuta, aie natives of Biitain.
concealed in the animal. There are many marine shells In the genus Ampullaria of Lamark, the shell is glo-
inserted in the genus Helix by British writers, which either bose, the base umbilicated, and the mouth longer than broad,
belong to the restricted genus Turbo, or to the Vermicu- The H. ampullacea is the type of the genus.
lari a.
The further reduction of the Linnaean helices depends
on the separation of the terrestrial from the fluviatile shells,
and subdividing these according to the characters furnish¬
ed by the different groups.
Among the terrestrial shells, the restricted genus Helix
is by far the most extensive. It contains those shells which
are subglobose, with a convex spire; the opening entire,
wider than long, and diminished in its upper part by the
projection of the last turn but one of the spire. The ani¬
mal is furnished with four tentacula, with eyes at the tips
of the two longest. The H. pomatia is the type of the
genus.
The genus Bulimus, as originally constructed by Bru-
guiere, was faulty in the extreme, but Lamark has new
modelled it so as to include those land shells which are tur¬
reted or conical, with the mouth larger than broad, and hav¬
ing, in general, the margin reflected with age. Like the
Helices, they have no operculum, and possess four subu-
lated tentacula.
From the Helix succinea of Muller (the putris of Mon¬
tagu and Donovan, not of Linnaeus) Draparnaud has form¬
ed the genus Succinea. The mouth is large in proper
In the genus Helicina of Lamark, the mouth is semi¬
lunar, the pillar callous and compressed below.- The H.
neritella, (Lister, Conch, tab. 61. fig. 59), is the representa¬
tive of the genus.
In the genus Melania of Lamark, the shells are turret¬
ed, longer than broad, effuse at the base, with a twisted
solid pillar. The H. amarula is the type.
The genus Melanopsis was instituted by Daudebard to
include the shells termed melaniae by Olivier in his voyage
to the Levant. The mouth is lanceolate, the pillar trun¬
cated and emarginated above with a callosity at the base.
29. Nerita This genus has been subdivided by Ad-
anson and Bruguiere into Nerita and Natica. In the
former there is no umbilicus as in the N. exuvia, and, in the
latter, there is an umbilicus, as in the N. canrena. Of the
restricted genus nerita, we possess two species; the littoralis,
common on our shores, xxx&N.virginea. I here are several spe¬
cies of natica of British growth, the largest of which is the
glaucina. The fresh water species have been formed by
Lamark, with great propriety, into a distinct genus, under
the title Neritina. The N. Jluviatilis occurs in the English
rivers.
30. Halyotis This genus has been dismembered of
tion to the size of the shell, and effuse at the base with the those species which are destitute of the perforations on the
—— i* a 4-v.^ rr]-wY tt icr» Vippti fnFmpH into new £renus termed
outer lip thin, and the pillar attenuated. The H. succinea, disc. These have been formed into a new genus
although found in damp places, is not amphibious. It
never enters the water voluntarily. Indeed, Muller says,
“ Sponte in aquam descendere nunquam vidi, a contra quo-
ties eum aquae immisi, confestim egrediebatur.” The same
remark is made by Montagu, and we have often witnessed
its truth.
The Helix pettucida of Muller has been formed into a
new genus by Daudebard, which he termed Helico-limax,
but which Draparnaud, to avoul the use of a hybrid name,
changed for the term Vitrina.
The fluviatile shells, included by Linnaeus in his genus
Helix, may, for the sake of present convenience, be con¬
sidered as forming two sections, viz. those with and those
without an operculum. To the former belongs the very
Stomatia.
31. Patella This genus, which at first sight appears
so very natural, contains shells which exhibit considerab e
differences, both in form and structure, when narrowly ex¬
amined. Geoffroy, with great propriety, separated the flu¬
viatile species under the generic title Ancylus, a genus af¬
terwards employed by Muller. The animal is essentia y
distinct from the marine patellae. There are two species
of this genus, the lacustns and Jluviatilis, natives of Bri-
tain. < t L- has
The genus Patella, as circumscribed by Lamarx, n
been already sufficiently noticed. The common limpit may
serve as the type of this genus.
In the genus Fissurella, established by Bruguie >
M O L L U S C A.
lusca. tf)ere is always an opening like a key-hole, near the summit
^ of the shell. The F. grceca and apertura are found on our
coasts.
The genus Emakginula is readily distinguished by the
slit or indentation which occurs on the posterior margin of
the shell.
In the genus Capulus of Montfort, the shell is conical,
with the summit produced into a beak, more or less recurv¬
ed, and twisted. The P. hungarica of Lister is the type.
The genus Concholepas is furnished with an opercu¬
lum, and in form and habits approaches the buccinum. It
is represented by the P. Integra of Da Costa’s EL tab. 2.
fig. 7.
In the genus Crefiduea, the cavity of the shell is par¬
tially interrupted by a simple diaphragm. The P.porcel-
lana is the representative of this genus. The C. chmen-
sis inhabits the British seas.
In the preceding genus, the first approach to the turbi¬
nated shell makes its appearance, which becomes more ob¬
vious in the genus Calyptr^a, in which the cavity is fur¬
nished with a spiral diaphragm. The C. equestris is the
type of the genus, which is related in part to the trochi.
From this genus of Lamark, Montfort has separated the In¬
fundibulum, as possessing a central spiral pillar. Sow-
erby has figured several species of this last genus in his
Mineral Conchologg as occurring in a fossil state in Bri¬
tain.
The patella unguis now ranks as a bivalve, and consti¬
tutes the genus Lingula in the acephalous family brachi-
opoda of Lamark. Linnaeus, who never saw more than one
valve, placed it among the patellae. Chemnitz, who ex¬
amined both valves, considered it as a pinna. These writ¬
ers had overlooked the figure of the perfect shell, with its
tube or stalk, as given by Seba, vol. iii. fig. 16. No. 4. This
specimen, which belonged to Seba, passed into the museum
of the Stadtholder, and afterwards reached, in company with
the spoils of the other Continental collections, the museum
of Paris. Here Lamark examined it, and formed his new
genus. And the same specimen enabled Cuvier to inves¬
tigate its anatomical structure, which he has explained in
detail in the first volume of Annales deMuseum. Science,
in this instance, as well as several others, profited by the
successes of the late emperor of the French. This genus
is destitute of a hinge. The valves are supported on a pe¬
duncle, and the shell is opened partly by the relaxation of
the adductor muscle of the animal (and not by the external
membrane, as stated by Mr. Sowerby), and partly by the
issuing forth of its spiral arms, which push asunder the
valves like a wedge.
Another genus was constituted and termed Orbicula,
from the Patella anomala of Muller, Zool. Pan. vol. i. p.
14. t. 5. The under valve is very thin, and fixed ; the up¬
per is orbicular, and depressed. It is a member of the same
family as the preceding in the system of Lamark.
32, Dentalium—This very natural genus of Linnaeus
has undergone no alterations, nor has our knowledge of the
inhabitant been satisfactorily enlarged. The Dentalium im~
perforatum, trachea, and glabrum of Montagu’s Testacea
Britannica, do not accord with the essential character of
the Linnsean genus in being “utraque extremitate pervia.”
33. Serpula.—This genus has undergone several changes
m the hands of modern conchologists. The S. seminulum
has been transferred to the genus miliola, and the S. Jilo-
granum to the tubipora. Besides these trivial alterations,
the character has been greatly circumscribed, so as only to
include shells which adhere to other bodies, and are tubu¬
lar, entire and flexuous, with a simple mouth, as represent¬
ed by the S. contortuplicata of Linnaeus. The species
which are regularly spiral, discoid, and fixed, as the S. spi-
rorbis, now constitute the genus Spirorbis. But as there
are both dextral and sinistral shells with this character,
349
the dextral species may form the genus Spirorbis, while Mollusca.
the Heterodisca may receive the reversed species. v
The genus Vermicularia is formed from those species
which, in appearance, resemble the spirorbis, but are not
adherent, such as the S. lumbricalis. The shell at the
mouth is, in general, somewhat produced. There are two
or three minute British shells of this genus.
, genus Siliquaria, represented by the S. anguina,
is distinguished from the serpula by a longitudinal, lateral,
subarticulated fissure, which extends the whole length of
the shell. &
The genus Penicillus is formed from that curious shell
the &. penis, and well known by the name of the watering-
pot. The disk is perforated by a number of small holes.
34. Teredo—From this genus, now considered as a bi¬
valve (the tube being regarded as an accessory covering),
the Fistulana, of which T. clava of Gmelin is the repre¬
sentative, has been separated. The external tube in this
genus is closed at the posterior extremity, while in teredo
it is open. The S. polythalamia forms, according to La¬
mark, the genus Septaria, and the two genera Xylopha-
GA and Clavagella have more recently been instituted.
35. Sabella. 1 his last genus of the Linnsean vermes
testacea has been degraded from its rank in conchology.
The covering consists of agglutinated particles of sand and
fragments of shells, and bears no resemblance to the testa¬
ceous coverings of the true mollusca. It is now placed in
company with the terebella, and the three preceding Lin-
naean genera among the Annelides.
In the preceding brief review of the Linnaean genera of
shells, the reader will probably have been astonished at
those changes which have taken place. In this country we
are so much accustomed to the artificial method both in
zoology and botany, that we often reject, without sufficient
consideration, the improvements which the study of the natu¬
ral method has suggested. In the time of Linnaeus, per¬
haps, the genera of the shells, with a few exceptions, were
sufficiently numerous and commodious to embrace all the
known species ; but since the science has been cultivated
with more zeal, in consequence, we must say, of the intro¬
duction of the natural method, the number of species has
increased tenfold. New genera and orders, and other
conventional divisions, have been formed, suited to the
state of improvement of the science. The merit of all
these improvements did not originate with Bruguiere or
Lamark, whose names we have so often had occasion to
mention. Many of the modern genera may be traced to the
systems which prevailed before the days of Linnaeus; sys¬
tems which the Swedish naturalist, in his desire to simpli¬
fy, when simplicity was impracticable, too incautiously dis¬
regarded.
CHAP. III.-
-SYSTEMATICAL DISTRIBUTION OF THE
MOLLUSCA.
The successful methodical disposition of molluscous ani¬
mals, could not have been accomplished previous to labours
similar to those of Cuvier and Lamark; or until the shell
and the contained animal were studied as connected objects.
When thus contemplated, molluscous animals admit of ar¬
rangement into two great classes, or divisions, which may
be distinguished from each other by w ell-defined characters.
In the one, the presence of a head may be recognised, to¬
gether with eyes, and even ears in some of the groups. In
the other, containing animals much less perfect in their or¬
ganization, there is no head, neither vestige of eyes or ears
in any of the species. The former have been termed il/o/-
lusca Cephala, the latter Mollusca Acephala. This ar¬
rangement was first employed by Baron Cuvier, and after¬
wards by Lamark and other modern systematical writers.
350 M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. In the last work of the former naturalist, this method is de-
parted from, and the six classes to which we have already
referred, are constituted of equal rank, instead of being
placed in subordination to the two primary divisions under
which they can be suitably distributed.
DIVISION I MOIAUSCA CEPHALA.
Head distinct from the body, bearing the lips or jaws.
The head, or the anterior part of the body on which
Zoologists have bestowed that denomination, possesses more
or less freedom of motion, and, on the dorsal aspect, sup¬
ports either tentacula or eyes, frequently both. The ani¬
mals of this division exhibit so many modifications of form
and structure, in all the series of organs, that the positive
characters which they possess in common are few in num¬
ber. They easily admit, therefore, of subdivision into in¬
ferior groups which exhibit well-marked characters of dis¬
tinction. Two of these groups occupy a primary rank, and
admit of the others being included under them as subordi¬
nate sections. In the first of these, the animals are all in¬
habitants of the water, and perform their progressive mo¬
tion through that element by organs fitted for swimming.
They are destitute of any ventral disc on which to crawl.
In the second group, including animals which inhabit the
land, as well as those which live in fresh water and in the
sea, progressive motion is performed by means of crawling
along the surface of objects, the body resting on a ventral
disc termed a foot.
Sect. I—Natantia—Organs of progressive motion
fitted for swimming.
The organs of motion are situate near the anterior ex¬
tremity of the body, and consist either of flexible tentacula
or membranaceous expansions. All the species reside in
the sea. They are nearly of the same specific gravity with
the surrounding fluid in which they float about, having their
motions in a great measure regulated by its changes. It is,
however, probable, that, by means of some contractile
movements, they are capable of varying their density, and
of rising or sinking in the water. They swim slowly, even
with their utmost efforts. The animals of this section be¬
long to the classes which Cuvier has termed Cephalopoda
and Pteropoda.
Class I—Cephalopoda.
I ins in the form of tentacula, surrounding the mouth.
The Cephalopoda, in reference to their external appear¬
ance, may be regarded as consisting of two parts ; the tunic
or sac, which contains the viscera, and the head, surround¬
ed by the tentacula. The skin is usually mottled with
minute coloured spots, the colour varying in intensity in differ¬
ent spots, and even in different parts of the same spots. These
are confined to a thin layer on the outer surface of the true
skin. In a living state these spots change their colour in
rapid succession as if a coloured fluid was expelled from
them or replaced in variable quantity. The sac is, in some
species, in the form of a purse, destitute of any appendages,
while in others, it exhibits fin-like expansions. It varies
considerably in its consistence : in some, it is strengthened
on the back internally, by corneous ribs or testaceous plates,
and in others, it is protected externally by spiral shells. In
some species, it is connected with the head by an interven¬
ing space, which may be regarded as a neck, but in others,
the tunic and head are continuous behind. In all, it ex¬
hibits, after death, great changes of colour.
On the summit of the head there is a flattened disc, in
the centre of which is seated the mouth. Hound the mar¬
gin of this oral disc, which is strengthened by a band of Mollusca,
muscular fibres, are placed the arms or tentacula. Beyond
this circle of arms, in some species, there are situated two
organs, larger in their dimensions than the arms, which may
be denominated feet. Both the arms and feet are covered
on their central aspect with numerous suckers, by which
they are enabled to attach themselves to different bodies,
and to seize their prey ; and in their axis, both a nerve and
artery may be observed. These arms and feet are capable
of being moved, at the will of the animal, in every direc¬
tion, and are the organs by which progressive motion is per¬
formed. In the space betw een the head and tunic in front,
there is an opening or funnel with a projecting aperture.
This funnel opens into the cavity of the sac, and serves
both to convey water to the gills, and to carry off the differ¬
ent excreted matters.
The brain in the Cephalopoda is contained in an irregu¬
lar hollow ring, in the cartilaginous border of the oral disk.
This cartilage is thickest on the dorsal aspect, and contains
the parts which have been denominated cerebrum and cere¬
bellum, the remaining part of the canal being occupied with
the collar, which surrounds the esophagus. The nerves,
which proceed directly from the brain to the parts which
they are destined to influence, are few in number. From
the cerebrum a few small nerves issue, which go to the
mouth, and the base of the feet, while some proceed to
form ganglia at the mouth, and others supply the feet. The
cerebellum, besides furnishing the collar which encircles
the gullet, contributes to the formation of the large ganglia
which supply the arms, the optic and auditory nerves,
those for the funnel, the tunic, and the viscera. From the
size of the animals, the ganglia of the nerves are very dis¬
tinctly displayed. The anastomosing branches of the nerves
of the arms are likew ise conspicuous. Each nerve, at the
base of each arm, sends out two filaments, one to the nerve
of the arm on each side. In this manner a chain of nerves
is formed round the base of the arm, probably calculated to
enable them to act more readily in concert. From the
abundant distribution of nerves to the different parts, it ap¬
pears probable that the sense of touch exists in a tolerably
perfect manner. There is no proof of the development of
organs for the display of the senses of smell and taste.
The Cephalopoda are furnished with two eyes, one on
each side of the head. The external membrane on the
inner side, which may be compared to the sclerotica, differs
in many particulars from the covering of the same name in
the eyes of the vertebral animals. While it surrounds the
contents of the eye from the entrance of the optic nerve to
the pupil, it is greatly separated from the choroides. Im¬
mediately within its cavity, there is a bag, with a peculiar
membranaceous covering, which contains numerous glan¬
dular bodies, similar to the milt of fishes, by which the eye
is supported, and which probably act as secreting organs
(although M. Cuvier could not detect any excretory canals),
and likewise an expansion or ganglion of the optic nerve.
The concave or anterior surface embraces the choroides.
This membrane, after enclosing the vitreous humour, forms
a zone or diaphragm, which may be compared to the ciliary
processes, with an aperture in the centre for the reception
of the crystalline lens. The circular margin of this aperture
is lodged in a circular groove of the lens, and intimately united
with it, so that the lens is divided into two unequal hemis¬
pheres. Its central surface is coated, as in the higher
classes of animals, with the coloured mucous pigment which
has been denominated pigmentum nigrum. In the cepha¬
lopoda, however, it is of a purplish-red colour.
The optic nerve, after entering the sclerotica, expands
into a large ganglion, from the peripheral surface of which,
issue numerous nervous filaments. These pierce the cho¬
roides by as many holes, and go to form, by their reunion,
the retina. This important membrane extends to the cili-
MOLLUSC A.
5 lusca. ary zone, and, like it, appears to unite itself with the groove
of the lens.
The vitreous humour is contained in a peculiar vesicle,
having the lens seated in a concavity on its external sur¬
face. The lens divides easily into two parts, the line of
separation being the groove which receives the ciliary liga¬
ment. The separated surfaces are flat, and the outer por¬
tion is in the form of a planoconvex lens. Each portion
consists of a number of concentric layers of variable thick¬
ness, composed of radiated fibres, becoming less and less
distinct towards the centre, near which the laminated and
radiated appearances cease to be perceptible. An imper¬
fect representation of this structure is given by Sir E. Home,
probably from preparations by Mr. John Hunter, in the
Phil. Trans, vol. Ixxxiv. tab. 5. p. 26.
The conjunctiva supplies the place of a cornea, and covers
directly the crystalline lens, as there is no aqueous humour.
This membrane, in some, is continuous with the skin, but
in others, there are imperfect eye-lids formed by its dupli-
cature, previous to passing over the lens. The skin, at the
opening of the pupil, formed by the sclerotica, in the ab¬
sence of an uvea and iris^ is strengthened by a membrane
which appears to be muscular, and probably assists in the
contraction or enlargement of the aperture.
The animals of the cephalopodous class, besides contain¬
ing complicated eyes, are likewise furnished with ears. These
are situate in the annular cartilage which supports the arms.
In this caitilage, there are two cavities, in each of which
there is a bag filled with .a gelatinous, transparent fluid, and
containing a calcareous substance, differing in its consis¬
tence according to the species, from the brittleness of starch
to the hardness of bone. The auditory nerve penetrates
the walls of this labyrinth, and ramifies on the membran¬
ous bag which it contains. There is no external opening,
nor any apparent alteration in the thickness of the invest¬
ing integuments.
The digestive system of the Cephalopoda exhibits seve¬
ral appearances by which it may be distinguished. The
arms which surround the mouth, seize the animals which
are to serve as food, and bring them to the mouth. The
mouth is situated in the centre of the disc, round which the
tentacula are arranged. It is surrounded with a slight fold
of the skin, which may be compared to lips, and which is
rough on the central aspect. Within the lips are the two
mandibles, of a deep brown colour, hard, horny consistence,
and in form resembling the beak of a parrot. Where free,
ley are conico-tubular, but where covered, they are open
at the central side. The under beak, unlike the same
organ in birds, is the largest, the most crooked, and em¬
braces the upper, or the one on the dorsal margin of the
mouth. These jaws are merely able to open and shut, as
' leY possess no lateral motion. They are supported by the
muscular bed of the mouth, which serves as a mould to fill
t ie cavity towards the point. The tongue is situate be¬
tween the beaks, and is armed with reflected teeth. These
teeth, in consequence of the undulatory motion of the sub¬
stance of the tongue, expedite the progress of the food into
the gullet.
The salivary glands are four in number, and are placed in
pairs. The glands of the first pair, seated on each side of the
muscular bed of the mouth, are divided into numerous lobes,
t e excretory ducts of which pour their fluid into the beginning
o the gullet. The second pair, seated lower down and be-
ow the eyes, are not so much divided, and send out separ-
a e ^anals> which unite and pour their contents into the
mouth.
§uHet is furnished with a lateral expansion, not un-
1 f Crol) °f gallinaceous birds. The stomach is mus-
cu ai, ike the gizzard of fowls, and the cuticle is thick, and
separates easily from the other membranes. At the pyloric
opening of the stomach, there is another aperture equally
351
large, which leads into the spiral stomach, or caecum, as it Mollusca.
has been improperly termed by some anatomists. It may
with greater propriety be denominated the duodenum, as it
performs some of the offices of that part of the gut in the
higher orders of animals. This stomach is conical, closed
distal extremity, and performs about a turn and a
half, like a spiral shell. Its inner surface is covered with a
ridge, which traverses it in a closely spiral direction. The
bile flows into it near the apex, and towards its base glan¬
dular orifices, pouring out a thick, yellow fluid, may be ob-
seived. I he intestine, af ter leaving the pylorus, in some
species, makes one or two turns, in others, it proceeds di¬
rectly to the anus. This opening is seated at the base of
the funnel, on its posterior or dorsal side.
The liver is of considerable size, of an orange-yellow co¬
lour, and of a soft and spongy texture. It gives rise to two
hepatic ducts, which proceed to the extremity of the spiral
stomach, where, by a common orifice, they empty the
orange-coloured bile which they contain.
The organs of circulation consist merely of veins and ar¬
teries. The veins which have their origin in the feet, mouth,
and annular cartilage, coalesce, and form two branches,
which afterwards unite into a common trunk. This vessel,
after descending through part of the viscera into the abdo¬
men, divides into two branches, each of which may be con¬
sidered as a vena cava, conveying the blood to the lateral
hearts. Each vena cava, at its origin, is joined by an equal¬
ly large vessel, which empties its contents in a direction
nearly at right angles with the former. These veins arise
in the stomach, intestines, liver, and organs of generation.
The vena cava receives a second large vessel, nearly in the
same direction as the first, which has its origin in the tunic
and the supports of the branchiae. From the size of the
vena cava, in consequence of the union of these two branches,
and the appearance of muscular ridges on its inner surface,
it has been compared by some to an auricle.
On each side, in the common cavity of the tunic, and
near the gills, an aperture may be observed, the entrance
to a bag or cavity. Each cavity is traversed by the vena
cava of that side, and in its passage exhibits a curious con¬
formation. The surface of the vein is covered with spongy,
glandular bodies of different shapes. These, upon being-
pressed, pour out an opake, yellow, mucous fluid. Within,
these glands communicate by very wide ducts with the ca¬
vity of the vein. Indeed, when air is blown into the vein,
it readily passes through the glands into the bag, and thence
into the cavity of the tunic ; and when air is blown into
the bag, it likewise penetrates the gland, and passes into
the veins. The arteries with which these glands are fur¬
nished are comparatively minute.
It appears probable that these glands separate some prin¬
ciple from the blood, and that this is conveyed away by the
ejection of the water from these venous bags into the com¬
mon cavity. Were it practicable to analyse the yellow
mucus which these glands contain, some light might be
thrown on the subject. Indeed, it appears not improbable,
that this arrangement is analogous in its functions to the
urinary system in the most perfect classes.
Each vena cava enters its corresponding lateral heart or
ventricle, through an intervening valve. Each lateral heart
is situate at the base of each gill, is pear-shaped, black, and
moderately thick, with numerous pits on its inner surface.
Its narrow end terminates without any valvular structure
in the pulmonary artery. In the genus octopus, the lateral
hearts are naked ; but in the genera Loligo and Sepia, there
is suspended from each, by a slender footstalk, a spongy
round body, which is concave beneath. The footstalk con¬
sists of fibres, which are attached to the surface of the heart,
but there is no communication by ducts or vessels. The
use of this organ is unknown.
The animals of this class continually reside in the water,
MOLLUSC A.
Mollusca. and respire by means of gills or branchiae. These are
'^»*y double, one on each side, corresponding with the lateral
pulmonic ventricles. Each gill is connected at its opposite
sides to the tunic, by means of fleshy ligamentous bands.
Between these, the double leaves of the gills are arranged
in an alternate series. Each leaf is supported by a foot¬
stalk from the band, and is subdivided into smaller leaves,
to expose a greater surface to the water.
The pulmonary artery passes along this band, sends a
branch into each footstalk, which, penetrating the substance
of the gills, conveys the blood to its different divisions.
The systemic veins depart from the gills at the opposite
extremity. These unite at the inferior band, and from each
gill a vessel proceeds to the single central or systemic heart
or ventricle. In some of the animals of this class the sys¬
temic veins are somewhat enlarged, and assume the appear¬
ance of auricles. The two pulmonary, or rather the sys¬
temic veins, enter the heart at the opposite side, each at the
termination being furnished with a valvular organization.
The systemic heart is white and fleshy, and differs ac¬
cording to the genera, in its form, being in the Octopus se¬
micircular, but in the Loligo and Sepia lobed. Besides
giving rise to a large aorta, or principal artery, two smaller
ones likewise proceed from its cavity. These arteries are
furnished at their entrance with valves.
The sexes in the Cephalopoda are distinct, the male and
female organs being found on different individuals. There
is not, however, any external mark by which they may be
distinguished. M. Cuvier found that the males of the Oc¬
topus were scarcely a fifth part so numerous as the females.
The male organs of generation consist of the following
parts: The testicle is a large white glandular purse, con¬
taining numerous fringed filaments, from which the seminal
fluid is secreted. This fluid passes out of the testicle by a
valvular opening, into the vas deferens. This canal is slen¬
der, and greatly twisted in its course, and opens into a ca¬
vity which has been compared to the seminal vesicle. The
walls of this last cavity are strong and muscular, and dis¬
posed in ridges. Near the opening at the distal extremity
of this sac is an aperture leading into an oblong glandular
body, regarded as exercising the functions of a prostate
gland. Beyond this lies a muscular sac, divided at the top,
where it opens by two ducts, but connected at the base. In
this sac are numerous white thread-like bodies, terminated
by a filament, but unconnected with the sac. In the in¬
terior they consist of a spiral body, connected at each ex¬
tremity with a glandular substance. When these bodies
are put into water, they tw ist themselves in various direc¬
tions, and throw out at one of their extremities an opake
fluid. These motions are not excited by placing them in
oil or spirit of wine, but they may be exhibited by immers¬
ing in water those which have been kept for years in spirits.
These bodies, first observed by Swammerdam, and after¬
wards by Needham, have been regarded by some as de¬
monstrating the truth of the vermicular theory of genera¬
tion ; by others, they have been considered as analogous to
the pollen of plants, their tunic is in part soluble in water,
and when they are thrown into that fluid, they speed¬
ily burst, and spread their impregnating contents over the
eggs of the female. Although this last conjecture is plau¬
sible, and countenanced by the circumstance that these ver¬
micular bodies are only found at the season of reproduction,
the subject is still involved in obscurity. Are these bodies
produced in the testicle, and only brought to this bag when
nearly ready for exclusion; or, if the product of the bag
itself, by what means are they nourished ?
The male organs terminate in a cylindrical fleshy body
termed the Penis. This is hollow within, and ribbed with
muscular bands. Near its base it receives one of the ducts
of the vermicular sac, continuous with the one from the pros¬
tate gland, forming its canal, and toward the apex the other
duct. It projects but a short way into the cavity of the Mollusc* H®'1
great bag, into which it empties its contents. These passx-**y-v, r
out of the body at the funnel-form opening in the throat.
The female organs of generation consist of an ovarium
and oviduct. The ovarium is a glandular sac, to which the
ova are attached by footstalks. The opening by which they
issue from the ovarium is wide, and the oviduct (in the Oc«
topus vulgaris and Loligo sagittata,) after continuing a
short way simple, divides into two branches, each having
its external aperture near the anus. The oviducts are fur¬
nished within with muscular bands and a mucous lining, and
encircled with a large glandular zone, destined, probably,
to secrete the integuments of the eggs. In the Loliga vul¬
garis, and the Sepia, the oviduct continues single. Be¬
sides these organs, the Loliga vulgaris and sagittata, and
the Sepia, have two large oval glandular bodies, divided by
transverse partitions, with their excretory ducts terminating
at the anus, the use of which is unknow n. The eggs, of
the peculiar form already noticed, pass out of the funnel,
after which they are supposed to be impregnated by the
male, according to the manner of fishes.
The inky fluid now remains to be considered, as the most
remarkable of the productions of this tribe of animals. The
organ in which this fluid is secreted is spongy and glandu¬
lar. In some species it is contained in a recess of the liver,
which has given rise to the opinion, that the coloured fluid
which it secreted was bile. In other species, however, this
gland is detached from the liver, and either situate in front
or beneath that organ. The excretory canal of this gland
opens in the rectum, so that the fluid escapes through the
funnel. It mixes readily with water, and imparts to it its
own peculiar colour. When dried, it is used as a pigment,
and is considered as the basis of China ink. It is regarded
by Signior Bezio as a peculiar substance which he has de¬
nominated Melaina. It is obtained by digesting the ink
with very dilute nitric acid, until it become yellowish, wash¬
ing it well, and separating it by the filter ; it is then to be
frequently boiled in water, one of the washings to be a lit¬
tle alkalized; and, finally, with distilled water. The me¬
laina is a tasteless, black powder, insoluble in alcohol, ether,
and water, whilst cold, but soluble in hot water; the solu¬
tion is black. Caustic alkalis form with it a solution even
in the cold, from which the mineral acids precipitate it un¬
changed. It contains much azote. It dissolves and de¬
composes sulphuric acid. It easily kindles in the flame of
a candle. It has been found to succeed as a pigment in
some respects, better than China ink. (Dub. Phil. Tram.
Nov. 1825.)
The Cephalopoda are all inhabitants of the sea. they
are widely distributed, occurring in the arctic as well as the
equatorial seas. In the latter, however, they grow to the
largest size. It is reported, that in the Indian seas, boats
have been sunk by these animals affixing to them their long
arms, and that they are dreaded by divers.
The twro Linnnean genera, Nautilus and Sepia, compre¬
hend all the animals which are at present considered as be¬
longing to this class.
Order I—Nautllacea.
Furnished with a multilocular shell.
This order is involved in the greatest obscurity. IN one
of tbe recent species have been subjected to an accura e
examination, so that their connection with the order Sepia-
cea may still be considered doubtful. Enough is known o
the animals of two of the genera, to furnish some hints ^
those who are fond of classifying animals from their ana o
gies. These genera are Seirula and Nautilus.
In the Spirula, the shell, which is concealed under ie
skin of the back, is spiral, with the whorls separate, *
mouth orbicular, the chambers perforated by a pipe* a
MOLLUSC A.
j lusca. the last cell produced into a tube. The position and use
4 v^^of this terminal tube are unknown. The S. vulgaris is the
most common species, and inhabits the seas in the West
Indies. In the restricted genus Nautilus, the shell is sup¬
posed to be external, and the body of the animal to be lodg¬
ed in the last chamber, and to be fixed by a ligament which
descends into the central pipe. In the shell itself, the turns
of the spire are contiguous, and the last whorl embraces the
others on the sides. The N. Pompilus of Rumphius is the
only species in which the animal has been detected.
The other genera which have been formed in this order
depend exclusively on the characters furnished by the shells;
and the resemblance which these bear to the preceding
genera, constitutes all their claim to be included in the pre¬
sent order.
Order II.—Sepiacea.
Destitute of a multilocular shell.
The sac is strengthened by horny or testaceous plates,
unless where the habits of the animal render such support
unnecessary. 1
1. Head surrounded with eight arms and two feet.
The two feet are nearly similar in their structure to the
arms, or tentacula, but considerably larger in their dimen¬
sions. They have their origin on the ventral side of the
mouth, between that organ and the funnel. The suckers
are pedunculated, with their margin strengthened by a corn¬
eous ring, furnished with teeth. The sac is furnished with
fin-like expansions, and strengthened internally by corneous
or testaceous ribs or plates. I he head is divided from the
sac on all sides by a neck. The margin of the anus is sur¬
rounded with tentacula.
Genus Sepia. The sac is furnished on each side through¬
out its whole length with a narrow fin.
The suckers are irregularly scattered on the arms and
feet. Tiie back is strengthened by a complicated calca¬
reous plate, lodged in a peculiar cavity. This plate has
been long known in the shop of the apothecary under the
name Cuttle-fish hone, which was formerly much prized in
medicine as an absorbent, but is now chiefly sought after
for the purpose of polishing the softer metals. It is some¬
what ovate, flatly convex on both sides, and thickest where
broadest. The superior half, or the one next the head, is
the longest, rounded at the extremity, and thin. The in¬
ferior portion becomes suddenly narrow, and ends in a point.
It may be considered as consisting of a dermal plate, con¬
cave on the central aspect, having its concavity filled up
with layers which are convex on their central aspect.
According to our observations, the dermal plate appears
to consist ot three different laminae, arranged parallel to one
another. The external or dorsal layer is rough on the sur¬
face, and marked by obscure, concentric arches towards
the summit, formed by minute knobs, which become larger
towards the base, where they appear in the form of inter¬
rupted transverse ridges. It is uniform in its structure, and
the tubercles possess a polish and hardness equal to porcel¬
laneous shells, although they blacken speedily when put
in the fire, and contain a good deal of animal matter. On the
central side of this layer there is one flexible and transpa¬
rent, similar to horn, and smooth on the surface. The third
layer is destitute of lustre ; and, in hardness and structure,
resembles mother-of-pearl shells.
The layers which fill the concavity of this dermal plate
are slightly convex on the central aspect, and are in part
imbricated. Each layer is attached to the concave surface
o t ie dermal plate, by the upper extremity and the two
sic es, while the inferior or caudal extremity is free. The
m enor and first formed layers are short, occupy the base
anc middle, and rise from the plate under a more obtuse
VOL. xv.
353
angle than the new formed layers, which are both the Ion— Mollusca
est and the broadest. °
Each layer, which is about one-fiftieth of an inch in dia-
meter consists of a very thin plate, the dermal surface of
which when viewed with a magnifier, exhibits numerous
bram-hke gyrations. From the ventral surface of this plate
arise numerous perpendicular laminae, which, when viewed
laterally, appear like fine parallel threads, but when examin¬
ed vertically, are found to be waved, and fold upon them-
selves. Is, ext the plate they are thin, and not much fold¬
ed ; but towards their other extremity they become thicker,
striated across, and more folded, with irregular margins.
On the thick, tortuous even ends of these laminae, the suc¬
ceeding plate rests, and derives from them the peculiar
markings of its surface. These laminae are closely set, ir-
regularly interrupted, and occasionally anastomose. M.
Cuvier states, erroneously, (Mem. sur la Seiche, p. 47.)
that these laminae are hollow pillars disposed in a quincunx
order.
The term bone has been improperly applied to this com-
fuicated plate ; “ for,” according to *Mr. Hatchett, (Phil.
Trans, vol. Ixxxix. p. 321.) “ this substance, in composition,
is exactly similar to shell, and consists of various mem¬
branes, hardened by carbonate of lime, without the small¬
est mixture of phosphate.” •
1 he most remarkable species of this genus is the Sepia
officinalis, which is distinguished from the others by its
smooth skin. It inhabits the British seas, and although
seldom taken, its bone is cast ashore on different parts of
the coast, from the south of England to the Zetland isles.
Genus Loligo. Calamary. Sides of the sac only fur¬
nished partially with fins.
Ihe suckers are disposed on the arms and feet in a
double row. ihe dorsal plate is flexible and corneous, im¬
bedded in the substance of the sac, and is multiplied with
years. Dr. Leach has described three new species of the
genus Loligo, which were collected by Mr. Crunch during
the voyage to the Congo, in that unfortunate expedition
under the direction of Captain Tuckey. These species be¬
long to a group which have the suckers produced into hook¬
ed processes. In two of these species, L. lepttura and
Smithii, the suckers on the arms, as well as the feet, are
produced into hooks, while, in one species, L. Banhsii, the
feet only are armed with hooks.
The same distinguished naturalist has instituted a new^
genus nearly allied to Loligo, from two species collected
during the same voyage. The following characters are as¬
signed to it.
“ Genus Cranchia—Body oval, sac-shaped; fins ap¬
proximating, their extremities free; neck with a frenum
behind, connecting it with the sac, and with two other
frena, connecting it with the sac before.
“Sp. 1. Cranchia scabra.—Sac rough, with hard, rough
tubercles.
“ Sp. 2. Cranchia maculata—Sac smooth, beautifully
mottled with distant ovate spots.” (Narrative of an Ex¬
pedition to explore the river Zaire, usually called the
Congo in South Africa, in 1816, under the direction of
Captain J. K. Tuckey, R. N. London, 1818, p. 410.)
Head surrounded with Eight Arms without Feet.
The suckers have soft margins. The sac is destitute of
fin-like expansions, and is either simple or strengthened in
the interior by two short corneous processes. The head is
united with the sac behind, without the intervention of a
neck.
a. Arms all equal in Size.
Genus Octopus—Suckers arranged in a double row.
The suckers are sessile. The oviduct is double. The
margin of the anus is simple. The Sepia octopodia of Lin.
is the type of the genus.
2 x
354
M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. Genus Eledona.—Suckers on the arms disposed in a
''single row.
M. Lamark has figured and described two species of this
genus, in the Mem. de la Soc. (THist. Nat. One of these is
a native of the Mediterranean, and is remarkable for giving
out an odour like musk.
b. Arms unequal.
Genus Ocythoe Two of the arms at their inner ex¬
tremities furnished with membranaceous expansions.
In this genus, which was instituted by M. Rafinesque,
the suckers are in a double row, and supported on foot¬
stalks. In the specimens of the Ocythoe Cranchii, pro¬
cured during the expedition to the Congo, Dr. Leach ob¬
served il four oblong spots on the inside of the tube, re¬
sembling the surfaces for the secretion of mucus, two in¬
ferior and lateral, and two superior, larger, and meeting an¬
teriorly. On the rim of the sac, immediately above the
branchiae, on each side, is a small, short, fleshy tubercle,
which fits into an excavation on the opposite side of the
sac.” (Phil. Trans. 1817.)
This animal was long considered as the fabricator of the
shell termed Argonauta or Paper Nautilus. The observa¬
tions of Mr. Cranch, the zoologist to the Congo expedition,
were supposed to have demonstrated that the shell is meiely
the temporary residence of this animal, which it quits at
pleasure. The body of the animal does not conform in
shape to the cavity of the shell, nor to all its irregularities
of surface ; neither is there any muscular attachment be¬
tween them. a On the thirteenth of June, (says Dr. Leach,
when publishing the notes of Mr. Cranch,) “ he placed two
living specimens in a vessel of sea-water ; the animals very
soon protruded their arms, and swam on and below the sur¬
face, having all the actions of the common Polypus (oc¬
topus) of our seas ; by means of their suckers, they adhered
firmly to any substance with which they came in contact,
and when sticking to the sides of the basin, the shell might
easily be withdrawn from the animal. They had the power
of completely withdrawing within the shell, and of leaving
it entirely. One individual quitted its shell and lived seve¬
ral hours swimming about, and showed no inclination to re¬
turn into it; and others left the shells as he was taking them
up in the net. They changed colour, like other animals of
the class Cephalopodo ; when at rest, the colour was pale
flesh-coloured, more or less speckled with purplish ; the
under parts of the arms were bluish-grey ; the suckers whit¬
ish.” The specimens which furnished an opportunity for
making the preceding observations, were met with in the
Gulph of Guinea, and afterwards on the voyage, swimming
in a small argonauta, on the surface of the sea. The reader,
who is desirous of farther information on this subject, may
consult Dr. Leach’s Observations on the Genus Ocythoe of
Rafinesque, Sir E. Home on the Distinguishing Characters
between the Ova of the Sepia, and those of the Vermes Tes-
tacea that live in water, in the Philosophical Transactions
for 1817, art. xxii. and xxiii., (both of which are added to
the appendix of Captain Tuckey’s Narrative,) and a paper
by Mr. Say, on the genus Ocythoe, in the Phil. Trans.
1819, art. vii. More recently, however, naturalists seem
disposed to reunite the Ocythoe with the Argonauta, though
the question cannot be considered as determined.
Class II—Pterofoda.
Fins formed of membranaceous expansions.
This class was instituted by Cuvier, for the reception of
a few genera, the peculiar characters of which indicated the
impropriety of suffering them to remain in any of those
categories which had been previously established. All
the species are small in size ; and the attempts hitherto
made to investigate their internal structure, have, in a great
measure, failed in explaining the functions of the organs Mollusc
which are exhibited. The valuable papers of Cuvier, onv^y-f
the Clio, Pneumodermon and Hyalea, include nearly all the
accurate information on the subject, of which naturalists
are in possession.
The general form of these animals is somewhat ovate.
The tunic appears in some genera, as the Clio and Pneumo¬
dermon, to be double, the external one soft and thin, the
internal exhibiting a fibrous structure, corresponding to the
muscular web of the skin of the higher classes. In these
animals, however, the two layers are unconnected through¬
out the greater part of their expansion. In some, as the
Cymbullia, the tunic is cartilaginous, while in others it is
strengthened by a shell. In these last, the shell in the Li-
macina is a spiral univalve, covering the abdominal viscera,
and in the Hyalea, where it serves the same purpose, it ap¬
proaches in character a bivalve shell. It is, however, des¬
titute of a hinge, the two valves being united together at
their caudal margins, and there is no appearance of a trans¬
verse adductor muscle.
The organs of motion in all the genera consist of two fins,
or membranaceous expansions, one being seated on each
side of the head. They have no foot wherewith to crawl,
nor any suckers by which they can adhere to objects. They
are, therefore, free animals moving about in the water by
means of their fins, and probably possessing, at the same
time, a power of varying their specific gravity, as they are
capable of varying, to a certain extent, the form of their
bodies, and of enlarging or reducing their dimensions. There
is nothing peculiar in their nervous system.
The organs of digestion dilfer greatly from those of the
Cephalopoda, which we have already considered. They are
generally regarded as destitute of eyes and ears. Their
tentacula are either seated on the head, forming two com¬
plicated branches of filaments, or spread along the margin
of the tunic. There are no arms for seizing the food. The
mouth, however, is furnished with lips; and in some there is
an appearance of a tongue at the entrance of the gullet. The
salivary glands are two in number, lengthened, descending
a considerable way into the abdomen, and pouring their
contents, by means of their excretory canals, into the cavity
of the mouth. The gullet, after being encircled by the ner¬
vous collar, suffers an enlargement, which has been termed
a crop, contiguous to which is the stomach. Both these
cavities exhibit muscular ridges on the inner surface. The
liver surrounds the stomach, is intimately united with its
contents, and pours in its bile by numerous pores. The in¬
testine is short, and, after making one or two turns, ascends
and terminates in the neck near the mouth.
The circulating system in this class has been but very
imperfectly investigated. The pulmonic vessels are un¬
known, but systemic veins, a single auricle, ventricle, and
aorta, have been detected. The heart, in some, is situate
on the left, in others, on the right, side of the body.
The aerating organs exhibit very remarkable differences.
In the Clio they are in the form of a fine net-work on the
surface of the fins ; in the Pneumodermon they are conjec¬
tured to form leaf-like ridges on the caudal extremity of the
body ; or if these ridges are to be considered as particular
kinds of fins, the gills may be sought for on the membrana¬
ceous expansions of the neck. In the Hyalea the branchiae
form a complex band on each side of thembody5 at the lateral
opening of the shell.
The animals of this class are all hermaphrodites. There
is a common cavity, a vesicle, penis, vas deferens, and tes¬
ticle, together with an oviduct and ovarium. These open
near the mouth on its ventral margin. There is nothing
known with respect to the appearance of the eggs, the pe¬
riod of propagating, or the form of their young.
All the animals of this class inhabit the sea. Some, as the
MOLLUSC A
M isca. Clio and Limacina, frequent the arctic regions, and afford
355
w.
'’the whale a great part of its sustenance. None of the spe¬
cies have hitherto been detected in the British seas.
M. Cuvier divides the animals of this class into cephalous
and acephalous. In the latter division he places the genus
hyalea. The head of the animal of this genus, with its in¬
ferior neck, may, however, be sufficiently recognised to re¬
move all doubt of its existence.
The characters which may be employed in the classifica¬
tion of this group are numerous; but the influence which
their different forms exercise on the habits of the species is
still unknown. The following disposition of the genera,
though it has no claims to a natural division, may be useful
to the student in his investigations.
(1.) Tunic Strengthened by a Shell.
Genus Limacina—Posterior extremity of the body co¬
vered by a spiral shell.
The shell, which is very tender, makes one turn and a
half, is flat on one side, with a large pillar cavity on the
other. The fins are two in number, one on each side of the
neck. When the animal swims, the head with the fins are
protruded.
This genus was instituted by Cuvier, for the reception of
the Clio helicina of Captain Phipps, or Argonauta arctica
of Fabricius. According to Mr. Scoresby, it is found in
great quantities near the coast of Spitzbergen.
Genus Hyalea—Posterior extremity of the body pro¬
tected by two connected shelly valves.
In the animals of this genus, the body is lodged between
two plates or valves, united at the base, where they inclose
the caudal extremity. The ventral valve is nearly flat, with
an uneven margin, narrow anteriorly, but expanding behind,
and terminating in three projecting points. From the mid¬
dle point four ribs diverge forward, and a muscle arises,
which, fixed in the superior viscera, enables the animal to
withdraw into the shell. The dorsal valve is shorter than
the preceding, the margin flat and circular, and the middle
convex outwardly. The branchiae are situate in the space
between the lateral margin of the two valves, on each side,
in a duplicature of the tunic, the sides of which are furnished
with filaments. The fleshy neck supports the two mem¬
branaceous expansions ; between which and the base the
mouth is situate, surrounded by two lips, and strengthened
within by two fleshy cheeks. The opening of the anus and
oviduct are at the base of the right fin.
The Hyalea tndentata, the best known species of the
genus, was first noticed by Forskal, in his Descriptiones Ani-
malium, p. 124, as an Anomia, and inhabiting the Mediter¬
ranean. The same species was likewise taken in abundance
in the Gulf of Guinea, by the expedition under Captain
Tuckey.
(2.) Tunic destitute of a Shell.
A. Fins double.
Posterior extremity with leaf-like ridges.
Genus Pneumodermon.—Head with twobundles often-
tacula.,
The body is oval, with a narrow neck, and a fin on each
side. The mouth is nearly terminal, furnished on each side
with a fleshy lip, and beneath, with a fleshy chin. Each
tentaculum consists of a filament, with a tubercle at the end,
pierced by a small hole, and considered as exercising the
office of a sucker. Cuvier, in his Memoire sur VHyale et
le Pneumoderme, considered the leaf-like ridges which oc¬
cur on the caudal extremity of the body, as the branchiae,
and even describes the pulmonary vein which conveys the
blood from these to the heart. But, in his Regne A7iimal.>
he states it as the opinion of M. Blainville, that the fin-like
expansions of the neck contain the branchiae on their sur¬
face, as in the case of Clio. The rectum and oviduct ter¬
minate under the right wing. Cuvier has figured and de¬
scribed the only known species, which he terms Pneumo¬
dermon Peronii, the trivial name being in honour of the Mollusea.
discoverer, M. Peron.
Posterior extremity simple.
Genus Clio—Body ovate, with the tunic elongated and
membranaceous.
The head is divided into two lobes, the summits of which
are furnished with tentacula. The existence of eyes has
not been ascertained. The mouth is transverse, with two
lateral longitudinal lips. On each side of the neck arise two
blunt, conical, fin-like expansions, with a fine reticulated
sur ace, considered as serving the double purpose of fins
and branchiae. The anus and orifice of generation termi¬
nate under the base of the right branchia. The viscera do
not fill entirely the cavity of the inner bag. The gut makes
only one fold.
The genus Clio was originally instituted by Brown in
his Natural History of Jamaica. It was afterwards em¬
braced and modified by Linnaeus and Pallas, in such a man¬
ner as ultimately to exclude the species for the reception of
which Brown originally formed it. It contains two species,
the most remarkable of which is the Clio borealis. Mr.
Scoiesby, in his valuable work on the Arctic Regions, states,
(vol. i. p. 544), that it occurs in vast numbers in some situ¬
ations near Spitzbergen, but is not found generally through¬
out the arctic seas. In swimming, it brings the tips of the
fins almost into contact, first on one side and then on the
other.
Genus Cleodora.—Body covered with a triangular py¬
ramidal tunic.
The fins are membranaceous. The mouth is situate be¬
tween these, and is furnished with a semicircular lip. This
genus was instituted by Peron, for the reception of the Clio
of Brown. The C. pyramidata is the best ascertained spe¬
cies. Brown’s Jamaica, p. 386, tab. 43, f. 1. Two other
species were taken by the Congo expedition, in S. lat. 2.14.,
and E. long. 9- 55., and S. lat. 2.41., E.long. 9. 16., “both
having a spinous process on each side of their shell, near its
opening. One species is beautifully sulcated transversely,
and the other but slightly so.”—Tuckefs Narrative, p. 412.
B. Fin single.
Genus Cymbulia.—Tunic cartilaginous and trough-
shaped.
The fin is single, divided into three lobes, one of which
is small, with two tubercles, and a minute fleshy beard.
This genus was instituted by Peron, in Annales du Museum,
t. xv. t. 3, f. 10, 11.
Sect. II.
-Gasteropoda.—Organs of Progressive Mo¬
tion fitted for Creeping.
This is one of the most extensive groups of molluscous
animals. The marks by which it is distinguished are well
defined, and the external and internal characters of the spe¬
cies have been successfully illustrated.
The Gasteropoda may be considered as having the body
protected dorsally by the cloak, and ventrally by the foot.
The cloak is either continuous, and usually more or less
arched, for the reception of the viscera underneath, or it is
interrupted by a projecting bag, in which are contained the
principal digestive and reproductive organs. This project¬
ing bag is tapering and spiral, and always protected exter¬
nally by a shell. When the cloak is continuous, the surface
is variously marked, and frequently exhibits a particular
portion more elevated than the rest, in some cases conceal¬
ing a testaceous plate, which has been termed the shield.
The foot situate on the ventral aspect, and in opposition
to the cloak, exhibits a flat, soft surface, consisting of inter¬
laced muscular fibres. Its central surface serves as a sup¬
port to the viscera, while externally it constitutes the organ
of progressive motion. It is a sucker rather than a foot,
and enables the animal to adhere to objects when at rest,
and to crawl from one place to another by a succession of
<
356
M 0 L L U S C A.
Mollusca. adhesions, not unlike the leech. It is also used as a fin in
swimming.
By the union of the cloak and foot laterally and posteri¬
orly, a sac is formed, which is open in front for the protrusion
of the neck and head. The line of junction between the
cloak and foot is marked, in general, by peculiarities in the
condition of the margins of both.
The neck is usually divided from the cloak by a collar, or
thickened margin belonging to the cloak, or rather to the
shield, while in other cases it is continuous. Underneath,
the neck is frequently attached to the foot.
The head supports the tentacula and eyes, is free dor-
sally, but frequently intimately connected with the foot on
its ventral side. The portion between the tentacula and
the mouth is termed the snout, (le mujle of the French, and
its margin le chaperon). The mouth exhibits various mo¬
difications of fleshy lips and corneous jaws. The insjde of
the cheeks are covered in some species with reflected teeth,
to aid deglutition. The tongue can scai'cely be detected in
some of the genera; while, mothers, it is a simple tubercle,
or a strap-shaped, spiral organ, armed with transverse rows
of teeth. This spiral tongue, where it is fixed to the base
of the mouth, is broadest, and there also the spinous pro¬
cesses are strongest. The spiral part is narrowest and soft¬
est, and folded up behind the pharynx. M. Cuvier conjec¬
tures, and apparently with plausibility, that the spiral portion
comes forward into the mouth to act as a tongue, in propor¬
tion as the anterior part is worn by use and absorbed. (See
his Memoire sur la Vivipare d'eau douce, p. 12; and Mem.
sur la Patelle, p. 17).
The organs of respiration exhibit the two modifications
of lungs and gills, to enable us to divide the Gasteropoda
into two classes, which we have termed Pulmonifera and
Branchifera. M. Cuvier appears to have been in some mea¬
sure aware of the importance of the distinction, when he
instituted his order Pulmones; but he afterwards suffered
himself to be more influenced by the presence of an oper¬
culum, the shape of the aperture of the shell, and the sup¬
posed separation of the sexes, than by the characters of the
respiratory organs.
Some shells are simply tubular or conical; but the greater
part are variously convoluted, the volutions being termed
whorls or spires. These whorls are in general visible and
distinct, the boundary between each being termed the line
of separation. The whorls in some species.are simply placed
in a lateral position, while in others the whorls are formed
upon a pillar, or columella, which runs in the direction of
the axis of the shell, the inferior whorl in this case embrac¬
ing the superior one. The pillar is in some cases nearly
solid, in other instances tubular, with its base either open
or covered. When the base of the tube of the columella is
uncovered, the opening is termed the pillar cavity, or um¬
bilicus.
In general, when a spiral shell is placed upon its base or
mouth, with the apex towards the observer, the mouth will
be found situated on the right side, and the whorls will be
observed revolving in a direction from right to left, or cor¬
responding with the motion of the sun. These shells are
termed dextral. A few species have this order reversed, as
the observer will readily perceive. For upon placing the
shell in the above-mentioned position, the mouth will be
found situated on the left side, and the whorls will revolve
from left to right. These shells are termed sinistral, hete¬
rostrophe, or heteroclite.
C-L.ASS I PCLMOXIFERA.
The pulmonary cavity is single and lateral. Its orifice is
capable of being closed at the will of the animal. The
bloodvessels are spread, chiefly on the walls and roof, like
delicate net-work. The opening of the cavity is usually on
the right side, with the anus behind it, and the sexual ori-
fice is in the front near the head. In some of the genera, i r USl!a‘
these openings are situate on the left side. The shells of'
the former are denominated dextral, of the latter sinistral.
This change in the position of the external openings is ac¬
companied by a corresponding alteration in the arrangement
of the internal organs. The heart, for example, is always
placed on the side opposite the pulmonary cavity. In the
dextral shells, therefore, it is sinistral. In both kinds, how¬
ever, all the organs preserve the same relation to the back
and belly, the head and tail. It is impossible, therefore, to
conceive a dextral animal changed into a sinistral, by any
circumstance which could take place at the period of hatch¬
ing, as M. Bose was inclined to believe. This arrangement
of the organs must have been not merely congenital, but
coeval with the formation of the embryo. In some species
all the individuals are sinistral, while in others the occur¬
rence is rarely met with in a solitary example. The former
are in their natural state, the latter ought to be regarded as
monsters. Where the character is permanent, it should
constitute a generical difference.
The reproductive system of the animals of this class ex¬
hibits the sexual organs, in general, united in the same in¬
dividual. Mutual impregnation, however, is necessary. All
the species are oviparous. The eggs are either naked, as
in the terrestrial genera, or enveloped in a gelatinous mass,
like the aquatic kinds. The embryo acquires nearly all its
members while in the egg, and the shell is of a proportional
size previous to hatching. Sir Everard Home, when treat¬
ing of the distinguished characters between the ova of the
sepia, and those of the vermes testacea that live in water,
(Phil. Trans., 1817, p. 297), and when referring to the ova
of the vermes testacea, says, “ If the shell were formed in
the ovum, the process of aerating the blood must be very
materially interfered with, for this reason, the covering or
shell of the egg, first drops off, and the young is hatched
before the shell of the animal is formed; this I have seen
take ‘place in the eggs of the garden snail, but in the tes¬
tacea that live in water, the young requires some defence in
the period between the egg being hatched and the young
acquiring its shell, which is not necessary in those that live
on land ; for this purpose the ova are enclosed in chambers
of a particular kind.” The assertion here made, and found¬
ed on a priori considerations, that the shell is not formed
until after the egg is hatched, is opposed by every observa¬
tion which we have been able to make on the subject; and
what is more surprising, it is at variance with his own ob¬
servations on the garden snail, the very example produced
in its confirmation. The eggs of a snail, laid on the 5th of
August 1773, were hatched on the 20th of that month,
and their condition at this time distinctly stated. “ On the
20th,” he says, “ the young were hatched, and the shell ,
completely formed.” It is much more becoming in a phi¬
losopher to observe how nature operates, than to pronounce
what she must do.
Joilii
/V
Order I—Terrestrial.
The animals of this order reside constantly on the land.
When by accident they fall into the water, they appear to
be incapable of using their foot as a sucker or as a fin, and
die after a few writhings. The species in general prefer
moist places, and are seldom very active in dry weather.
After a shower they speedily leave their hiding places, and
at this time they may be readily collected. The eggs are
hatched on land.
1st Subdivision.
Cloak and foot parallel, and containing the viscera between
them.
In this group are included those animals denominated
slugs in this country. They possess four retractile tenta-
Ml
vJe
isca. cula, of unequal length, though in some cases one pair is
-^obsolete. The eyes are two in number, in the form of black
points, seated at the tips of the posterior tentacula.
In some of the genera the cloak is furnished with a shield,
which is, in general, strengthened internally by a deposition
of earthy matter, in the form of grains, or a shelly plate.
The shield in several of the genera is placed anteriorly,
or the shield is placed nearer the head than the tail. The
group thus distinguished contains four genera, two of which
have compound tails, or furnished with peculiar organs,
(while in the remaining genera the tails are simple. The
mouth consists of lips, which are capable of small exten¬
sion, and above, the entrance is armed with a concave cor¬
neous jaw, with a notch in the middle. The tongue is merely
armed with soft transverse ridges, pointed before, and ter¬
minated by a short cartilaginous cone. There is a sensible
dilatation of the gullet, which marks the place of the sto¬
mach, at the under extremity of which is the rudiment of
a ccecum at the pyloric opening. The intestine makes
several folds, chiefly on the liver, before it reaches the anus.
The salivary glands reach to the extremity of the gullet.
The liver is divided into five lobes, which give rise to two
ducts that open into the pylorus.
The circulating system consists of twro venae cavae, which
give out numerous branches to the pulmonary cavity. The
aerated blood is conveyed by several ducts to a simple mem¬
branaceous systemic auricle. Between the auricle and ven¬
tricle there are two valves. The ventricle is more muscu¬
lar than the auricle. The arteries, which take their rise
from a single aorta, are characterised by a peculiar opacity,
and whiteness of colour, as if they were filled with milk.
The organ of viscosity nearly encircles the pericardium.
It consists of regularly pectinated plates. Its excretory ca¬
nal terminates at the pulmonary cavity.
The organs of generation consist, in the female parts, of
an ovarium, oviduct, and uterus; and in the male, of a tes¬
ticle, vas deferens, and penis, together with the peduncu¬
lated vesicle; and, as common to both the sexual organs,
there is a cavity opening externally, in which, by separate
orifices, the uterus, penis, and vesicle, terminate.
As it would be impracticable to give, even in the most
condensedform, the characters of the numerous genera which
have been instituted, from our limited space, we shall rather
call the attention of the reader to the structure of a few of
the more remarkable genera.
Genus Arion—A mucous orifice at the termination of
the cloak.
This genus was instituted by M. le Baron D’Audebard de
Ferussac, in his Histoire Naturelle Generate et Particuli-
ere des Mollusques Terrestres et Fluviatiles, folio, Paris,
1819, 3e. liv. p. 53. The species of which it consists were
formerly confounded with those which now constitute the
restricted genus Limax. It differs, however, in possessing
the mucous pore, in the pulmonary orifice being near the
anterior margin of the shield, with the sexual orifice under¬
neath, and in the soft state of the calcareous matter, in the
shield. The author now quoted, has described four species,
and illustrated their characters by beautiful and expressive
figures. The Limax ater (together with its variety rnfus)
of British writers may be regarded as the type of the genus.
3 he genus Plectrophorus, distinguished by a conical
protuberant shell at the termination of the cloak, was like¬
wise instituted by M. Ferussac, and nearly resembles the
preceding in form. Three species have been described
and figured, which, however, differ remarkably from one
another.
Genus Limax.—Pulmonary orifice near the posterior
margin of the shield. This genus, as now restricted by
M. Ferussac, differs from the Arion in the absence of the
caudal mucous pore, the position of the pulmonary cavity,
and by the orifice of the sexual organs being placed under
the superior right tentaculum. The calcareous matter of Mollusca.
the shield is more solid, and appears as a shelly plate.
In the following genus the shield is placed nearer to the
tail than in the preceding group, and is fortified internally
with a subspiral plate.
Genus Parmaceula.—Posterior extremity of the shield
containing the shell. The pulmonary cavity is placed un¬
derneath the shell ol the shield. This arrangement oc¬
casions a corresponding posterior position to'" the heart.
ong the back, from the shield to the head, are three
grooves, the middle one of which is double. The shield it¬
self adheres only at the posterior portion, the anterior part
being free. The internal structure is similar to the slugs.
The only marked difference, indeed, consists in two conical
appendages of the sexual cavity, by which there is an ap¬
proach to the species of Helix.
The Parmacella Olivieri is the best known species, and
was first described, and its structure unfolded, by M. Cuvier.
It was brought from Mesopotamia by M. Olivier.
In the two following genera the cloak is destitute of a
shield, and the pulmonary cavity is situated near the tail.
Genus Testacelua—Tail covered with a single spiral
shell, underneath which is the pulmonary cavity. The vent
and pulmonary cavity are, from the position of the protect¬
ing shell, on which they are dependent, nearly terminal.
The foot extends on each side beyond the body. From the
manner in which the blood is aerated, the auricle and ven¬
tricle are placed longitudinally, the latter being anterior.
Genus Onchudium.—Cloak tuberculated. Snout en¬
larged and emarginate. Tentacula two in number, with
eyes at the tips. This genus was instituted by Dr. Buchan¬
an, (now Hamilton), in Lin. Trans., vol. v. p. 132, for the
reception of a species which he found in Bengal, on the
leaves of Typha Elephantina. It is not, according to this
naturalist, “ like many others of the worm kind, an herma¬
phrodite animal; for the male and female organs of genera¬
tion are in distinct individuals. I have not yet perceived
any mark to distinguish the sexes, while they are not in
copulation; as, in both, the anus and sexual organs are placed
in a perforation, (cloacacommunis), in the under part of the
tail, immediately behind the foot; but, during coition, the
distinction of sexes is very evident, the penis protruding to
a great length, considering the size of the animal.”
2d Subdivision.
Cloak and foot not parallel; the viscera contained in a
spiral, dorsal protuberance, protected by a shell.
This group includes the animals usually denominated
Snails. They bear a very close resemblance to the slugs.
The shield, however, has a thickened margin in front, des¬
tined to secrete the matter of the shell. In the part corres¬
ponding with the centre of the shield in the slugs, there is,
(as Cuvier has characteristically termed it), a natural rup¬
ture, through which the viscera are protruded into a conical
bag twisted spirally. In this bag are contained the principal
viscera, the liver occupying its extremity. The body of the
animal is attached to the pillar of the shell by a complicated
muscle, which shifts its place with the growth of the animal.
The mouth is furnished above with a thin-arched corneous
mandible, notched on the edges. The whole body, includ¬
ing the foot and head, are, in general, capable of being with¬
drawn into the cavity of the shell. In two genera the aper¬
ture is closed by a lid.
Genus Cyclostoma—Aperture of the shell circular.
The tentacula are linear and subretractile. The primary
ones have subglobular, highly-polished extremities, con¬
sidered by Montagu as the eyes. The true eyes, however,
are placed at the exterior base of the large tentacula, and
are elevated on tubercles, which are the rudiments of the
second pair. The aperture of the pulmonary cavity is situ¬
ated on the neck. The sexes are likewise separate; the
penis of the male being large, flat, and muscular. The
358 M O L L U S C A.
Mollusca. mouth is formed into a kind of proboscis, and the upper lip plants under water. Previous to hatching, the foetus must Moll®
[s deeply emarginate. be aerated by means of some branchial arrangement.
Genus Helix Snail. Aperture of the shell lunulat- Genus Limnea—Aperture of the shell having the right
ed; the width and length nearly equal. The snails differ lip joined to the left at the base, and folding back on the
from the slugs chiefly in the organs of reproduction. The pillar.
vagina, previous to its termination in the sexual cavity, is The tentacula are lanceolated and depressed. The mouth
joined by the canal of the vesicle, and by two ducts, each is furnished with three jaws; the lateral ones simple ; the
proceeding from a bundle of multifid vesicles. Each bundle upper one crescent-shaped, and emarginate. The male and
consists of a stem or duct, and numerous branches, with blunt female organs, though intimately connected internally, have
terminations. These organs secrete a thin milky fluid, the their external orifices separated to a considerable distance,
use of which is unknown. the former issuing under the right tentaculum, the latter at
Connected with the sexual cavity is the bag in which the the pulmonary cavity. In consequence of this arrangement,
darts are produced. The bag itself is muscular, with Ion- the individuals of L. stagnalis have been observed by Geof-
situdinal grooves, and a glandular body at the extremity, froy and Muller to unite together in a chain during coition,
This glandular body secretes the dart, which is in the form the first and last members of the series exercising only one
of a lengthened pyramid, consisting of calcareous filaments of the sexual functions, the intervening individuals impreg-
nearly resembling asbestus. Previous to the sexual union, nating and receiving impregnation at the same time. Whe-
the two snails touch each other repeatedly with the mouth ther this is the constant os only accidental practice of this
and tentacula, and at last the dart of the one is pushed forth species, does not appear to be determined. We know that
by its muscular bag, and directed against the body of the many other species of the genus are mutually impregnated,
other, into which it enters, never penetrating through the as usual, in pairs only.
integuments, and even, in many cases, falling short of its The species of this genus are numerous. They reside in
mark. Whether the use of the dart is merely to stimulate, pools, lakes, and rivers, and furnish a favourite repast to the
or whether it is subservient to any other purpose, can scarcely different kinds of trouts and water-fowl,
be said to be determined. With regard to the Limnea auricularia, it would appear.
The species belonging to this genus are numerous, and from the observations of Draparnaud, (Histoire des Mol-
exhibit, in the form, the markings, and the coverings of the bisques" p. 49,) that it exhibits a very singular structure of
shell, numerous characters for their subdivision. the respiratory organs. We shall quote his own words:
The species which are related to the Turbo bidens per- “ L’animal est pourvu de quatre filamens ou tubes qui par-
versus and muscorum of Linnaeus, constitute a very natural tent de la partie superieure du cou, pres du manteau; ce sont
family, which may be termed Pupabje, distinguished by the destrachees. Ces tubes sont longs, blancs et tres transparens,
mouth being, in general, furnished with teeth, or testaceous et on ne les distingue bien qu’ a la loupe. Leur surface est
laminae, and the last whorl nearly the same as the preceding, comme rugueuse, et leur extremite est un peu renflee. Ils
Perhaps the most convenient way of dividing them is into sont retractiles. L’animal les fait sortir a volonte, un, deux,
two sections, the first including the dextral and the second trois ensemble : il les agite et les contourne sans cesse en
the sinistral shells. divers sens : ce qui fait qu’on les prendroit pour de petits
Genus Vitkina Margin of the shield double. The vers. Je presume que par ce movement ces organes sepa-
upper fold of the shield is divided into several lobes, which rent de 1’eau fair que y’est contenu et fabsorbent. Get
are capable of being reflected over the surface of the shell, animal est tres sujet, ainsi que les autres gasteropodes flu-
The shell itself is not capable of containing the whole body viatiles, a etre infeste par le nais vermicularis, qui se loge
of the animal. The Helix pellucida of Muller is the type ordinairement entre le cou et le manteau, au-dessous des
of the genus. It is a common British species, and was has- tentacules, et s’agite sans cesse d’un movement vermicu-
tily regarded by Montagu as the fry of the Helix lucida. laire.” But little doubt, we think, can be entertained that
Genus Succinea Termination of the pillar rounded, this naturalist had been deceived by some of the parisitical
The mouth is large in proportion to the size of the shell, leeches which infest the aquatic pulmonifera, andthat, instead
with the outer lip thin, and the pillar attenuated. The genus of breathing by means of tubular gills, the animal of the L.
was first characterized by Draparnaud and named Sue- auricularia possesses, like those which it resembles in other
cinea. Afterwards Lamark proposed the term Amphibu- characters, a pulmonary cavity.
lina, but latterly adopted that of Draparnaud. The name first Genus Physa—Pillar-lip destitute of a fold, and the
employed indicates one of the most striking characters of the whorls are sinistral. (Zool. Journ. vii. 363.) The external ap-
type of the genus; whereas the term Amphibulina, is founded pearance of the animal is similar to the Limnea; but the mar-
on a mistake, and is apt to mislead. The Helix succinea, gin of the cloak is loose, divided into lobes, and capable of
(the type of the genus), although found in damp places, is being reflected over the surface of the shell near the mouth-
not amphibious. It never enters the water voluntarily. In- This genus was instituted by Draparnaud. The Bulla fonti-
deed Muller says, “ Sponte in aquam descendere numquam nalis of British authors is regarded as the type of the genus,
vidi, e contra quoties eum aquse immisi, confestim egredie- Genus Aplexa.—Pillar-lip, with a fold. This genus
batur.” The same remark is made by Montagu, and we was instituted by us for the reception of the Bulla hypnorum
have often witnessed its truth. and rivalis of British winters. The shell is more produced
than in the Physa. The cloak of the animal is incapable of
Order II—Aquatic. being reflected on the shell, and its margin is destitute of
lobes.
The aquatic pulmoniferous Gasteropoda have their resi- Genus Planorbis.—Cavity of the shell entire. This is
dence constantly in the water. They possess two tentacula another sinistral genus ; the vent, pulmonary cavity, and
only. These are usually flattened, incapable of being with- sexual organs, being on the left, and the heart on the right
drawn, and having the eyes at the internal base. The food side. The P. corneus, the type of the genus, pours forth,
consists of aquatic plants. Respiration can only take place when irritated, a purple fluid from the sides, between the foot
at the surface of the water, to which the animals occasion- and the margin of the cloak.
ally ascend, to expel from the pulmonary cavity the vitiated Genus Segmentina.—Cavity of the shell divided. Ex¬
air, and replenish it with a fresh supply. The sexes are ternally, the shell appears similar to Planorbis; but inter-
united. The spawn, which is in the form of a rounded ge- nally, it is divided by testaceous, transverse partitions, into
latinous mass, containing many ova, is deposited on aquatic several chambers, which communicate with each other by
M O L L U S C A.
M isca. triradiated apertures. It is uncertain whether the animal
■''is to be considered as dextral or sinistral. This genus was
instituted by us several years ago, for the reception of the
Nautilus lacustris of Lightfoot, first described and figured in
Phil. Tram. vol. Ixxvi. p. 160. tab. 1. f. 1, 8.
Genus Peronia.—The body is destitute of the external
protection of a shell. The head is furnished with two long
retractile tentacula. The snout is divided into two broad ap¬
pendages. Between the tentacula, towards the right side, is
the opening for the penis. The anus is terminal, immediately
above which is the entrance to the pulmonary cavity; and on
the right is the opening to the female organs, from which a
groove runs towards the right lobe of the snout. The mouth
is destitute of a proboscis or jaws. The tongue is merely
a cartilaginous plate grooved transversely. " The gullet is
long in proportion, with a villous surface. There are three
stomachs, each distinguished by its peculiar characters.
The first is a true gizzard, covered internally with a carti¬
laginous cuticle, and its walls formed of two strong muscles,
with connecting ligaments. The second stomach is funnel-
shaped, with prominent ridges both on its external and internal
surface. These ridges, at their origin internally, are high¬
est, and project considerably into the cavity, acting like a
valve in retarding the progress of the food. The third
stomach is short and cylindrical, covered internally with
equal longitudinal fine ridges. The intestine is nearly of
equal thickness throughout, and upwards of twice the length
of the body. The salivary glands are much branched, and
359
c.sirs;„The irfr-wzsrr
liver, in the animals of this genus, is distributed into three
separate portions, each of which may be regarded as a dis¬
tinct liver, an arrangement which is not known to take place
in any other animal. The first liver is situate near the mid¬
dle of the body, on the right side; while the second is
placed near the posterior extremity. The ducts enter the
cardiac opening of the stomach, each by a separate aperture,
and seem to occupy the place of the zone of gastric glands
observed in birds. The third liver is placed at the posteri¬
or end of the gizzard, into which it pours its contents by a
short duct.
The most remarkable feature of the circulating system,
is the position of the lungs at the posterior extremity "of the
body, which occasions a corresponding arrangement in the
connecting organs. The entrance to the pulmonary cavity
is immediately above the anus. The vessels in which the
blood is aerated, are distributed on the roof and sides of
the cavity. The pulmonic veins consist of two receptacles,
one on each side, extending nearly the length of the body,
which may considered as venae cavae. These receive the
blood by numerous vessels, and convey it directly to the
lungs. 1 he aerated blood is conveyed by a systemic vein
into a large auricle, seated in front of the lungs, of consider¬
able size, with the walls fortified on the interior by branch
underp-npi f°dvesle S' lhe duCt Proceeds from this mass, Mollusca.
nftr£hi fT a Sh°rt SPace a sudden thickening of its walls,
nerfnr^h iag!ir| C0,?tracts’ and> before it terminates in a
5 1 t i a andular knob in the recess, it contains a pe-
frem^l d body’with a sharp-pointed corneous ex¬
am! n J’-i>r0bS?y capable of being protruded into the recess
j? i V1 y* d ie Parts which are considered as forming the
emaie organs, or those which are connected with the sexu-
m -he nSht side of the anus, consist of an ovari-
u , divided into two lobes, each of which may be perceived
to be again minutely subdivided. The oviduct is tortuous,
and passes through a glandular body, which, in the other
gasteropoda, is regarded as the testicle. The pedunculated
vesicle gives out two ducts, one of which goes to the testi¬
cle, the other to the uterus. It is difficult to form even a
conjecture regarding the uses of all this complicated sexual
apparatus. The subject can only be elucidated by an at¬
tentive examination of the condition of the organs at differ-
ent seasons of the year, and by studying, at the same time,
the habits of the animals.
1 he preceding description of the characters of the genus
is taken from the anatomical details of a species found
creeping upon the rocks under water in the Mauritius, by
M. Beron, which Cuvier referred to the genus Onchidium
ot Buchanan, already noticed. We have ventured to insti-
tute the genus, and to name it in honour of the discoverer
of the first ascertained species. Cuvier conjectures that it
bieathes free air, and has accordingly inserted it anions the
- . '±  may reason¬
ably be entertained as to the truth of this supposition. It
would certainly be an unexpected occurrence, to find a mar¬
ine gasteropodous mollusca obliged to come to the surface,
at intervals, to respire. It will probably be found that it is
truly branchiferous. ,
Class II—Branchifera.
T. he molluscous animals of this class are more numerous
than those of the preceding. They chiefly inhabit the wa¬
ters of the ocean, a few genera only being met with in fresh
w ater lakes and rivers. The branchiae which constitute their
aerating organs, exhibit numerous varieties of form, posi¬
tion, and protection, and furnish valuable characters for their
methodical distribution.
Order I—Branchiae external.
The branchiae are pedunculated, and more or less plu¬
mose. They are moveable at the will of the animal, and,
in general, are capable of great alteration of form.
^ Genus Doris—Oral tentacula two; vent without scales.
1 he cloak is covered with retractile papillae, and separated
from the foot by a distinct duplicature. Towards its ante¬
rior margin are placed the two superior tentacula. These
are retractile, surrounded at the base with a short sheath,
eH we ^ • i • i j . ^ icucteuie, hurrounueu at me base witb a short sheath,
tremfT",' J^T^***? “IWr*,™ » ^nder stem, having an enlarged com-
tremity, and separated by turo valves. The aorta arises
from the opposite side of the ventricle, its main trunk pass¬
ing on towards the head.
The male and female organs of generation, although oc¬
curring in the same individual, appear to occupy different
parts of the body. The opening of the male organs is at
t ie tentacula, which leads to a cavity terminating in two
unequal recesses. The anterior is the smallest, and receives
*■, e td'mination of a vessel three or four times longer than
hie body, which takes its rise at the external base of the
cavity, apparently from the cellular substance, and, after a
variety of convolutions in the neighbourhood of the mouth,
opens into the recess. The second recess is the largest, and
,e ycssel connected M'ith it is most complicated. Its ori¬
gin is in a mass which occupies a considerable portion of the
a ominal cavity, and which consists of a vessel forming a
great number of complicated convolutions, liberally suppli-
pound plicated summit, ihe neck is short, and above the
mouth there is a small projecting membrane, connected at
each side with the oral tentacula, which are in general mi¬
nute, and of difficult detection. The mouth is in the form
of a short trunk, leading to fleshy lips, within which the
tongue is placed. This last organ is covered with minute
reflected hairs, and, from its motion, appears to be destined
exclusively for deglutition. The gullet is a simple mem¬
branaceous tube, terminating in a stomach, which presents on
the interior a few longitudinal folds. It is furnished with a
small caecum, the extremity of which receives the bile from
the liver. The stomach likewise receives the secretion of
another gland, which is not connected with the liver, in the
form of a small bag, the inner surface of udiich is covered
with numerous papillae. The intestine is lodged in a groove
on the surface of the liver, and proceeds directly to the
anus. Ihe liver itself is divided into two lobes, and gives
360 MOLL
Mollusca. rise to numerous biliary ducts, which proceed to the sto-
^’“'/"^"'mach. But it likewise gives rise to a duct which proceeds
to a small bag plaited on the inside, and afterwards opens
on the surface at a small hole near the anus. It yet remains
to be determined, whether the fluid carried off by this con¬
duit be excrementitious matter, separated by the liver, or
whether the gland which produces it be distinct from that
organ, but so interwoven therewith as to elude the obser¬
vation of the anatomist.
It is obvious, from the structure of the digestive organs,
that the species subsist on soft food, requiring neither cut¬
ting nor grinding, and in this respect, differ remarkably
from the species of the genus Tritonia, which were formerly
arranged along with them.
The organs of generation differ little from the other her¬
maphrodite gasteropoda. The vesicle furnishes two canals,
one of which goes to the testicle, the other to the penis.
There is likewise a minute bag connected with the canal of
the latter. The spawn is deposited on sea-weeds and stones.
It is gelatinous, of a white colour, and in appearance resem¬
bles the sponge denominated Grantia compressa.
Genus Tmtoota Branchiae destitute of basilar sheaths.
The branchiae are in the form of plumes, or imbricated pro¬
ductions, placed in a row on each side the back. I he ten-
tacula, which are partially retractile, have a sheath at the
base. In some of the species there are indications of eyes.
The mouth consists of two lips, which are placed longitudi¬
nally, and open into a short canal. The jaws consist of two
corneous plates, united at the upper dorsal edge, slightly
arched, and meeting at their upper margin, for the purpose
of cutting. Within these is the tongue, which differs re¬
markably from the same member in the doris. In the lat¬
ter, the spines with which it is beset are reflected, and draw
the food to the gullet, while in the former, the spines are
deflected, and serve to keep the food within the reach of
the jaws. The tongue of the doris, therefore, serves for
deglutition, that of the tritonia for mastication. M. Cuvier
describes the functions of both as similar. The salivary
glands are placed on each side the gullet, and empty their
contents behind the jaws. The gullet has a few longitudi¬
nal folds ; the stomach is simple, scarcely differing from the
gullet; and the intestine proceeds almost directly to the
anus, situate on the right side. The liver is small, and situ¬
ate behind, enveloping the stomach, and intimately united
with the ovarium. The organs of generation exhibit no¬
thing remarkable. The pedunculated vesicle has a simple
canal. The external opening of the organs of generation
is situate a little before and beneath the anus. The T.
Hombergii arborescens, pinnatifida, and bifida, are exam¬
ples of British species.
Genus Scyelea—Branchiae seated dorsally on the fins.
Tentacula two. On each side of the back are two mem¬
branaceous expansions, and one on the tail, supporting on
their dorsal surface scattered plumose branchiae. Each of
the tentacula is furnished with a large funnel-shaped sheath.
The foot is very narrow, with a mesial groove, used in
climbing up the stalks of sea-weeds. The mouth is placed
at the base of the tentacula, and surrounded with a semi¬
circular lip. The tongue is in the form of a tubercle, with
reflected points. The gullet is plaited longitudinally. The
stomach is short and cylindrical, with a ring of hard, longi¬
tudinal scales. The liver consists of six unequal globules,
and the bile is poured into the cardiac extremity of the gul¬
let. The Scyllea pelagica has been long known to naturalists,
and appears to be very common in the equatorial seas, ad¬
hering to the stems of the Fucus natans.
Genus Thethys Branchiae forming a row on each side
of the back, consisting of fringed processes, alternately larg¬
er and smaller. The body is ovate, with the cloak and foot
continuous. The neck is distinct from the foot, and is nar¬
row. Above, the neck is continuous with the cloak, from
use A.
which arises a large semicircular expansion, used probably Mollusca,
as a fin. The margin of this expansion is fringed with nu-
merous filaments, and on the upper surface, within the
border, is a row of conical tubercles. The true tentacula
are placed towards the base of this fin near the neck. Each
of them consists of a small fleshy cone, striated across, with
a semicircular sheath behind. The branchiae consist of a
tapering, fleshy stalk, spirally twisted towards the summit
with a series of filaments on one side. They are fourteen in
number on each side,alternately and oppositely small and large.
The anus opens in front of the third branchia on the right
side. The orifice of generation is exhibited under the first
branchia of the same side. In front of each of the larger
branchiae, is a small cavity with a small filament in the cen¬
tre. The mouth is situate underneath the tentacula. It
consists of a large funnel, covered within with soft papillae,
destitute of jaws or tongue. The gullet is short, the sto¬
mach simple, fleshy, and covered with a thick cuticle. The
salivary glands are slender and branched, and open into the
gullet. The intestine is likewise short, and proceeds di¬
rectly to the anus. The liver pours the bile into the canal
at the pylorus ; and likewise sends out another duct, which
opens externally near the anus. The organs of generation
are similar to the Doris. The T. fimbria is the type of the
genus, a figure of which, with its anatomical details, is given
by M. Cuvier, in his Memoire sur le Genre Thetys.
Genus Vaevata In this genus are included several
species which resemble in aspect the aquatic pulmoniferous
gasteropoda. The branchiae appear in the form of a fea¬
ther, with a central stem, and a row of compound branches
on each side, decreasing in size from the base to the free
extremity. This stem issues from the neck near the middle,
a short way behind the anterior tentacula. Near this plume,
but towards the right side, is a single simple filament, like
a tentaculum. The antertior tentacula occupy the usual
position, are setaceous, and have the eyes placed at the base
behind. The spiral shell is capable of containing the body,
and the aperture can be closed by a spirally striated oper¬
culum attached to the foot. The internal structure is un¬
known.
Genus Pa Tele a.—Shell entire. Mouth with tentacula.
This genus differs from the others of the order to which it
belongs. The back is covered by a conical shell, within
the cavity of which .the animal is capable of withdrawing
itself. The cloak is large, covering both the head and foot.
It is united with the shell along its superior margin. The
foot is fleshy, and furnished with numerous muscular fila¬
ments, which unite, in the superior part of the cloak, to
form a strong muscle, by which the body adheres to the
shell. The action of this muscle brings the shell close to
the surface to which the foot adheres, or removes it to a
distance. The head is furnished with a large, fleshy snout,
supporting at the base two pointed tentacula. The eyes
are placed on a small elevation at the external base of the
tentacula. A little way behind the head, and below the
cloak, on the right side, are two apertures, being the anus
and orifice of generation. The gills occupy the same po¬
sition as in the preceding genera. In some, the branchiae
form a complete circle ; in others, the circle is interrupted
anteriorly at the head.
Within the trunk, the mouth is fortified by two cartila¬
ginous cheeks, which, at their union anteriorly, support the
base of the tongue. This last is a most singular organ. It
is longer than the whole body, narrow, and covered with
three rows of short reflected spines, interrupted longitudin¬
ally and transversely. Its fixed end only can be exercised
in deglutition, its free end being coiled up the abdomen.
On the upper side of the mouth is a semicircular osseous
plate, or upper jaw. The gullet is furnished with a dilat¬
able pharynx. The stomach is elliptical, with the cardia
and pylorus at opposite extremities. The intestines are
M O L L U S C A.
M i sea
variously folded, and are several times longer than the body.
The salivary glands are minute. The liver is intimately
united with the stomach and intestines. The heart is situ¬
ate on the left side, in the anterior part of the body. The
auricle leceives the aerated blood from one vein when the
circle of the gills is complete, and by two when interrupted.
This auricle is placed on the anterior side of the heart. An
aorta arises fiom each side, to convey the blood to the body.
The ovarium is placed underneath the liver; and, as it ex¬
hibits some differences of organization, M. Cuvier infers
that it likewise contains the male organs. The species be-
longmg to this genus are numerous, and appear to admit of
distribution into sections; the first having the branchial
circle complete, the second interrupted.
Genus Chiton.—Shell constituting a series of imbri¬
cated dorsal plates. The body is elliptical. The cloak
is firm and cartilaginous, and variously marked on the mar¬
gin. The dorsal plates are arched, and occupy the middle
and sides of the back, where they are implanted in the
cloak, in an imbricated manner, the posterior margin of the
first valve covering the anterior margin of the second. The
foot is narrow. The mouth is surrounded with a semicir¬
cular curled membrane, and is destitute of tentaeula. The
anus consists of a short tube, placed at the posterior ex-
tiemity of the cloak. The external orifice of generation
has not been detected.
The mouth is capable of forming a short proboscis. The
tongue is short, and armed with strong, reflected spines.
The gullet is short, and the stomach, which is lengthened
and folded, is membranaceous. The intestine is several
times longer than the body, and much folded. The liver
is divided into numerous lobes, and intimately united with
the stomach and intestines. The heart is situate at the pos¬
terior part of the body. The auricle is placed posteriorly,
and receives the aerated blood from twro veins. Each vein
descends along the base of the gills, collecting the aerated
blood from the particular side of the body to which it be-
°ngs; and, what is most remarkable, when opposite the
ventricle, it is suddenly enlarged, and sends off a branch
which communicates with it, and again contracts and unites
with its fellow from the opposite side, to form the auricle.
A single aorta arises from the anterior side. The ovarium
is conical, and divided into numerous lobes. Behind, two
ducts seem to arise, and to proceed one to each side ; but
it has not been determined whether they open externally.
iNo male organs have been detected; nor is there any thing
accurately known with regard to the peculiar nature of their
hermaphroditism.
Genus Phyeeidia—Anus placed dorsally near the ex-
lemity of the cloak. The body, in the animals of this
genus, is ovate. The foot is narrow in front. The cloak
is broad, coriaceous, and destitute of a shell. Towards its
anterior extremity are two cavities, from which issue the
retractile superior tentacula, as in the genus Doris. Nearly
at the posterior extremity is another cavity, containing the
USn • S °Pening> though similar in situation to that of
me Doris, is merely a short simple tube. The head is im¬
mediately above the anterior margin of the foot, above which
is the mouth, haying a small conical feeler on each side.
, 111' er the margin of the cloak on the right side, and about
halt way between the mouth and the middle of the body,
are two openings, in a tubercle, for the organs of genera-
ion. ihe branchiae consist of slender complicated leaves,
much surround the body between the foot and the cloak.
e cir.c e *s interrupted at the head and at the tubercle of
generation. The mouth is destitute of jaws. The gullet is
simple, ending in a membranaceous stomach. The pylorus
is p aced near the cardia, and the intestine goes directly to
e anus. The salivary glands are small, and placed near
me mouth. The liver is large in proportion. The heart is
ua e m the middle of the back. The auricle is simple,
vol. xv. 1
361
sratemi”,?6 sid«.n®» *>« toil, and supplied by the two Mollusc,
SS Th'C' collect the “rated blood from the'
a ichue on each side. There is a simple aorta arising from
InneTtn f the ^ The °f Ration
appear to be similar to those of the preceding class ; but
ej have not as yet been minutely examined. The exist-
nf this* ey<iS ‘S n0t Satl8[actorily determined. The animals
of tins genus appear to be inhabitants of the tropical seas.
vc 'ff S1Ve" ^"‘PWons and figures of three species,
ances1 of the Zf h'0m °“ ^
, Apuysia.-—Branchiae with a corneous lid. The
mdy of the Aplysia is ovate, acuminated behind, and pro¬
duced before to form a neck. The foot is narrower than
e may. In the middle of the back is a corneous plate
inclosed in a bag m the skin, and on each side, and be-
lund, there is a fold by which this part may be concealed.
I he head is slightly emarginate, with a feeler on each side,
ihe superior feelers are situate on the neck. In front of
each of these is a small black point or eye. The branchiae
are situate underneath the dorsal plate, on the right side,
and exhibit a complicated plumose ridge, capable of expan¬
sion beyond the edge of the plate. The anus is situate im¬
mediately behind the branchiae, and before these is the ori-
ce of generation, from which proceeds a groove along the
neck to the inferior base of the fore feeler, on the right side,
where there is an opening for the penis. Within the longi¬
tudinal bps there are two smooth, corneous plates, the sub¬
stitutes for jaws; the tongue is rough, as in many of the
other gasteropoda. The gullet is short, and suddenly ex¬
pands into a large subspiral crop, with membranaceous walls.
1 o this, a gizzard with muscular walls succeeds, the interior
of which is armed with numerous pyramidal teeth, with ir¬
regular summits, of a cartilaginous nature. The connection
between these teeth and the integuments is so slender, that
they are displaced by the application of the smallest force.
I hey, however, project so far into the cavity, as to offer re¬
sistance to the progress of the food. There is yet another
stomach, armed on the one side with deflected, pointed, car¬
tilaginous teeth. At the pyloric extremity are two mem-
bianaceous ridges, between which are biliary orifices, and
the opening into a long narrow ccecum, with simple walls,
which is contained within the liver. The intestine is sim¬
ple, and after two turns ends in a rectum. The salivary
glands are very long, and, as usual, empty their contents
into the pharynx. The liver is divided into three portions
by the folds of the intestine, each of which consists of seve¬
ral lobes. The biliary vessels are very large, and open at
the mouth of the coecum into the last stomach. The food
of the Aplysia consists of sea-weeds and minute shells.
The circulating organs are remarkable. On each side
the body, in the region of the dorsal plate, there is a large
vessel, which receives blood from different parts of the body,
and which likewise, by various openings, has a free com¬
munication with the cavity of the abdomen. In this respect
there is a resemblance to the spongy, glandular bodies of
the venae cavae of the Cephalopoda. These two vessels, or
ve/Hs cava, unite posteriorly, and transmit their contents to
the gills. The aerated blood is now conveyed to an auricle,
of large dimensions, and uncommonly thin walls, situate be¬
neath and towards the front of the dorsal plate, and empty¬
ing its contents through a valve, into the right side of the
ventricle. The aorta, which issues from the left and an¬
terior side, divides into two branches, the smallest of which
proceeds to the liver on the left. The larger branch is again
divided, the smaller branch proceeding to the stomach. The
largest trunk that remains, before it leaves the pericardium,
has two singular bodies attached to it, consisting of com¬
paratively large vessels, opening from this aortic branch.
The use of these glands is unknown. The organs of gener¬
ation likewise exhibit some remarkable peculiarities. The
2 z
362
MOLLUSC A.
Mollusca. ovarium is situate in the posterior part of the abdomen. The
' oviduct is tortuous in its course, passes along the surface of
the testicle, and, after uniting with a clavate appendage,
opens into a common canal. The testicle is firm, apparently
homogeneous in its texture, of a yellow colour, with spiral
rido-es on its surface. The vas deferens arises from a com¬
plex, glandular body, and unites with the common canal.
This common duct, before it reaches the external orifice,
receives the contents of the pedunculated vesicle, and has
attached to it a botryoidal, glandular organ, the use of which
is unknown, but which some suppose to be employed to se¬
crete an acrid liquor regarded as venomous. It is obvious
from this structure, that the seminal fluid and eggs must
come in contact in the common canal, and at the single ori¬
fice, provided they are both ejected at the same time. From
the orifice to the right fore-feeler there is a sulcus, leading
to the pore containing the retractile penis. This organ,
like those of the other mollusca, is solid. It terminates in
a small filament. The external groove is the only connec¬
tion between it and the other sexual organs.
There is a peculiar secretion of a purple fluid which here
deserves to be recorded. It issues from a spongy texture,
underneath the free side of the dorsal plate. Connected
with this cellular reservoir is a glandular body of a consider-
able size, which is supposed to secrete the colouied fluid.
This gland is supplied by a large branch of the glandular
aorta, and gives out two very large veins to the left vena
cava. The fluid itself has never been carefully investigated.
It is not altered by the air after drying, nor is its colour de¬
stroyed by acids or alkalies, although the tint is a little
changed, and rendered less pure. Both these reagents pre¬
cipitate white flakes from the fluid. This liquor is poured
out by the animal when in danger or constrained, and co¬
lours the water for several yards around. It ejects it readily
when put in fresh water; and when entangled in a net, se¬
veral yards of it in the neighbourhood are sometimes stain¬
ed, greatly to the amazement of the unsuspecting fishermen.
The Aplysia has been long known in the records of su¬
perstition under the name of the Sea Have. Its flesh, and
the inky fluid it pours out, have been regarded as delete¬
rious to the human frame. Even to touch it was supposed
to occasion the loss of the hair ; while the sight of it would
not fail to subdue the obstinacy of concealed pregnancy.
The progress of science has exposed the errors, or perhaps
tricks, of the earlier observers, and proved the innocence of
an animal formerly invested with every repulsive and noxi¬
ous attribute. The A. depilans, the type of the genus, is
of frequent occurrence on the British shores. The A.punc¬
tata of Cuvier may be regarded merely as a variety.
Genus Dolabella..—Dorsal plate a solid shell.
This genus differs from Aplysia, in the dorsal plate being
calcareous and hard. The fore part of the body is narrow.;
behind it is larger, and obliquely truncated. The disc thus
formed is circular, surrounded with a fringe of fleshy fila¬
ments. From the centre of this disc, a longitudinal slit ex¬
tends forward, a little way beyond the anterior margin, and
contains the branchiae. The position and structure of the
other organs are precisely similar to those of the Aplysia.
This genus was instituted by Lamark, from characters de¬
rived exclusively from the dorsal plate or shell. Cuvier
afterwards examined a species brought from the Mauritius
by Peron, which he considers as the one figured by Rum-
phius in his Amboinshe Rariteitkamer, tab. x. No. 6, and
which he has consecrated to his memory, naming it Dola¬
bella Rumphii.
Genus Pleurobranchus.—Tentacula two in num¬
ber. Cloak and foot expanded, between which, on the
middle of the right side, the branchiae are placed. 1 he cloak
is strengthened in the middle, above the branchiae, by a thin
expanded subspiral shell. The neck is short, and in some
contracted, with the front emarginate, exhibiting the com¬
mencement of the inferior tentacula. The upper tentacula Moll
are tubular and cloven. The gills occur at the edge of the
dorsal plate. In front of these are the orifices of the organs
of generation, and the anus is situate immediately behind
the'gills. The mouth is furnished with a short retractile
proboscis. The tongue occupies both ’ sides of the mouth,
and is covered with spines. The gullet is enlarged into a
kind of crop before it enters the stomach; this is folded, and
is divided by contractions into three parts. The first sto¬
mach has muscular walls of moderate thickness, with a single
longitudinal band. The second has membranaceous walls,
with longitudinal internal ridges, and the third has thin and
simple walls. The gut is short. The salivary glands are
situate at the folds of the stomach, and by two canals empty
their contents into the mouth. The liver is placed on the
stomach, and empties itself into the lower part of the crop.
The heart is nearly in the middle of the back. Its auricle
is on the right side, at the base of the branchiae; and the
ventricle sends out at the opposite side three arteries.
M. Cuvier has figured and described the P. Peronii with
its anatomical details. Two species likewise appear to be
known as natives of the British seas.
Genus Bulla The head is destitute of tentacula and
the body of the animal, protected by a convoluted shell, is
oblong, becoming a little narrower in front. Below, the foot
is broad, thin, and waved on the margin, expanded on each
side behind, and capable ol being turned upwards. At the
posterior part of the foot, but separated from it by a groove,
there is a broad, membranaceous appendage, a part of which
is folded upwards, and a part spread over bodies, like the
foot. It assists in closing the mouth of the shell, and in its
position and use is analogous to the operculum, in the fol¬
lowing order. Above the foot, in front, also, but separated
from it by a groove, there is a fat, fleshy expansion, which
Cuvier terms the tentacular disc, considering it as formed
by the union of the inferior and superior tentacula. In the
centre of the disc, in the Bulla hydatis, (Lin. Trans., vol.
ix. tab. 6, f. 4), Montagu observed two eyes. Between this
portion of the back and the posterior extremity, is the dorsal
plate or shell, forming the genus Bulla of conchologists. In
some species, this shell is covered by the integuments, while
in others it is exposed. But in all, the part containing it is
partially concealed by the animal, by means ot the reflected
margins of the foot, and its appendage. Along the right
side of the body there is a groove, formed by the foot and
its appendage, on one side, and the dorsal plate and tenta¬
cular disc on the other. The branchiae are situate in a
cavity under the shell or dorsal plate, and resemble those of
the Aplysia. Behind the gills, in the lateral groove, is the
anus ; and in front of these, the orifice of the united organs
of generation. The penis is removed as in the Aplysia, and
connected by a similar slit.
The mouth is, as usual, in front, above the foot and be¬
neath the tentacular disc, both of which serve as lips. The
cheeks are strengthened on each side by a corneous plate.
The tongue is well developed in some, as the B. ampulla,
while in the B. aperta it is reduced to a small tubercle.
The gullet is large, and in the B.lignaria makes two folds
before entering the gizzard. I his last organ is fortified by
three testaceous plates, convex and rough on the inner sur¬
face, and attached to strong, muscular walls. These plates
exhibit in the different species considerable varieties of form
and markings. The intestine, before terminating in the
anus, makes several convolutions in the substance of tie
liver. The salivary glands exhibit considerable differences.
In the B. ampulla they are long and narrow, and their in¬
ferior extremity fixed to the gizzard. In the B. apeita an
lignaria, they are short, with the extremity free. In tlie
B. hydatis they are long, unequal, and the extremity of tne
one, belonging to the left side, is forked. The li\ ei onus
a part of the contents inclosed in the spire of the snell. .
asca.'envelopes the intestine, and empties the bile into its pyloric
extremity. The auricle and ventricle appear to occupy the
same relative position as in the Aplysia, but the structure
of the arteries is unknown. The organs of generation have
also so near a resemblance as to forbid a detailed descrip¬
tion. Some species are said to eject a coloured fluid, like
the Aplysia, from the lid of the bran chi®. A gland is ob¬
served in the Bulla lignaria, similar to the Aplysia, in
which it is probable the fluid is prepared.
The species of this genus have not been sufficiently in¬
vestigated in a living state. When preserved in spirits, it
is impossible to form a correct idea of their true appearance,
as exhibited when alive in sea-water, since they usually exist
as a shapeless mass. Cuvier has given delineations of such
preserved species, but they bear no resemblance to the figures
of Montagu, of the same species, taken from living objects.
M. Lamark is inclined to divide the genus into two, distin¬
guishing those who have the shell concealed, by the term
Bullaa, from such as have the shell in part exposed, which
he retains in the genus Bulla. The shells of the genus
Bullcea are thin and white, as B. aperta; those of Bulla
stronger, more opake, and covered with an epidermis, which,
after the death of the animal, is easily detached, as B. lig¬
naria.
Genus Doridium (of Mekel). Destitute of a dorsal plate
or shell. There is a cavity in the cloak, with a spiral turn.
The branchi®, and accompanying organs, are placed far be¬
hind. Theie is here no appearance of a spinous tongue ;
the gullet is simple, and the stomach is membranaceousr B.
carnosum, a native of the Mediterranean, is the type of the
genus.
MOLLUSC A.
363
Order IL—Branchije internal.
The aerating organs are Contained in a cavity, and appear
in the form of sessile, pectinated ridges.
1st Subdivision.
Heart entire, and detached from the rectum.
This group, forming the Bectinib’ranchia of Cuvier, in¬
cludes nearly all the marine Gasteropoda, which have spiral
univalve shells. It likewise contains a few species which
inhabit the fresh water.
dhe foot is usually fortified above, oft its posterior extre¬
mity, with a corneous plate, which acts as a lid to the shell,
mien the animal is withdrawn into the cavity. The ante¬
rior extremity is in some of the species double. The ante¬
rior margin of the cloak forms a thick band, or arch, rising
from the foot, behind which is the portion of the body that
is always contained in the shell, and which is covered with
a very thin skin. Between the margin of the cloak and foot
is situate the head, supported on a short fieck. The tenta-
cula are two in number, bearing eyes at their base, or on
s lort lateral processes, which have some claims to be con-
sicered as tentacula, The hood is frequently emarginate,
and sometimes fringed. The mouth is more or less in the
orrti of a proboscis, in some cases armed within with spin¬
ous lips, or furnished with a long narrow spiral tongue, armed
wit i spines, as in the common periwinkle. The nature of
is kind of tongue, the spiral extremity of which is free and
lodged in the abdomen, is not well understood.
I he entry to the gills is by a large aperture between the
argin of the cloak and neck, at the middle, or towards the
rig it side. These are contained in a cavity on the back of
e anirnal, and consist of leaves arranged in one or more
row s, which adhere to the walls of the cavity. At the en-
rance of this cavity is the anus and oviduct. The male and
ema e organs are considered not only as distinct, but as oc-
curring on different individuals. The evidence in support
0 is opinion is in many cases complete. The penis is in
some external, and incapable of being withdrawn, while in
o er» it is retractile, and situate in a cavity in the right ten-
taculum. The body of the animal is attached to the shell Mollusca.
by means of two muscles, which adhere to the pillar near1
the same place, and shift their position, by an arrangement
not well understood, in proportion as the individual increases
in size. These muscles terminate in the foot and mouth.
1 he animals of this order have not been examined suffi¬
ciently in detail, to admit of their distribution into natural
groups, distinguished by characters founded on important
differences of organization. The form of the shell has been
resorted to, with the view of assisting arrangement. The
characters thus furnished would be useful arid valuable, were
they the index of any peculiar internal structure. But, un¬
fortunately, animals widely different in structure inhabit
shells of the same form, and vice versa, so that, however
useful the mere conchologist may find the form of the shell
to be in his arrangements, it can only be regarded by the
zoologist as occupying a subordinate place. Without, there¬
fore, entering into any details regarding the structure of the
few species which have been examined anatomically, we
shall merely point out the tribes and families which “have
been contemplated, the characters of which in a great mea¬
sure depend on the shape of the shell.
1st Tribe. ?
Shell external.
The shelly covering exhibits all the variat ions of the spu
ral form. The internal structure has hitherto been in a
great measure neglected, so that the characters employed
in the methodical distribution of the species and genera are
derived from the shelly appendage of the cloak. The groups,
therefore, are merely artificial, temporary combinations, to a
very few of which only we shall make reference.
Genus Janthina.—Foot with an adhering spongy body.
In this genus, represented by the Helix janthina of Lin-
n®us, the spongy body is capable of changing its dimen¬
sions, and enabling the animal to sink or rise in the water
at pleasure. When irritated, the animal ejects a purple fluid
from the cellular margin of the cloak above the gills, not
unlike the Aplysia. This species was added to the British
Fauna by the late Miss Hutchins.
Genus Velutina.—Foot simple. This genus was form¬
ed by us for the reception of the Bulla velutina of Muller,
(Zool. Dan. tab. ci. f. 1, 2, 3, 4), the Helix Iccvigata of Bri¬
tish writers.- The foot is destitute of lid or appendage, and
is broad before, and pointed behind. The tentacula are two
in number, short and filiform, with eyes at their external
base. The head is broad and short. In addition to these
characters given by Muller, we have been enabled to add
the following, from a specimen, somewhat altered, which was
found in the stomach of a cod-fish. The animal adheres to
the shell by two linear muscles, one on each side the cloak.
The branchial cavity is towards the left side. The tongue
is spinous, narrow, with its free extremity spiral. Eyes
rather behind the tentacula. Penis exserted on the right
Side of the neck, immediately behind the eye. Cloak large
in proportion to the size of the foot. We have termed the
genus Vehctina, bestowing on the species the trivial name
vulgaris.
In the following groups the anterior margin of the aper¬
ture of the shell is eartaliculated. This groove in the aper-
tiire of the shell is produced by the anterior margin of the
cloak being extended over the opening into the gills, foi*
the purpose of acting like a tube or syphon, in conveying
the water to and from the branchial cavity. The species are
considered as oviparous, with distinct sexes in separate in¬
dividuals.
1. Shell convoluted.—The shell has an oval or linear
mouth parallel with its length. The whorls, which are small
segments of large circles, are wrapped round the pillar, and
the one rising a little above the other, embrace or inclose
the preceding ones. The four following families appear to-
belong to this division.
1
MOLLUSC A.
364
Mollusca. Family 1. Conusidce—Furnished with a long proboscis,
and produced tentacula, with the eyes near the summit on
the outside. The lid is placed obliquely on the foot, and
is too small to fill the mouth of the shell. The genera Co¬
nus and Terebellum form this family.
Family 2. Cypreadce—Cloak enlarged, and capable of
folding over the shell. There is no lid. The genus Cy-
prea is the type.
Family 3. OvuladcB.—Both extremities of the aperture
canaliculated. The inhabitants of all the genera, Ovula,
Calpurna, and Yolva, are unknown. The last genus in¬
cludes the Bulla patula of Pennant.
Family 4. Volutadce—Canal of the aperture abbreviated.
Pillar-lip plaited. The foot appears to be destitute of a lid.
The genera are numerous; Voluta, Oliva, Cymbium, Mar-
ginella, Cancellaria, Mitra, Ancilla, Volvaria, and Torna-
tella. The last genus contains the Voluta tornatilis of Bri¬
tish writers.
2. Shell turreted.—The whorls of the shell, the revolving
spire of which is subconical, scarcely embrace one another,
but are merely united at the margins. Three families may
here be established.
Family 1. Buccinidce.—Canal short, scarcely produced
beyond the anterior margin of the lip, and bent towards the
right. The tentacula are remote, and the head is destitute
of a hood. The mouth has a retractile proboscis. The fol¬
lowing genera belong to this family: Buccinum, Eburna,
Dolium, Harpa, Nassa, Purpura, Cassis, Morio, Ricinula,
and Monoceros.
Family 2. Muricidee.—Canal produced, and straight.
The tentacula approach the head and mouth as in the pre¬
ceding family. The genera are Murex, Typhis, Ranella,
Fusus, Pleurotoma, Pyrula, Fasciolaria, Terebra, Triton-
alia, and Turbinella.
Family 3. Cerithiadce.—Canal short and recurved. Head
with a hood. This family contains the marine Cerithium
and Strutheolaria, and the fluviatile Potamidum, Melanop-
sis, and Pirena.
Family 4. Strombusidce.—Canal short, and bent towards
the right. The outer margin of the aperture becomes pal-
mated with age, and exhibits a second canal, generally near
the former, for the passage of the head. The following are
the genera: Strombus, Pterocera, Hippocrenes, and Ros-
tellaria.
2d Tribe.
Shell internal.
This tribe consists at present of only one genus, termed
Sigaretus, two species of which are natives of Britain. The
foot of the animals belonging to this genus, or rather of the
species which constitutes the type, is oval, with a duplica-
ture in front. The cloak is broad, with an indentation on
the left side, in front, leading to the branchial cavity. A
ring of transverse muscles unite's the cloak with the foot.
On the back is placed the shell, which does not appear on
the outside, as it is covered by a thick cuticle. It is lodged
in a sac, and united by a muscle, which adheres to the pil¬
lar. The hood is produced, at each side, into a flattened
tentaculum, with an eye at the external base. The anus is
situate at the branchial indentation on the left side. The
penis is situate on the right side of the neck; it is external,
with a crooked, blunt, lateral process near its extremity.
The mouth is in the form of a short proboscis. The
tongue is armed with spines, and is long and spirally folded.
The salivary glands are large. The stomach is membrana¬
ceous, giving off the intestine near the cardia. The intes¬
tine makes two folds. The liver, with the testicle in the
male, and the ovarium in the female, occupy the posterior
part of the body, under the spire of the shell.
2d Subdivision.
Heart traversed by the rectum.
This group includes the order Scutibranchia of Cuvier.
In general form, and in the structure and position of the Mollusc |«il»
branchiae, the resemblance to the genera of the preceding/v
subdivision is very great. The animals differ, however, in
many particulars. The heart is furnished with two auricles,
and is perforated by the intestine. The sexes appear to be
incorporated in the same individual, or rather the male or¬
gans are unknown. The body is protected by a shell, the
aperture of which is wide, and never closed by a lid.
1st Tribe.
Shell ear-shaped, flat, with a lateral, and nearly concealed
spire.
Family Haliotidce.—The genera of this group exhibit well-
marked characters in the shell. In the Haliotis, the left mar¬
gin of the shell is pierced by a row of holes. In Padola these
holes are nearly obliterated; but there is an internal groove and
external ridge in the line of their direction. In Stomatia,
there are neither holes nor ridges. In the Halyotis, the
foot is oval and large. The sides of the body, all round, are
ornamented with one or more rows of simple or branched fila¬
ments. The shell is placed on the back with the spiral part
behind, and the row of holes on the left side, through which
some of the filaments are protruded. The animal is attached
to the shell by a single large muscle. The entry to the
branchial cavity, which likewise contains the termination of
the rectum and oviduct, is on the back. The gills are in two
ridges, consisting of complicated branched filaments. At
the entrance of the cavity, the cloak is furnished with a slit,
the left margin of which rests upon the pillar of the shell.
The edges of this slit are furnished with filaments, which
pass through the anterior holes of the shell. The use of
this singular arrangement is unknown. The branchial ca¬
vity likewise contains the viscous organ, in common with
the Pectin ibranclnaL'.
The hood is emarginate, with a long tentaculum on each
side, behind which, towards the side, is a cylindrical protu¬
berance, bearing the eye at the top. The mouth is in the
form of a short proboscis, with tw o corneous plates as cheeks,
and a long narrow tongue extending backwards, and co¬
vered with spines. The pharynx is dilatable, with internal
folds. The salivary glands are very small. The gullet is
very short. The stomach is divided into two portions, the
first of which is striated longitudinally with a glandular struc¬
ture, and receives a biliary duct. The second is separated
from the former by a valve, is smaller, with transverse striae,
and a double ridge. It likewise receives bile through two
apertures. There is another valve at the pylorus; and the
intestine, after making some turns, is surrounded by the
heart. There is an auricle on each side, receiving the aer¬
ated blood from each of the gills.
2d Tribe.
Shell conical, simple, or slightly revolute at the apex.
A. Cavity of the shell interrupted by a testaceous plate.
This division consists of five genera, each of which may
be regarded as the type of a family, although, for the pre¬
sent, they are all included in one. In the Crepidula, the
gills form a transverse ridge on the roof of the cavity, con¬
sisting of filaments extending beyond the margin. The eyes
are at the base of the tentacula. There is only one fluvi¬
atile genus, termed Navicella.
B. Cavity of the shell entire.
In the Capulus, the shell is entire, the foot is complicated
on its anterior margin. The shell adheres to the animal by
a circular muscle, leaving an opening in front, for the issue
of the head and entrance to the branchial cavity. The gills
form a single ridge across the roof. The mouth is in the
form of an extended proboscis, with a deep groove above.
The tentacula, which are two in number, have the eyes at
the external base. The anus is on the right side of the
branchial cavity. In the Carinaria, the foot appears to be
compressed, and formed for swimming. The head is co¬
vered with a group of tubercles. The mouth is furnishe
MOLLUSC A.
usea. with a proboscis. Near the middle of the body the shell is
attached. The surface of the body above is closely covered
with small tubercles. It is probable that the species here
alluded to is the same with the Pterotrachea coronata of
Forasksel.
Fissurelladce. Shell with a slit or perforation. In the
Fissurella, the apex of the shell is perforated, and united to
the cloak by a circular muscle open in front. The cloak
forms a duplicature in front for the branchial cavity, which
extends to the perforated apex of the shell. The gills con¬
sist of two ridges ; at the dorsal extremity of which is the
anus. It is probable that the excrements are ejected at the
perforation in the apex of the shell, and likewise the water
which enters the branchial cavity in front. The head is fur¬
nished with two tentacula, bearing the eyes at the external
base. The Patella grceca and apertura may be quoted as
British examples of the genus.
The genus Emarginula differs from the former in the apex
of the shell not being perforated. Its place, however, is
supplied by a slit on the anterior margin, which is the en¬
trance to the branchiae and anus. The foot is surrounded
with a row of filaments, and the eyes are supported on short
footstalks, characters in which it approaches the genus Hal-
yotis. The Patella fissura of conchologists is considered
as the type of the genus.
365
Division II—Moixusca Acephala.
Destitute of a distinct head, or neck.
The animals of this group are much more simple in
their organization than those of the preceding division. In
none of the species are there any rudiments of organs of
hearing or of sight. They are destitute of jaws or other
hard parts about the mouth. They all inhabit the water,
and possess branchim. The organs of the two sexes are in¬
corporated in the same individual, and reciprocal union is
unnecessary. They are either oviparous, or ovovivipai’ous.
The presence or absence of a shelly covering, furnish cha¬
racters for a twofold distribution of the groups.
Sect. 1.—Acephala Conchifera.
The shell in all cases is external and bivalve ; and ex¬
hibits very remarkable differences in the form, relative size,
i and connection of the valves. The cloak is likewise in the
form of twro leaves, corresponding with the valves which
protect it.
Order I.—Brachiopoda.
Mouth with a spix-al arm on each side fringed with fila¬
ments.
The genera included in this group constitute the Bra¬
chiopoda of Cuvier. The lobes of the cloak are free an¬
teriorly. From the body, between the lobes, the arms have
their origin at the margin of the mouth. These arms are
capable of folding up spirally. All the species are perma¬
nently attached to foreign bodies, and inhabit the sea.
Their nervous and reproductive systems have received but
little elucidation.
1st Subdivision.
Shell supported on a fleshy peduncle.
Genus Linguxa. Valves equal, the apex of both at¬
tached to the peduncle.
The peduncle is nearly cylindrical, cartilaginous, and
covered with a membrane consisting of circular fibres. The
valves are oval, flat, and destitute of teeth, or elastic liga¬
ments. The adductor muscles are numerous, obliquely
placed, and appear capable of giving to the valves a con¬
siderable degree of lateral motion. The cloak is thin, and
has interspersed muscular fibres. Its margin is thickened,
and fringed with fine hairs of nearly equal length. The
arms are fleshy in their substance, conical, elongated and Mollusca.
compressed in their form, and ornamented on the external
surface with thick set fringes or tentacula. The mouth is
simple, and situate between the arms at their base. There
is no enlargement of the alimentary canal, which can be re¬
garded as a stomach, and the anus is a simple aperture situ¬
ate on the side. There are marked indications of salivary
glands and a liver. The blood is conveyed to the gills by
two vessels, which are divided at the separation of the lobes
into two branches, one of these going to the half of one
lobe, and another to the opposite half of the other lobe.
Two systemic veins occupy a similar position, and return
the aerated blood to the two lateral systemic ventricles.
1 he gills themselves are arranged in a pectinated form, on
the inner surface of each lobe of the cloak. There is no¬
thing known of the nervous or reproductive systems of this
animal.
The Lingula unguis is the only species of the genus, and
appears to be confined to the Indian seas. The valves were
first figured by Seba, together with the peduncle by which
they are supported. Linnaeus having seen only one valve,
conjectured that it belonged to Patella, and named it P.
unguis. Chemnitz examined both valves, without the pe¬
duncle, and pronounced them connected with the genus
Pinna. Bugiere, aware of Seba’s figure, contemplated the
formation of the new genus for its reception, which Lamark
executed. M. Cuvier afterwards dissected one of the indi¬
viduals, which Seba had possessed, and unfolded characters
in its organization, sufficient not only to warrant the con¬
struction of a new genus, but a new class.
Some petrifactions have recently been referred to this
genus ; but, in the absence of all vestige of the peduncle,
we do not consider the mere form of the shell as furnishing
characters sufficiently obvious and precise to warrant such
distribution.
Terebratula. Valves unequal, the peduncle passing
through an aperture in the largest valve.
The following interesting information, from the dissec¬
tions of Mr. Owen, will be read with pleasure by the student
of the anatomy and physiology of the mollusca.
The mantle adheres very closely to the valves : the lobe
which corresponds to the perforated valve is traversed longi¬
tudinally by four large vessels; the opposite lobe is simi¬
larly traversed by two such vessels. Its margins are thick¬
ened, not as in the Lamillibranchiate Bivalves from con¬
traction, but owing to a peculiar structure connected with
respiration. They are puckered at regular distances, the
puckerings being apparently caused by the insertion of de¬
licate cilia, which pass as far within the mantle as they pro¬
ject out of it, but which are so minute as to be observable
only by means of a lens. In the interspaces of the cilia the
margin of the mantle is minutely fringed, and within the
fringe is a canal, which extends along the whole circumfer-
From this canal the large vessels of the mantle lobes
take their origin : they may be regarded as the branchial
veins conveying the aerated blood to the two hearts, which
are situated exterior to the liver, and just within the origin
of the internal calcareous loop: they are accompanied in
their course by much smaller vessels, probably the branchial
arteries. Such is apparently the system of respiration in
Terebratula.
The viscera occupy a very small space near the hinge.
The alimentary canal commences by a small puckered
mouth, situated immediately between the folded extremi¬
ties of the arms. It passes backwards, and expands into a
membranous stomach, surrounded by the liver, a bulky gland
of a green colour and minute follicular texture, which com¬
municates with it by many orifices. The intestine passes
down to the hinge, and then turns to the right side and
terminates between the two mantle-lobes. No trace of a
salivary gland was found.
M O L L U S C A.
366
Mollusca. The generation of Terebratula is that of the ordinary
Bivalves. In two of the larger specimens the ova had in¬
sinuated themselves between the layers of the mantle, and
partly surrounded the branchial vessels. When so far ad¬
vanced they obscure the organization of the mantle which
adapts it for respiration : this organization is consequently
most satisfactorily observed in very young individuals.
The peculiar internal testaceous apparatus or loop con¬
nected with the hinge and supporting the arms, possesses
some elasticity, and when acted on by the muscles, becomes
in its reflected part sufficiently convex to press upon the
perforated valve and separate it slightly from the opposite
one ; thus compensating for the absence of the thick arms
of Lingula, which, in their protrusion, push open the valves,
and also for that of the elastic fibres, constituting the liga¬
ment of ordinary Bivalves.
In the Orbicula lamellosa the same intelligent observer
traced along the whole circumference Of the valves, shining
cilia projecting for an extent varying from two to four lines:
they are consequently much longer than in Terebratula and
in Lingula anatina, and are rather longer than in Lingula
Audebardii, Brod. On examination under a higher power
they are observed to be beset with smaller setae, which pro¬
bably give them greater power in determining the respira¬
tory currents. The mantle is similarly vascular to that of
Terebratula, there being, in the upper lobe, four principal
trunks (comparatively, however, much shorter than in that
genus) ; and two in the lower. These trunks terminate in
sinuses, situated close, and two strong tendinous membranes,
which circumscribe the visceral mass, and to which the
mantle-lobes firmly adhere. Here the veins of both man¬
tle-lobes join, and the common trunk or sinus passes oblique¬
ly through the membrane, and may be plainly seen distri¬
buting ramuli over the liver and ovary.
The muscles and viscera form a rounded mass, situated
in the posterior half of the shell. The mouth is seated be¬
tween the base of the arms. The oesophagus passes ob¬
liquely through the tendinous wall of the viscera in a direc¬
tion towards the upper valve : it becomes slightly dilated,
and is then surrounded by the liver. The intestine is con¬
tinued straight to the opposite end of the visceral cavity, is
there again contracted, makes a sudden bend upon itself,
and returns to the middle of the right side of the visceral
belt, which it perforates obliquely, and terminates between
the lobes of the mantle a little below the bend of the arms.
The liver is of a beautiful green colour, and consists of a
congeries of elongated follicles, closely compacted together,
which communicate by numerous orifices with the stomach.
As in Terebratula, there is no salivary gland.
In Lingula Audebardii, Brod., there is also no salivary
gland ; and Mr. Owen is therefore disposed to believe, that
the gland described as such in Lifigula anatina by Cuvier,
was only a portion of the liver, from which the colour had
probably been removed by long maceration in spirit.
In the w ant of salivary glands the Brachiopoda would
seem to agree with the ordinary Bivalves. Destitute, like
them, of any hard parts about the mouth for comminuting
alimentary substances, glands for pouring in a fluid to
blend with the food during that operation, are not wanted.'
The nervous system in Terebratula was not detected by
Mr. Owen. In Orbicula two small ganglia were found on
the side of the oesophagus next the perforated valve ; from
which two'filaments, accompanying the oesophagus through
the membranous wall, immediately diverge and pass ex¬
terior to the anterior shell muscles, proceeding with corres¬
ponding arteries to near the heai’t, beyond which he could
not trace them. A single small ganglion is situated on the
opposite side of the oesophagus, but on a plane posterior to
the preceding; this' is probably the cerebral ganglion for
giving off nerves to the free spiral extremities of the arms,
close to the base of which it is situated*
Order II—Bivalvia. Mollusca.
v"*Wi
Mouth destitute of fringed spiral arms.
The animals of this group form the class Conchifera of
Lamark, the Bivalvia of the older naturalists.
The shells exhibit great variety of form and relative size.
They are joined together at the hinge, which is either plain
or toothed, and corresponds in position with the back of the
animal. The connection of the two valves is secured by
the intervention of an elastic horny ligament, the office of
which is to keep the valves open. It is either external or
internal. The valves are closed by means of adductor
muscles, intermixed with tendons, and, passing traversely
through the animal, adhere to the corresponding places in
the inside of each shell. By the contractions of these
muscles the free edges of the valves are brought into con¬
tact, at the same time that the ligament is compressed or
stretched, according as it is internal or external. The num¬
ber of muscular impressions is employed by Lamark in the
division of the Bivalvia into two orders, Dimyaires and
Monomyaires. This distinction, however, he has not at¬
tended to with care, as in his family Mytilacees, which he
includes in his second order, or those having one adductor
muscle, there are obviously two adductor muscles; although
the one is certainly much larger and more Complicated than
the other. Besides these impressions of the adductor mus¬
cles, there are others connected with the foot and byssus.
The cloak lines the inside of the shells. In some cases it
is entirely open, when the border corresponding with the
free margin of the shell is thickened, and more or less fring¬
ed with contractile irritable filaments. In other cases the
cloak in front is more or less united, and even forms tubu¬
lar elongations, which are termed syphons.
Locomotion is denied to many species of this order.
Among these some are immoveably cemented to rocks and
stones, as oysters; a few are attached by a cartilaginous
ligament, as the Anomise ; while others are fixed by means
of a byssus. This last organ consists of numerous filaments
issuing from a complicated apparatus in the breast, connect¬
ed with a secreting gland and with the shell by the inter¬
vention of tendinous bands. The foot is seated a little to¬
wards the mouth, is usually tongue-shaped, capable of con¬
siderable elongation, with a furrow on its posterior surface.
This organ, where a byssus is present, is considered as
employed in spinning and fixing the threads. When there
is no byssus, it either acts as a sucker, enabling the animal
to crawl among the surface of bodies, or as a paw, to dig
holes in the sand or mud. None of the species can float in
the water. They either crawl or leap, the last kind of
motion being effected by suddenly opening and shutting the
valves. In seeming a residence, some of the species bofe
into different substances by means of a rotatory motion of the
shell. It was at one time supposed that the dwelling was
formed by a secretion affecting the solution of the surround- •
ing substances But the very different substances penetrat¬
ed by the same species, as limestone, slate-clay, and wood,
forbid us to entertain such a supposition.
The nervous system is here but little developed. The
superior and inferior ganglia, surrounding the gullet, give
rise to all the nervous filaments which proceed through the
body.
The digestive organs are scarcely less simple. The food
is soft and swallowed entire, and either brought to the mouth
by accident, or by eddies produced in the water by the
opening and shutting of the shells, aided in some cases by
the syphons.
It may be proper here to state, in order to understand
the relative situation of the parts, that, upon laying the ani¬
mal upon its back, and opening the cloak, the abdomen
appears to occupy the middle longitudinally, and the bran-
chia to be arranged on each side. The mouth is situated
M O L L U S C A.
isca. at the anterior extremity, and consists of a simple aperture
Centering into the gullet, or rather stomach. It is surround¬
ed by four flattened moveable tentacula, two of which in
some are in part united with the cloak, while in others they
are free to the base. In their structure they resemble the
branchiae. The stomach is full of cells, the bottom of each
pierced with a biliary duct. A singular organ, termed the
crystalline process, cylindrical, cartilaginous, and transpar¬
ent, is found in some species projecting into the cavity of
• die stomach. The liver is large, surrounds the stomach,
and pours out its contents by numerous openings. The in¬
testine terminates posteriorly by a tubular anus.
The branchiae consist of two ribbands on each side, ex¬
tending the length of the body, free on the sides and mar¬
gin, and striated transversely. These plates are frequently
of unequal size. The blood is brought to these by means
of pulmonic veins, without the intervention of the heart.
The aerated blood is transmitted to a systemic heart, con¬
sisting'of one or two auricles, and a ventricle.
The reproductive organs of the Bivalvia, hitherto exam¬
ined, consist of an ovarium occupying the sides of the body,
and penetrating the membranes of the cloak. They appear
to have the organs of both sexes incorporated, and to pro¬
pagate without intercourse. Lamark is disposed to con¬
sider impregnation produced by the male fluid dispersed
through the water; a supposition unsupported even by
analogy in the animal kingdom. Many species are ovovivi-
parous ; in w hich case the eggs when ripe pass into the gills,
where they are hatched.
The methodical distribution of the Bivalvia appears to be
attended with peculiar difficulties, in consequence of the
uniformity which prevails in the structure and disposition
of their organs. The characters furnished by the shell,
though useful in the construction of generic as well as spe¬
cific distinctions, have been abandoned by those who prefer
a knowledge of the structure, rather than the form of an
animal. The characters derived from the presence of a
byssus, a foot, or syphons, appear to be nearly of co-ordi¬
nate importance. M. Cuvier gives the preference to those
founded upon the appearances of the syphon, by the aid of
which the genera may be distributed into five families, an
arrangement which, though liable to some objections, may
be adopted with advantage. These groups, however, may
be considered as occupying a much higher rank, and each
as including numerous families.
1st Subdivision.
Cloak, open.
There are no syphons, the anterior margin of the cloak
being as open as the mouth of the shell. When the valves
open, the water comes immediately in contact with the
branchiae and mouth. The margin of the mantle has a
double fringe of filaments.
1st Tribe.
Valves closed by one adductor muscle.
PectenidcB. Animals free or fixed only by a byssus.
Furnished with a foot.
•n family> contemplated by Lamark, the following
i assorted genera may be placed; Pecten, Lima, Pedum,
Plagiostoma, Vulsella, Placuna, Gryphaea, Perna, Gervil-
lea, Inoceramus, Malleus, and Crenatula.
B. Ostreadcc, Shell cemented to foreign bodies. Body
destitute of a foot.
To this family the following genera are related : Ostrea,
Anomia, Spondylus, and Plicatula.
2d Tribe.
Shell closed by two adductor muscles,
he two genera, Avicula and Meleagrina (of Lamark),
orm one family of this tribe; the genus Pinna another;
anc t ie Arcadas a third, including Area, Pectunculus, Nu-
cula, Cucullaea, Trigonia, and Castalia.
„2d Subdivision,
Cloak more or less closed, forming syphons.
ie further division of this group depends on the modi-
ncations of the syphons, or aperture of the cloak.
1st Inbe.
The union of the cloak forming only one syphon. This
is situate posteriorly opposite the anus, and serves for the
ejection of the excrements. The other large opening allows
the water to enter to the mouth and gills.
This tribe may be divided into two families. The first,
Mytildce, will include the genera Mytilus, Modiolus, and
Lithodomus, which are furnished with a byssus. The
second, UmoridcB, will embrace Unio, Hyria, Anodonta, and
indina. They want a byssus.
M. Cuvier is disposed to place in this group the genera
Cardita, Venencardia, and Crassatella.
2d Tribe.
Cloak closed posteriorly, and anteriorly for min o- three
apertures. The first serves for the passage of the byssus,
and is the largest. The second admits water to the bran-
chias and mouth ; and the third is opposite the anus. The
valves are closed by one adductor muscle. There are only
two genera belonging to this tribe, Tridacnaand Hippopus.
In the two remaining tribes there are three openings in
the cloak. Two of these are posterior, and near each other;
sometimes, indeed, they are tubular and united. There is
no byssus, but always a foot.
3d Tribe.
Anterior opening large, allowing the water free access to
the mouth and gills, and the feet freedom of motion. The
structure of the animals is yet too imperfectly examined to
enable any one to establish families on permanent charac¬
ters. The attempt which Lamark has made may be con¬
sidered as a complete failure, independent of the wanton
changes of nomenclature with which it is chargeable, whilst
the efforts of Cuvier have not been attended with greater
success. 1 he following are the principal genera belonging
to this tribe: Chama, Isocardia, Cardium, Donax, CyclaJ
Corbis, lellina, Loripes, Lucina, Venus, Capsa, Petricola,
Corbula, and Mactra.
4th Tribe.
Anterior opening small, and .not exposing the mouth or
gills.
In this ti ibe the mantle is closed in front; and even when
the valves are open, neither mouth nor gills are visible. The
anterior opening serves for a passage to the foot, and the
posterior openings, in the form of two long tubes, united by
a common membrane, serve for the entrance and exit of the
watei to the mouth and branchiae, and the ejection of the
faeces, the dorsal syphon serving the latter purpose. The
cuticle of the shell covers also the exposed portion of the
cloak, so that, when the animal is removed from the shell,
it remains as a loose membrane on the margin of the valves,
as was first observed by Reaumur. All the genera prefer
concealment, burrowing in sand, mud, or wood, with the
head downwards, and the syphons rising to the surface.
The following genera belong to this tribe : Mya, Lutraria,
Anatina, Glycemeris, Panopea, Pandora, Gastrochena, Bys-
somia, Hiatella, Solen, Sanguinolaria, Pholas, Teredo, Xylo-
phaga, Clavagella, and Fistulana.
Sect. II—Acepala Tunicata.
Covering soft or coriaceous.
The formation of' this interesting group of animals was
first publicly announced by Lamark in his Histoire Natu-
relle des Animaux sans Vertebres, tom. iii. p. 80, (1816.)
The labours of Desmarest, Lesueur, and Cuvier, aided by
the descriptions of Ellis and Pallis, paved the way for the
masterly efforts of Savigny, to whom we owe the most ex¬
tensive, new, and accurate information yet given concerning
the animals of this group. His observations are contained
in his Recherches Anatomiques sur les Ascidies composees,
867
Mollusca.
368
M O L L U S C A.
Molluscs, et sur les Ascidies simples, inserted in his Memoires sur les
1 Animaux sans Vertebres. 8vo, Paris, 1816.
The covering of the animals of this group consists of an
external and internal sac or tunic, which are either entirely
united or unconnected, except at the apertures. The sur-
The abdomen is lateral. The meshes of the branchiae MollJ
are destitute of papillae.
Genus Boltenia.—The tentacular filaments of the
branchial circle are compound. There is no liver, and the
ovarium is compound. Only one species is known, B.fusi-
face is smooth in some, and rough in others, and in a few forme. Savigny, Mem. tab. i. f. 1., and tab. y. f. 5. It is
species defended by an artificial covering of agglutinated the Vorticella Bolteni of Lin. and the Ascidia Clavata of
shells and sand. The sacs are furnished with muscular Shaw,
bands, and are capable of contraction. Some of the species, b. Body sessile.
by means of contractile movements, float about in the water ; M. Savigny describes this group as a genus, which he
others, receiving that element into the branchial cavity, and terms Cynthia, which he divides into four sub-genera,
ejecting it forcibly at the opposite one, push themselves for- (A.) Tentacular filaments of the branchial orifice corn-
ward. Many, however, are fixed during life to seaweeds pound. I he folds of the branchiae more than eight in num-
and stones.
The apertures of the tunic are two in number, unless in
the doubtful genus Mammaria. The one, frequently the
largest, is destined for receiving the water into the cavity
to supply the mouth and gills. This is termed the branch¬
ial cavity. The other is destined for the exit of the water,
the eggs, and the faeces, and termed the anal opening.
These apertures are sometimes placed near each other, at
other times at opposite extremities of the body, and vari¬
ously provided with tentacula or valves.
The mouth is simple, destitute of spiral arms, and open¬
ing in the anterior of the cavity of the body between the
branchiae, as in the other Acephala. It possesses neither
jaws nor tentacula. The alimentary canal is very simple,
and can scarcely be distinguished into gullet, stomach, and
intestine. The food is soft, and such as the bounty of the
waves bestows. The liver adheres to the stomach, and in
many species is divided into distinct lobes.
The circulating system appears to be reduced to a single
systemic ventricle. The gills cover the walls of the cavity,
in the form of ridges, more or less complicated, and seldom
symmetrical.
The reproductive organs consist of an ovarium, either
simple or complicated, with some additional glands, the uses
of which have not been ascertained. The species are con¬
sidered as hermaphrodite, and independent of reciprocal im¬
pregnation. They appear not only to be oviparous, but to be
gemmiparous and compound, many individuals being organi¬
cally connected, and capable of simultaneous movements.
They are all inhabitants of the sea.
1st Subdivision—Dichitonida.
Interior tunic detached from the external one, and united
only at the two orifices.
The branchiae are large, equal, and spread on the central
walls of the inner sac. The branchial orifice has an inner
membranaceous denticulated ring, or a circle of tentacula.
1st Tribe.
Body permanently fixed to other bodies.
In this tribe the branchial and anal orifices are not op-
ber. The liver distinct, and surrounding the stomach.
Ovarium divided, with one division at least on each side the
body. The intestine destitute of a rib.
Genus Cynthia Meshes of the branchiae unchanged
by the folds. C. Momus. Sav. tab. i. f. 2.
Genus Ciesira Meshes of the branchiae interrupted
by the folds. C. Diona of Sav. tab. vii. f. 1. The Ascidia
quadridentata of Forskael.
(B.) Tentacular filaments of the branchial orifice simple.
The folds of the branchiae eight in number, four on each
side, and the meshes uninterrupted. Intestine strengthen¬
ed by a cylindrical rib from the pylorus to the anus. Liver
absent or indistinct.
Genus St vet, a Ovarium divided, one division at least
on each side. S. Canopus. Sav. tab. viii. f. 1.
Genus Pandocia Ovarium single, and situate in the
fold of the intestine. The Ascidia conchilega, a native
species is the type.
2. Apertures with indistinct rays, or more than four.
The external tunic is here soft, easily cut, and translu¬
cent. The rays (when existing) of the branchial orifice
amount to eight or nine ; and those of the anal to six at
least. The branchiae are destitute of longitudinal folds.
The tentacular filaments of the branchial circle are simple.
Liver indistinct. Ovarium single.
a. Body pedunculated.
The stalk is here placed at the base, and serves to sup¬
port the body, being of an opposite character from that oi
the Boltenia.
Genus Ceaveuina.—Branchial and anal orifices with¬
out rays. Angles of the branchial meshes simple. Intes¬
tine destitute of a rib. The Ascidia clavata of Pallas, and
the A. lepadiformis of Muller belong to this genus; the
latter of these is now recorded as a British species.
As connected with this group the small Ascidia, figured
and described by Mr. Lister in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions for 1834, deserves particular notice, as the following
important observations which he has recorded, sufficiently
indicate. They will indeed be perused with peculiar inter-
posite each other, and do not communicate through the est by all who are practically engaged in the study of mol
branchial cavity. This cavity at its opening is furnished luscus animals,
with tentacular filaments. The branchim are conjoined an¬
teriorly.
A. Simple.
This division includes the genus Ascidia of Linneeus.
The individuals are independent of each other, and although
This compound animal occurs in groups that consist of
several individuals; each having its own heart, respiration,
and system of nutrition, but fixed on a peduncle that branches
from a common creeping stem, and all being connected by
a circulation that extends throughout. Their parts of such
they frequently adhere together in clusters, they are desti- transparency that their interior is easily seen. I heir ex-
tute of a common covering, or organical connexion. ternal shape is that of a pouch, compressed at the sides, and
1. Apertures furnished ivith four rays. fixed at the hind part of its base upon the peduncle.
The animals of this group have the external tunic cori- Its two openings are in the form of very short tubes ; that
aceous, dry, opaque, rough, folded, and frequently covered of the mouth at the top of the pouch, and that of the funne
with extraneous bodies, or inclosing such. The branchial in front. The longest diameter, from the peduncle to the
orifice has four rays, the anal one the same, or divided trans¬
versely. The branchiae are divided longitudinally into per¬
sistent regular deep folds.
a. Body pedunculated.
The peduncle, in this division, may be said to have its
space between the openings, is about ’085 inch.
The outer covering is a tough coat, a continuation of the
peduncle, more pliable near the openings; lined interiorly
with a soft substance or mantle, in which a ramifying circu¬
lation is very distinct. A great part of the interior is occu-
rise in the summit of the body, which it serves to suspend, pied by the branchial sac, which is subcylindrical, flattenec
M O L L U S C A.
Usca. at the sides, and has its axis vertical; its cavity terminating
W1 upwards in the oval opening, and being closed at the bot¬
tom. It is united to the envelope, or to the mantle above
and behind; the juncture, beginning in front of the oval
opening, extends backwards on each side of it, and then
downwards in two lines ; between these, along the middle
of the back, is a vertical compound stripe, that seemed to
me cartilaginous. At the bottom the sac appears to be en¬
veloped by the soft substance of the mantle, but at its sides
and front a vacant space is left between them, that ends in
the opening of the funnel. The branchial sac is more com-
presed towards its lower part; and here are placed, exter¬
nally to it, the heart on the left, and the stomach and other
viscera on the right side, the vent opening upwards at the
front into the funnel. On its sides and front the sac is per¬
forated by four rows of narrow, vertical, irregularly oval
holes or spiracles, about sixteen in each row, placed at less
than the diameter of one apart from each other. Through
these the water, which flows constantly in at the mouth
when its orifice is open, appears to be conveyed to the va¬
cant space between the sac and mantle, and it then escapes
at the funnel. The sac seems extremely thin between the
spiracles; but their edges are thickened, as if cartilaginous ;
and they are lined with closely set ciliae, which, by their
motion, cause the current of water. When these are in
full activity, the effect upon the eye is that of delicately-
toothed oval wheels revolving continually, in a direction
ascending on the right and descending on the left of each
oval, as viewed from without; but the ciliae themselves are
very much closer than the apparent teeth, and the illusion
seems to be caused by a fanning motion given to them in
regular and quick succession, which Avill produce the ap¬
pearance of waves, and each wave here answers to a tooth.
The spaces between the rows of spiracles are of much more
substance than the intervals of the spiracles; some liga¬
ments are stretched from them across the side cavities to
the mantle, which seem intended to keep the branchial sac
expanded. These spaces also support finger-like processes,
about eight in a row, that project nearly at right angles into
the central cavity.
The central cavity I shall venture to call the mouth,
though the mouth is said by Cuvier to lie at its bottom.
The large short tube at its opening ends in five or six ob¬
scure indentations ; it can be drawn in and closed at the
will of the animal, as can the opening of the funnel. At the
bottom of the tube the entrance of the mouth is guarded by
simple tentacula, some longer, some shorter, ranged subal-
ternately: their number was not ascertained. Whatever
little substances, alive or inanimate, the current of water
brings, flows in unless stopped by the tentacula, and they do
not appear fastidious, to the mouth, and lodge somewhere
on the sides of it. A lively animalcule will sometimes dis-
engage himself by struggling, and dart about in the cavity
till he lodges on some other part; or, if a morsel is found
unsuitable, it is ejected by the funnel’s being closed, and
the branchial sac suddenly contracted vertically. Mostly,
however, whatever part the food lodges on, it travels from
thence horizontally with a steady slow course towards the
front of the cavity, where it reaches a downward stream of
similar materials, and they proceed together, receiving ac¬
cessions from both sides, and enter at last at the bottom, the
msophagus: this is a small flattened tube which carries them,
flowing on in the same way, without any effort of swallow¬
ing, towards the stomach. The tube takes a sharp curve
upwards and backwards before arriving there.
It is extraordinary that these particles pass along in the
mouth just behind the spiracles, when the ciliae are in full
activity, without being at all affected by them. I have, in
some positions, seemed to catch a glimpse of a membrane
suspended within, too transparent to be commonly seen,
ne may imagine the water to pass to the spiracles, strain-
voi,. xv.
369
ed through the meshes of such a membrane, and the food Mollusca.
to be carried along it by invisible villi; but this is mere'
conjecture. The projecting fingers have the effect, whether
intended for such a purpose or not, of detaining some pri¬
soners more bulky than the usual food of the animal, for, in
several individuals, I met with small shrimp-like Crustacea
confined between the rows : one escaped during an obser¬
vation, another, after three days, seemed as lively as when
first swallowed.
The stomach runs backward horizontally; its fore-part
had an inflated look when seen from the side, and, when
from below, that of possessing two lateral lobes. The food
after accumulating here was observed to be pressed onward
to the hinder portion, leaving a narrow opake line of con-
nexion with the oesophagus ; the rest of the fore-part, of
which the apparent volume was nearly as before, having an
ochreous tint; this was inferred to be the liver, enveloping
the stomach above and on the sides, and accords with its
place in other ascidiae and mollusca. The line is continu-
ed by the intestinal canal that rises and then bends forward,
taking the form of a reversed S, and terminates in an as¬
cending rectum and sphincter. The faeces are considerable,
as might be expected, where the food is taken with so little
discrimination. Transparent vessels, that may be supposed
lactaels, ramify along a part of the intestine and meet at a
collection of globular bodies, from whence two flattish lobes
extend backward ; in others these are wanting. From the
meeting of the vessels two branches ran, one downwards
and backwards, w hich was lost under the stomach, the other
foi wards ; and from the direction it took, I suppose it might
communicate with a main stream of blood near the heart.
Some individuals had not the projection above the vent
observable in others.
But the part that struck me as most remarkable in this
creature was the circulation, of which a good view can be
obtained through the transparent coat, for the particles of the
blood are numerous, and, though not uniform in size or shape,
are mostly between *00025 and *0002 inch in diameter, and
approaching to globular. They are easily measured, as in
the intervals between the spiracles, they pass mostly but one
at a time.
The creeping tube, which unites the individuals of a
group, is the channel for two separate currents of blood, an
upward and a downward one, that are flowing at one and
the same time, and that send off each branch to every pe¬
duncle : the blood thus passes into the animal by one cur¬
rent, while another carries it back. One of these canals
communicates at the termination of the peduncle with the
heart, which is placed, as has been mentioned, near the bot¬
tom of the branchial sac on the left side, and consists of a
transparent ventricle, or boyan, running forward and a little
slopping downward, in a channel hollowed to contain it.
Along the whole length of the boyau a part on one side of
its axis seems fixed to the channel, the rest free and con¬
tractile.
When the blood entered the heart from the peduncle,
contraction began at the middle of the ventricle, impelling
onward the contents of the fore part; and the contraction
of the back part followed in the same direction, so as for the
whole to have the effect of one pulsation ; the heart was
then filled again by a flow from the peduncle. The inter¬
vals of the pulse were pretty regular in the same individual,
but in different ones they varied from two seconds to one
and a half second. Part of the blood thus impelled formed
a main upward stream along the front of the branchial or¬
gan, branching off at each of the horizontal passages between
the rows of spiracles, and at one above them on a line with
the junction to the mantle on each side. All these again
united and formed a downward current behind. The hori¬
zontal channels were connected also by the smaller vertical
passages between the spiracles; the set of the current in
3 A
370
MOLLUSC A.
Mollusca. the latter being upwards for the two lower rows, and down-
wards for the two upper ones.
Another larger portion of the blood, on leaving the heart,
immediately divided into many ramifications that spread like
a network over the stomach and intestines and the soft sub¬
stance of the mantle. Of these a part run into the horizon¬
tal passages above the branchial sac, a part into the descend¬
ing back stream ; a large portion, after leaving the intestines,
took a short course, and, collecting into one channel, flowed
into that stream near the bottom, and, all united, then
entered the peduncle and constituted the returning current
that went to circulate in other animals of the group.
After this circulation had gone on for a while the pulsa¬
tions became fainter for a few beats, and the flow slower, and
suddenly, with but a slight pause, the whole current in all
its windings was reversed. The heart gave the opposite
impulse; the channel in the peduncle, that before poured
in the blood, now carried it back, and the other the con¬
trary, and every artery became a vein. These changes
continued and succeed each other alternately, the average
time of the currents being the same in both directions, but
the period of each varying within a single observation as
much as from thirty seconds to two minutes. The pheno¬
menon, like the currents in the Sertulariae, was invariably
met with in every animal of the species that came under my
notice.
Sometimes, when the creeping tube or the peduncle has
been injured, the circulation of an individual is in conse¬
quence insulated, but without appearing to impair any of its
functions. I severed one at the part where it joined the pe¬
duncle, when for a few seconds the pulsation ceased; it then
began irregularly and with considerable pauses, and increased
in steadiness as it went on. At first the impulse given by the
heart was towards the front, and the downward back stream,
instead of flowing out at the wound, was poured into the
hinder end of the ventricle ; but when the current was re¬
versed part of the blood was driven for a time through the
stump of the peduncle into the water : however, it soon
staunched, and all the vital actions went on as before the
separation, except that at the beginning of every pulsation
there was a slight recoil.
In one case where the circulation did not extend to an¬
other animal, one channel, and only one, was open in the
peduncle, and in this a small current ran to and fro accord¬
ing to the direction of the impulse given by the heart.
Some animals, which had probably been injured, but were
still connected with other vigorous ones, seemed to be in
course of absorption. One was observed in which the soft
parts were so shrunk as to occupy a small part only of the
tunic ; the currents of its peduncle extended into this mass,
but the heart, or motion of branchiae, was visible. Upon
looking at the same the next day, the tunic was empty, the
soft matter and circulation reaching only to the end of the
peduncle. I also once noticed a flux and reflux of the blood
in a creeping stem, where the current did not communicate
with any animal.
In some of the last mentioned particulars this Ascidia
bears a resemblance to the Sertulariae, and, like them,
it increases by sprouts: the two streams of the stem run
through the bud before its organs are developed. No pro¬
per motion was seen in the particles of its blood, like that
of the Sertulariae.
In a sessile Ascidia, nearly half an inch in length, of
which the coat was too rough and opake to allow an inspec¬
tion of the branchiae, the circulation was distinctly visible
in the mantle near the openings, and the particles in the
blood were only of about the same size as above.
b. Body sessile.
The branchial orifice with eight or nine rays, and the
anal with six. The angles of the branchial meshes with
papillae. No liver. A cylindrical rib extending from the
pylorus to the anus. '
(A.) Tunic and branchial cavity straight.
Genus Pirena.—The branchial sac as extended as the
tunic. Stomach not resting on the intestine. P. phusca of
Forskael is the type, to which Savigny has added three other
species. The Ascidia prunum of Muller, a native species,
may be referred to this genus.
Genus Cigna—Branchial sac shorter than the tunic, and
exceeded by the viscera. Ascidia intestinalis, Lin. is a
native example of this genus.
(B.) Tunic turned up at the base.
Genus Phaelusia.—Branchial sac extending beyond
the viscera into the pouch of the sac. Stomach resting on
the mass of viscera. The Ascidia mentula of Muller, a na¬
tive species, is the type.
There are two genera supposed to be nearly related to
the preceding, which are involved in great obscurity. The
genus Bipapilaria of Lamark appears to be pedunculated,
with two apertures, each furnished with three setaceous
tentacula. The Mammaria of Muller has only one termi¬
nal aperture. One species inhabits the British seas.
B. Compound.
The animals included under this division were formerly
inserted in the genus Alcyonium of Linnaeus, and placed
among the Zoophytes. They are compound animals, many
individuals united by a compound integument, and arranged
according to a uniform plan.
In some cases, there is only one system of individuals in
the mass, in other cases, there are many similarly arranged
and contiguous. The tentacular filaments of the branchiae
appear to be distinct. They are destitute of the intestinal
rib which occurs in some of the preceding genera.
1. Branchial Orifice Radiated.
a. Branchial and anal orifices, with six rays.
(A.) Body sessile. The angles of the branchial meshes
furnished with papillae. The thorax, or cavity containing
the branchiae, cylindrical. The abdomen is inferior, with a
stalk. Ovarium sessile, and single.
Genus Diazona.—Body orbicular, with a single system
of animals disposed in concentric dries.
The substance is gelatinous. The ovarium enclosed in
fold of the intestine. D. violacea of Sav. tab. ii. f. 3.
Genus Polyzona.—Body polymorphous, with many sys¬
tems disposed subcircularly.
The body is subcartilaginous. The individuals are dis¬
posed irregularly around the common centre. Savigny
inadvertently termed this genus Distoma, a name long
preoccupied amongst the intestinal worms. The Alcyonium,
rubrum of Plancus, and the Distomus variolosus of Gaert-
ner, belong to this genus. The last is a native species.
(B.) Body pedunculated.
Genus Sigieeina.—Body a solid cone, consisting of a
single system of many individuals, irregularly disposed, one
above the other.
The thorax is short, and hemispherical. The angles of
the branchial meshes destitute of papillae. The abdomen
is inferior, sessile, and larger than the thorax. The single
ovarium is pedunculated. S. aslralius, Sav. tab. iii. f 2.,
brought from New Holland, by M. Peron, is the only known
Mollusc;
species.
b. Branchial orifice only furnished with six rays.
(A.) Body pedunculated. System single, circular, and
terminal.
Genus Synoicum—Anal orifice rayed.
The body is cylindrical. The anal orifice has six very
unequal rays; the three largest forming the exterior mar¬
gin of the central star. The stomach is simple. The angles
of the branchial meshes destitute of the papillae. Ovarium
single, sessile attached to the bottom of the abdomen, and
MOLLUSC A.
usca. descending perpendicularly. The S. turgens of Phipps is
/^^the type.
Genus Sydneum—Anal orifice simple and tubular.
The body is inversely conical. The stomach surrounded
with glands. Intestine spirally folded. Ovarium peduncu¬
lated. The S. turbinatum is the only known species, and
was sent to Savigny by Leach from the British seas.
(B.) Body sessile, polymorphous.
(a.) Each system with a central cavity.
Genus Polyclinum—Systems numerous, convex stellu¬
lar. Individuals arranged irregularly round the common
centre. Abdomen inferior pedunculated, and less than the
thorax. Ovarium single, pedunculated, and attached to the
side of the abdominal cavity, and drooping.
M. Savigny describes one species from the Mauritius, and
five from the Gulf of Suez.
(6.) Systems destitute of the central cavity, and the an¬
gles of the branchial meshes without papillae.
Genus Alpidium—Individuals in a single row round the
common centre.
The thorax is cylindrical. The abdomen inferior, sessile,
and of the size of the thorax. Ovarium single, sessile, pla¬
ced at the bottom of the abdomen, and prolonged perpendi¬
cularly. Savigny divides the genus into two tribes. In the
first, the individuals are simply oblong, with an ovarium
shorter than the body, as A. ficus (Alcyonium ficus, Linn.)
In the second, the individuals are filiform, with an ovarium
longer than the body, as A. effusum of Savigny, tab. xvi. f. 3.
Genus Didemnum.—Individuals in distinct systems.
The thorax is short and subglobular. The abdomen in¬
ferior, pedunculated, and larger than the thorax. The anal
opening is obscure. The ovarium is single, sessile, and
placed on the side of the abdomen. D. candidum and vis¬
cosum, from the Gulf of Suez, are the only known species.
2. Branchial Orifice simple.
The species form a thin fleshy crust on stones and sea¬
weeds. The individuals are stellularly arranged in distinct
systems. The branchial orifice is circular and undivided.
The abdomen is sublateral, and fixed at the bottom of the
branchial cavity. The intestine is small, and the anus in¬
distinct. The angles of the branchial meshes are without
papillae.
Genus Botryllus—Systems furnished with a central
cavity. The systems are prominent, and consist of one or
more regular concentric rows. The ovarium is double,
being attached to each side of the branchial sac.
This genus is subdivided by Savigny into Botrylli stellati,
and Botrylli conglomerati. In the first, where the indivi¬
duals are distributed in a single row, there are some species
in which the individuals are cylindrical with approaching
orifices, and the limb of the central cavity not apparent after
death, and probably short, as the B. rosaceus, Leachii and
Borlassii. In other species, the individuals are ovoid, with
remote orifices, and the limb of the central cavity is always
apparent and notched, as B. Schlosseri, stellatus, gemmeus,
and minutus. In the botrylii conglomerati, in which the
individuals are disposed in several rows, there is only one
species, B. conglomeratus.
Genus Euccelium—Systems destitute of a central cavi¬
ty’ The individuals are distributed in a single row, and the
ovarium is single, sessile, and attached to the side of the ab¬
dominal cavity. The E. hospitiolum of Sav. tab. iv. f. 4., is
the only known species.
2. Tribe.
Body free, and moving about in the water.
Genus Pyrosoma.—The body is gelatinous, in the form
of a lengthened bag open at the widest end. The individu¬
als are arranged perpendicularly to the axis of the central
cavity, super-imposed on one another. The branchial ori¬
fice is external, without rays, and with an appendage over
its upper margin. The anal orifice is opposite, and termi-
371
nates in the central cavity. Branchial sac destitute of folds, Mollusca.
with a membranaceous ring at the entry. The branchiae'
are disjoined. The abdomen is inferior to the branchiae,
anti not separated by any contraction. Liver distinct, glo¬
bular, and retained in a fold of the intestine. Ovarium
ouble, opposite, and situate at the upper extremity of the
branchial cavity.
M. Savigny divides the species into Pyrosomata verticil-
la, liaving the individuals arranged in regular prominent rings,
as E. elegans of Lesueur; and Pyrosomata paniculala, hav¬
ing the individuals forming irregular circles unequally pro¬
minent, as P. giganteum and Atlanticum.
2. Subdivision. Monochtonida.
Liner tunic adhering throughout to the external one.
The body is gelatinous, transparent, and simple. The
branchial cavity is open at both ends, communicating freely
with the anus. The branchial orifice is in the form of a
transverse slit, with one edge in the form of a valve, to ac¬
celerate the entrance of the water into the cavity. The
inner tunic is strengthened by numerous transverse muscu¬
lar bands, which, by contracting, diminish the diameter of
the cavity, and eject the water from the anal orifice, there¬
by propelling the body through the water. The digestive
organs are situate at the inner end of the cavity. The mouth
and rectum are simple ; the former placed between the two
branchiae, the latter directed towards the anal orifice. The
heart is contiguous to the stomach, at the bottom of what
may be termed the branchial sac, and is enveloped in a
membranaceous pericardium. The branchiae are double,
not incorporated with the walls of the sac, but with two folds
of unequal length. The largest is free in the middle, fixed
at each extremity, and opposed to the dorsal groove, and
traverses the cavity obliquely. The other extends from the
base of the first to the extremity of the dorsal groove. The
surface of the branchiae consists of transverse vessels in a
single range in some species, and a double range in others.
When young, many individuals often adhere, and form
chains and circles. But the fully grown individuals are al¬
ways detached and single.
This subdivision comprehends the species of the genus
Salpa; they are exceedingly numerous, and appear to be¬
long to many different genera. M. Cuvier has given indi¬
cations of some of these, chiefly derived from the shape.
A few are furnished with an elevated crest or fin, as the
Thalia of Brown ; a few have both extremities rounded or
truncated, as Salpa octofera of Cuvier ; others have one ex¬
tremity produced, as Holothuria zonaria of Gmelin ; and
even both extremities produced, as Salpa maxima of For-
skael. The Salapa moniliformis, so common in the Heb¬
rides, and first recorded as a native by Dr. Macculloch, in
his valuable Description of the Western Isles, vol. ii. p. 188,
and imperfectly figured in its young state, at tab. xxix. fig.
2., appears to be closely allied to the S. maxima of Forskael,
and but very remotely with the S.polycratica and confeder-
ata with which it is compared. This observer states, that
“ It cannot bear to be confined in a limited portion of wa¬
ter, as it died even in a ship’s bucket in less than half an
hour.” With us, in similar circumstances, those taken in
the evening were alive at noon on the following day.
CHAP. IV-
-ON MOLLUSCOUS ANIMALS AS OBJECTS OF
UTILITY.
Although molluscous bodies furnish many articles of value
to man, scarcely any naturalist has taken the trouble to
enumerate the different purposes to which they have been
applied, or to point out in what manner their usefulness
might be encreased. To the savage, shells furnish some
of his most important instruments. They often answer all
the purposes of a knife, and are extensively employed as a
substitute for iron : with pieces of the more solid bivalves
1
372
MOLLUSC A.
Bivalves
Oyster.
Mollusca. he points his arrows, and forms his fish-hooks. Even when
farther advanced in civilization, the canaliculated univalves
sometimes constitute the rustic lamp, while the larger scal¬
lops are employed by the dairy-maid to skim her milk and
to slice her butter. From the mother-of-pearl shell many
useful and ornamental articles are fabricated ; and calcined
shells were formerly esteemed by physicians as absorbents;
and are Still regarded by the farmer as furnishing a valua¬
ble manure.
Shells thus appear to be of some importance in the arts
of life; but the animals contained in these shells are of far
greater value. As articles of food, shell-fish are extensively
employed by the poor, and even hold a conspicuous place
at the tables of the rich. In many places, they in a great
measure support the children of our maritime population,
and, in the Western and Northern Islands of Scotland, have,
in years of scarcity, prevented the death of thousands.
The kinds chiefly used in this country, as articles of sub¬
sistence, are bivalves, belonging to different genera. Among
these the Oyster (Osirea edulis) holds the most distin¬
guished place. This shell-fish is very' widely distributed in
nature, being found in the seas of Europe, Asia, and Africa.
But, since the days of the luxurious Romans, the oysters of
Britain have been held in the highest estimation. They
are found on various parts of our coasts, from the southern
shores of England, to the sheltered bays among the Zetland
Islands. They prefer a x'ough or rocky bottom, in from
five to twenty fathoms water. They are fished up with a
dredge and an open boat; sometimes, when in shallow
water, with a rake or tongs. They are either conveyed
directly to the market, or are placed in artificial ponds of
sea water, where they increase in size, and acquire a fine
green colour. In England this process of fattening, as it is
termed, is chiefly conducted at Colchester, but the oysters
are obtained from the little creeks between Southampton
and Chichester. This fishery on the coast of England is
supposed to give employment to ten thousand people, so
that, independent of the addition which it makes to the
articles of subsistence, it must be regarded as a valuable
nursery for seamen. As an article of food, oysters are
light and easy of digestion, and may be eaten in great num¬
bers without inconvenience. They are used either raw or
when pickled. In the last form, they are sent to different
parts of the country, and even constitute an article of ex¬
port. In Scotland, the principal oyster fishings are in the
Firth of Forth ; but we trust the period is not far distant,
when the proprietors on the western coast of Scotland and
the Hebrides will propagate this shell-fish more extensively
on their shores and sheltered bays. Places fitted for their
growth are every where to be met with; they require no
superintending care; they would soon furnish an esteemed
dish to their tables, and form a valuable addition to their
trade.
The next shell-fish, in point of importance, as an article
of food, is the Mussel (Mytilus edulis). This animal is
equally widely distributed as the oyster, and is found upon
our coast in the greatest abundance. It is gregarious, being
found in extensive beds, which are always uncovered at low
water. It is found likewise in the crevices of the rocks.
In this fishery women and children are chiefly employed,
and they detach the mussels with an iron hook from the
beds or rocks to which they adhere by means of fine carti¬
laginous threads. In this country they are conveyed di¬
rectly to the market *, but in some places of France they
are kept for a time in salt ponds, to fatten like the oyster,
into which, however, they admit small quantities of fresh
water. The flesh of the mussel is of a yellowish colour,
and considered very rich, especially in autumn, when it is in
reason. It is eaten in this country either boiled or pickled,
seldom in soup. To the generality of stomachs it is diffi¬
cult to digest, and to many constitutions it is deleterious.
Mussel.
It is, however, in the spring, during the spawning season, Mollus
that the greatest danger is to be apprehended. This nox-
ious quality was long considered as occasioned by the pea
crab, which is often found within the shell of mussels. It
is now with more propriety attributed to the food of the
mussel, which, at certain seasons, consists chiefly of the
noxious fry of the star-fish; and likewise to a disease to
which the animal is subject in spring, under the influence
of which it melts away, and falls from the rocks. Besides
being useful to man as an article of subsistence, the mussel
supplies the fisherman with one of his most convenient and suc¬
cessful baits. It is keenly taken both by cod and haddock.
To the cod-fish, however, the animal of the horse-mussel
(Modiola vulgaris) is more acceptable.
The following unsuccessful attempt to plant a colony of
mussels is recorded by Mr. Stevenson in his interesting
work, (p. 73,) in which he gives the details of the erection
of the light-house on the Bell- Rock : “ When the work¬
men first landed upon the Bell-Rock, limpets of a very large
size were common, but were soon picked up for bait. As
the limpets disappeared we endeavoured to plant a colony
of mussels, from beds at the mouth of the river Eden, of a
larger kind than those which seem to be natural to the
rock. These larger mussels were likely to have been use¬
ful to the workmen, and might have been especially so to
the light-keepers, the future inhabitants of the rock, to
whom that delicate fish would have afforded a fresh meal,
as well as a better bait than the limpet; but the mussels
w ere soon observed to open and die in great numbers. For
some time this was ascribed to the effects of the violent
surge of the sea, but the Buccinum lapillus, (Purpura,)
having greatly increased, it was ascertained that it had
proved a successful enemy to the mussel. The buccinum,
being furnished with a proboscis capable of boring, was ob-
served to perforate a small hole in the shell, and thus to
suck out the finer parts of the body of the mussel; the
valves of course opened and the remainder of the fish was
washed away by the sea. The perforated hole is generally
upon the thinnest part of the shell and is perfectly circular,
of a champhered form, being wider towards the outward side,
and so perfectly smooth and regular as to have all the ap¬
pearance of the most beautiful w ork of an expert artist. It
became a matter extremely desirable to preserve the mus¬
sel, and it seemed practicable to extirpate the buccinum.
But after we had picked up and destroyed many barrels of
them, their extirpation was at length given up as a hope¬
less task. The mussels were thus abandoned as their prey,
and in the course of the third year’s operations, so success¬
ful had the ravages of the buccinum been, that not a single
mussel of a large size was to be found upon the rock; and
even the small kind which bred there are now chiefly con¬
fined to the extreme points of the rock, where it would
seem their enemy cannot so easily follow them.”
The Common Cockle (Cardium edule) would deserve a Coe®
place in preference even to the mussel, were it not exclu¬
sively confined to our sandy coasts and bays. It is found
lodged in the sand, a few inches below the surface, its place
being marked by a small depressed spot. Women and
children easily dig up this shell-fish with a small spade.
Cockles are sold by measure, and eaten either raw, or boil¬
ed, or pickled. They are deservedly esteemed a delicious
and wholesome food in this country, although in France
they are little regarded. They are in season during March)
April, and May, after which they become milky and insipid-
They are not generally used as a bait. .
Two kinds of Razor-fish (Solen siliqua and ensis) are in a
many places of this country used as food. In Scotland they
are indiscriminately termed Spout-fish. They are found
upon most of our sandy shores, buried about a foot or two
below the surface, and near to the low water mark. Their
place is known by a small hole in the sand. As it is rather
>
V
MOLLUSC A.
Jfcit usca
3
My
Seal js.
iiva;
"eriwde
impe
a laborious operation to dig them out, Bose informs us, that
the fishermen of France throw a small pinch of salt into
their holes, which always remain open by the action of the
respiratory organs ; that they speedily rise to the surface,
and are thrown out by an iron instrument made for the pur¬
pose. The fishermen believe that it is the salt which they
wish to avoid; but it is conjectured, with greater probabi¬
lity, that the presence of the salt water, w hich is thus formed
by the solution of the salt, makes the animal suppose that
its hole is again covered with the tide. This shell-fish was
esteemed by the ancients as a great delicacy. When boiled
or fried, it is certainly a very palatable morsel. When kept
for a few days, it forms an excellent bait for haddock or cod,
and may even be employed for that purpose in a fresh state.
Several species of Gapers (Mya:) are used as food both
in Britain and on the Continent, as the Mya arenaria,
known to the fishermen about Southampton by the whimsi¬
cal name Old Maids. These shells reside in the mud or
shingle on the shore, and a few inches below the surface.
In some parts of England and Ireland, they are much used,
but, though common in Scotland, they are never sought after.
Another species, the Mya truncata, is also very common on the
coast. It prefers a hard gravelly bottom, in which it lodges
near low water mark. The inhabitants of the northern islands
call it Smurslin, and employ it, when boiled, as a supper dish.
It is not so delicate as some of the shell-fish which we have no¬
ticed, but it is by no means unpalatable. The Mya declivis
of Pennant is, according to that author, very plentiful in the
Hebrides, and eaten by the gentry of that country. We
suspect that he should have referred to the Mya truncata.
These shells furnish very good baits to the fisherman.
There are several bivalve shells, besides those which we
have mentioned, employed on our coasts as articles of sub¬
sistence. The Scallop (Pecten) was held in high estima¬
tion by the ancients, and still is sought after in Catholic
countries. The Pecten maximus is frequently used in Eng¬
land. It is found gregarious in moderately deep water,
and is taken up by the dredge. It is pickled and barrelled
for sale, and esteemed a great delicacy. The fishermen
suppose that they are taken in the greatest quantity after a
fall of snow. Another species, the Pecten opercularis, is
employed for culinary purposes in Cornwall, where it is
known by the name of Frills or Queens. In the Firth of
Forth this species is frequently dredged up along with oys¬
ters, but it is thrown, by the Nevvliaven fishermen, to the
dunghill, along with sea urchins and star-fish. To this list
we might add the Mactra solida, which is used as food by
the common people about Dartmouth ; and the Venus pul-
lastra, called by the inhabitants of Devonshire, Pullet, and
eaten by them, and known to the inhabitants of the North¬
ern Islands by the name of Cullyock, and there used as a
bait. According to Bruguiere, the Anomia ephippium is
used as food at Languedoc, and is there considered as pre¬
ferable to the oyster—But it is now time that we turn our
attention to the univalve shells, in order to ascertain their
value in an economical point of view.
The common Periwinkle (Turbo littoreous) is, in this
country, more extensively used as food than any of the other
testaceous univalves. This shell is easily gathered, as it is
found on all our rocks which are left uncovered by the ebb¬
ing of the tide. Children are principally employed in this
fishery, and the shells are sold by measure. They are in
general used after being plainly boiled, and are consumed
in great quantities by the poor inhabitants on the coast.
The Nerita Uttoralis is also frequently gathered along with
the periwinkle, as it frequents the same situations. It is,
however, much smaller, and its flesh is not reckoned equally
good.
Ihe Limpet (Patella mdgata) is equally abundant as the
periwinkle, and frequents the same situations on the rocks.
Although used by the ancients as an article of food, it is
373
seldom brought to market in this country. Among the MolW
villages along the coast of Scotland this shell-fish is fre-'
quently used, and its juice, obtained by boiling, mixed with
oatmeal, is held in high estimation. It is considered in
season about the end of May. The chief excellence of the
limpet, however, is as a bait. It is very easily obtained
from the rocks, from which the fisherman detach it with a
knife, and it is eagerly seized by all the littoral fish which
are sought after. To the haddock it is very acceptable.
Seveial species of Snails (Helix) are employed for culi-Snails,
naiy purposes. Ihe largest of these, the Helix pomatia,
w as a favourite dish among the Romans, who fattened them
with bran sodden with wine. They are still used in many
parts of Europe during Lent, after having been fed with
different kinds of herbs. Ihis species was originally im¬
ported into Britain from Italy, and turned out in Surry,
where it has readily multiplied. The Helix hortensis has
also been employed as food. But, we believe that these
two species are chiefly used medicinally, being administered
in consumptive cases. The small species of the genus are
the favourite food of the birds of the thrush kind," either in
a wild or confined state.
The other univalves which we shall notice are of inferior Welks.
impoi tance as articles of subsistence. 1 he Fusus antic^uus^
the largest of the British turbinated shells, is frequently
dredged up with oysters, and, according to Pennant, “ is
eaten by the poor, but oftener used for baits for cod, and
ray.” It is probably the same species which is noticed by
the Rev. William Fraser, in his view of the Parish of Gigha
and Cara in Argyleshire, yol. viii. p. 48, of the Statistical
Account of Scotland. He says it is a large white welk call¬
ed buckie or dog-welk, and used as a bait for cod. The
method of obtaining these shells for bait being ingenious,
and making us acquainted at the same time with several
new habits of the animal, we shall here insert it. “ At the
beginning of the fishing (says Mr. Fraser) a dog is killed
and singed, and the flesh, alter rotting a little, is cut
into small pieces, and put into creels or baskets made of
hazel-wands for the purpose. These creels are sunk by
means of stones thrown into them. The flesh of the dog,
in its putrid state, is said to attract the Welle, which crawls
up round the sides of the basket, and getting in at the top,
cannot get out again, owing to the shape of it, which is
something like that of the wire mouse-trap. After the first
day’s fishing, the heads and entrails of the cod, with scate
and dog-fish, are put into the creels, which are visited every
day, the welks taken out, and fresh bait of the same kind
put in, their being no more occasion for dog’s flesh.” The
Buccinum undatum, and the Purpura lapillus are also em¬
ployed as bait, and in years of scarcity as food.
This list of culinary shell-fish is far from complete, even
in so far as it is a British list. The uses of these mollus¬
cous animals have seldom been taken notice of by concho-
logists since the days of Schonvelde, more attention having
been directed to the formation of new systems of arrange¬
ment, and to the discovery of new species, than to the habits
and uses of those already known.
Independently of the food which we thus obtain from Pearls,
testaceous animals, they furnish us with the pearl, one of
the most beautiful ornaments of dress. This substance,
equally prized by the savage and the citizen, is composed,
like shells, of carbonate of lime, united with a small portion
of animal matter. Pearls appear to be exclusively the pro¬
duction of the bivalve testacea. Among these, all the shells
having a mother-of-pearl inside, produce them occasionally.
But there are a few species which yield them in greater
plenty, and of a finer colour. The most remarkable of these
is the Avicula margaritifera. This shell, which was placed
by Linnaeus among the mussels, is very widely distributed
in the Indian seas; and it is from it and another species of
the same genus, termed Avicula hirundo, found in the Eu-
 ...
MOLLUSC A.
374
Mollusca. ropean seas, that the pearls of commerce are procured. The
Pinna, so famous for furnishing a byssus or kind of thread,
with which garments can be manufactured, likewise pro¬
duces pearls of considerable size. They have seldom the
silvery whiteness of the pearls from the Avicula, being usually
tinged with brown. But the shell which in Britain produces
the finest pearls, is tX\e Alasmodon margaritiferum, which was
placed by Linnaeus in the genus Mya. It is found in all
our alpine rivers. The Conway and the Irt in England, the
rivers of Tyrone and Donegal in Ireland, and the Tay and
the Yythan in Scotland, have long been famous for the pro¬
duction of pearls. These concretions are found between
the membranes of the cloak of the animal, as in the Avi-
cula, or adhering to the inside of the shell, as in the Unio.
In the former case, they seem to be a morbid secretion of
testaceous matter ; in the latter, the matter seems to be ac¬
cumulated against the internal opening of some hole with
which the shell has been pierced by some of its foes. Lin-
naius, from the consideration of this circumstance, endea¬
voured, by piercing the shell, to excite the animal to se¬
crete pearl; but his attempts, though they procured him a
place among the Swedish nobility and a pecuniary reward,
were finally abandoned ; the process being found too tedi¬
ous and uncertain to be of any public utility. "I he largest
pearl of w hich we have any notice, is one which came from
Panama, and was presented to Philip II. king of Spain, in
1579- It was of the size of a pigeon’s egg. Sir Robert
Sibbald mentions his having seen pearls from the rivers of
Scotland as large as a bean.
Dyes. Besides yielding us a variety of wholesome food, and valu¬
able ornaments, testaceous animals supply us with a beauti¬
ful dye. The Purpura of the ancients, according to the
opinion of Rondeletius, confirmed by the observations of
CuVier, was chiefly extracted from the shell termed Murex
brandaris. Since the introduction of the cochineal insect,
the use of this dye has been superseded, so that we are now
in a great measure ignorant of the process which the an¬
cients employed to extract it. In Britain there are several
kinds of shell-fish, which furnish a dye of this sort, but these
are seldom sought after. Cole, in 1685, published a method
of obtaining it from the Purpura lapillus, to which Mon¬
tagu, in the supplement to Testacea Brittanica, has added
several important directions. When the shell is broken in
a vice, there is seen on the back of the animal, under the
skin, a slender longitudinal whitish vein, containing a yel¬
lowish liquor. When this juice is applied to linen, by means
of a small brush, and exposed to the sun, it becomes green,
blue, and purple, and at last settles in a fine unchangeable
crimson. Neither acids nor alkalies affect its colour, and it
may be conveniently employed in marking linen, where an
indelible ink is desirable. The Scalaria clathrus (Turbo
claihrus of Linnaeus) also furnishes a purple liquor of con¬
siderable beauty, but it is destructible by acids, and gradu¬
ally vanishes by the action of light. The Planorbis cor¬
neas likewise yields a scarlet dye, but of still less perman¬
ency than the scalaria, as all attempts to fix it have'hitherto
proved ineffectual.
We cannot conclude this chapter without remarking, that
the study of molluscous animals rises in importance as we
perceive its utility. When we are told, that searching for
shell-fish, and conveying them to the market, give employ¬
ment to a British population of upwards of 10,000; that
these animals furnish nourishing food to innumerable fami¬
lies, and in years of scarcity prevent the horrors of famine ;
we will be disposed to regard with a favourable eye the la¬
bours of that naturalist who examines the structure and
economy of those animals, that, from a knowledge of their
nature, he may render them still more subservient to our
Shells as purposes.
objects of Even when considered as objects of amusement, mollus-
amusement. cous animals are not devoid of interest. In the preceding
division of our subject, we have considered them as appli- Mollusea.
cable to various useful purposes, and expressed our regret,
at the same time, that no one qualified for the task had ever
bestowed on economical conchology an attentive examin¬
ation. We cannot therefore consider the present condition
of the science as the result of the labours of its practical
admirers. The lovers of this study, as an agreeable amuse¬
ment, have at all times been numerous, from the days of
Laelius and Scipio to the present time ; and it is to their
exertions as collectors, that the science is principally in¬
debted for its present state of improvement. The colours
of shells are often so intensely vivid, so finely disposed, and
so fancifully variegated, that, as objects of beauty they rival
many of the esteemed productions of the vegetable king¬
dom. In their forms they likewise exhibit an infinite va¬
riety. While some consist merely of a hollow cup or a sim¬
ple tube, others exhibit the most graceful convolutions, and
appear in the form of cones, and spires, and turbans ; and
in another division, shaped like a box, all the varieties of
hinge are exhibited, from that of simple connexion by a
ligament to the most complicated articulation. The forms
of shells are indeed so various, and many of them so ele¬
gant, that a celebrated French conchologist warmly recom¬
mends them to the attentive study of the architect. “ Or,”
says Lamark, “ comme 1’extreme diversite des parties pro-
tuberantes de la surface de ces coquilles, ainsi que la regu-
larite et I’elegance de leur distribution, ne laisse presque
aucune forme possible dont la nature n’offre ici des exam¬
ples ; on peut dire que 1’architecture trouveroit dans les
especes de ce genre (Cerithium) de meme que dans celles
des pleurotomes et des fuseaux, un choix de modeles pour
1’ornement des colonnes, et que ces modeles seroient tres
dignes d’etre employes.” (Annales du Mus. vol. iii. p. 269.)
In this country, however, no such recommendation is ne¬
cessary, as many of our beautiful ornaments of stucco, par¬
ticularly for chimney-pieces, are copied from the univalve
testacea, and are greatly admired.
But shells, even with all their beauty and elegance, would
never have acquired so much importance in the eyes of
amateurs, had their forms been as difficult to preserve as
the external coverings of the higher classes of animals. It
is both a tedious and a difficult operation to preserve a quad¬
ruped, a bird, or a fish, as a specimen for the cabinet, and
even when the task is completed, it is but of temporary dur¬
ation. A slow but certain process of dissolution is going on,
which, though invisible for a time to the owner, gradually
destroys the finest collection of these objects. The very
changes of the atmosphere, combined with the attacks of
insects, accelerate the destructive process. But with shells
the case is very different. Composed of particles already
in natural combination, they do not contain within them¬
selves the seeds of dissolution, so that for ages they remain
the same. Besides, all that is in general necessary to pre¬
pare a shell for the cabinet, is merely to remove the ani¬
mal. When the shell is covered with foreign matter, we
must wash it aw ay with a brush in soap in water; and it is
frequently necessary to steep the shell for some time in fresh
water, to extract all the salt w'ater which may adhere to it.
After being properly dried it is fit for the shelf of the cabi¬
net, and stands in no need of anxious superintendence.
Amateurs are seldom contented with the simplicity of na-
ture. Vitiated in their taste by a fashion which abides by0
no rules, they attempt to improve even her most elegant
productions, and delight to exhibit in their cabinets some
of the efforts of their art. As such are in search of inno¬
cent amusement, we mean not to dispute about the propriety
of their conduct, but rather shortly to mention, for their edi¬
fication, the method generally in use to improve the beauty
of testaceous objects. Many shells, it is true, naturally pos
sess so fine a polish, that no preparation is considered as ne¬
cessary before placing them in the cabinet. Such are t e
i!>®l
\
M O L L U S C A.
I lusca. Cyprece, Oliva, and the greater number of what is termed
porcellaneous shells. In general, however, it happens that,
when shells become dry, they lose much of their natural
lustre. This may be very easily restored, by washing them
with a little water, in which a small portion of gum arabic
has been dissolved, or with the white of an egg. This is
the simplest of those processes which are employed, and is
used not only by the mere collector, but by the scientific
conchologist. There are many shells of a very plain ap¬
pearance on the outside, by reason of a dull epidermis or
skin with which they are covered. This is removed by soak¬
ing the shell in warm water, and then rubbing it off with a
brush. When the epidermis is thick, it is necessary to mix
with the water a small portion of nitric acid, which, by dis¬
solving a part of the shell, destroys the cohesion of the epi¬
dermis. This last agent must be employed with great cau¬
tion, as it removes the lustre trom all the parts exposed to
its influence. The new surface must be polished with lea¬
ther, assisted by tripoli. But, in many cases, even these
methods are ineffectual, and the file and the pumice-stone
must be resorted to, in order to rub off the coarse external
layers, that the concealed beauties may be disclosed. Much
address and experience are necessary in the successful em¬
ployment of this last process. But it must be confessed that
the reward is often great. When thus prepared, even the
common mussel is most beautiful.
The arrangement of shells in a cabinet must depend, in a
great degree, on the taste and fortune of the collector. If
ornament is the object in view, it will be indispensably ne¬
cessary to have the shells placed in glass cases, where they
may be distinctly seen. But where a collection of shells is
formed for amusement, they may be kept in drawers, each
species placed in a paper case, or in a cup of wood, glass, or
porcelain, with a label attached, intimating its name, and
the place from whence it was obtained. In this manner,
both univalves and bivalves may be conveniently disposed.
But as many of the former are very small in size, it is often
necessary to fix them on pieces of card, that they may be
preserved, and rendered easier of inspection. When neigh¬
bouring species are thus brought together, they can be easily
examined with a lens.
About the end of the sixteenth century, many individuals
began to form collections of testaceous bodies. The first
museum of this kind, of any consequence, was begun by
Benedict Ceruto, and afterwards augmented by Calceolari.
An account of the specimens contained in it was published
by Olivi, in 1585, and, in 1622, Chiocco published plates of
the shells. After this period, in proportion as collections of
testaceous bodies became numerous, various works on shells
made their appearance. These were not published for any
scientific object, but merely to teach collectors the names
of the different specimens in their museums. As works of
this sort, we may mention the Historia Naturalis of John¬
ston; the Gazophylacium Naturm of Petiver; the Arnboin-
she Rariteitkamer of Rumphius ; and the Wondertoonel der
Nature of Vincent. To this list we might add many mo¬
dern works, which are termed Systems of Conchology.
r rom the labours of this class of conchologists the science
has derived many important advantages. A taste for the
study has been widely extended; the shells of distant coun¬
tries and shores have been brought together; and numerous
engravings of these bodies have been published. In this
manner the labours of the man of science have been greatly
acflitated, and our knowledge of nature enlarged.
The formation of a collection of shells is absolutely ne¬
cessary to the successful prosecution of the science of con-
c ology. To accomplish this, much care and attention are
requisite. Shells must be sought for in their natural situa¬
tions, and obtained, if possible, with the animal alive. After
e animal has remained dead in the shell for any length of
ime, it loses its lustre and transparency, and becomes less
^'orma m
)f a cc ic-
ion of
hells
valuable, either as an object of beauty or curiosity. Hence
the collector must explore the sea-coast, the land, and the
ti esli water, in search of the testaceous animals which they
support, for the purpose of obtaining in a perfect state their
calcareous coverings.
i ^U' sfa conta^ns more species of shells than either the
land or the fresh waters, and presents to the conchologist an
extensive field for observation. Many species of marine
s lells fi equent the sea-shore, adhere to rocks, stones, or sea
weed, or lodge in the clay or sand. These are termed Lit¬
toral shells, and are seldom found in deep water. The lit¬
toral shells are easily collected at ebb tide. Those which
burrow in the mud or sand may be detected by a small de¬
pression which they leave on the surface as they retire below
it. Other shells live in deeper water. To collect these the
di edge must be employed; and if the shells be put into sea
waterafter they are brought up, the animals may afterwards
be examined with ease. Such collectors as have not the
advantage of a dredge, should examine the refuse of fishing
boats, and traverse the sea shore, and search the rejecta¬
menta, especially after a storm of wind. The roots of the
larger Fuci, especially F. digitatus, which grows sometimes
in four or five fathoms water, frequently contain a treasure
of the rarer shells.
During the ebb of stream tides, the conchologist ought
to be very diligent. The rocks are then uncovered, and
under the projecting ledges of the strata he will find many
species of shells in very perfect state.
In rocky shores it will prove a useful employment to turn
over the stones which are scattered in the pools, near low
water, and on the under side of these he will find a rich har¬
vest of Chitons and Cingulse.
In the tufts of Corallina officinalis, a number of the small¬
er shells are found concealed, likewise among the smaller
Fuci and Confervae. When these bodies are brought from
the shore, and put into a glass of sea water, the smaller shells
will soon be perceived by their motions.
W hen vessels which have been long at sea come into dock
to be cleaned, their bottoms are often covered with shells,
and with sea-weed, containing numerous rare vermes. To
such situations the conchologist should resort; and in these
he will often be successful in finding the objects of his pur¬
suit. In illustration of this remark, we may mention the
circumstance of the vessel employed at the Bell Rock as a
floating light, having had her bottom covered with mussels
three inches and a half in length, and upwards of one inch
in breadth, although she had only been afloat three years
and seven months. She was moored the 11th July 1807,
and removed the 11th February 1811. Previous to being
moored, she was completely caulked and pitched. The sand
on the shore likewise yields many of the smaller species of
shells, and should be carefully examined with the micro¬
scope.
When sea shells are obtained, they should be plunged into
boiling watei*, to facilitate the extraction of the animal, and
afterwards soaked in it for some time to remove the salt.
They should then be cleaned with a brush, and all extran¬
eous matter removed. When the shells are not soaked in
fresh water, the salt remaining soon attracts moisture, which
speedily destroys the ligaments and epidermis.
The land shells are more within the reach of the scientific
collector. To obtain these, he has only to examine the cre¬
vices of rocks, the trunks of trees, decayed wood, moss, and
brushwood. In summer, after a shower, the land shells are
most easily procured. The animals come forth to feed on
the moistened blade, and at that time, from their motion,
may be very readily perceived.
The land shells are very easily preserved. Almost all that
is required is the extraction of the animal.
The fresh water shells, though less difficult to procure than
the sea shells, require more trouble than the land shells. A
375
Mollusca.
&76 MOLL
Mollusca. piece of grfuze spread over a ring attached to the end of a
staff, forms a very convenient net for fishing fresh water
shells. By means of this net in the drought of summer, al¬
most all the different speeies of fresh water shells may be
obtained with ease.
The fresh water shells are frequently covered over with
slime or mud, which must be removed by a brush ; and the
animal may be extracted after the shell has been plunged in
boiling water.
Before closing our remarks on the important group of
animals to which we have been directing the attention ot
the reader, we shall dedicate a few paragraphs to a brief
notice respecting Fossil Shells.
Besides the shells which are found on the land and in our
lakes, rivers and seas, and termed Recent Shells, there are
relies of many species found in our marl pits and limestone
rocks, always somewhat altered, and which are denominated
Fossil Shells. While the shells ofthe former class have been
eagerly sought after, few conchologists, previous to the be¬
ginning of the present century, directed their attention to
the condition and distribution of the fossil species. Nearly
six hundred species of recent shells have been described as
natives of Britain, while the fossil species furnished by the
strata of the different formations, and which have been ac¬
curately described, fall greatly short of that number. There
is, however, reason to believe that the fossil species are even
more numerous than the recent ones.
It w ould have been a pleasant task for us to have entered
into the details of this most important subject, but our limits
permit us only to trace its outlines. Our remarks, however*
we trust, will prove useful to those who are entering this
fruitful field of investigation, and will embrace some obser¬
vations on the systematic characters, condition, situation,
and distribution of these organic remains.
Systematical History of Fossil Shells.—The de¬
termination of the characters of fossil shells is attended with
no inconsiderable amount of difficulty. The changes which
they have undergone, and their union, in many cases, with
the substance ofthe rock, having become incorporated with
it, prevent us from ascertaining, with any degree of accuracy,
the peculiar marks by which the species can be character¬
ised. No trace ofthe animal remains to aid us in the inves¬
tigation, so that all our distinctions must depend upon the
characters furnished by the shell. This circumstance should
prevent us from placing much confidence on the conclusions
which have been drawn with respect to the resemblance be¬
tween fossil species, and those which still exist in a living
state*
The difficulty of determining the fossil species, and the
reitictance to form new genera, rendered the descriptions
of the older writers nearly unintelligible, although their
figures are still useful to refer to. Lamark, aware of the
imperfection of the characters of the genera of recent shells,
as connected with this subject, and possessing a rich cabinet
of the fossil species found in the neighbourhood of Paris,
devoted much time to the illustration of this subject, and
with great success, as his various papers published in the
Annales du Museum, abundantly testify. In this country,
Parkinson, in his work entitled Organic Remains of a For¬
mer World, has added some important illustrations of the
genera of Lamark, and has given some good descriptions of
the species found in our rocks. Mr. Sowerby, in his Mine¬
ral Conchologg, (published in numbers), has given excel¬
lent figures of the British fossil shells; but we regret to
add, that he has displayed too great anxiety to constitute
species ; and that the rocks in which they are found imbed-
ed are but imperfectly characterised. But as the figures
are well executed, they will prove highly useful to the Bri¬
tish mineralogist, by enabling him to refer to them with
confidence, and to give names to those species which he
meets with in the course of his investigations.
use A.
Chemical History of Fossil Shells.—When we con- MoIIumj;
sider the elements of which shells are composed, and the na- r
ture of their combination, we might be ready to expect that
fossil shells would difter but little in structure from recent spe¬
cies. But the case is widely different. In many instances
the confused foliaceous structure which prevailed in the re¬
cent shell, has given place to a new arrangement of the par¬
ticles, and the fossil shell exhibits a foliated crystalline struc¬
ture. Here solution and precipitation have taken place in
the same spot, or the results have been effected by the slow
operation of the corpuscular forces. In some cases the cal¬
careous matter of the shell has become impregnated with
foreign ingredients, or has totally disappeared, leaving in
its place ferruginous or siliceous depositions. But the most
curious circumstance in the chemical history of these fos¬
sils, is the preservation of the animal matter of the shell in
its original form and order of arrangement, even when the
calcareous matter of the shell has been changed into com¬
pact or granular limestone. This very important fact we
owre to the ingenuity of Mr. Parkinson, who, by treating
the shell for a length of time with greatly diluted acid, ab¬
stracted the calcareous matter, and obtained a distinct view
of the cartilaginous membranes of the shell. The student
will in general observe, that the cavities of those shells,
which present an external opening, are filled with the same
sort of matter as the rock in which they are enclosed, while
the cavities, of the multilocular testacea, for example, which
have no external communication, are filled with matter in¬
variably of a crystalline structure, even when not different
from the substance of the rock.
Geognostic History of Fossil Shells.—It appears
evident that the advancement of this branch of conchology
must* in a great measure, depend on the accurate discrimina¬
tion of the fossil species, and the relations of the rocks in which
they are contained. It is only within the last twenty years,
therefore, that our knowledge of this branch of the subject
has been acquired. The members of the Wernerian and
geological societies have contributed largely to our stock of
knowledge: but much yet remains to be brought to light.
The following notices may be regarded as embracing the prin¬
cipal facts which have been ascertained.
In those ancient strata upon which all the others are in¬
cumbent, and which are called primitive, no remains of
shells, or other relics of organized bodies, have hitherto been
detected. These rocks are therefore supposed to have re¬
ceived their arrangement previous to the creation of animals
and vegetables, or to have been so much altered as to have
all traces of organisms obliterated if such existed. In that
group of rocks which rests upon the primitive strata, and to
which mineralogists give the name oi transition, fossil shells,
as w ell as the remains of vegetables, have been observed.
The shells exhibit such striking peculiarities of form, and
bear so remote a resemblance to the recent kinds, that they
are considered as the remains of species which do not now
exist in a living state on the globe. They are much chang¬
ed in their texture, and in general intimately united with
the contents of the stratum. They are chiefly found in the
beds of limestone, sometimes also in the greywacke and clay
slate. In the numerous and ill-characterised series ot strata
which are incumbent on the transition class, and to which
some mineralogists attach the term jloetz, the remains of
shells are much more numerous. In the older members cf
this class, such as the red sandstone and independent coal
formations, the shells, though in a few instances difterent in
form from those of the preceding class, appear to have be¬
longed to one epoch. They are dissimilar to the recent species,
and no longer exist in a living state. In the newer members
of this class, such as the gypsum and chalk rocks, the species,
in some examples, bear a much closer resemblance to the exist¬
ing races, and several species cannot be distinguished, it is a ■
, leged, from them, by any satisfactory charactersfurnished by
ji jsca. the shell. The fossil species found in the rocks of the older
members of the class are greatly altered in their texture
and, in many cases, intimately united with the substance of
the beds; the shells belonging to the newer members are
much less altered in tbeii foim and texture, separate more
readily from the surrounding rocks, and appear like recent
shells somewhat weathered. The shells are found in nearly
all the different kinds of rock, but are more numerous in
the calcareous strata. In the recent or superficial strata,
fossil shells are frequently to be met with. The species
which here present themselves bear so close a resemblance
to the existing kinds, that conchologists are disposed to con¬
sider them as the relics of animals which still exist. In
many cases, the prototypes may be found on the neighbour¬
ing shore or lake, but in other instances they must be sought
for at a greater distance. These shells are found in beds
of gravel and sand, and likewise in great abundance in shell
marl.
It appears, then, that the shells in the older strata differ
specifically from those which the newer strata contain; and
that they have belonged to molluscous animals, which no
longer exist in a living state on this globe; that, in the
newer strata, the fossil shells bear a closer resemblance to
existing species ; and that in the last formed strata, remains
of species actually existing are to be met w ith.
In this geological distribution of the remains of testace¬
ous animals we may likewise perceive that, in the older
strata, the inequivalved shells are more numerous than the
other kinds; and that the canaliculatedunivalves are seldom,
if ever, to be met wdth in the transition or older members
of the Floetz series, but that they become more numerous
in the newer members of the Floetz rocks, and in the allu¬
vial strata. Circumstances of this kind have induced geo¬
logists to conclude that different formations could be dis¬
criminated by the petrifactions which they contain. From
the difficulty of distinguishing the fossil species, however,
joined with our ignorance of their geographical distribution,
some mineralogists have not permitted their conclusions to
be much influenced by this rule.
It wall likewise be observed, that the shells in the newer
stiata are but little changed, whilst those in the older rocks
are greatly altered in their texture, and in part obliterated.
The same power w'hich rendered the rock compact or crys¬
talline, has likewise exerted its influence on the imbedded
remains. In the newest strata, this power has scarcely be¬
gun to operate; so that the imbedded shells still retain in
perfection their original characters.
In examining a limestone quarry, for example, the stu¬
dent will perhaps be surprised to find petrifactions of shells
in the bed of limestone, while, in the sandstone covering,
e witnesses impressions of plants unaccompanied with
shells. In order to gain more correct ideas on this subject,
et him repair to a marl bog, and he will there find the bed
of marl abounding in shells, while in the bed of sand below,
on which it rests, or of peat moss, w’hich covers it, he will
nnd exclusively the remains of vegetables. Here let him
f . 7ct^e.su^ject’ while the strata are yet recent, and w'hile
JapicnfiejitiQn is on]y commencing. There is, however, this
, ifierence between the shells in the marl and those in the
imestone, that individuals of the former species still exist,
w de no living examples of the latter are known.
(jeographical History of Fossil Shells As the
geopaphical distribution of recent shells is a branch of con-
C ic t0 w.h‘ch few have devoted their attention, and about
w ic very little is known, we can scarcely expect to find the
geographical distribution of the fossil species more fully illus-
rate . We know, with regard to the recent shells, that
some species which are found in the bays of Norway and
andc occt|r,a^so on the shores of the Mediterranean,
at the British Isles have several species in common
vol. xv. 1
MOLLUSC A.
377
with Africa and the West Indies. Still we know not, with MolW
y degree of accuracy, the geographical range of any one
species. Geologists ought, therefore, to exercise a great
egree of caution in drawing conclusions concerning the
original situation of those shells which they find in a fossil
state. Vv hen a fossil shell is discovered in the strata of this
country, which bears a close resemblance to the recent shells
of distant seas; many inquirers, without waiting until they
lave established the identity of the species, and without any
precise information with regard to the geographical distri¬
bution of that species, conclude that this fossil shell must
have been brought from these distant seas, and conveyed to
its present situation by some mighty torrent. Instances of
this mode of reasoning could easily be pointed out in the
writings of British and Continental mineralogists.
In every country there are particular animals and vege¬
tables, which indicate, by their mode of growth and rapid
increase, a peculiar adaptation to the soil and climate of
that district. Hence we find a remarkable difference in the
animals and plants of different countries. Many shell-fish
have indeed a very wide range of latitude, through which
they may be observed ; but we know, that the same mol¬
luscous animals which are natives of Britain, are not found,
as a whole, as natives of Spain, while the molluscous ani¬
mals of Africa differ from both. If the same arrangement
of the molluscous animals always prevailed in the different
stages of their existence, then we may expect to find the
fossil shells of one country differing as much from those of
another, as the recent kinds are known to do, so that every
country will have its fossil, as well as its recent testacea.
Few observations illustrative of this branch of the subject
have hitherto been published.
It has often been remarked, that the fossil shells (and the
relics of other animals and plants) found in the strata of this
country, are very different in their appearance from those
shells of the mollusca which at present exist in the country,
but that they bear a close resemblance to the existing
species of the equatorial regions. This very important ob¬
servation has led some to conclude, that the mollusca which
lived in this country at the period of the formation of the
strata in which they are now enclosed, were influenced by
different physical circumstances, from those by which the
forms of the recent kinds are regulated ; while others have
imagined that those shells once lived in the equatorial re¬
gions, and that a mighty deluge transported them to their
present situation. I his last conclusion can never be ad¬
mitted by those who have w itnessed the perfect preservation
of the different parts of fossil shells, their valves, spires,
protuberances, and delicate spines, still unbroken. Though
these species no longer exist in a living state in this coun-
try, nor on the globe, we must admit the conclusion of
Werner, with regard to fossil plants, that they lived and
died in the country where their relics are now found.
It would form a very curious subject of inquiry to ascer¬
tain the character of those fossil shells which are found in
the strata near the equator. If they likewise differ from
the recent species of those seas, and if, in appearance, they
resemble or differ from the productions of arctic regions, we
might then speculate, with more success, upon those mighty
revolutions which have taken place on the earth’s surface,
and trace in the minerarkingdom the proofs of those changes
which animals and vegetables have experienced. In the
meantime, we would recommend the examination of the
laws which regulate the physical and geographical distribu¬
tion of recent shells and molluscous animals, as the most
suitable preparation for investigating the condition of those
extinct races, the memorials of w hich are preserved in stra¬
ta, differing from one another in structure, in position, and
in composition.
3b
378 MOL
tica plicata, fig. 3.—Velutina laevigata, fig, 4.—Del- Molt
phinula calcar of Lamark, fig. 5.—Delphinula Lima, Souj !| H
fig. 6—Scalaria pretiosa, fig. 7.—Solarium liybridum, ii
fig. 8—Paludina vivipara, fig. 9.—Buccinum laevissi- Mor
mum, fig. 10. | \r
Plate V.—Voluta Japonica, fig. 1.—Terebra crenulata, fig. 2. 
Harpa ventricosa, fig. 3.—Cassis decussata, fig. 4. 
Turbinella pyrum, fig. 5—Fasciolaria traperium, fig.
6 Pyrula perversa, fig. 7.—Fusus retroversus, fig. 8.
—Fusus servatus, fig. 9—Murex haustellum, fig. 10.
Scissurella crispata, fig. 11.
Plate VI.—Terebratula cranium, fig. 1—Diceras arictina, fig. 2.—
Unio pictorum, fig. 3.— Crossatella sulcata, fig. 4.—
Cyclas cornea, fig. .5.—Lingula anatina, fig. 6.—Ana-
tina hispidula, fig. 7.—Teredo navalis, fig. 8.
Plate VII,—Clavellina lepadiformis, fig. 1.—Ciona intestinalis, fig.
2.—Ascidia N. S. Lister, fig. 3—Botryllus polycy-
clus, fig. 4.—Boltenia ovifera, fig. 5.—Cynthia mo-
mus, fig. 6.—Phallusia nigra, fig. 7.—-Salpa cristata,
fig. 8.
MOLOCH, a false god of the Ammonites, who dedicat- a son of Pyrrhus and Andromache, the king of the coun-
ed their children to him, by making them pass through try. Molossia had the Bay of Ambracia as its boundary
the fire, as the Scriptures express it. There are various on the south, and the country of the Perrhajbeans on the
opinions concerning this method of consecration. Some east. The dogs of this country were famous, and received
think that the children leaped over a fire sacred to Mo- the name of Molossi amongst the Romans. Dodona was
loch ; others are of opinion that they passed between two the capital of the country, according to some writers; but
fires ; and others conceive that they were really burned in others think that it was the chief city of Thesprotia.
the fire by way of sacrifice to this god. There is some HOLTON, South, a town of the county of Devon, in
foundation for each of these opinions. For, in the first the hundred of its own name, 179 miles from London. It
place, it was usual amongst the Pagans to lustrate or puri- stands on the river Mole or Mould, and has some trade in
fy with fire ; and next, it is expressly said, that the inhabi- making serges, shalloons, and other woollens. It is an an-
tants of Sepharvaim burned their children in the fire to cient corporation, and formerly sent two members to par-
Anamelech and Adramelech, deities similar to the Moloch liament. It has a well-supplied market, which is held on
of the Ammonites. Saturday, and also five fairs. The population amounted in
Moses, in several places, forbids the Israelites to dedi- 1801 to 2753, in 1811 to 2739, in 1821 to 3314, and in
cate their children to this god, as the Ammonites did, and 1831 to 3826. About two miles from it is the parish or
threatens death and utter extirpation to such persons as town of North Molton, the population of which amounted
should commit this abominable idolatry. There is great in 1801 to 1541, in 1811 to 1526, in 1821 to 1847, and in
probability that the Hebrews were much addicted to the 1831 to 1937.
worship of this deity ; since Amos, and after him St Ste- MOLUCCA ISLES. These islands were formerly un-
phen, reproaches them with having carried along with them derstood to signify all the islands situated to the east of
into the wilderness the tabernacle of their god Moloch. the Molucca passage, in longitude 126° east, particularly
Solomon built a temple to Moloch upon Mount Olivet; those of Gilolo; but in general the term has been restrict-
and Manasseh, long afterwards, imitated his impiety by ed to the Spice Islands, namely, Amboyna, Banda, Ceram,
making his son pass through the fire in honour of Moloch. Ternate, Tidore, and Batchian. These islands, which are
It was chiefly in the valley of Tophet and Hinnom, to the famous for the production of spices, particularly nutmegs
east of Jerusalem, that the Israelites paid their idolatrous and cloves, were first, in 1510, visited by the Portuguese,
worship to this false god of the Ammonites. who took possession of them, and whose right was con-
There are various sentiments concerning the relation tested by the Spaniards. They succeeded, however, in
which Moloch bore to the other Pagan divinities. Some acquiring possession of them, but were conquered by the
believe that he was the same with Saturn, to whom it is Dutch in 1607. These islands were taken from the Dutch
well known that human sacrifices were offered ; others sup- by the British during the French revolutionary war, but
pose him to be Mercury; others confound him with Mars, restored at the peace.
Mithras, and Venus ; and others, again, take Moloch for MOMUS, in fabulous history, was the god of raillery,
^e7^rv,, 01 ^ie heaven. Moloch was likewise call- or the jester of the celestial assembly, who ridiculed both
ed Milcom, as appears from what is said of Solomon, that gods and men. Being chosen by Vulcan, Neptune, and
he went after Ashtaroth the abomination of the Zidonians, Minerva, to give his judgment concerning their works,
r r*0’1 ^ G abomination of the Ammonites. he blamed them all; Neptune for not making his bull with
MOLOSSES, Molasses, or Melasses, the gross fluid horns before his eyes, in order that he might give a surer
matter of sugar remaining after refining, and which no boil- blow ; Minerva for building a house which could not be
ing win bring to a consistence more solid than that of sy~ removed in case of bad neighbours ; and Vulcan for mak-
rup. Properly, molasses are only the sediment of one kind ing a man without a window in his breast, that his treach-
ol sugar called chypre, or brown sugar, which is the refuse eries might be seen. For the freedom of his reflections
of other sugars, and cannot be whitened or reduced into upon the gods, Momus was expelled from heaven. He is
oaves. Molasses are much used in Holland for the pre- generally represented as raising a mask from his face, and
paration of tobacco, and also amongst poor people instead holding a small figure in his hand,
of sugai. There is a kind of brandy or spirit made of mo- MONA, in Ancient Geography, is a name applied to
lasses ; but it is held by some to be exceedingly unwhole- two islands in the sea between Great Britain and Ireland.
S0ITMrkT/-kcor i pt- • , • . The one, described by Caesar as situated in the middle pas-
i lULObbl, a people of Epirus, who inhabited that part sage between both islands, called Monaceda, Mannpia, or
o the country which was called Molossia, from Molossus, Monahia, is supposed to be the Isle of Man. But there was
Moloch
tl
Molossi.
DESCRIPTION OF THE PLATES.
Plate I.—Spirula australis, fig. 1.—Octopus cirrhosus, fig. 2.—
Argonauts Argo, fig. 3.—Nautilus umbilicatus, fig. 4.
—Hyalea globosa, fig. 5.—Pneumodermon diapha-
num, fig. 6.—Clio borealis, fig. 7.—Cleodora lanceo-
lata, fig. 8—Cymbulia Peronii, fig. 9.
Plate II.— Achathina fasciata, fig. 1.—Helix Cepa, fig. 2.—Auri¬
cula Mid*, fig. 3 Ampullaria virescens, fig. 4.—
Testacilla Maugii, fig. 5.—Testacillahaliotoidea, fig. 6.
—Limnea octanfracta, fig. 7.—Segmentina lineata,
fig. 8.—Planorbis nitidus, fig. 9.—Ancylus lacustris,
fig. 10.
Plate III Scyllea pelagica, fig. 1.—Tritonia Hombergii, fig. 2—
Glaucus radiatus, fig. 3.—Dolabella Rumpbii, fig. 4.
—Chiton squamosus, fig. 5.—Fissurella annulata, fig.
6—Parmophorus australis, fig. 7 Bulla aperta,
fig. 8.
Plate IV.—Trochus Pagodus, fig. 1.—Turbo rugosus, fig. 2.—Na-
M O N
MON
na another Mona, an island more to the south, separated from
the coast of the Ordovices by a narrow strait. This was
rban.jhe ancient seat of the Druids, and is now called Anglesey,
'"-"'the island of the Angles or English.
MONA and Mon it a, that is, The Monkey and his Cub,
two islands of the West Indies, in the middle of the great
passage between Hispaniola and Porto Rico. The Mona
Isle measures seven miles one way and two another; and,
although once in good cultivation, is now only the solitary
range of wild goats.
MONACO, a province of Sardinia, but formerly an
independent principality, now reduced to the condition of
a mediatized state, to the prince of which his rents are
preserved. It extends over fifty-five square miles, and
contains two cities, with about 6000 inhabitants. The
district is sheltered from cold winds, which makes the cli¬
mate like that of the tropics; and the productions of the
soil are similar, fruit being abundant, but corn deficient,
and flesh rather more so. It was seized by France in
1792, and added to one of her departments; but, by the
congress of Vienna in 1815, it was transferred to Sardinia.
The chief place, of the same name, is situated on a tongue
of land running into the sea. The walls and gates are di¬
lapidated. It contains 1250 inhabitants, employed in pet¬
ty trade. Long. 7. 23. E. Lat. 43. 44. N.
MONADELPHIA (from gms, alone, and a
brotherhood), a single brotherhood, the name of the six¬
teenth class in Linnaeus’ sexual system, consisting of plants
with hermaphrodite flowers ; in which all the stamina are
united below into one body or cylinder, through which
passes the pistillum. See Botany.
MONAGHAN, an inland county in the province of
Ulster, in Ireland, is bounded on the north by the county
of Tyrone, on the east by those of Armagh and Louth, on
the south by those of Louth and Cavan, and on the west
by those of Cavan and Fermanagh. It extends over a sur¬
face of 327,048 acres, of which 309,968 acres are capable
ot cultivation, 9236 are unprofitable mountain or bog, and
7844 are under water.
According to Whitaker, the tribe of the Scoti, which
spread itself over the greater part of the interior of Ire¬
land, inhabited this county in the time of Ptolemy. In a
subsequent period of Irish history it formed part of the
territory of Uriel or Orgial; and, from the principal family
which then resided in it, was also known by the name of
j M‘Mahon’s country. In the reign of Elizabeth it was re¬
duced into shire-ground, and was divided into the five ba-
mnies which still exist, namely, those of Cremorne, Dar-
try, Farney, Monaghan, and Trough. These are subdi¬
vided into nineteen parishes, and four parts of parishes, the
remainder of which are in some of the adjoining counties.
According to the ecclesiastical arrangements of the coun¬
try, Monaghan is wholly included in the diocese of Clogher,
the see of which is in the city of the same name in the
county of Tyrone. It contains twenty-one parishes.
The general appearance of the surface is hilly, yet not
rising into heights of considerable elevation. Its princi¬
pal rhountain range is that of Slievebaugh, a rugged and
barren tract which separates it from Tyrone. Its highest
summit, called Cairnmore, commands an extensive view of
the surrounding country on every side. Grieve Mountain,
in the south, is still more elevated, but of smaller superfi¬
cial extent. There are no rivers of any consequence. The
rinn, which rises near the centre of the county, scarcely
merits the title of river until after its entrance into Fer¬
managh ; and the Blackwater, forming part of the north¬
eastern boundary towards Tyrone, is the receptacle of many
° the smaller rivulets which take their rise here. But,
°“gh deficient in rivers of magnitude, it is amply fur¬
nished with streams of running water, well suited to the
purposes of agriculture and of manufacturing industry; nor
MON 379
can any other county boast of such a number of lakes, al-Monaghan,
though few of them are of an extent such as to entitle them v—'
to specific notice. The number of these lakes is 184, thirty
of which are considerable sheets of water. The most re-
maikable are Lough Eagish, on Grieve Mountain, which
supplies water for a long succession of mills and bleach-
mg-greens ; Lakes Damby, Camm, and Oona. Others near
Gastleblaney, Dawson Grove, and Mount Lewis, are cele-
biated foi the beauty of the surrounding scenery.
The soil is of various kinds. In the central parts it con¬
sists of a rich limestone. The southern districts are partly
of the same quality, and partly a deep clay, capable of a
high degree of cultivation under judicious management.
I he north consists mostly of a stiff retentive clay, marshy
in winter, and hardening quickly by the heat of summer,
yet interspersed in many parts with tracts of valuable lime¬
stone soil. Whilst the limestone formation predominates
in the level districts, the more elevated portions exhibit
traces of a different character. To the north the hills show-
sandstone ; but those in the south are of basalt or whin-
stone. Coal has been found in more than one place, but in
veins so poor and scanty as not to encourage the outlay of
capital upon its exploration. Slates of good quality are
quarried in Grieve Mountain. A lead mine was also worked
there, but has long since been relinquished as unprofitable.
Ochre, potters’ clay of such quality as to cause an expor¬
tation of it to Dundalk for the manufacture of glazed
earthenware, brick clay, manganese, antimony, and fullers’
earth, are also found here. There is a chalybeate spring
at Drumtubberbuy, on Gairnmore, the water of which casts
up a thick scum of ochre. A well near Clones is much ce¬
lebrated for its efficacy in cases of jaundice, whence it has
acquired its name of Granabuymore, or “ the great yellow
cure.” A spring at Tullaghan throws up water which, al¬
though perfectly tasteless and clear, deposits an incrusta¬
tion on the banks near its source. This county has a large
proportion of bog, which, together with its great number of
lakes, and its exposure to the north-western winds, render
it very damp, although it is far from being unwholesome.
The results of inquiries as to the population, made at
different periods, are as follow:
Year. Authority. Population.
1760 De Burgo  49,848
1792 Beaufort 118,000
1812 Parliamentary return 140,433
1821 Ditto 174,697
1831 Ditto 195,521
The comparison of the amount of population, according
to the latest of these returns, with the superficies of the
county, gives a result of one individual to every acre and
a half.
This population was represented in the Irish parliament
by four members; two for the county at large, and two for
the borough of Monaghan. Those for the borough were
struck off at the period of the Union; and no alteration to
the arrangement then made has taken place under the re¬
form act.
The constituency, as it was constituted at three periods,
viz. 1st, previously to the disqualification of the forty-shil¬
ling freeholders; 2d, subsequently to their disqualification ;
and, 3d, under the reform act, exhibits the following
changes:
Year. L.50. L.20. L.10. 40s. Total.
1st Jan. 1829 300 107 — 12,453.... 12,860
1st Jan. 1830 322 194 632  — ....1,148
1st May 1831 464 254 946  — .... 1,664
The local government is vested in a lieutenant, fourteen
deputy-lieutenants, and sixty-one magistrates, who are sup¬
ported by a constabulary force, consisting of four chief and
eighty sub-constables. The constabulary establishment is
maintained at an expense of about L.4000, being at an
380
MONAGHAN.
Monaghan, average of somewhat more than L.47 per annum for each
man. Under the provisions of the new constabulary act,
this force consists of a sub-inspector, five chief consta¬
bles, and ten head constables, with eighty constables and
sub-constables.
The state of education, as collected from the parlia¬
mentary returns made in 1821 and 1831, is shown in the
following table. The returns made by the commissioners
of public instruction in 1834 cannot be stated, in conse¬
quence of their having been made up according to dioceses
instead of counties:
Year. Boys. Girls. ascertained. TotaL
... _  7,260
.. 320 11,219
1821 4517.
1824-6 6694.
.2743.
.4205.
Of the numbers stated in the latter of these returns,
2471 were Episcopalian Protestants, 2166 Protestant Dis¬
senters, and 6408 Roman Catholics ; the religious persua¬
sion of 174 was not ascertained. The proportion of Pro¬
testants to Roman Catholics, as far as can be inferred from
the relative numbers of the children of each religious per¬
suasion attending public schools, is as two to three nearly.
The total number of schools was 281 ; of which 19, con¬
taining 1006 children, were supported by grants of public
money; 37, containing 2551 children, were supported by
the voluntary contributions of societies or individuals ;
the remaining 225 schools, which afforded the means of
education to 7662 children, were maintained wholly by the
fees of the pupils. The diocesan school of the see of
Clogher is in the town of Monaghan. There is also an en¬
dowed school at Carrickmacross.
The population is chiefly rural, dispersed either in de¬
tached dwellings throughout the country, or in small vil¬
lages. The total number of residents in towns containing
upwards of one thousand inhabitants each, is only 13,000,
out of a population which may be stated in round numbers
at 200,000; and there are but five towns of this description,
so that their average population is but 2600 souls each.
The estates in land are of every value, from L.20,000
per annum to L.20; being partly held under grants of the
escheated lands in Ulster in the time of James I., and part¬
ly arising out of the forfeitures in the time of Cromwell.
Leases are for short terms, usually twenty-one years, and
one or three lives. The mountainous districts are fre¬
quently held in joint tenancy by a large number of occu¬
pants. The tenants of one of those mountain districts once
formed a community of very singular character. Their vil¬
lage consisted of nearly two hundred cabins, on a tract of
500 acres of bog, at Blackstalf, near Carrickmacross, but so
barren as not to afford the means of the lowest animal sub¬
sistence, so that they were forced to derive their support
from patches of land rented by them at a considerable dis¬
tance from their place of residence. The community al¬
lowed itself to be governed by a mayor, chosen annually
by all the members. The holder of the largest potato-
garden was sure to be elected. All disputes were refer¬
red to him, and no appeal was known to be made from his
decision. His fee was a bottle of whisky, wdiich was in¬
variably shared by him with the contending parties. The
office was one of honour rather than of profit; for there
was no instance of a mayor holding his post for two suc¬
cessive years. The community was broken up in conse¬
quence of the rebellion of 1798, at which time the mem¬
bers were compelled to quit their village, and to reside up¬
on their detached plots; yet, for several years afterwards,
they held an annual convivial meeting on the site of their
deserted village.
The mansions of the landed proprietors are numerous
and elegant; the houses of the wealthier farmers, and
more particularly of those who combine manufactures
with agriculture, exhibit every indication of comfort; but
the dwellings of cottiers and labourers are miserable in the Mon
extreme. The dress of the male peasantry is home ma-''—'
nufactured frize, dyed blue ; that of the female generally
cotton. Flesh meat seldom forms a part of their dietary.
The cottiers in the districts remote from towns are unable
to procure any food but potatoes seasoned with salt. Fuel
is cheap and abundant, in consequence of the quantity of
bog. The language is both English and Irish ; but the lat¬
ter predominates in the more retired parts of the county.
The state of agriculture has improved with great rapi¬
dity during the last twenty or thirty years. The accounts
given shortly after the year 1800 describe the old coun¬
try plough of clumsy construction, the slide-car without
wheels, the conveyance of the manure and field produce
on horses’ or asses’ backs, and the application of manual la¬
bour and spade-husbandry as being generally prevalent.
At present all the improvements introduced by scientific
•agriculturists are to be seen in practice here, as far as they
have been found consistent with the peculiar nature of the
soil and climate. Ploughs on the most improved plan,
Scotch carts, and implements of various kinds to super¬
sede the improvident exertion of manual labour, are uni¬
versal ; yet in some parts where the nature of the ground
forbids the use of the plough, considerable tracts of land
are still cultivated by the spade. The old, stunted, and
ill-conditioned breeds of black cattle, sheep, and hogs, have
given way to the most esteemed British or foreign stocks,
the character of which has not unfrequently been made
more suitable to the agricultural localities by judicious
crossings with the native breeds. Wheat and oats are the
principal species of grain. Barley and bear are largely
grown in the hilly districts. Clover is much encouraged,
and few farmers are without a patch of it, however small.
It is cut green for soil, and is found extremely economical.
The tops of furze or gorse are also used, when pounded, as
food for horses, and prove highly palatable to the animal, as
well as very nutritious. Flax, for the growth of which the
soil is peculiarly favourable, is very generally raised. The
manure is formed of composts, of which lime and burned turf
mould are generally component parts ; marl, though com¬
mon, is little used. The fences in some parts are of white
thorn, interspersed with sallows; in others a slight mound
of earth serves rather to determine the boundary than to
prevent trespassing. Asses and pigs are numerous. Fish
abound in the numerous lakes. The county was once al¬
most a continuous forest, excepting the higher lands, which
appear to be of a nature ungenial to the growth of trees.
The numerous demesnes of the nobility and gentry are
richly embellished by plantations of modern growth. Ash
and sycamore are much encouraged. The wood of the
latter is in great repute for some parts of mill-machinery.
Osieries are frequently to be found in the marshy bottoms
at the foot of hills, and prove highly profitable.
The principal manufacture is that of linen, which was
long carried on with great spirit, and produced a consider¬
able export; but it has latterly declined, partly in conse¬
quence of the increasing preference given to cotton goods.
The woollen manufacture is chiefly employed in supplying
the domestic consumption. The sand or gritstone of Cairn-
more has given rise to a manufacture of millstones there,
which are in considerable demand. Tanyards are frequent.
Coarse earthenware is manufactured at Glasslough, and a
small iron-work near Clones supplies most of the agricultu¬
ral implements used in the county.
The remains of antiquity are but few. The most remark¬
able are two round or pillar towers; one in the burial-
ground of Clones, and the other at Inniskeen, on the bor¬
ders of Louth. The former consisted of five stories, the
traces of which are still visible in the walls; and its door
is about four feet above the level of the ground. Near it is
a large stone coffin, above ground, with a cover of the same
MON
The latter of these
J ndria material shaped like the roof of a house
towers is in a much inferior state of preservation, and is
M) rchy. unique, as having its door upon a level with the surrounding
country, although this is supposed by some to be the effect
of a modern alteration. Near Clones are two large raths ;
one in good preservation, exhibiting distinct traces of its
fosses and embankments; the other smaller, and much de¬
cayed. Danish forts are numerous. The only monastic
structure of which any vestiges remain is that of Clones,
which was a foundation of regular canons. It was de¬
stroyed by Hugh de Lacy, shortly after the arrival of the
English ; but was rebuilt soon afterwards, and secured from
a similar fate by the erection of a castle in its neighbour¬
hood. An abbey of Conventual Franciscans was founded
at Monaghan by one of the M‘Mahons; but it was after¬
wards totally destroyed, and a castle erected on its site,
which also was in a ruinous state in the reign of James
I. Ruins of castles are to be seen at Donaghmoyne and
Dawson’s Grove.
Monaghan, the county town, is situated near the centre
of the county, at a short distance from the Blackwater, to
the south. Its ancient name was Muinechan, “ the town
of Monks,” given to it from the religious establishment
formerly existing there. The principal buildings are a
market-house, in which a brisk linen trade is carried on,
erected by Lord Rossmore in 1792 ; a court-house ; and
a parish, churoh. In the immediate vicinity of the town
is a Roman Catholic chapel, a Presbyterian meeting-house
in the New Market, the county infirmary, the diocesan
school-house, the barrack for cavalry at the northern en¬
trance of the town, and an extensive county prison, which
has been built at an expense of L 20,000. The town con¬
tains a brewery, and carries on a pretty considerable trade
in linen. Its population in 1831 amounted to 3848 souls,
fhe other towns whose population exceeds 1000 souls are
as follow :—Carrickmacross, 2979; Clones, 2381; Balli-
bay, 1947; and Castleblayney, 1828.
MONANDRIA (from fLovog, alone, and anjo, a man or
husband), the name of the first class in Linnaeus’ sexual
system, consisting of plants with hermaphrodite flowers,
which have only one stamen.
MONARCHY, a large state governed by one man, or
a state where the supreme power is lodged in the hands
of a single person. The word comes from the Greek,
fioiccgxns, one who governs alone ; formed of /xovog, solus,
alone, and do^, imperium, government. Of the three
forms of government, democracy, aristocracy, and monar¬
chy, the last is the most powerful, all the sinews of govern¬
ment being knit together, and united in the hand of the
prince; but then there is imminent danger of his employ¬
ing that strength to improvident or oppressive purposes.
As a democracy is best calculated to direct the end of a
law, and an aristocracy to invent the means by which that
end shall be obtained, a monarchy is most fitted for carry¬
ing those means into execution.
The most ancient monarchy was that of the Assyrians,
which was founded soon after the Deluge. We usually
leckon four grand or universal monarchies ; the Assyrian,
• ersian, Grecian, and Roman ; though St Augustin makes
t em but two, namely, those of Babylon and Rome. Be¬
ns is placed at the head of the series of Assyrian kings
w,0 re*§ned at Babylon, and is by profane authors esteem-
e the founder of that empire ; by some he was considered
as t ie same person whom the Scriptures call Nimrod. The
principal Assyrian kings after Belus were Ninus, who built
ineveh, and removed the seat of empire to it; Semiramis,
^ o, disguising her sex, took possession of the kingdom in-
s ea of her son, and was killed and succeeded by her son
lnyas; and Sardanapalus, the last of the Assyrian mo¬
narc is, and more effeminate than any w'oman. After his
eati the Assyrian empire was divided into three separate
MON
381
kingdoms, viz. the Median, Assyrian, and Babylonian. Monarchy.
1 he first king of the Median kingdom was Arbaces ; and Vl0narC -r*
this kmgdom lasted tifi the time of Astyages, who was
subdued and divested of his dominions by Cyrus.
In the time of Cyrus there arose a new and second mo¬
narchy called the Persian, which lasted upwards of 200
years from Cyrus, whose reign began in the year of the
world 3468, to Darius Codomannus, who was conquered
qct i eX^lde^ ant the emPlre transferred to the Greeks in
3674. The first monarch was Cyrus, founder of the em¬
pire ; the second, Cambyses the son of Cyrus ; the third,
Smerdis; the fourth, Darius the son of Hystaspis, who
reigned 521 years before Christ; the fifth, Xerxes, who
reigned 485 years before Christ; the sixth, Artaxerxes
Longimanus, who reigned 464 years before Christ • the
seventh Xerxes the second ; the eighth, Ochus or Darius,
called Nothus, who reigned 424 years before Christ; the
ninth, Artaxerxes Mnemon, 405 years before Christ; the
tenth, Artaxerxes Ochus, 359 years before Christ; the
eleventh, Arses, 338 years before Christ; the twelfth,
Darius Codomannus, who was defeated by Alexander the
Great, and deprived of his kingdom and life about 331
years before Christ. After his death, the dominion of Per¬
sia was transferred to the Greeks.
The third monarchy was the Grecian. As Alexander,
when he died, did not declare who should succeed him’
there started up as many kings as there were commanders.
At first they governed the provinces, which were divided
amongst them, under the title of viceroys ; but when the
family of Alexander the Great became extinct, they as¬
sumed the style and title of kings. Hence, in process of
time, the whole empire of Alexander produced four dis¬
tinct kingdoms. The first was the Macedonian, the kings
of which, after Alexander, were Antipater, Cassander,
Demetrius Poliorcetes, Seleucus Nicanor, Meleager, An-
tigonus Doson, Philip, and Perseus, under whom the Ma¬
cedonian kingdom was reduced to the form of a Roman
province. The second was the Asiatic kingdom, which,
upon the death of Alexander, fell to Antigonus, compre¬
hending the country now called Anatolia, together with
some other regions beyond Mount Taurus. From this
kingdom proceeded two lesser ones; that of Pergamus,
whose last king, Attains, appointed the Roman people to
be his heir; and Pontus, reduced by the Romans into the
form of a province, when they had subdued the last king,
Mithridates. The third was the Syrian, of whose twenty-
two kings the most celebrated were, Seleucus Nicanor,
founder of the kingdom, Antiochus Deus, Antiochus the
Great, Antiochus Epiphanes, and Tigranes, who was con¬
quered by the Romans under Pompey, when Syria was re¬
duced into the form of a Roman province. The fourth was
the Egyptian, which was formed by the Greeks in Egypt,
and flourished near 240 years, under twelve kings, the prin¬
cipal of whom were, Ptolemy Lagus, its founder ; Ptolemy
Philadelphus, founder of the Alexandrian library; and
Queen Cleopatra, who was overcome by Augustus, in con¬
sequence of which Egypt was added to the dominion of
the Romans.
The fourth monarchy was the Roman, which lasted
244 years, from the building of the city until the time
when the royal power was abrogated. The kings of Rome
were Romulus, its founder, Numa Pompilius, Tullus Hos-
tilius, Ancus Martius, Tarquinius Priscus, Servius Tullius,
and Tarquinius Superbus, who was banished, and with whom
terminated the regal power.
There seems in reality to be no necessity for making
the Medes, the Persians, and the Greeks, succeed to the
whole power of the Assyrians, in order to multiply the num¬
ber of the monarchies. It was the same empire still; and
the several changes which happened in it did not consti¬
tute different monarchies. Thus the Roman empire was
382 MON MON
Monaster- successively governed by princes of different nations, yet the king resolved to suppress the rest of the monasteries, M ^
evan without any new monarchy being thereby formed. Rome, and appointed a new visitation, which caused the greater
B therefore, may be said to "have immediately succeeded to abbeys to be surrendered apace; and it was enacted by 31 M eta
Monastery-Babylon in the empire ofthe worl^ Henry YIII. c. 13, that all monasteries, &c. which have been ^
S Y Fifth-MoyARCHY Mex> in the ecclesiastical history of surrendered since the 4th of February, in the twenty-se- H
• England, were a set of wrong-headed and turbulent en- venth year of his majesty’s reign, and which shall hereafter
thusiasts, who arose in the time of Cromwell, and ex- be surrendered, shall be vested in the king. The knights of
pected Christ’s sudden appearance upon earth to estab- St John of Jerusalem were also suppressed by the 32d Hen-
lish a new kingdom ; in consequence of which illusion, ry VIII. c. 24. The suppression of these greater houses by
they aimed at the subversion of all human government. the two acts in question produced a revenue to the king of
MONASTEREVAN, a town of Ireland, in the county above L.100,000 a year, besides a large sum in plate and
of Kildare, situated on the river Barrow, which here inter- jewels. Ihe last act of dissolution in this king s reign was
sects the Grand Canal. It is thirty-eight miles south-west the act of 37 Henry VIII. c. 4, for dissolving colleges, free
from Dublin. Long. 7. 5. W. Lat. 53. 8. N. chapels, chantries, and the like; which act was further en-
MONASTERY, a convent or house built for the recep- forced by 1 Edward VI. c. 14. By this act were suppress¬
ion of religious, whether it be abbey, priory, convent, or ed ninety colleges, one hundred and ten hospitals, and
other. Tins name is only properly applied "to the houses two thousand three hundred- and seventy-four chantries
of monks, mendicant friars, and nuns. The rest are more and free chapels.
properly called religious houses. MONASTIC, something belonging to monks, or the
The houses belonging to the several religious orders monkish life. The monastic profession is a kind of civil
which prevailed in England and Wales were, cathedrals, death, which in all worldly matters has the same effect
colleges, abbeys, priories, preceptories, commandries, hos- as the natural death. The council of I rent fix sixteen
pitals, friaries, hermitages, chantries, and free chapels, years as the age at which a person may be admitted into
These were under the direction and management of vari- the monastic state.
ous officers. The dissolution of houses of this kind began St Anthony was the person who, in the fourth century,
as early as the year 1312, udien the Templars were sup- first established monastic institutions; as St Pachomius,
pressed; and in 1323, their lands, churches, advowsons, in the same century, is said to have first set on foot the
and liberties, in England, wrere given, by 17 Edward II. ccenobitic life, or regular communities of religious. In a
st. 3, to the prior and brethren of the hospital of St John short time the deserts of Egypt became inhabited with a
of Jerusalem. In the years 1390, 1437, 1441, 1459, 1497, set of solitaries, who took upon them the monastic profes-
1505, 1508, and 1515, several other houses were dissolved, sion. St Basil carried the same spirit into the East, where
and their revenues settled on different colleges in Oxford he composed a rule, which afterwards obtained throughout
and Cambridge. Soon after the last period, Cardinal Wol- a great part of the West.
sey, by license of the king and pope, obtained a dissolu- In the eleventh century the monastic discipline had
tion of above thirty religious houses, for the founding and become very remiss. St Odo first began to retrieve it in
endowing of his colleges at Oxford and Ipswich. About the monastery of Cluny ; that establishment, by the con*
the same time a bull was granted by the same pope to ditions of its erection, was put under the immediate pro-
Cardinal Wolsey to suppress monasteries where there tection of the holy see, with a prohibition to all powers,
were not above six monks, to the value of 8000 ducats a both secular and ecclesiastical, to disturb the monks in the
year, for endowing Windsor and King’s College in Cam- possession of their effects or the election of theii aboot. In
bridge; and two other bulls were granted to Cardinals virtueofthistheypleadedanexemptionfromthejurisdic-
Wolsey and Campeius, to suppress houses where there were tion of the bishop, and extended this privilege to all the
less than twelve monks, and to annex them to the greater houses dependent on Cluny. This made the first congre*
monasteries ; besides another bull to the same cardinals to gation of several houses, under one chief immediately sub*
inquire concerning abbeys to be suppressed in order to be ject to, the pope, so as to constitute one body, or, as it is
made cathedrals. Although nothing appears to have been called, one religious order, fill then, each monastery v as
done in consequence of these bulls, the motives which in- independent, and subject to the bishop,
duced Wolsey and many others to suppress these houses MONA VAR, a Spanish town in the province of ^ien-
was the desire of promoting learning; and Archbishop Cran- cia, containing 8000 inhabitants; it has a manufacture of
mer engaged in it with a view of carrying on the Reforma- linen, and several medicinal baths.
tion. There were other causes which concurred to bring MONDOVI, a province of Piedmont, in the Sardinian
on their ruin. Many of the religious were loose and vicious; dominions. It extends over seven hundred and sixty-two
the monks wrere generally thought to be in their hearts at- square miles, and comprises four cities, eighty-one towns and
tached to the pope’s supremacy ; their revenues were not villages, and ninety-six rural establishments, with 136,954
employed according to the intention of the donors; many inhabitants. Although the Apennines form a part of the
cheats in images, feigned miracles, and counterfeit relics, southern division of the province, it is on the whole fruit-
had been discovered, which brought the monks into dis- ful in corn, wine, hemp, and silk. It has some mines of
grace; the Observant Friars had opposed the king’s divorce iron, and several valuable marble quarries. Ihe capital is
from Queen Catharine ; and these circumstances operated, the city of the same name situated on the river Eilero. It
in concurrence with the king’s want of a supply and the is fortified, is the seat of a bishop, and contains a cathedral,
people’s desire to save their money, to forward a motion in five parish churches, four convents of nuns and eleven of
parliament, that, in order to support the king’s state, and monks, 4000 houses, and 22,570 inhabitants. It is a place
supply his wants, all the religious houses might be con- of considerable manufacturing industry, making both print-
ferred upon the crown which were not able to spend above ed cottons, cloth, silks, and paper. It was the birth-place
L.200 a year. For this purpose an act was passed, be- of the celebrated Beccaria. Long. 7. 45. E. Lat. 44
ing the 27th Hen. VIII. c. 28. By this act about three 23. N.
hundred and eighty houses were dissolved, and a revenue MONETARIUS, or Moneyer, a name which antiqua-
of L.30,000 or L.32,000 a year accrued in consequence to ries and medallists give to those who struck the ancient
the crown ; besides about L.100,000 in plate and jewels, coins or moneys. Many of the old Roman coins have the
The suppression of these houses occasioned discontent, name of the monetarius, either written at length, or at least
and at length an open rebellion. When this was appeased, the initial letters of it. See the article Medals.
383
M O N E Y.
ney. Money1 is a term used to designate whatever commodity
'•^the inhabitants of any particular country, accept either vo¬
luntarily or by compulsion, as an equivalent for their labour,
and for whatever else they have to dispose of.
Cir :
P-
kaL b to
the je of
ir.oi •
Sect. I—Circumstances which led to the use of mono/.
Principal properties that every commodity used as such
ought to possess. Aot a sign or a measure of value, but
a real equivalent.
A country in which the division of labour was unknown
and w here e\ ery individual or family directly produced the
commodities necessary tor his or their consumption, would
have no exchanges, and consequently no money. But
after the division of labour has been established, the intro¬
duction of money becomes necessary, or, at least, highly
advantageous. A very small part only of a man’s wants is
then directly supplied by his own labour. The greater
part is indirectly supplied by exchanging that part of the
produce of his labour which exceeds his own consumption,
tor such parts of the produce of other men’s labour as he
. has occasion for, and they are willing to part with. Every
man thus lives by exchanging, or becomes in some measure
a merchant, and the society itself grows to be what is pro¬
perly a commercial society.
“But when the division of labour first began to take
place, this power of exchanging must frequently have been
very much clogged and embarrassed in its operations. One
man we shall suppose, has more of a certain commodity than
he himself has occasion for, while another has less. The
former, consequently, would be glad to dispose of, and the
latter to purchase, a part of this superfluity. But, if this
latter should chance to have nothing that the former stands
in need of, no exchange can be made between them. The
butcher has more meat in his shop than he himself can con¬
sume, and the brewer and the baker would each be willing
to purchase a part of it; but they have nothing to offer in
exchange except the different productions of their respec¬
tive trades and the butcher is already provided with all the
bread and beer which he has immediate occasion for. No
exchange can, in this case, be made between them. He
cannot e their merchant, nor they his customers; and
tfiey are all of them thus mutually less serviceable to one
another. To avoid the inconveniency of such situations,
every prudent man, m every period of society, after the es¬
tablishment of the division of labour, must naturally have
endeavoured to manage his affairs in such a manner as to
nave at all times by him, besides the peculiar produce of
l!3 ^industry, a certain quantity of some one commodity
another, such as he imagined few' people would be likely
Some contend that it comes from mmere, (^ia
deFrance, p. ].); an(j others that it oririnatps in flip ™0ne^ ln lcates its weight and fineness (Bouteroue, Ttecherches sur les Monnoyes
(Suidas, hivoceil^ originates in the circumstance of silver being hrst.coined at Rome in the temple of Juno Moneta.
3 Morellpt^Prl^ (^C07l^Jn’£ Politique, tome iii. p. 16.; and Ulloa, Memoires Philosophiques sur T4merique, tome ii p 100
4 Prosper™ d'un Nouveau Dictionnaire de Commerce, p. 115. amerique, tome n. p. 1UU.
stituer quefque ainre m'JferTnhfs val^r P0^Pouvoir reprdsenter celle des plus menues denrdes, on est encore obligd de lui sub-
miie. Cetlsage r L r^t paZL pZ . T circonsta"ce ^ a fait adopter aux Indiens fusage des cauris en guise des petite mon-
aaislecuivrefesZ ra p g ^SfySaUSS^1CheSetd,unecivillsation aussi ailcienne <3lie Benfale et 1'Indoustan:
v acheter une quantiteY^ boil marche> qu’une piece de la valeur de 1 cop. et i [about a halfpenny English] pent
petite raonnoie de cuivre en plusieur^ fraptin P°Ur ^ subsistence Jourr)ahere d’un homme du peuple. On est done oblige' de deviser la plus
valoir, on la remphee par nn enr n il a °^V Gt une monnoie d’aussi peu de valeur couteroit plus h fabriquer qu’elle ne pourroit
dans ces contreeTfeZZnm. Z d 3 ? T fait pre&que tous les fraix- Q'^lqne mince que soit la valeur d’un cauris, elle suffit
tom- i. pp. 143—oofi1 nuo^d'h?^ ane piece des bananes on quelque autre fruit commun.’’ (Le Goux de Flaix, Essex sur I'lndoustan,
3 SmiJn 7 • D’ quoted 5torch, Economie Politique, tom. iii. p. 133.)
, u i supra; and Horrebow, Description de I’Islande, tome ii. p. 90.
^ ^change for the produce of their industry ” m
(Wealth of Nations, vol. i. p. 43. M‘Culloch’s ed.) ^
us commodity, whatever it may be, is money.
motevT^differeTen °t COmm«dities have been used asCommodi-
money in different countries and states of society. Those ties used as
nations who chiefly subsist by the chace, such £ the an- ™oney m
cient Russians, and the greater part of the Indians who nowdlfferent
occupy the uncultivated portion of America, use the skinscountries’
of wild animals as money.2 In a pastoral state of society
cattle are most commonly used for that purpose. Homer
whRstV^Vri armour of Diomede cost only nine oxen,
whfist that of Glaucus cost one hundred. (Ilias, lib. 6, lin.
?A5-J rhe etymology of the Latin word (pecunia), signi¬
fying money, and of all its derivatives, proves that cattle
(pecus) had been the primitive money of the Romans.3
Ihey had also been used as such by the ancient Germans :
for their laws uniformly fix the amount of the penalties to
be paid for particular offences in cattle. (Storch, in loco
citato.) In remoter ages corn was very generally used, in
agricultural countries, as money; and even now', it is by no
means uncommon to stipulate for corn rents and wages.
Other commodities have been used in different countries,
baft is said to be the common money of Abyssinia {Wealth
oj Nations, i. p. 45.) ; a species of shells, called coWs.
gathered on the shores of the Maidive Islands, are used in
smaller payments throughout Hindustan, and form the only
money of extensive districts in Africa.4 Dried fish forms
the money of Iceland and Newfoundland ;5 sugar of some
of the West India islands; and Dr. Smith mentions that
there was, at the period of the publication of the Wealth of
JSations, a village in Scotland where it was customary for a
workman to carry nails, as money, to the baker’s shop or
the alehouse. (Wealth of Nations, i. p. 45.)
But these commodities are universally deficient in some Defects of
ot the principal requisites which every commodity used as these com-
money ought to possess. Products must frequently be^^’des.
brought to market worth only half an ox, or half a skin ;
but as an ox could not be divided, and as the division of a
skin would most probably deprive it of the greater part of
its value, it w ould be impossible to exchange them for such
money. . Divisibility is not, however, the only indispensa¬
ble requisite in a commodity used as a medium of exchange.
I t is necessary that it should admit of being kept for an in¬
definite period without deteriorating; that it should, bv
possessing great value in small bulk, be easily transported ;
and that one piece of money, of a certain denomination,
should always be precisely equivalent to every other piece
of money of the same denomination. But none of the com¬
modities above named as having been used as monev pos¬
sesses these properties. Though cattle had been sufficiently
Jl
384
M O N E Y.
Money, divisable, they could neither be preserved, nor transported
'’from one place to another, without a great deal of trouble
and expence; while, owing to the difference in their qua¬
lities, one ox might be worth two or three oxen of an in¬
ferior species. It is plain, therefore, that they could not
serve as money except in a very rude state of society, when
the arts were almost unknown, and when the rearing of cat¬
tle formed the principal employment. Corn was sufficiently
divisible; but its bulk was far too great in proportion to its
value to admit of its easy transportation, and it also was of
very different and not. easily appreciated qualities. Salt,
sugar, shells, and fish, are all liable to insuperable objec¬
tions. The values of equal quantities of all of them differ
very greatly; some of them cannot be divided, and others
cannot be preserved or transported without great loss.
But the commodities in question were deficient in a still
more important particular. Their value was not sufficiently
invariable to permit of their being advantageously used as
money. They were not durable commodities, nor was it
possible to adjust their supply so as to avoid sudden fluctu
did not deteriorate by being kept, and of which he could Monet
give a portion equal in value to the value of any other com-
modity he might afterwards wish to obtain. When first
brought to market, gold and silver, like copper, iron, or any
other metal, were in an unfashioned state, in bars or ingots.
A sheep, an ox, a bushel of wheat, &c. was then bartered for
a piece of gold or silver, exactly as it would have been bar¬
tered for iron, copper, cloth, or any other commodity. The
parties first agreed upon the quality of the metal to be given
for the goods, and the quantity, which the possessor of the
metal had bound himself to pay, was next ascertained by
weight. Nor is this a mere conjectural statement, advanced
in a later age to explain appearances, and resting on pro¬
bability only. Aristotle (Polit. lib. i. cap. 9-) and Pliny
(Hist. Nat. lib. 33, cap. 3.) tells us, that such was, in fact,
the original method by which the precious metals were ex¬
changed in Greece and Italy ; and the sacred writings pre¬
sent us with a striking and remarkable example of the pre¬
valence of the same primitive practice in the East. W e are
there told that Abraham weighed four hundred shekels of
uieir supply su as tu avuiu   ,   ^ _ . c ,,
ations of price. The occasional abundance and scarcity of silver, and gave them in exchange for a piece of ground he
pasture has a powerful influence on the price of cattle, which had purchased from the sons of (Genesis, chap. xxni.
.... 16.) It is also mentioned, that this silver was “cur¬
rent money with the merchant? an expression which evi¬
dently refers to its quality only. For, had it been coined,
or marked with a stamp, indicating its weight and fineness,
it would have been unnecessary to have weighed it. These
ancient practices still subsist in various countries. In many
parts of China, gold and silver do not circulate as coin under
the authority of a public stamp, but their value is always
ascertained by weight. When exchanged, they are cut into
Gold and
silver the
money
is still more seriously affected by the prevalence of epide
mica! diseases, and other contingencies. The fluctuations
in the price of corn, arising from the variations of the. sea¬
sons, are too striking and obvious to require to be pointed
out. And in the islands where cowries are picked up, a
strong gale from a particular point of the compass has fre¬
quently, in a few hours, sunk their value considerably. It
was impossible, therefore, that such commodities could ever
be either generally or permanently used as money in civil-     j • ~-o ----- - ° , c
ized societies. No person would willingly exchange the pieces, supposed to be nearly proportioned to the value of
produce of his industry for a commodity which might, in a the commodity they are to be given for ; and the pieces are
few weeks, or even days, lose a third, or a half, of its value, then weighed to ascertain their precise value. Ibis prac-
The desire of uniting the different qualities of invaria- tice is also prevalent in Abyssinia and lonquin.
B11VC1 LUC bility of value, divisibility, durability, facility of transporta- Before the art of metallurgy was well understood, the
fittest ma- tion, and perfect sameness, doubtless formed the irresistible baser metals were frequently used as money. Iron was he
terials for reasons which have induced mankind, in every civilized so- punitive money of the Lacedemonians, and copper ot tne
cietv, to employ gold and silver as money. The value of Romans. But both iron and copper deteriorate by being
these metals is certainly not invariable, but it changes only kept; and, besides this defect, the rapid improvement o
by slow degrees ; they are divisible into any number of the arts, and the consequent reduction of their price, speemy
parts, and have the singular property of being easily reunit¬
ed, by means of fusion, without loss ; they do not deterior¬
ate by being kept; and, from their firm and compact tex¬
ture, they are very difficult to wear; their cost of produc¬
tion, especially of gold, is so considerable, that they possess
great value in small bulk, and can, of course, be transport¬
ed with comparative facility; and an ounce of pure gold
and silver, taken from the mines in one quarter of the world,
is precisely identical with an ounce of pure gold or silver
dug from the mines in any other quarter. No wonder,
therefore, when almost all the qualities necessary to consti¬
tute money are possessed in so eminent a degree by the
precious metals, that they have been used as such, in civil¬
ized societies, from a very remote era. They became uni-
sversal money, as M. Turgot has observed, “not in conse- ojul uic ™ — .... — -—f
quence of any arbitrary agreement among men, or of the as money, would undoubtedly be found m the uimcu y
intervention of any law, but by the nature and force of determining their quality, or the degree of their purity, wi
things.” * * sufficient facility and accuracy. The operation of assaying,
first used as A considerable period must, however, have elapsed after is one of great nicety and delicacy ; and, notwithstan in£
money in the introduction of the precious metals into commerce, be- the assistance derived from modern art, it is still n0 ^ y
the shape offore they were generally used as money. But, by degrees, matter to ascertain the precise degree of purity of a par i
bars or in- tjie various qualities, which so peculiarly fit them for this lar piece of metal. In early ages, such an operation mu
purpose, would become obvious ; and every individual, in have been performed in a very clumsy and bungling m
consulting his own advantage, would endeavour to exchange ner. It is most probable, indeed, that whffii the preci
a part, at least, of the produce of his industry for commodi- metals were first used as money, their quality was ^PPr^
ties which could be easily concealed or carried about, which ated only by their weight and colour. A very snor
LillC Cvi LOj c4,11VI lk ^— / x *
rendered their bulk in proportion to their value too great to
permit of their continuing to be used as money. Copper,
however, is still advantageously used in the form of tokens,
convertible into silver in very small payments. In Great
Britain, copper pence and halfpence are at present rated at
about seventy-two per cent, above their real value ; but as
the issue of them is exclusively in the hands of govern¬
ment, and as they are legal tender to the extent of one shil¬
ling only, in any one payment, this over-valuation has not,
for reasons which we shall afterwards explain, had any bad
effect.2 .
The trouble and inconvenience attending the weighing Coinage
of the quantity of metal in every exchange of gold and sd-goj"
ver for commodities must have been early experienced.'
But the greatest obstacle to the use of unfashioned metals
goes.
i Goguet, De VOrigine des Loix, Sfc. tom. i. p. 268, 4to edit. See also Park’s Travels, vol. i. p. 464, 8vo edit. ve.mD*
* See Memorandum on the Silver Coinage of 1817, by the Master of the Mint, p. 378 of the Appendix to the Lord’s Report on tne nea r
tion of Cash Payments by (he Bank.
money.
385
Adv !ta-
ges i uoin
edir ey.
Coine
ney n<
sign, (
ineasu
value
perience would, however, be sufficient to show the extreme value of <mld and siW o • , . ,
’inexactness of conclusions derived from such loose and un- may either measure nr Y Possessed ?f va5uc Money-
satisfactory criteria; and the devising of some method by possessed of value ’ W' Sured ^7’ ?ver>7 tlling else^^v*^
which the fineness of the metal might be easily and correct- another T6 is exchanged for
ly ascertained, would very soon b,?felt as JispensaMe to S^dTcTSitl^^f
the general use of gold and silver as money. Such a me- say a Quartern n f g’ i ? be1qUlte aS COrrect to
tboc^was not long in presenting itself, ft was early dit Zt "
The quality of serving as a measure of value is, therefore, Use of o-0ld
lnhJrT .l!n every Commodity- But the slow de-and silver L
g by which the precious metals change their value ren-a standard
rious steps which led the ancients to 'the 'ffitmductffin’S whTcf r^omShrl?^^^^^
—ie,
made in est,mating the value of the produces of ever, civi'aS
hzed country. We do not say, that one man is worth a
thousand acres of land, and that another is worth a thou-
sancl sheep ; but we ascertain for how much gold or silver
the. land and the sheep would exchange, and then say, that
their proprietors are worth so much money. In this, how¬
ever, there is certainly nothing mysterious. We merely
compare the value of one commodity with the value of an¬
other ; and as coin or money has been found to be the most
convenient standard of comparison, the Value of all other
commodities is usually estimated in it.
It is obvious, from this statement, that the terms of the Proof of
exchange of one commodity, or set of commodities, for an- the non-ex.
other, may be adjusted, with reference to money, without lienee of
any money being actually in the possession of either of thean.abstract
parties making the exchange. If a horse, for example, had°r ldfal.
commonly sold for ten pieces of silver, an ox for five pieces,
and a sheep for one piece, it would mark their relative val¬
ues to each other, and the animals might be exchanged on
this footing without the intervention of money. The fre¬
quent recurrence of transactions of this kind seems to have
given rise to the notion of an abstract or ideal standard of
value, dims, instead of saying that a horse is worth ten
pieces of silver, an ox five pieces, and a sheep one piece, it
has been contended that it might equally have been said
that they were respectively worth ten points or units, five
points or units, and one point or unit; and that, as the pro¬
portional values of commodities might be as clearly express¬
ed in these arbitrary terms as in money, or any commodi¬
ty possessed of real value, the use of the latter, as a stand¬
ard, might be advantageously dispensed with, and a set of
abstract terms adopted in its stead. This, however, is com¬
pletely mistaking the nature and object of a standard. A
standard is not intended to mark the known relations be¬
tween different commodities, but to enable us easily to dis¬
cover those which are unknown. Now, although the series
of arbitrary terms may serve extremely well for the first of
these purposes, it is utterly impossible that they can ever
a coin tW " i °i 'rt T j. ^ serve for t}ie second. This, however, is exclusively the ob-
and fineness it Z ^ & P indicatin1§ ‘ts weight ject of a standard ; and it is quite plain that nothing can be
ana nneness, it is plain that circumstance could have made —* —A S   b ..
no change in the. terms of the barter. The coinage saves
the trouble of weighing and assaying the bullion, but it does
nothing more. A coin is merely a piece of metal of a known
weight and fineness ; and the commodities exchanged for
are always held to be of equal value. And yet these ob-
thod was not long in presenting itself. It was early dis¬
covered, that, to ascertain the purity of the metal, and also
to avoid the trouble and expense of weighing it, no more was
necessary than to mark each piece with a stamp, declarin'^
its weight and fineness. Such seem to have been the va^
p. 269,) ; an invention of the very greatest utility, and which
has, perhaps, contributed more than any other, to facilitate
commerce, and to accelerate the progress of civilization and
the arts.
“ Without some article of known exchangeable value,
such as coin, readily received as an equivalent for other
things, the interchange of commodities must have been very
limited, and consequently the divisions of labour very im¬
perfectly established. Now, money obviates these evils, and
by a twofold operation, augments production. In the first
place, it saves all that time and labour which, while the in¬
tercourse between man and man is carried on by barter,
must frequently intervene before a person can be supplied
with the quantity of the commodity which he wants. In
the second place, and in consequence of its saving the time
and labour which must otherwise be spent in effectincr ex¬
changes, it multiplies the transactions of mercantile indus¬
try, and thus allows the divisions of employment to be more
thoroughly established. By the first operation, it disen¬
gages a very consideraole portion of labour from an unpro-
ducthe occupation, and enables it to receive a more useful
direction. By the second operation, it increases in a very
high degree the productive powers of the labour already use¬
fully employed. It assists every man in availing himself of
the skill and dexterity which he may have acquired in any
particular calling, and promotes cultivation in a manner suit¬
able to the climate and soil of different districts, and of dif-
erent countries. And by both these operations, coined
money increases to an extent, not easy to be calculated,
the wealth of civilized communities.” (Torrens on the Pro¬
duction of Wealth, p. 305.)
• But, whatever may be the advantages attending the use
o coined money, and they are great and obvious, it is ne¬
cessary to observe, that its introduction does not affect the
nature of exchanges. Equivalents are still given for equiva¬
lents. The exchange of a quarter of corn for an ounce of
pure unfashioned gold bullion, is undeniably as much a real
barter, as if it had been exchanged for an ox, or a barrel of
beer. But supposing the metal to have been formed into
used as such which is not possessed of the same properties
as the things with which it is to be compared. To mea¬
sure length, a standard must have length ; to measure value,
it must have value. The value of commodities is ascer¬
tained by separately comparing their cost with the cost of
money, and we express their relation to each other by sim-
viom u i.^ cum ne expiess men relation to eacn otiier by sim-
Coinlfi Tnn 7S hfVtbeen Very genera!1y Overlooked, ply stating the result of our inquiries; that is, by mention-
k beingviewedin the same light as ing the number of livres, of pounds, or of fractions of a
1GS’ hasbeen l00ked upon as something quite pound, they are respectively worth. And, when any new
. yas sai 'l> oo both a sign and a, measure of commodity is offered for sale, or when any change is made
[th. hnWPVPr it ic naifticr. ttw-v • ..l. _ _ r> i i ... i
va ue. In truth, however, itis neither the one nor the other
sovereign is not a sign, it is the thing signified. A pro-
nussory note, payable at some stated period, may not im¬
properly be considered as the sign of the specie to be paid
in the cost of an old one, we ascertain their relation to the
rest, by merely comparing them with a livre or a pound.
It is plainly impossible, how’ever, that we could have done
for‘it - K Vtli T—ols" U1 uie BPci;ie LU Paiu this, had the terms livre, or pound, been purely arbitrary,
exchan U i ila sI)eicie ^ 'tsen a commodity possessed of real and referable to no really valuable article. We might as
a measgea f W0lt1, It is equally incorrect to call money well try to estimate distances by an imaginary inch, or an
value nf6 ° Va ’• ^J° C and sdver do 1101 measure the imaginary foot, as to estimate prices or values by an ima-
commodities, more than the latter measure the ginary shilling, or an imaginary sovereign. When vm say
^ '-'■Li* jCV• Q *
o C
MONEY.
386
Money, that an ox is worth five pounds, and a sheep only one, we
1 really mean no more than that, when an ox and a sheep are
compared together, that is, when the one serves as a stand¬
ard by which to estimate the value of the other, one ox is
found to be worth five sheep. But, suppose that we wish
to ascertain what is the relative value of some other com¬
modity ; of a pound of tea, for example ; to oxen or sheep,
of what use would it be to be told that one ox was worth
five sheep, or that, when the value of an ox was represent¬
ed by the imaginary term “ five pounds,” the value of a
sheep was represented by the imaginary term “one poundr”
It is not the relation between oxen and sheep, but the re¬
lation between these animals and tea, that we are desirous
of learning. And, although this relation may be learned by
comparing the cost of producing oxen and sheep with the
cost of producing tea, or by ascertaining for how much of
some other commodity an ox, a sheep, and a pound of tea,
will respectively exchange, it is obvious it could never be
learned by comparing them with a set of arbitrary terms or
symbols! It would not, in truth, be more absurd to attempt
to ascertain it by comparing them with the hieroglyphics on
an Egyptian sarcophagus. Nothing that will not exchange
for something else, can ever be a standard, or measure ot
value. Commodities are always compared with commodi¬
ties and not with abstract terms. Men go to market with
real values, and not with the signs of values in their pock¬
ets. And it is to something possessed of real worth, to the
gold contained in a sovereign and not in the word sove¬
reign, that they always have referred, and must continue to
refer, in estimating value.1 _ .
In common mercantile language, the giving ot money
for a commodity is termed buying, and the giving of a com¬
modity for money, selling. Price, unless when the com
Sect. II.—Circumstances which Begulate the Exchange-
able Value of Money. ^Yl
This branch of our subject naturally divides itself into
two parts: 1st, an inquiry into the principles which regulate
the exchangeable value of money when the power to supply
is not monopolised ; and, 2d, an inquiry how far these prin¬
ciples are liable to be affected by the operation of mono¬
poly.
I. There does not now seem to be much room for differ-Cost (i i
ence of opinion respecting the circumstances that regulate Pr«duc 1
the value of the precious metals, and their distribution ^ulait
throughout the various countries of the globe. Bullion isa^
commodity, on the production of which competition operates |
without restraint. It is not subjected to any species ot mo- power;
nopoly, and its value in exchange must, therefore, be en-supply
tirely regulated by the cost of its production, that is, by then°t,nioi
quantity of labour required to bring a given quantity of ittoPcllseii
market.
If, in every stage of society, it required precisely the same
quantity of labour to produce a given quantity of bullion, its
value would be invariable; and it would constitute a stand¬
ard by which the variations in the exchangeable value of all
other commodities could be correctly ascertained. But this
is not the case either with bullion or any thing else. And
its value fluctuates in the same way as that of other com¬
modities, not only according to the greater or less produc¬
tiveness of the mines from which it is extracted, but also
according to the comparative skill ot the miners, and the
improvements of machinery.
M. Say has, in his work on Political Economy, a chapter
“ De la valeur que la qualite d’etre monnoie ajoute a une
marchandise.” But a little reflection will convince us, that
moditv for money* selling* umcba wneu me eun -L-*UL ^ * . r* i
trarv is particularly mentioned, always means the value of M. Say is mistaken, and that the circumstance of the pre-
"   ;vs w^.r.^7 rious metals beum used as money cannot affect their value.
a commodity rated in money.
Having thus endeavoured to explain the circumstances
which led to the introduction of money, and to shew what
it really is, and what it is not, we shall now proceed to in¬
vestigate the laws by which its value is regulated. It is
chiefly from the prevalence of erroneous opinions on this
subject, that the theory of money has been so much mis¬
understood.
cious metals being used as money cannot affect their value.
M. Say reasons on the common hypothesis, that an increase
of demand is al ways productive of an increase of value, an
assumption totally at variance with principle and fact. Value
depends upon the cost of production ; and it is obvious that
the cost of producing a commodity may be diminished, whilst
the demand for it is increasing. This is so plain a proposi¬
tion, as hardly to require to be substantiated by argument.
1 The following passage of Montesquieu has often been referred to in proof of the existence of an ideal standard Les nous e
cote d’Afrique out un signe des valeurs sans monnoie; e’est un signe purement ideal fondd sur le degrd d’estime quils mettent dans
esprit a chaque marchandise, h proportion du besoin qu’ils en ont; une certaine denrde, ou marchandise, vaut trois macutes ; mem, ,
macules ; une autre, dix macutes ; e’est comme s’ils disoient simplement trois, six, dix. Ze pnx se forme par la comparaison qui J „
toutes les marchandises entre dies: pour lors, il n’y a point de monnoie particuliere, mais chaque portion de marchandise est monnoie de l autr •
f Esprit des Loix, livre xxii. cap. 8.) ... ^. , r , ^ n. nnn.
But, instead of giving any support to the notion of an abstract standard, this passage might be confidently referred to in proo
existence. Had Montesquieu said that the blacks determined the values, or prices, of commodities, by comparing them with the art) f
term macute, the statement, though false, would have been at least in point. But he says no such thing. On the contrary, e s “
tinctly, that the relative values of commodities (marchandises) are ascertained by comparing them with each other (entre elles), an
merely the result of the comparison that is expressed in arbitrary terms. , . , . . rrrl
So much for the weight to be attached to this statement, supposing it to be well-founded. The truth is, however, that the
is not really arbitrary, and employed only to mark an ascertained proportion, but that it has a reference to, and is, in tact, 6 name oj
intrinsically valuable commodity. “ On a bien dit,” says PAbbd Morellet, “que ce mot macute etoit une expression abstraite et gener e
la valeur, et cela est vrai au sens oil nous 1’expliquerons plus has; mais on n’apas remarqud que cette abstraction aete consequen e e p
terieure h 1’emploi du mot macute pour signifier une marchandise, une denree reelle d laquelle on avoit longtems compare toutes les autres-
“ Macute en plusieurs lieux de la cote d’Afrique, est encore le nom d’une certaine etoffe : ^ Chez les negres de la cote d Angola, i i
ageur Angelo, ‘ les macutes sont des pieces de nattes d'une aune de long ; Jobson dit aussi que les macutes sont une espece ditojfe.
“ Les etoifes ont toujours etd 1’objet d’un besoin tres-pressant chez des peuples aussi barbares, depourvus de toute espece n
..   4.C II..— 1.. — — J1,, f.+ TA11 n mnrr»P»miY yip 11 POTlSldprflblpS fit d UI16 DCtl
1’industrie-
“ Ees etortes one toujours ece l oojet a un uesom ires-pressam cnez ues peupies —   aleiir •
Les nattes en particulier leur sont de la plus grande necessite. Elles sont divisees en morceaux peu considerables et d une peti e 1 ’
elles sont tres-uniforrnes dans leurs parties, et les premieres qu’on a faites auront pu etre semblables les unes aux autres, et d une on e ’
sous la meme denomination ; toutes ces qualites les ont rendu propres h devenir la mesure commune des valeurs.”—(Prospectus un
veau Dictionnairc de Commerce, p. 121.) . , ,T ui, the
The following extract from Park’s Travels gives an example of a similar kind : “ In the early intercourse of the Man ding . , je
Europeans, the article that attracted most notice was iron. Its utility in forming the instruments of war and husbandry made it pie
to all others ; and iron soon became the measure (standard) by which the value of all other commodities was ascertained. 1 'j5’ a ^at
quantity of goods, of whatever denomination, appearing to be equal to a bar of iron, constituted, in the trader’s phraseology, a ar .
particular merchandise. Twenty leaves of tobacco, for instance, were considered as a bar of tobacco ; and a gallon ol spirits (oi ra ^oW_
spirits and half water) as a bar of rum ; a bar of one commodity being reckoned equal in value to a bar of another commodity. >
ever, it must unavoidably happen, that, according to the plenty or scarcity of goods at market, in proportion to the demand, the re a ^ ^
would be subject to continual fluctuation, greater precision has been found necessary; and, at this time, the current value ot a s" fe ^ ^
any kind is fixed by the whites at two shillings sterling. Thus, a slave, whose price is <£15, is said to be worth 150 bais. f m
Interior of Africa, 8vo edit. vol. i. p. 39.)
MONEY.
iey. And a reference to the case of cotton goods, the price of IT Rut if „ „
which has, notwithstanding the vast increase of demand, production nf thr , 1 l lon were allowed to operate on the
been constantly on the decline during the last half century, lised and limited irTtlv-0118 met.a s> ^ ^ey coul(i be monopo- n—
is enough to convince the most sceptical of the extreme er- would no longer be reffulat^h^tE16^ exchan^eable vabie The pro-
roneousness of M. Say’s conclusion. But, with re-ard to after the limitation by- 16 ,Same PnnciPles- If, Portlol> b*-
the particular case of the precious metals, i’t is clearTe cl- Ind ^ u/edas
pital devoted to the production of gold and silver must yield nufactured commodities and vXablTnmd'! tTh^l dema"d re-
the common and ordinary rate of profit; for, if it yielded very much multiplied the evetl productsshould beguiates thu
ri‘h“^ ■”.«» of capital t„ aniount of Z^!
tionably increased; and, of course, a proportionably smallerwhen die
sum would be appropriated to each particular transaction ;P0Wer of
0\’ the SaQie thin^ money prices would be dimin-supply i;s
ished. Whenever the supply of money is>erf, the amount rd0I10p0l,Z'
ot it, given in exchange for commodities, must vary inversely '
as the demand, and can he affected by nothing else. If
double the usual supply of commodities be brought to mar¬
ket in a country with a limited currency, their money price
will be reduced a half; and if only half the usual supply be
brought to market, it will be doubled; and this, whether
tlie cost of their production be increased or diminished.
Produce is not then exchanged for money, on the ground
t lat it is a commodity capable of being advantageously used
m die arts, or that an equal quantity of labour has been ex¬
pended on its production; but because it is the universal
equivalent used by the society, and that, as such, it will be
willingly received for the produce belonging to others. The
remark of Anacharsis, the Scythian, that gold and silver
coins seemed to be of no use but to assist in numeration and
arithmetic, (Hume’s Essay on Money), would, if confined to
a strictly limited currency, be as just as it is ingenious.
Sovereigns, livres, dollars, &c., would then really constitute
mere tickets or counters, for computing the value of pro¬
perty, and transferring it from one individual to another.
And as small tickets or counters, would serve for this pur¬
pose quite as well as large ones, it is unquestionably true,
that a debased currency may, by first reducing, and then
limiting its quantity, be made to circulate at the value it
would bear if the power to supply it were unrestricted, and
if it were possessed of the legal weight and fineness; and,
by still further limiting its quantity, it might be made to pass
the mining business; and, if it yielded less, it would be
withdrawn, and vested in some more lucrative employment.
And hence, though the demand for gold and silver shoidd,
from the adoption of some other commodity as an instru¬
ment of exchange, gradually become less, the value of the
precious metals would not, on that account, be reduced. A
smaller supply would, indeed, be annually brought to mar¬
ket, and a portion of the capital formerly engaged in the
mining, refining, and preparing of the metals, would be dis¬
engaged; but as the whole stock thus employed yielded
only the average rate of profit, the portion which is not
withdrawn must continue to do so; or, which is the same
thing, gold and silver must still continue to sell for the same
price. It is no doubt true, that where mines are, as they
almost always are, of different degrees of productiveness, any
great falling off in the demand for bullion might, by render¬
ing it unnecessary to work the inferior mines, enable the
proprietors of the richer mines to continue their work, and
to obtain the ordinary rate of profit on their capitals, by
selling bullion at a reduced price. In this case the value
of bullion would be really diminished; but it would be di¬
minished, not because there was a falling off in the demand,
but because there was a greater facility oif production. On
the other hand, an increased demand for bullion, whether it
arose from the general suppression of paper money, or from
a greater consumption of gold and silver in the arts, or from
any other cause, would not, unless it were necessary, in order
to procure the increased supply, to have recourse to less
productive mines, be accompanied by any rise of price. If
the mines from which the additional supplies were drawn
were less productive than those already wrought, more la- ^ own mnuta umiu
bour would be necessary to procure the same quantity of at any higher value.
bullion, and, of course, its price would rise. But,Af no such
increase of labour was required, its price would remain sta¬
tionary, though a thousand times the quantity formerly re¬
quired should be demanded.
After gold and silver have been brought to market, their
conversion into coin or manufactured articles, depends en¬
tirely on a comparison of the profits that may be derived
trom each operation. No bullion would be taken to the
mint if it would yield a greater profit by sending it to a sil-
versmith; and no silversmith would work up bullion into
pate, if he could turn it to greater account by converting
i into coin. The value of bullion and coin must, therefore,
m countries where the expenses of coinage are defrayed by
me state, nearly correspond. When there is any unusual
emand for bullion in the arts, coin is melted down; and
w en, on the contrary, there is any unusual demand for coin,
P a e is sent to the mint, and the equilibrium of value main¬
tained by its fusion.
It appears, therefore, that whilst competition operates
out restraint on the production of gold and silver, they
are, ike all other things, produced under similar circum-
tances, valuable only in proportion to the cost of their pro-
uction , that is, in proportion to the quantity of labour
necessarily expended in bringing them to market. And
enf?’wdli e they constitute the currency of the commercial
wYK ’ *i 1° price ^ommodities, or their value compared
1 go d or silver, will vary, not only according to the vari-
lons m the exchangeable value of the commodities them-
tV> VeS,i i •S0 accorcbng to the variations in the value of
e go d or silver with which they are compared.
T hus it appears, that whatever may be the material of the
money of any country, whether it consist of gold, silver, cop¬
per, iron, leather, salt, cowries, or paper, and how ever destitute
it may be of all intrinsic value, it is yet possible, by suffi¬
ciently limiting its quantity, to raise its value in exchange
to any conceivable extent.
Suppose the money of Great Britain consists of50,000,000
or 60,000,000 of one pound notes, and that we are prevented
from increasing or diminishing this sum, either by issuing
additional notes or coins, or by withdrawing the notes al¬
ready in circulation ; it is obvious that the quantity of com¬
modities for w hich such notes would exchange, would in¬
crease or diminish precisely according to the increase or
diminution of the commodities brought to market. If we
suppose that ten times the amount of products that were
offered for sale when the limitation of the currency took
place, are offered for sale ten or twenty years afterwards, and
that the rapidity of circulation has continued the same, prices
will have fallen to one-tenth of their former amount; or,
which is the same thing, the exchangeable value of the pa¬
per money will have increased in a tenfold proportion; and,
on the other hand, if the products brought to market had
diminished in the same proportion, the exchangeable value
of the paper money will have been equally reduced.
The principles we have now stated are of the utmost im¬
portance to a right understanding of the real nature of mo¬
ney. Previously to the publication of Mr. Ricardo’s Prin
ciples of Political Economy, every writer of authority main¬
tained, that the value of money depended entirely on the
relation between its amount and the demand. But this is
Money, true only of a gold or silver currency when its quantity is
limited, and of a currency formed of materials having little
intrinsic worth, as paper, when its quantity is limited, and
it is not made convertible, at the pleasure of the holder, into
some more valuable commodity, the production of which is
under no restraint. It is obvious, indeed, without any rea¬
soning on the subject, that the value of a currency that costs
little or nothing, can only depend on the proportion which
its amount bears to the commodities brought to market, or
to the business it has to perform. And wherever a currency
of this kind, or a limited gold currency, is in circulation, the
common opinion, that the prices of commodities are regu¬
lated exclusively by the proportion between the quantity of
them brought to market, and the supply of money, and that
any considerable increase or diminution of either will pro¬
portionally affect prices, is quite correct. It is altogether
different, however, with a currency consisting of gold or sil¬
ver, or of any other commodity possessed of considerable
value, and the supply of which may be increased to an un¬
limited extent by the operation of unrestricted competition.
The fluctuations in the supply of, and demand for, such
money, have no permanent effect on its exchangeable value;
this depends exclusively on the comparative cost of its pro¬
duction. If a sovereign commonly exchanges for a couple
of bushels of wheat, or a hat, it is because the same labour
is required for its production as for that of either of these
commodities ; while, if with a limited and inconvertible pa¬
per money, they exchange for a one pound note, it would
be because such was the proportion which, as a part of the
mass of commodities offered for sale, they bore to the supply
of paper or money in the market. This proportion would,
it is evident, be not only immediately, but permanently,
affected by an increase or diminution either of paper or com¬
modities. But the relation which commodities bear to a
freely supplied metallic currency, could not be permanently
changed, except by a change in the cost of producing the
commodities or the metals.
Our readers must not conceive from what is now stated,
that we mean to contend that the value of gold or silver is
never affected by variations of supply and demand. Such
an opinion would be altogether erroneous. At the same
time it must be admitted, that their value is much less af¬
fected by such variations, than that of almost any other
commodity. Their great durability precludes the possibili¬
ty of any sudden diminution of their quantity, while the iifi-
mense surface over which they are spread, and the various
purposes to which they are applied, prevent any unusual
productiveness of the mines from speedily lowering their
value. An extraordinary event, such as the discovery of
America, or the establishment of an intercourse between a
country where bullion bore a high value, and one where its
value, from the greater facility of its production, was com¬
paratively low, would, by causing a sudden exportation and
importation, raise its value in the one country, and sink it in
the other. But such events must necessarily be of very rare
occurrence. And although the different productiveness of
the mines, to which, in the progress of society, recourse
must be had, and the successive improvements in the art
of mining and working metals, must render the value of
gold and silver very different at distant periods, it is abun¬
dantly uniform to secure us against all risk of sudden and
injurious fluctuations.
Such are the circumstances which regulate the value of
money ; first, when the power to supply it is not subject¬
ed to any species of monoply ; and, second, when it is mon¬
opolised and limited. In the former case, its value depends,
like that of all other commodities, on the cost of its produc- Mone
tion ; while, in the latter case, its value is totally unaffected
by that circumstance, and depends entirely on the extent
to which it has been issued, compared with the demand.
The conclusions deducible from the fundamental princi¬
ple we have thus endeavoured to establish, are of the ut¬
most importance. A metallic currency, on the coinage of
which a high seignorage or duty was charged, and a paper
currency not convertible into the precious metals, were oc¬
casionally seen to circulate at the same value with a metal¬
lic currency of full weight, and which had been coined at
the expence of the state. But no rational or consistent
explanation of these apparently anomalous results could be
given until the effects produced by limiting the supply of
money had been accurately appreciated. Now, however,
that this has been done, all these difficulties have disap¬
peared. The theory of money has been perfected, and we
are enabled to shew what, under any given circumstances,
would be the effect of imposing a seignorage, or of issuing
an inconvertible paper currency.
Sect. III.—A moderate Seignorage on Coined Money
shewn to be advantageous. Principles which should re¬
gulate its amount!
The government of almost every country has retained the Reasons
power of coining exclusively in its own hands. Inantiqui-whyasei|!-
ty this privilege was reserved merely to prevent the confu-noraS(’
sion that must attend the circulation of coins of different s'lould I*
denominations were individuals permitted to issue them at
pleasure, and to give the public greater security, that themoney,
stamp should truly indicate the weight and fineness of the
metal.1 2 But in more modern times it has been used not
only as a means of affording a better guarantee to the pub¬
lic, but also of increasing the revenues of the state. As to the
expediency of this, however, much difference of opinion has
existed. It has been contended that the state ought in no
circumstances to charge any duty on coined money; and
that the expences of the mint should always be defrayed by
the public. In this opinion we cannot concur; and it ap¬
pears to us that the reasoning of Dr. Smith, in favour of a
moderate seignorage, is quite unanswerable. No good rea¬
son has yet been given why those who want coins should
not have to pay the expences of manufacturing them.
Coinage, by saving the trouble and expence attending the
weighing and assaying of bullion, indisputably adds to the
value of the precious metals. It renders them fitter to per¬
form the functions of a circulating medium. A sovereign
is of greater value than a piece of pure unfashioned gold
bullion of the same weight; and for this plain reason, that
while it is equally well adapted with the bullion for being
used in the arts, it is better adapted for being used as money,
or in the exchange of commodities. Why then should go¬
vernment be prevented from charging a seignorage, or duty
on coins, equal to the expences of the coinage, or, which is
the same thing, to the value which ic adds to the bullion ?
Those who contend that the state ought to defray the ex¬
pence of the coinage, might, with equal cogency of reason¬
ing, contend that it ought to defray the expence of manu¬
facturing gold and silver tea-pots, vases, &c. . In both cases
the value of the raw material, or bullion, is increased by the
cost of workmanship. And it is only fair and reasonable,
that those who carry bullion to the mint as well as those
who carry it to the jewellers, should have to pay the expences
necessarily attending its conversion into coin.
But there are other reasons why a seignorage, to this ex¬
tent at least, ought to be exacted. Wherever the expences
1 Seignorage, strictly speaking, means only the clear revenue derived by the state from the coinage ; but it is now commonly used to express
every deduction made from the bullion brought to the mint to be coined, whether on account of duty to the state, or of the expence ot
coinage (properly brassage). We always use the phrase in its more enlarged sense.
2 Le Blanc, Traite Historique des Monnoyes de France, p. 90, ed. Amst. 1692.
MONEY.
ney. of coinage are defrayed by the state, an ounce of coined duals, there is no risk of this happening. No one we mav
— j --1 -1 nv cil'nnrl an r%-P rp/^lrl o4Kr^-w  •j. _ *n ,* .,. ^ , “'J
389
Money.
gold or silver, and an ounce of gold or silver bullion, depend upon it, will ever carry bullion to that establishment,
must be very nearly of the same value. And, hence, and pay the expences of its coinage, unless the coins be
whenever it becomes profitable to export the precious thereby rendered so much more valuable than the unfashion-
metals, coins, in the manufacture of which a considerable ed metal,
expence has been incurred, are sent abroad indifferently Should the government choose to buy bullion, and coin
with bullion. It has indeed been attempted, by prohibit- money on its own account, it might, by a little attention,
ing the exportation of coins, to prevent the loss that may easily avoid all over-issue. Suppose the seignorage were
thus be occasioned ; but these efforts have proved singu- two per cent., then any given weight of coins of the mint
larly ineffectual, and have, indeed, been abandoned in this standard ought, provided the currency be not redundant to
and most other countries. Admitting, however, that it purchase two per cent, more than the same weight of bul-
were possible, which most certainly it is not, to prevent, lion. So long, therefore, as this proportion is preserved be-
or at least, materially limit, the-clandestine exportation of tween coined money and bullion, it shews that the proper
coins, it is conceded on all hands to be quite nugatory to supply of currency has been issued. If the value of the
attempt to prevent their conversion into bullion. In this there coins decline below this limit, too many of them must have
is almost no risk. And the security with which their fusion got into circulation ; and, if, on the contrary, their value in-
can be effected, and the trifling expences attending it, will crease, the supply is too limited, and an additional quantity
always enable them to be melted down and sent abroad may be advantageously issued.
whenever there is any unusual foreign demand for the pre- It is easily seen, from the principles already established, If the sup-
cious metals. I his exportation would, however, be either that it is not necessary that the charge for seignorage should ply of coins
prevented or materially diminished by the imposition of a be limited to the mere expences of coinage. It may, with- coul(l he
seignorage or duty, equal to the expence of the coinage, out injury to any individual, be carried considerably farther. sufficientl>'
The coins being, by this means, rendered more valuable Provided the amount of the coins on which a seignorage isl™^’-a
than bullion, would be kept at home in preference : and if, imposed, be limited to the amount that previously circulat-n^.a
as Dr. bmith has observed, it became necessary on any ed in the country, its imposition, to whatever height it might might be
emergency to export coins, they would, most likely, be re- be carried, would not affect their exchangeable value. The exacted,
imported. Abroad they would be only worth so much bul- state having the exclusive privilege of coining, no addition-
lion, while at home they would be worth this much, and the al supply of money could be brought to market. And sup-
expence of coinage besides. There would, therefore, be an posing the business of the society to continue the same ;
obvious inducement to bring them back, and the supply of that is, supposing the same quantity of commodities are
currency would be maintained at its proper level, without brought to market, and exchanged for the same amount of
itsjieing necessary for the mint to issue fresh coins. coins of the same denomination, it is clear prices could
Besides relieving the country from the useless expences
attending the coinage of the money exported to other coun¬
tries as an article of commerce, the imposition of a moder¬
ate seignorage would either totally prevent, or at least lessen
that fusion of the heavier coins, which always takes place
whenever a currency becomes degraded or deficient in
weight. Previously to the great recoinage in 1773, the
quantity of bullion contained in the greater number of the
gold coins in circulation was reduced nearly two per cent,
below the mint standard; and, of course, the price of gold
bullion, estimated in this degraded currency, rose two per
cent., or from £3, 17s. and 10^d., its mint price, to £4.
This, however, was too minute a difference to be taken into
account in the ordinary business of buying and selling.
And the possessors of coins fresh from the mint, or of full
weight, not obtaining more produce in exchange for them
than for the lighter coins, sent the former to the melting
pot, and then sold them as bullion. But it is easy to see
that this fusion would have been effectually prevented had
the coins been loaded with a seignorage of two per cent.
The heavy coins could not then have been melted without
losing the value given them by the seignorage; and this
being equal to the excess of the market price of bullion
above the mint price, nothing would have been gained by
the melters. Had the seignorage been less than the average
degradation of the coin, or two per cent.; had it, for ex-
^ple, been only one per cent, all those coins whose value
was not more than one percent, degraded below their mint
standard, might have been melted ; but if the seignorage had
exceeded two per cent, no coins whatever could have been
melted until the degradation had increased to the same or
a greater extent.
This reasoning proceeds throughout on the supposition that
t e coins on which the seignorage is charged are not issu-
C<* fxcess< ^ they were, the above mentioned consequences
would not follow. Their too great multiplication might sink
em even below their value as bullion, and occasion their
immediate fusion or exportation. So long, however, as the
s ate only coins the bullion brought to the mint by indivi-
not be in any way aftected. Invariability 'of value is
the great desideratum in money ; and provided this be
maintained, as it always may be, by properly limiting the
quantity in circulation, it is of no consequence whether the
weight of the coins be increased or diminished. A hat that
had previously to the imposition of the seignorage sold for
a sovereign would still fetch one. The sovereign, it is true,
has been diminished in size ; but as its value is increased in
proportion to this diminution, and as small coins are equally
well adapted to serve every purpose of a circulating medi¬
um as those that are larger, the society would not suffer any
inconvenience from that circumstance. It is certain, in¬
deed, that if the monopoly were not rigorously enforced, or
if individuals were permitted to issue supplies of money from
private mints, free from the charge of seignorage, the in¬
crease of quantity would speedily sink the value of the whole
coins in circulation to a level with the cost of those produc¬
ed on the lowest terms; so that the coins on which a high
seignorage had been charged, would not be more valuable
than those exempted from that charge. But, wherever the
supply of money is limited, and competition excluded, this
principle ceases to operate, and its value is then dependent
upon the proportion which the total quantity in circulation
bears to the total demand. This principle is farther eluci¬
dated in a very able article on seignorage, by Mr. Tooke,
printed in the Appendix (p. 180) To the Lords’Report q/T 819-
It must not, however, be concealed, that if it were at- Difficulty-
tempted to charge a very high seignorage, it would be ex- of limiting
tremely difficult to limit the supply of coins. The induce- sufficiently
ment to counterfeit money would, under such circumstan-
ces, be very greatly increased, while the chances of detec-necessit’y 0f
tion would be very much diminished. It would not then imposing
be necessary, in order to derive a profit from counterfeit only a mo-
coins, that they should be manufactured of a baser metal, derate
The saving of a heavy charge on account of seignorage seiSnoraSe’
might of itself afford a sufficient profit; and this could be
derived, though the metal contained in the forged coins
were of the standard purity. But, though it might, for this
reason, and most probably would, be quite impossible to
390
MONEY.
Money, limit the supply of currency, and consequently to sustain its
value, were an exorbitant seignorage charged, the same dif¬
ficulty wrould not stand in the w ay of a moderate one. The
nefarious business of counterfeiting could not be carried on
did it not yield a sufficient premium to the forgers to indem¬
nify them for the risks and odium to which they are expos¬
ed. A seignorage less than this wrould be no encourage¬
ment to the issue of counterfeit coins. And though it
might be difficult to form any very precise estimate of what
this premium might be, it is pretty certain it would not be
under from four to five per cent.
Amount of It appears from an account inserted in the appendix to
the gold the Report drawn up by the Lords in 1819, that new gold
coinage coins, of the value of £74,501,586, had been issued by the
smee the mint between the 1st January 1760, and the 13th April
of*James To this sum we have to add nearly fifty millions
jj since issued, making in all an issue of about one hundred
and twenty-four or one hundred and twenty-five millions of
gold coins since the accession of George III. But the
seignorage was remitted in the reign of Charles II.; and it
appears from the accounts published by Mr. Ruding and
others that £28,172,149 of new gold coins were issued in
the period between the accession of James II. (1685) and
the demise of George II.; so that, in all, upwards of one
hundred and fifty-two millions of gold coins have been
coined at the expence of the state, and issued since the re¬
mission of the seignorage. We shall be considerably with¬
in the mark, if we estimate the average annual expence at¬
tending this coinage at L.l 2,000,1 and, on this supposition,
it will be found that the expence of the coinage of gold
only has amounted, during the one hundred and fifty-two
years which have elapsed since the accession of James II.,
to £1,824,000. But, if a low seignorage of no more than
three or four per cent, had been charged on the gold coins,
it would have produced four and a half or six millions; a
sum which might have been collected without injury to any
individual, and which, besides defraying the entire expen-
ces of the coinage, w ould have left a considerable surplus
revenue.
Expence of In his evidence before the Lords’ Committee in 1819,
the coin- Mr. Mushet stated, that, with the improved machinery now
age of gold in use in the mint, gold coin could be manufactured for
and silver. ap,out ] (js> j)er ccnt. (Minutes of Evidence, p. 207.) And
the expence of the manufacture of the silver coin may, we
believe, be taken at about three times as much, or one and
a half per cent. In France the coinage of gold costs 0‘29
per cent., and silver 1*50 per cent.; in Russia the gold costs
0-85, and the silver 2*95 per cent. (Storch, tom. vi. p. 74.)
History of The precise period when a seignorage began to be charg-
scLnorage ed upon English silver coins has not been ascertained. It
in England, must, however, have been very early. Mr. Ruding men¬
tions, that in a mint account of the 6th Henry III., one of
the earliest he had met with, the profit on £3,898, 0s. 4d.
of silver coined at Canterbury, is stated to be £97, 9s-, being
exactly 6d. a-pound, of which the king had £60, 18s. 3^d.,
and the bishop the residue. (Annals of the British Coinage,
vol. i. p. 179, 4to. ed.) In the 28th Edward I. the seignor¬
age amounted to Is. 2ld. per pound, 5^d. being allowed to
the master of the mint, to indemnify him for the expences
of coinage, and 9d. to the crown as its profit. Henry VI.
increased the master’s allowance to lOd. and Is. 2d., and the
king’s to Is. and 2s. In the reign of Edward IV. the
seignorage varied from 4s. 6d. to Is. 6d. It was reduced
to Is. in the reign of Henry VII.; but w as prodigiously
augmented in the reigns of his successors, Henry VIII. and Money
Edward VI., whose wildand arbitrary measures produced, as'^'y^/
will be afterwards shewn, the greatest derangement of the
currency. During the lengthened reign of Elizabeth, the
seignorage varied from Is. 6d. to 2s. per pound; at which
sum it continued, with very little variation, until the 18th
of Charles II. (1666), when it was totally remitted.
From this period down to 1817, no seignorage was charg¬
ed on the silver coin ; but a new system was then adopted.
Silver having been underrated in relation to gold in the mint
proportion of the two metals fixed in 1718, heavy silver
coins were withdrawn from circulation, and gold only being
used in all the larger payments, it became, in effect, what
silver had formerly been, the standard of the currency.
The act 56th Geo. III., regulating the present silver coin¬
age, was framed not to interfere with this arrangement, but
so as to render silver entirely subsidiary to gold. For this
purpose it is made legal tender only to the extent of 40s.;
and 66s. instead of 62s. are coined out of a pound of troy,
the 4s. being retained as a seignorage, which, therefore,
amounts to 6^-f per cent. The powrer to issue silver is vest¬
ed exclusively in the hands of government; who have it,
therefore, in their power to avoid throwing too much of it
into circulation, and consequently to prevent its fusion, un¬
til the market price of silver shall have risen to above 5s.
6d. an ounce.
This arrangement was censured in the debates on the
question of returning to cash payments in 1819. It was
contended that the overvaluation of silver with respect to
gold would render it the interest of every debtor to dis¬
charge his debts wuth silver, and that the gold coins would
in consequence be driven from circulation, and exported to
other countries. The result has shewn that this opinion
was altogether erroneous. Debtors cannot discharge their
debts by silver payments, for it is only legal tender to the
extent of 40s.; and no creditor can be compelled, or would
be disposed to take it in payment of a larger debt, except
at its real value.2
In the 18th of Edward III., the period when we begin to
have authentic accounts of the gold coinage, a pound troy
of gold bullion was coined into florins, of the value of L.lo:
Of this sum only L.l 3, 16s. 6d. were given to the person
who brought the bullion to be coined, L.l, 3s. 6d. being
retained as seignorage, of which 3s. 6d. went to the Master,
and L.l, to the King: But it appears, from the mint in¬
dentures, that the seignorage on the coinage of nobles for
the same year amounted to only 8s. 4d. And, from this
remote period to the accession of the Stuarts, with the ex¬
ception of the coins issued in the 4th and 5th Edward IV.
and the 34th, 36th, and 37th Henry VIII., the total charge
of coining a pound weight of gold bullion seldom exceeded
7s. or 8s. money of the time. In the 2d James L, a pound
weight of gold bullion was coined into L.40, 10s ; a seig¬
norage of L.l, 10s. being deducted, 6s. 5d. of which went
to the Master, and L.l, 3s. 7d. to the Crown. The seig¬
norage on gold w as remitted at the same time (18th Charles
II .) with the seignorage on silver, and has not since been
revived.3
As the regulation of the seignorage depended entirely on
the w ill of the sovereigns, we need not be surprised at the
variations in its amount at different periods, or that it should
have fluctuated according to their necessities and caprices.
It was, indeed, hardly possible that it should have been
otherwise. Our ancestors were totally ignorant of the pnn-
Lord Liverpool states, that the entire expences of the mint, from 1777 to 1808, amounted to L.488,441, which gives an average expen¬
diture of L.l8,786 a-year. (Liverpool on Coins, p. 156.)
„ 2 1,ll0r wl".J wish for a further elucidation of this subject, may refer to Mr. Mushet’s evidence in the Appendix to the Lords' Beport
Ji Expediency of the Banks resuming Cash Payments," where it is discussed at great length, and in the most able manner.
m me tables annexed to this article, the reader will find a detailed account ol the amount of the seignorage and its fluctuations in
different periods.
MONEY.
tatjr. ciple, by a strict adherence to whicluhe imposition of a scig- percent „„    .
■^norasje can alone be rendered advantageous. They cons! Suction took placet. ITsfand T*- ,A fiu'ther re-
dered it as a tax which might be increased and diminished on cold was fixed J i V ancl 1 /71’ ,when the seignorage
at pleasure. And, far from taking any steps to limit the cent. At this moninf tf Cent'’ ^ °n SiIver at ^ Per
quantity of corn in circulation, so as to maintain its value, covers the exnence^fn • se‘Snorage m France hardly
they frequently granted, to corporate bodies, and even to on gold, and U ner rent ge’-ibeinF °n y ab°Ut ?Per cent.
individuals,1 the privilege of issuing coins, not subjected to ^ 2 P t- Sllver-'
a seignorage. No wonder, therefore, that it should have Sect. IV,
been considered as a most unjust and oppressive tax, and
that its abolition should have been regarded as a very ad¬
vantageous measure.
■Expence of a Currency consisting of tin
Erecious Metals.
'■ curren-
T,, , _    ■ ■ mu . rpi • . ,
F edyor Besidesthe revenue arising from the seignorage, our kincs but a ver^-Tncnn^idrr 1mo^erat? seignorage has, however, Es,- . ,
.. formerly derived a small revenue from thf reljy msh,te. a 1 JuTc^Xnet tL ^ StTthe e![p\n“
It having been found impossible to coin money correspond- generally imagined does not rnnLt if Sr-eater than is of a Stal¬
ing in every particular, of weight and purity, with a given is comparative^ triflinf w H m the coinage, which lie (
stondard, a small allowance is always made to the master and silver required fo/t’ht puroose gr]!ft,an“0,lnt f g»'<l ^
of the mint, whose coins are held to be properly executed currenev of Grpnt Rriio- P / r1^’, for example, the
provided their imperfections, whether on^one'side „Mhe amoSo aU “ flCmmionfrf s:h01^ 0fg°ld’11 w°uld
other, do not exceed this allowance, or remedy. Its amount customary rate rf profit w^e ste rer^V; the
has varied very httle since the re.gn of Edward III.; having, three millions a-year : For had this fiftv million "'°U ,
during this long period, generally been one-eighth part of a employed as monev it wnnW E u Y milll°"S ^ot been
carat, or 30 grains of pure gold per pound of gold bullion, of industry in which beSsf ffordif ^ T m bran1che6i
and two penny weight of pure silver per pound of standard sands of individuals’ it woSd have °•ment t0 th°U"
silver bullion. By the law of 1816, the remedv fnr cmlrl uals’11 ^^d have yielded six per cent, or
coins is fixed at 12 grains per lb. in the weight,'and one- this is notth^nl^bss^Thefift^1 Or ^ pOSfvSSOrs’ Bllt
sixteenth part of a carat in the fineness. The remedy for be withheld from thP XT fi% «lllllons would not merely
silver is the same as before. Y trvdPrffX?fn g eat Trk °f Production, and the coun¬
it does not appear that our princes derived any consider- it would be nXetXfvf f^n lts emPI«ymenb but
able advantage from the remedy previously to the reign ff co7ns is bfno^nf Y ^ ^ The wear and tear of the
Elizabeth. But she, by reducing the mLsterf allowance Zi^of ^e co1ZmCOnStErable,;rd SUpp0SinS the ex'
for the expence of coinage from Is. 2d. to 8d. obliged him age, the deficiency fn thewelSt ofAeokl111 ^ Seign°r"
to come as near as possible to the lowest limit allowed by on their beim- c-.Lrl iiK&h.v worn,coins must»
the remedy. Had the coins been delivered to those wto pubt S ifbt d"e ^
brought bullion to the mint by weiaht the oueen it nlnir. tiro ’. ,sicles’ a constant loss from shipwrecks,
would have gained nothing by Sdevice - but in he w’ theL other When due allowance is made for
ter par, of hfr reign, and !Jfi« se^nte'en^y^srfta ft ^
of her successor, James I., they were delivered hv tale sn mine in nV i f “^’W^ch had fifty millions of gold
that the crown saved, in this way, whatever additional sum hundredth n^t oThaif^'q]*0 ‘T0” ‘he
.tunght otherwise have been necessary to pa, the master maintain itsCencv a? its pioper level °n C01nS ‘0
tofen of Wdlm uffhT Si S^yecoirnge in the Thus it appears, that wer? tlfe customary rate of profit in
amounted to onlv^s on /I 6 ir°m,the re™edy Great Britain six per cent., it would cost 3^ millions a-year
Sei:
hi F
iage
TEp mnH-rrorvF^i • v “ icuuvcu expema; wouiu sun Dear Uie same propor-
me continental princes have, we believe, without any tion to the total income of the country that the higher ex¬
ception, charged a se p-norao-P nn thp r.rrinorrra wC —   urn *1 1 y , V o e ex..
. 1     VT till ^
lee. exception, charged a seignorage on the coinage of money
in r ranee, this duty was levied at a very early period. By
pence did, the real cost of the currency would not be at all
an orHnnnarvcc c vf . - ~•‘j“ "1“ ' ^J "“‘7 C*l,"u‘ *Jy dimimshed- The case of France furnishes a still more
linn ;« epi”’ dXd m 755, a p0und of 81 ver bul_ striking example of the heavy charges attending the gene-
tliP erXv° be.c<)med mto twenty-two pmces, of which ral use of a metallic currency. The amount of the gold
twpmv tGr 0t t ie jni‘ntM1a^t0 retain one, and the remaining and silver currency of that kingdom has been estimated by
thp Enit f^'X be dfJ1Ve"e1d t0 the ™erchant bringing Necker at 2,200 millions of francs, and by Peuchet at 1,850
I bon to the mint. (Le Blanc, p. 87.) There are no millions. {Statistique Elementaire de la France, p.473.)
hv til!0 ascertaimnf dle.amount of,the seignorage taken Now, supposing the lowest estimate to be the most correct,
nVofi 1UXf°rt 0t PepT’ Untl1 the reign of Saint Louis and takin? the rate of profit at six per cent., this currency
{izzo 12701. wbn pmnpfl tEo —^ wC mugt cost France an hundred and eleven millions of francs
a-year, exclusive of the wear and tear and loss of the coins,
f'lOOC »T \  UHUIX IILL. IClgll LM OilUlb ilUlU:
e-i h—^7b), who coined the marc of silver into 58 sols,
while he only delivered 54 sols, 7 deniers, to the merchant;
at this period, therefore, the seignorage amounted to a six-
eenth part of the marc, or to 6T'¥ per cent. It was subse¬
quently increased or diminished without regard to any fixed
principle. In the great recoinage in 1726, it amounted, on
e gold coin, to 7T55 per cent., and to 5 ® per cent, on silver.
n /29, the mint price, both of gold and silver, were aug¬
mented, and the seignorage on the former reduced to 5
w hich being taken, as before, at the hundredth part of the
entire mass, will make the whole annual expence amount
to the sum of an hundred and twenty-two millions of francs,
or to nearly Jive millions sterling. This heavy expence
certainly forms a very material deduction from the advan-
, tages resulting from the use of a currency consisting entire-
5 ly of the precious metals, and has doubtless been the chief
profits a trma^s. °/^e Coinage, vol. i. p. 185. When the right of seignorage was abolished, there was a pension, payable out of the
made t-™1? ^ ®Iaa*;e<^ un^er tbe great seal, for twenty-one years, to Dame Barbara Villiers, which the legislature ordered to be
2d ed p ° *ae C0lnaSe duties imposed by that act. (See ftuding, in loco citato, and Leake’s Historical Account of English Money,
Monnoh^er’ ^>*l*n^raffon ^es Finances, (tom. iii. p. 8.)—Dr. Smith has stated (vol. ii. p. 438), on the authority of the “ Dictionnaire des
FL’iiriJr'5’ Par-'y,ot de Bazinghen,” that the seignorage on French silver coins, in 1775, amounted to about eight per cent. The error of
nghen has been pointed out by Gamier, in his translation of the Wealth of Nations.
392
M O N E Y.
Money, cause why all civilized and highly commercial countnes have
“ ; endeavoured to fabricate a portion of their money of less
valuable materials. It has not, however, been the only
cause. It is obvious, that were there nothing out coins in
circulation, the conveyance of large sums from place to
place to discharge accounts, would be a very laborious pro¬
cess; and that even small sums could not be conveyed
without considerable difficulty. Of the substitutes calculat¬
ed alike to save expence and to lessen the cost of carriage,
paper is in every respect the most eligible, and has been by
far the most generally adopted. By using it instead of gold,
we substitute the cheapest in the place of the most expen¬
sive currency; and enable the society to exchange all the
coins which'the use of paper renders superfluous, for raw-
materials, or manufactured goods, by the use of which both
its wealth and enjoyments are increased. It is also trans¬
ferred with the utmost facility. Hence since the introduc¬
tion of bUls of exchange, most great commercial transac¬
tions have been adjusted bv means of paper only ; and has
also been used to a very great extent in carrying on the or¬
dinary business of society.
Sect. V. Paper Money. Principle on ichich its Value
is maintained.
In the earliest periods, subsequent to the invention of
writing and paper, the pecuniary engagements of indivi¬
duals would be committed to the latter. This gives se-
Origin of
paper mo.
ney, and uuais wumu uc — —   ^ . ,
principle on ,uri£y creditor, that he shall be able to claim tne
which . Amount of his debts, and to the debtor, that he shall
banting is ^ ^ liable to any overcharge; and avoids the differen-
C t ces which are sure to arise where the terms of contracts are
not distinctly specified. But a very short time only w ould
elapse before individuals, having written obligations from
others, would begin to transfer them to their debtors; and
after the advantages derivable from employing them in this
wav had been ascertained, it was an obvious source of emolu
the demands of the public. “ A bank would never be es- Money,
tablished, if it obtained no other profits but those deriv-'^w
ed from the employment of its own capital: its real ad¬
vantage commences only when it employs the capital of
others.” (Proposals for an Economical and Secure Cur¬
rency, p. 87.) i r it-
As no means have been devised to limit the supply of the Limicmo
promissory notes issued by private individuals, their value, cf^pply
it is plain, could not be maintained were the issuers to fall^^-
into discredit, or relieved from their promise to pay them.^^
But it is otherwise with the promissory notes issued by the^^
state, or by a company acting under its control. The quan¬
tity of such notes may be effectually limited ; and we have
seen that, when this is the case, intrinsic worth is not ne¬
cessary to a currency, and that, by properly regulating the
supply of paper declared to be legal tender, its value may
be sustained on a par with gold, or any other commodity.
It w-as by acting on this principle of limitation, that the va¬
lue of the paper of the bank of England was maintained in
the interval between the passing of the restriction act in
1797, and the commencement of bullion payments in 1820.
No rational explanation of this circumstance, so much at
variance with all the old theories of paper money, can be
deduced from any other principle. The fact of their being
depreciated never creates any indisposition on the part of
the public to apply for accommodation to a bank whose notes
are legal tender. The presenter of a bill for discount is in¬
different whether the notes given in exchange for it are pay¬
able in specie or not. His object, in resorting to the bank,
is to exchange his promissory note for money ; that is, for
paper that will be received in payment of his debts, or of
whatever he may wish to purchase. It is, therefore, of no
consequence to him, whether the issuers of paper, ha\ e, by
issuing in excess depressed its value relatively to gold, or
whether they have so restricted their issues as to sustain its
value on a level with the value of that metal. ^ These cir¬
cumstances, it is true, affect the interests of all those classes
whose incomes do not vary with the variations in the value
hiuTconfitle^ice^o issue'their^obligarions topav certain^sums, of money ; but, in as much as the prices of goods nse and
had confidence h f nerformin°- the func- fall with the increase or diminution of paper, merchant*,
m such a form as might fit them for 1 6 ^ who are the principai demanders of discounts, are compara-
tions of a arculaung medmm pro- tiTely but UtSe affected by its fluctuations. The presenter
mi tv noteorobr^ofttiSuS of lat forte, of a biil for L.500 or L.1000 to a bank, has received M
mnsorv note = m be entertained. But it have arisen out of a real commercial transaction, in lieu
E ctf U no loss to the public, it would be a very great ^ ! InteyhaV“feet TX
SOsZ;£lX «a“ha. a merchant issues a promis- of the goods, ^TTatCntfe"^
11 . T innnn Hp must nreviouslv to puttinar it was arawn, would also have been different, it is m
Tcirtatt, thTLe recdvedPIn eqtfet sum8 of market value of money at the time that attent.on ts et*
money, or of some sort of produce possessed of real va- swely paid ” ““TgTatndisH fitk of England paper
lue or which is bv far the most common case, he must 1810, 1811, 1812, ibid, ana iciu, p>cu / rnt
have advanced it to an individual who has given him se- was depressed from excess from ten to twenty-five pc ^ ^
curitv for its repayment with interest. In point of fact, below the value of bullion, the circums anc
therefore, the issuer has exchanged his promise to pay Parliament having declared, that 11
L.l 0,000 for the profits to be derived from the employ- at the restoration of peace, had as little e anDii(Jnts
ment of a real capital of that amount; and as long as the value, as its depreciation had m diminishing - PF
promissory note, Pthe intrinsic worth of which cannot well for discounts. The truth is, that individuals ne^ .
exceed a sixpence, remains in circulation, he will, suppos- to a bank for paper money, umess they have 1“*11 ;
^fnroL t?be five per cent., receive from it a revenue of casion for it. As soon as it has been obtained, they frrow
lS(X> a-vear. It is on this principle that the business of it upon the market, for whatever it will bring , an ^
banking: is conducted. A banker could make no profit were purchased it on the same terms, (for it is se o
he obliged to keep dead stock or bullion in his coffers, equal value of money is materially affected in t e b comes
to the amount of his notes in circularion. But if he be in between the time when a bill is fdls^/De^dapb^ore,
good credit, a fourth or a fifth part of this sum will perhaps due,) they generally get as much for ^ ai p “ P
inefficient • and his profits, after the expenses of the es- than it cost. We shall immediately explain what co ^
tablishment, ’and of the manufacture of his notes, are de- tutes the natural limit to the applications for is ^
ducted, will be measured by the excess of the profit derived we have said enough to show, that it has g
from his notes in circulation, over that which he might have
realised by employing the stock kept in his coffers to meet
the convertibility of notes into cash. . _ts
Those who have recourse to a bank to obtain disc
MONEY.
i er.
893
of accommodation bills, consider like the presenters of real ligation of eyrh^nm™ ,
bills, only the present value of money. Accommodation holder for a nh 3 the note3’ at the Pleasure of the Money,
bills are never discounted, excepting in the view of immedT ft has hnwcvS 7l ””ra?"7 ?T'A°fgoId 0r silver-
ately employing the money, either in the purchase of com- difference between DaneH^ H^' ^ there ^ a matenal J0ropos1'
modities, or of labour, or in the payment of debts ; and, whe- of its debts and that -P b) ?ovcrnment In payment ““1TK
ther one pound notes be of the" value of 10s. or20s. is ob- in Lounto“^^^
viously of no consequence ; in as much as the amount of mitted on all hands that it ma^ h • ? former, it isad-deny that
the bill presented for discount is regulated accordingly. regard to the latter it has ^ m e jCef5 but m bank paPer
The circumstance that country bank notes ceasAo cir- issued ™Iy ta Srtl T'’’f “n°?5C“ b' <!,e'
culate as soon as any suspicion is entertained of the solven- good and convenible sccnriti» nav^ht"^. T eX?han«e
cy of their issuers, is nowise inconsistent with this principle, cannot occasion am- pvppss • ? 1 sPecific Penods’
Country bank notes are exchangeable, at the pleasure of the ciation.” As all the arguments ad^cedTihiriho^on'
id notes; but from the rpstnptinn tov,riQvi *1, n ^ ^ . • o^eMnocon-
holder,^for Bank of England notes; but from the restriction
in li97 down to 1820, the latter not being exchangeable
for any thing else, constituted the real standard of value.
Hence when a country bank lost credit, the circulation of
its notes was stopped, from its being believed that it would
be impossible to obtain Bank of England paper in their
stead; or, in other words, that they would not exchange
for that description of paper which constituted the real me¬
dium of exchange. But, it is impossible to imagine, that
this paper should itself be affected by a want of credit. Every
shown, its value was regulated, (and must, whenever it is
not rendered exchangeable for a given quantity of some
other commodity, continue to be exclusively regulated,) by
the amount in circulation compared with the demand.
It appears, therefore, that if there were perfect security,
that the power of issuing paper money would not be abused ;
that is, if there were perfect security for its being issued in
such quantities, as to preserve its value relatively to the
mass of circulating commodities nearly equal, the precious
metals might be entirely dispensed with, not only as a cir¬
culating medium, but also as a standard to which to refer
the value of paper.
Lnfortunately, however, no such security can be given
hlfi is a nnint a/L  _ Tnr»°
tended that the paper of Great Britain was not depreciated’
between 1797 and 1819, involve this principle, it may be
worth while to examine it a little minutely.
In the first place, it may be observed, 'that the demand Demand for
tor discounts does not depend on the nature of the security discounts
required for their repayment, but on the rate of interest for depends on
which they may be obtained, compared with the ordinary a comPari-
rate of profit made by their employment. If an individual
can borrow £10,000, £100,000, or any greater sum, at 4, 5, late of m-
or o per cent., and if he can realise 7, 8, or 10 per cent, bvterest and
itS emnlovmpnt. it 1C PvirlorvflxT  i •.    e
one knew that it had no intrinsic worth ; and as already its emnlovmpnt it U °r 10 b>Test aild
showm, its value was regulated, fand must, wbpnp™. ir l ‘ ■ ’  v 1 ent \ for hlS interest7 and it would the rate of
a dlill it Y> UlliU. ^ Ja
be tor the interest of every other person similarly situated, Profit-
to borrow to an unlimited extent. But a banking company,
relieved of all obligation to pay its notes in cash, and not,
of course, obliged to keep any unproductive stock or bullion
in its coffers, would be able to issue its notes at the lowest
possible rate of interest; and the demand for its paper would
therefore be proportionally great.
The interest of money,” says Mr. Ricardo, “ is not re¬
gulated by the rate at which the bank will lend, whether it
be 5, 4, or 3 per cent., but by the rate of profit which can
be made by the employment of capital, and which is totally
independent of the quantity or of the value of money. Whe¬
ther the bank lent one million, ten millions, or a hundred
This is a nnint v • , . y 1 It: uauK Ient one niuiion, ten millions, or a hundred
of opinion" We have 1C there can be ”° dlfference millions, they would not permanently alter the market rate
PYtenrlerl Ln 1 b ve 11 in our P°wer to appeal to a widely of interest; they would alter only the value of the money
of Great ri^tnTofT'r of "xPenence M°_the history ^ich they thus issued. In one 'case, ten or twenty time;
to Kf the United sLfls Y t Y m Eur°pe’ ^ m°re m°ney migbt be recluired to carry on the same busi-
that of the United States , to show that no man, or set ness than what might be required in the other. The annli-
unrestricted6issues ofn" mVeSted ^ ^ P°^er of making cations t0 the bank ^r money, then, depend on the compa-
«hich^h Paper money without abusing it; or, risen between the rate of profit that may be made by the
ouantitip’ Vtlf6 thmg’ yithout issi“ng lt m inordinate employment of it, and the rate at which they are willing to
quantities. If the power to supply the state with paper lend it. If they charge less than the market rate of inte-
quantities
money be vested in a private banking company, then to sup
pose that they should, by limiting their issues, endeavour
constantly to sustain the value of paper, would be to sup¬
pose that they should be attentive only to the public inter¬
est, and neglect their own private interest. The re-enact¬
ment of the restriction act, would not have the least effect
rest, there is no amount of money which they might not lend;
if they charge more than that rate, none but prodigals and
spendthrifts would be found to borrow of them. We accord¬
ingly find that when the market rate of interest exceeds the
rate of five per cent., at which the bank uniformly lends, the
discount office is besieged with applicants for money; and,
nn c V, r.  —^ UIIILC is uesiegeu wun applicants lor money; and,
samp tlnlo-16 0papfr’ providfd its quantity were not at the on the contrary, when the market rate is even temporarffy
mme time increased. But who ran dnnlit i-Vmt- 1 TV i r*_ 11 rv /-at* -Gwts-x a-,-** ^ ^.1 1 _ * /Y> 1 i
same time increased. But who can doubt that, in such cir
cumstances, it would be increased ? Such a measure would
enable the Bank ot England to exchange bits of engraved
under five per cent., the clerks of that office have no employ¬
ment.” (Principles of Political Economy, p. 511.)
From 1809 to 1815 inclusive, the period in which the
nanpr npt i ^ —o ximi. lu lou inclusive, me penoa m wmen ttif
or i ?h perhapst five shlllings a quire, for as many, value of our paper currency relatively to gold was lowest,
o* 35 many hundreds of thousands of pounds, the market rate of interest considerably exceeded the rate
4nrl ie n f k ^ ^iwusanus ui puunus. uie marKet rate or interest considerably exceeded the rate
k i u sypposed’ that the directors and proprietors (five per cent.) at which the Bank of England and most oi
°i me bank should nnt avail ik^meok^o — —— *1   ... ,, , ... .
nfflv k cue cuiu piupiiCLUi:
toe bank should not avail themselves of such an oppor
unitv to amass wealth and riches ? If government enable
the country banks invariably lent. Although, therefore, the
a nrivatp 7f  “““ ^ g^v viniuciit tmiuiu amount of paper currency had, in that interv al, been very
tate Wll f "k epian e^cbangp a bit of paper for an es- niuch increased, the applicants for fresh discounts continued
abont ir 6 • e^e.rr,e.d bom doing so by any considerations as numerous as ever. And there seems no reason to doubt,
Loo Chn 6 eCt 1-1 kinbirik tbe va^ue ^be currency ? In had the directors not been apprehensive that, ultimately,
but if w ° We mig * remaps meet with such an individual, they might have to pay their notes in specie, that the amount
be disa 6 e-Xpej* tcuud bim in Europe, we shall most likely in circulation would have been very much increased; at least,
suit n^fP<tinte , ^dere "p are much too eager in the pur- such would certainly have been the case, had they acted to
is essenf ^ ab mdpenced by such scruples. It the full extent of their avowed opinion, that it was impos-
be nlac'd ’ ,ere*ore’tbat tbe Issuers of paper money should sible to issue too much paper, or to reduce its value, by en-
tivelv sf ^ ^ SOm5 check or control; and the compara- grossing into the circulation such quantities as were issued
n ^ value of the precious metals, at once suggests in discount of good bills. The wants of commerce are al-
one can be so effectual as to lay them under the ob- together insatiable. Inconvertible paper money, provided
' uix* xv» *0
3 D
394
Money.
MONEY.
the rate of interest at which bills are discounted be less than
the market rate, can never be too abundant. As long as
this is the case, million after million may be thrown upon
the market. The value of the currency may be so reduced
as to require a one pound note to purchase a quartern loaf;
but the circumstance of its value being diminished m pro¬
portion to the increase of its quantity, would render the de¬
mand for additional supplies as great as ever.
Were the Bank of England to discover a process whereby
sovereigns could be manufactured with the same facility as
notes, it could not be disputed that it would be in her power
to depreciate the value of gold, by making large issues o
what had been produced at so very little cost. Now, in
what respect would this fictitious case differ from the actual
situation of the Bank, were the restriction act renewed and
made perpetual ? The Bank would then be able, wit lout
check or control, to exchange her paper for landed property,
manufactured goods, government securities, &c. But we
have seen, that the value of this paper, like the value ot
gold, in the hypothetical case, depends entirely on the pro¬
portion which the supply bears to the demand ; and, as the
demand is not affected by an increase of quantity, for that
cardo’s plan; and notwithstanding all the efforts that have Money,
been made, this desideratum has not yet been supplied.
Forp-ery in the larger description of notes, or in those for
£5 and upwards, may with due precaution be prevented
from becoming injuriously prevalent. But low notes, or
those of the value of £1 or £2, having to circulate amongst
the labouring classes, and in immense numbers, present fa¬
cilities for the issue of spurious paper, which it has been found
impossible materially to diminish. Hence, in 1821, the plan
of paying in bars of bullion was abandoned, and the Bank of
England recommended paying in specie.1
Sect. VI. Whether Gold or Silver should be adopted as
the Standard of the Currency, or whether it should con¬
sist of both-
As the value of gold and silver, or the cost of their pro- Impossibi
duction, is perpetually varying, not only relatively to other lity of art.
commodities, but also relatively to each other, it is impos-trarrtyhx
sible arbitrarily to fix their comparative value. Gold
now, or at any given period, be to silver as 14 or 15 is to l;ofgoldana
but were sovereigns and shillings coined in tnat proportion, sjjyeri
the discovery of a gold or silver mine of more than the or-
goid o
ver
quan- dinary degree of productiveness, or the «y of »y
antl^cl^ar^tlfat d'Ctlie,Bank1lent1at!a!*siij1ficierilly'lowarate of protofonXne o/the metals, would derange this proper-
“I * “*»<* “ «»
payable in efficient control, such as the obligation to pay in gold tal whose mint valuation is Ingnest.
Oliver Itt e“y to dteover the manner in which a cheek In 1718, in pursuance of the adv.ce of S.r Isaac Newton, 0,., *
of tliis kind Hmitf the issue of paper, and sustains its value, the value of the r LToftaX
Whenever the Bank has issued so much paper as to sink its lings and sixpence to twenty-one sh lings, the value o
value relatively to bullion, its notes begin to return upon it, gold to fine silver was consequei y ' . cause of it
exchamred for those metals ; and hence the value of bank as the value of silver compared with gold, continued to
notes convertible at pleasure into a given and unvarying crease during the greater part of last century, it afterway
auantitu of gold or silver, can never differ considerably from became considerably greater. 1 he over-valuation of gold,
rvalue. The issues of the Bank of England were for more by making it for the interest of every one topa ^ debts
than a century previously to 1797, limited in the manner in it rather than in silver, made Sold ^ / j
now explained, and during that whole period they were derable payments, and was the cause that, during the I g
hardly ever depreciated £ per cent., and never more than period from 1718 down to the late recomaje, no si
two per cent., and that but for a few days only. of the legal weight and finfJss Mcl
Scheme for But though it be thus necessary, in order to avoid all sud- The silver cun-ency consisted entire y o h, , ’ ^
den and injurious fluctuations in the value of paper, that it when, in 1797, the further coinage of silver wasforbi >
should be made exchangeable at the pleasure of the holder silver currency was very much debased. But, as i
for gold or silver, and it is not essential to this end that it. only in a limited quantity, it did not, according to t P
should be made exchangeable for gold or silver coins. Pfe- pie already explained, sink in its current value. 8
viously to the resumption of specie payments by the Bank debased, it was still the interest of debtors to PaY 1 » '
of England in 1821, she was obliged to give bars of assayed If, indeed, the quantity ot. debased silver had bee
bullion in exchange for her notes, according to a plan sug- great, or if the mint had issued such debased pie ’
gested by the late Mr. Ricardo ; and there can be no doubt might have been the interest of debtors to pay in sue
Siat this obligation would have sustained the value of paper based money. But its quantity being limited, it sus i
quite as effectually as it is sustained by the obligation to pay its value ; and gold was practically the real standar o
in coin of the legal weight and purity, at the same time that currency. _ , , . , , ,A nr.T w, legal
it would have saved the greater part of the heavy expense The act of G /4, declaring that silver sll0u , acc(^d-
occasioned by the use of metallic money. But, how im- tender for any debt exceeding £-5, uidess y ^ d any
portant soever, these were not the only considerations that ing to the mint standard, had not, as has been FT r
had to be attended to. The discovery of means for the pre- effect in causing the general employment ot go jp.
vention, or at least diminution, of the forgery to which the in preference to silver. For, to use the wor s ' any
substitution of notes in the place of guineas had given rise, cardo, “ this law did not prevent any debtortr0 P Y ^
was indispensably necessary to the maintenance of Mr. Hi- debt, however large its amount, in silver cu )
1 It was intended to have given in this place some account of the Bank of England, and of the provincial banks; but asjnqume ^ ^
present (February 1837) in progress, which may throw considerable light on these establishments, and measures are be ie p ,j0NEy.
temptation by which they may be materially affected, it.has been judged better to postpone all notice of them to the artic e
paying
notes in
gold Lars.
i
MONEY
loney. from the mint. That the debtor did not pay in this metal required; or, which is the same thing, if the denomination Money
was not a matter ot chance, nor a matter o compulsion, but of a pound be given to any Sjo«*fc JeMt of gold” sdver
who ly the effect of choice. It did not suit him to take sil- fifteen times more of such silver pound^ will be required to
ver to the mint, but it did suit him to take gold hither. It serve as currenrv fifWn * i • T ue re(luirea t0
is probable that if the quantity of this debased silver in cir- tion which gold tears in value to silvlr Hence Se^x'-
culation had been enormously great and also a legal tender, pence of a gold or silver currency is identical Gold beLg
that a guinea would Jiave been, asm the reign of William too valuable in proportion to its bulk, to be coined into
pieces of the value of a shilling or a sixpence, the subsidiary
cunency necessary in small payments, should be overvalued,
395
III., worth thirty shillings; but it would have been the de¬
based shilling that had fallen in value, and not the guinea
that had risen.” (Principles of Political Economy, p.
520). 1
In France a different valuation of the precious metals had
a different effect. The louis d’or, which, previously to the
recoinage of 1785, was rated in the mint valuation at 24
)notlivreS’ WaS reall.y worth 25 livres 10 sols- Those5 therefore,
si drin the who chose t0 discharge the obligations they had contracted,
F ich hy payments of gold rather than of silver, plainly lost 1
m . liv. 10 sols on every sum of 24 livres. In consequence
very few such payments were made, gold was nearly
banished from circulation, and the currency of France be¬
came almost exclusively silver. (Say, tom. i. p. 393.) In
:raiy
el :t pro
d> ;d by
tl iver-
vi ation of
and issued only in limited quantities, as is the case with
the present silver coinage.
. Were a seignorage charged on the gold coins, paper, it
is obvious, might be depreciated to the full extent of that
seignorage, before it would be the interest of the holders to
demand coin for the purpose of exportation, and conse¬
quently before the check of specie payments could begin
to operate. But, even with such a seignorage, the risk of
paper being depreciated, might be obviated, by making it
obligatory on the Bank to pay their notes, either in bullion,
at the mint price of L.3, 17s. 10^d. an ounce, or coin, at
the pleasure of the holder. A regulation of this kind could
1785 a sixteenth part was deducted from the'weight'of the not 'be' usily conslteied as tmSIVhSf-*e
louis dor, and since that period the value of the nrecinus iL if .... i.1,,- ' ^ , , P ; ,
Silv
fera
gold
stan rd.
louis d’or, and since that period the value of the precious
metals, as fixed in the French mint, has more nearly cor¬
responded with the proportion which they bear to each other
in the market. Indeed, it was stated, in evidence before the
Committee of the House of Commons in 1819 {Report,
p. 192), that the difference between the mint and market
proportions of gold and silver at Paris in 1817 and 1818,
had not exceeded from one-tenth to one-fourth per cent.
There is, however, no reason to presume that this coinci¬
dence, which must have been in a great degree accidental,
can be maintained under any arbitrary system. To ensure
the indifferent use of gold and silver coins in countries where
they are both legal tender, their mint values would require
to be every now and then adjusted, so as to correspond
with their real values. But as this would obviously be pro¬
ductive of much trouble and inconvenience, the preferable
plan undoubtedly is to make only one metal legal tender,
and to allow the worth of the other to be adjusted by the
competition of the sellers and buyers.
Bank ; for it is plain, that no bullion would be demanded
fiom her, except when, by the issue of too much paper, its
value had been sunk below the standard.
Sect. VII.—Standard of Money. Degradation of the
Standard in Italy, Prance, Great Eritain, and other
countries. Pernicious effects of this degradation.
By the standard of money is meant the degree of the Standard of
purity or fineness of the metal of which coins are made, and money-
the quantity or weight of such metal contained in these
coins. Twelve ounces of the metal, of which standard
English silver coins are made, contains 11 ounces 2 dwts.
fine, and 18 dwts. alloy; and a pound troy of this standard
silver, or pound sterling, contains 66 shillings, or parts
of of a pound troy of fine silver, that is, 1614§§ grains.1
F rom the 43 of Elizabeth down to 1816, when the act 56th
Geo. III. cap. 68, imposing a seignorage of about six per
cent, on the silver coin, was passed, the pound weight of
Thx. i i•, n , . un uie snver com, was passed, the pound wei°
or as a standard ^ metals. f ,IeSal tenderj standard silver bullion was coined into 62 shillings? All
=■=&“£; »s.s,s:rc,s.7L“srjife;
pre-
to
The purity of gold is not estimated either in Great Bri- Purity of
tain, or in most other European countries, by the weights English
commonly in use, but by an Abyssinian weight, called acoins-
carat} The carats are subdivided into four parts, called
grains, and these again into quarters ; so that & carat grain,
with respect to the common divisions of a pound troy, is
enacted that gold only should be legal tender for all sums
exceeding 40s.
Whether, however, gold should have been adopted as the
standard of exchangeable value, in preference to silver, is a
question not so easy of solution, and on which there is a
Etdrarerfn^S-n10^ , ^ Locke, Mr. Harris, and Mr. wim respect to the common divisions of a pound troy, i
thr 1 i ’ i i opinion that silver is better fitted than gold equivalent to 24 penny-weights Gold of the luVhpst dp
for a standard; whilst Dr. Smith, although he has not ex- g?ee of fineness? or pure^s^
to be LopPtedSindDreferenppf)PeT]S ^ ^ ^ ^ °Ught g°ld Coins were first made at the English mint, the stand-
ably supported bv Lord Livernool°P1n'b" Tf1 ^7 ^ 7the g°ld put in them was of 23 carats H grains fine,
On the CoiL of tie S 7 hls.valuable work and | grain of alloy; and so it continued without any vari-
7 reasomngs having re- ation to the 18th Henry VIII., when a new standard of gold
made egalS^ nS °f 22 ^ fine’ and two carats alloy was introduced. The
ought toSbe opposed. 1 & 118 arranSement ^vst of these was called the old standard; the second the
g< and Whether rmhl nr ';i„nr u,. i . n , new standard, or crown gold, because crowns, or pieces of
lvel ur- currency does not VFppf 't ^ 77 7 ie standurd of the the value of five shillings, w ere first coined of this new
[enc> "al- quantitv of motul P 1 T C°S °r 7 Ue ? for’ the standard' Henry VIII. made his gold coins of both these
y4'.ble.metal for which naner is'thp y’-°r f16 fluant,ty 7' standards under different denominations; and this practice
as the value or cost of wf WayS was. continued by his successors until the year 1633. From that
standard fourteen or fiftpc. me7* 7^7 g0!.< .,1S t ie P^101^ to tbe Present, gold coins have been invariably made
 ^  imes iess op 11 tban op silver is of the new standard, or crown gold ; although some of the
in its weigh™an7seems\ohhaveb7na?n7!)ySpinrari(-tree’ called.T)uaia* f Ws bean, from the time of its being gathered, varies very little
(Bruce’s Travels, vol. v. p. 66.) ^ llest ases’ a weifi lt for £old in Africa. In India it is used as a weight for diamonds, &c.
M O N E Y.
Weight of
English
coins made of the old standard previously to 1633 continu¬
ed to circulate till 1732, when they were forbidden to be
any longer current. (Liverpool on Coins, p. 2/.)
The standard of our present gold coins is, therefo e,
eleven parts of fine gold, and one part of alloy. The pound
troy of such gold is divided into 46/^ sovereigns, each o
which ought, consequently, when fresh from the mint, to
weigh of twelve ounces, or five dwts.3^ grains of
there is nothing that has been so frequently changed. We Money.
do not here allude to variations affecting the value of the bul- 
lion of which the standard is composed, and against which
it is impossible to guard, but to variations in the quantity
of bullion contained in the same nominal sum of money.
In almost every country, debtors have been enriched at the
expence of their creditors. The necessities, or the extra¬
vagance of governments, have forced them to borrow ; and
to relieve themselves of their incumbrances, they have al¬
most universally had recourse to the disgraceful expedient
of degrading the coin; that is, of cheating those who had
lent them money, and of enabling every other debtor in
their dominions to do the same.
The ignorance of the public in remote ages greatly facili¬
tated this species of fraud. Had the names of the coins been
changed when the quantity of metal contained in them was
diminished, there would have been no room for misappre-
Variations
of the
standard ;
general
remarks.
standard gold, or four dwte. 17tMj grains of pure gold.
The alloy in coins is reckoned of no value. It is a low
ed, in order to save the trouble and expence that wouldbe
incurred in refining the metals, so as to bring iem
highest degree of purity ; and because, when its quantity is
small, it has a tendency to render the coins harder, and less ^   
liable to be worn or rubbed. If the quantity ot alloy we But? though the weight of the coins was under
considerable, it would lessen the spiendour aml the duct perpetual, and their purity occasional reductions, their
ty of the metals, and would add too much to the weight o dIenominations were almost uniformly preserved:
the coins. , * i i c mnnav and those people who saw the same names still remaining
Having thus ascertained what the standard of money ^stance was diminished; who saw coins of acer-
really is, we shall now proceed to examine the effects pro- fineness circulate under the names offlor-
duced by variations in the standard. I his is, Dotn i and pounds, and who saw them continue to cir-
practical and historical point of view, a very important culateas such) after both their weight and the degree of their
quiry. , ^ e , fineness had been lessened, began to think that they derived
To make any direct alteration 1\t^e ^^^/baref^- their value more from the stamp affixed to them, by author-
tracts entered into between individuals, would be too baretac ^ nment5 than from the quantity of the precious
ed and tvrannical an interference with the rights of property, contained. This was long a very prevalent
to be tolerated. Those, therefore, who endeavour to en- ^ the rige of ices which invariably followed
rich one part of society, at the expence of another, find J reduction 0f the standard, and the derangement wh.ch
SK aniiS &iV^dTvred"re.e’ Instead was Ihereby occasioned in every pecuniary^Uon, u„.
of directly altering the stipulations in contracts, they have
ingeniously bethought themselves of altering the standard,
bv which these stipulations were adjusted. I hey have
not said, in so many words, that ten or twenty per cent,
should be added to or deducted from the mutual debts and
was uiuicuy   j r -| , . .
deceived the public, and taught them, thougi i may n
yet have taught their rulers, the expediency of preserving
the standard of money inviolate. . ,
Before proceeding to notice the changes made in the Manner o
currency of this and other countries, it may be proper to cjngi^
should be added to or deducted from the mutual debts ana ^rency u i generally debased in one or
obligations of society, but they have, nevertheless, effec ed obse ve ^the^naa^^ ^g aid.
this by making a proportional change in the value of the altering the denominations of the coins,
currency. Men, in their bargains do not, as has been al- in their weight or purity,
ready seen, stipulate for signs or measures of value, bi suppose ^sixpence, or as much silver as there is in a
real equivalents. Money is not merely the standard by a Thu8, suppose shim then a shilling would be
comparison with which the value of commodities is ascer- P ’ d twenty 0f tllLe shillings, or ten of our
tained; but it is also the equiva ent, by the delivery of a a pound sterling. This
fixed amount of which the stipulations “ ^ ^on m ; P r J’tion 0f fifty per cent, in the standi
my per cent, in the standard
Secondly, the standard may be reduced, by continuing to
issue coins of the same weight, but making them baser,
with less pure metal and more alloy. . f ,
Thirdly, it may be reduced, by making the coins of tfte
same degree of purity, but of diminished weight, or wd
ItXCU. cUUUUHL Wi r»    „
and engagements may be discharged. It is plain, theretore,
that no variation can take place in its value, without affect¬
ing all these stipulations. Every addition to the value of
money makes a corresponding addition to the debts of the
state, and of every individual ; and every diminution of its
value makes a corresponding diminution of those debts, same octree ui pu > , re(juce(i partly by one of these
Suppose that, owing to an increase in the difficulty of pro- less pure “f'4 “7n^“UCel1 DJ
ducing gold and silver, or in the quantity of bullion con- '"‘..■l" |j“ 0fPt|leSe methods of degrading the standard was
tained in coins of the same denomination, the value of money owndes in 1695, and if injustice is
is raised twenty per cent., it is plain that this will add twen- recommended by - mischiev-
ty per cent, to the various sums which one part of society to be done, it is certainly on the whole, tne ^ ^ ^ the
owes to another. Though the nominal rent of the farmer, ous mode by whic > ? JjL • but as it renders the
for example, continue stationary, his real rent is increased, trouble and expen g g’ldom resortea to. In
He continues to pay the same number of pounds or hvres as fraud too obvious, it ^ is rareiY necessary to in-
formerly ; but these have become more valuable, and re- inquiries of this kmd’ ho ’ h standard has been de-
quire to obtain them the sacrifice of a fifth part more corn, vestigate the we uniformly
labour, or other things the value of which has remained sta- graded. And by its reduction o S d ex ressed, a
tionary. On the other hand, had the value of money fallen mean, unless when the cent a y con[ained in coins
twenty per cent., the advantage, it is plain, would have been diminution o e qua y P rd to the particular
all on the side of the farmer, who would have been entitl- of the same den0™nf^.^J^Xve been effected,
ed to a discharge from his landlord, when he had paid him mode m which such diminution may b d firgt
only four-fifths of the rent really bargained for. In conformity with ha^ of die an.
But, notwithstanding it is thus obviously necessary, in order section of this article, relative to t e e _Y eX.
to prevent a pernicious subversion of private fortunes, and cient practice o weig im& p . countries have the
the falsifying of all precedent contracts, that the standard of change, it is found that the coins of m To
money, when once fixed, should be maintained inviolate, same names as the weights common y
MONEY.
oney. these weights the coins at first exactly correspond. Thus
N(<-^the talent was a weight used in the earliest periods-by the
Greeks, the as or pondo by the Romans, the livre by the
French, and the pound by the English, Scotch, &c.; and
the coins originally in use in Greece, in Italy, in France, and
in England, received the same denominations, and weighed
precisely a talent, a pondo, a livre, and a pound. The
standard has not, however, been preserved inviolate, either
in ancient or in modern times. But the limits within which
an article of this kind must be confined, prevents us from
tracing the various changes in the money of this and other
countries, with the minuteness which the importance of the
subject deserves, and obliges us to notice only those which
were most prominent.1
ory 0f Roman Money.—We learn from Pliny, that the first
money Roman coinage took place in the reign of Servius Tullius,
tome, that is, according to the common chronology, about 550
years before Christ. The as, or pondo, of this early period,
contained a Roman pound of copper, the metal then exclu¬
sively used in the Roman coinage, and was divided into
twelve parts or unciae. If we may rely on Pliny, this sim¬
ple and natural system was maintained until 250 years be¬
fore our era, or until the first Punic war, when the revenues
of the state being insufficient, government attempted to
supply the deficiency, by reducing the weight of the as from
,ht of twelve to two ounces. But it is extremely improbable that
is. a government, which had maintained its standard in¬
violate for 300 years, should have commenced the work of
degradation, by at once reducing it to a sixth part of its
former amount; and it is equally improbable that so sud¬
den and excessive a reduction should have been made in the
value of the current money of the state, and, consequently,
in the debts due by individuals to each other, without oc¬
casioning the most violent commotions. Nothing, however,
is said in any ancient writer, to entitle us to infer that such
commotions actually took place ; and we, therefore, concur
with those who think that the weight of the as had been
previously reduced, and that its diminution, which, it is
most probable, would be gradual and progressive, had mere¬
ly been carried to the extent mentioned by Pliny during
the first Punic war. In the second Punic war, or 215 years
before Christ, a further degradation took place, and the
weight of the as was reduced from two ounces to one ounce.
And by the Papyrian law, supposed to have passed when
Papyrius Turdus was tribune of the people, or 175 years
before Christ, the weight of the as was reduced to half an
ounce, or to J^th of its ancient weight, at which it continu¬
ed till Pliny’s time and long afterwards.2
mion The denarius, the principal silver coin in use amongst the
'ert0 Romans, for a period of600 years, was coined five years be¬
fore the first Punic wrar, and w as, as its name imports, rated
in the mint valuation at ten asses. Mr. Greaves, whose dis¬
sertation on the denarius has been deservedly eulogised by
Gibbon, (Decline and Fall, vol. iii. p. 89), shews that the
denarius weighed at first only one-seventh part of a Roman
ounce,3 which, if Pliny’s account of the period when the
397
weight of the as was first reduced be correct, would give Moneyu
the value of silver to copper in the Roman mint as 840 to ],
which Mr. Greaves very truly calls a “ most unadvised pro¬
portion.” But if we suppose, with Mr. Pinkerton, (Fssay
on Medals, vol. i. p. 132, edit. 1789), that when the denarius
was first issued, the as only weighed three ounces, the pro¬
portion of silver to copper would be as 252 to 1, a propor¬
tion which, when the as was soon afterwards reduced to two
ounces, would be as 168 to 1, or about a third more than in
the British mint. When, in the second Punic war, the as
was reduced from two ounces to one, the denarius was rated
at sixteen asses.
During his stay in Italy, Mr. Greaves weighed many of Value of
the consular denarii, that is, as he explains himself, of the the dena-
denarii that were struck after the second Punic war, and pre- rius-
viously to the government of the Caesars; and he found, by
frequent and exact trials, the best and most perfect of them
that weighed 62 grains English troy weight. (Greaves’ Works,
vol. i. p. 262). Now, as the English shilling (new coinage)
contains very nearly 87|- grains standard silver, this would
give 8^d. for the value of the consular denarius. We should,
however, fall into the grossest mistakes, if we indiscrimi¬
nately converted the sums mentioned in the Latin authors
by this or any other fixed proportion. It is not enough to
determine the real value of a coin, to know its weight; the
degree of its purity or the fineness of the metal of which it
is made, must also be known. But Mr. Greaves did not
assay any of the denarii weighed by him. And though it
were true, as most probably it is, that, from the first coinage
of silver in the 485th year of the city to the reign of Augus¬
tus, the weight of the denarius remained constant at jth part
of a Roman ounce, or about 62 grains ; and that, from the
reign of Augustus to that of Vespasian, it only declined in
weight from jth to |th of an ounce ;4 still it is abundantly
certain that its real value had been reduced to a much
greater extent. As to this fact the authority of Pliny is deci¬
sive ; for he expressly states, that Livius Drusus, who was
tribune of the people in the 662d year of the city, or 177
years after the first coinage of silver, debased its purity, by
alloying it with £th part of copper, (lib. xxxiij, cap. 3, previ¬
ously quoted). And in a subsequent chapter (the ninth) of
the same book, he informs us that Antony the triumvir
mixed iron with the silver of the denarius; and that, to
counteract these abuses, a law was afterwards made provid¬
ing for the assay of the denarii. Some idea of the extent
to which the purity of the coins had been debased, and of
the disorder which had in consequence been occasioned, may
be formed from the circumstance, also mentioned by Pliny,
of statues being every where erected in honour of Marius
Gratidianus, by whom the law for the assay had been pro¬
posed. But this law was not long respected; and many
imperial denarii are now in existence, consisting of mere
plated copper. (Bazinghen, Dictionnaire des Monnoies, tom.
ii. p. 64.)
Gold was first coined at Rome sixty-two years after sil- Value of
ver, in the 547th year of the city, and 204 years before the aureus.
infprp t-1S ln P^ce to enter into any discussion relative to the value of Grecian money. It is, however, a subject of no little
of an i 3n CUn0Sltvy- M. Rome de 1’Isle, in his Traite de Metrologie, published in 1789, has given an account of the weight and fineness
nSe I,lurn Attic drachmas and tetradrachmas. But he does not seem to have been more fortunate than his predecessors in
have fab e- Va Ue ° • e ft°m the weight of the drachmas. The errors and absurdities into which modern critics and commentators
e<sav n6"/’ the value of the sums mentioned in ancient authors, is indeed astonishing. They are ably pointed out in a short
" a V, q La Monnoie des PeupUs Anciens, in one of the supplemental volumes added by Gamier to his translation of the Wealth of Nations.
Ar™1?8 rCX- Pnmus 9^nav>t aes. Antea rudi usos Romae Remeus tradit. Signatum est nota pecudum unde et pecunia appellata.
x. libri/^1 Um .S1£n.atum est a.nno urbis DLXXXV- Q. Fabio Cos. quinqueannos ante primum bellum Punicum- Etplacuit denarius pro
imnensis8008’ I1111™13118 Pro quinque, sestertium pro dipondio ac semisse. Librae autem pondus aeris imminutum bello Punico primo cum
bhenum reS^’ n°n Sl™ceret> constitutumque ut asses sextentario pondere ferirentur. Ita quinque partes factae lucri, dissolutumque aes
mutari • • ' ^ostea, Annibale urgente, Q. Fabio Maximo Dictatore, asses unciales facti: placuitque denarium xvi. assibus per-
fj-. L<P11,nlarmm octoms, sestertium quaternis. Ita resp. dimidium lucrata est. Mox lege Papyria semunciales asses facti.” (Plinii,
f Vu" lb- XXX11J’ cap: 3> Lugd. Bat. 1669.) *
lib w !f„1S decisi,rely proved by a passage in Celsu
xv, cap. 17.)
4 Greaves, vol i. p. 331.
“ Sed et antea sciri volo in uncia pondus denariorum esse septem.” (Cels.
Gibbon’s Miscellaneous Works, vol. v. p. 71.
MONEY.
398
Money. Christ. The aureus originally weighed ^th part of the
or Roman pound; but by successive reductions its
weight was reduced, in the reign of Constantine, to only y^d
part of a pound. The purity, however, as well as the weight
of the aureus was diminished. Under Alexander Severus
it was alloyed with ith part of silver. We learn from Dion
Cassius, contemporary with Severus, that the aureus was
rated at twenty-five denarii, a proportion which Mr. Pinker¬
ton thinks was always maintained under the emperors. (Es-
, say on Medals, vol. i. p. 148.)
Value of The want of attention to this progressive degradation has
the sester- led the translators of, and commentators on, ancient writers,
tins. to the most extraordinary conclusions. The sestertius, or
money unit of the Romans, was precisely the fourth part of
a denarius. “ Nostri autem,” says Vitruvius, (lib. iii. cap. !,)
“ primo decern fecerunt antiquum numerum, et in denario
denos sereos asses constituerunt, et ea re compositio nummi
ad hodiernum diem denarii nomen retinet; etiamque quar-
tam ejus partem, quod efficiebatur ex duobusassibus et tertio
semisse sestertium nominaverunt.” When, therefore, the
denarius was worth S^d., the sestertius must have been worth
2id. But the sestertius being thus plainly a multiple of,
and bearing a fixed and determined proportion to the dena¬
rius, and consequently to the as, the aureus, and the other
coins generally in use, it must have partaken of all their fluc¬
tuations. When they were reduced, the sestertius must have
been likewise reduced; for if it had not been so reduced,
or, if the quantity of degraded denarii and aurei contained in
a given sum of sestertii had been increased in proportion to
their degradation, nothing, it is obvious, would have been
gained by falsifying the standard. But as we know that on
one occasion the republic got rid of half of its debts, respub-
lica dimidium lucrala est, by simply reducing the standard
of the as, it is certain that the value of the sestertius must
have fallen in the same proportion, just as in England we
should reduce the pound sterling, our money unit, by reduc¬
ing the shillings of which it is made up.1
Errors of But though it had not been possible to produce such clear
DrArbuth-and explicit evidence of the continued degradation of the
not and Roman money, the obvious absurdity of many of the calcu-
others. lations which have been framed, on the supposition of its
remaining stationary at the rates fixed in the earlier ages of
the commonwealth, would have sufficiently established the
fact of its degradation. Dr. Arbuthnot’s Tables of Ancient
Coins, which, for nearly a century, have been considered in
England, and in the greater part of the Continent, as of the
highest authority, are constructed on the hypothesis that the
denarii weighed by Mr. Greaves were of equal purity with
English standard silver, and that no subsequent diminution
had been made either in their weight or fineness. The con¬
clusions derived from such data are precisely such as we
should arrive at, if, in estimating the value of a French livre
previously to the Revolution, we took for granted that it
weighed a pound of pure silver, as in the reign of Charle¬
magne. Amongst many other things quite as extraordinary,
we learn from Arbuthnot, that Julius Cagsar, when he set
out for Spain, after his praetorship, was £2,018,2*29 ster¬
ling worse than nothing; that Augustus received, in legacies
from his friends, £32,291,666; that the estate of Pallas, a Money,
freedman of Crassus, was worth £2,421,875, and, which isv^v^'1
still better, that he received £121,093 as a reward for his
virtues and frugality; that iEsop, the tragedian, had a dish
served up at his table which cost £4,843; that Vitellius spent
£7,265,625 in twelve months, in eating and drinking ; and
that Vespasian, at his accession to the empire, declared that
an annual revenue of £322,916,666 would be necessary to
keep the state machine in motion. It is astonishing that
none of our scholars or commentators seem ever to have been
struck with the palpable extravagance of such conclusions,
which, to use the words of Gamier, “ ont mis I’Histoire An-
cienne, sous le rapport des valeurs, au meme degre de vrai-
semblance que les contes de Mille et un Nuits.” They have,
we believe, without any exception, slavishly copied the errors
of Arbuthnot; and to this hour the computations in the
books on Roman antiquities used in our schools and univer¬
sities are all borrowed Ifom his work. It should be remem¬
bered, that from the greater poverty of the mines of the old
world, and the comparatively small progress made by the
ancients in the art of mining, the value of gold and silver
was much greater in ancient times than at present. But,
without taking this circumstance into account, the com¬
putations referred to are too obviously erroneous to deserve
the smallest attention. Vespasian, we believe, would have
been very well satisfied with a revenue of twenty millions;
and there are good grounds for supposing that the Roman
revenue, when at the highest, never amounted to so large a
sum. (Gibbon, vol. i. p. 260.)
French Money From about the year 800, in the reign History of
of Charlemagne, to the year 1103, in that ot Philip I-,^™”
the French livre, or money unit, contained exactly a pound e
weight or twelve ounces (poids de marc) of pure silver. It
was divided into twenty sols, each of which, of course,
weighed ^th part of a pound. This ancient standard was
first violated by Philip I., who diminished considerably the
quantity of pure silver contained in the sols. The example
once set, was so well follow'ed up, that in 1180 the livre
was reduced to less than a fourth part ot its original weight
of pure silver. In almost every succeeding reign there
was a fresh diminution. “ La monnoye,” says Le Blanc,
“ qui est la plus precieuse et la plus importante des me-
sures, a change en France presque aussi souvent que nos
habits ont change de mode.” And to such an extent had
the process of degradation been carried, that, at the epoch
of the Revolution, the livre did not contain a seventy-eighth DcgraV
part of the silver contained in the livre ot Charlemagne.jion o t -
It would then have required 7,885 livres really to extinguish ivre-
a debt of 100 livres contracted in the ninth or tenth cen¬
turies ; and an individual who, in that remote period, had
an annual income of 1,000 livres, was as rich, in respect
to money, as those who, at the Revolution, enjoyed a re¬
venue of 78,850 livres. (Paucton, Traite des Mesures,
Poids, See., p. 693.) .
We subjoin an abridged table, calculated by M. Denis,
exhibiting the average value of the French livre in different
periods, from the year 800 to the Revolution:—
1 Writers on anrfent coins, with the exception of Mr. Pinkerton, agree in supposing the sestertius to have been originally, and to have
always continued to be, a silver coin. Mr. Pinkerton has, however, denied this opinion, and, on the authority of the following passage or
Pliny, contends that the sestertius was at the time when Pliny wrote, whatever it might have been before, a brass coin. “ Summa glona
aeris nunc in Marianum conversa, quod et Cordubense dicitur. Hoc a Liviano cadmiam maxime sorbet, et orichalci bonitatem imitatur in
sestertiis, dupondiariisque, Cyprio suo assibus contends.” (Lib. xxxxiv. cap. 2.) That is, literally, “ The greatest glory of brass is now
due to the Marian, also called that of Cordova. This, after the Livian, absorbs the greatest quantity of lapis calaminaris, and imitates the
goodness of orichalcum (yellow brass) in our sestertii and dupondiarii, the asses being contented with the Cyprian (brass).” [Pliny ha
previously observed,-that the Cyprian was the least valuable brass]. This passage is, we think, decisive in favour of Mr. Pinkerton’s ^P0 -
thesis. But, in the absence of positive testimony, the small value of the sestertius might be relied on as a sufficient proof that it could no
be silver. When the denarius weighed 62 grains, the sestertius must have weighed 15^, and been worth 2^4.; but a coin of so small a size
as to be scarcely equal to one-third part of one of our sixpences, would have been extremely apt to be lost; and could not have been
struck by the rude methods used in the Roman mint with any thing approaching to even tolerable precision. It is, therefore, much more
reasonable to suppose that it was of brass.
M ONE Y.
1 ley,
Reigns.
From the 32d year of Charlemagne to the 43d year of
Philip L, or from
Part of the reign of Philip I., Louis VI., and VII.... —
Philip II. and Louis VIII   
Louis IX. and Philip IV   
Louis X. and Philip V   
Charles IV. and Philip VI   
John,    
Charles V       
Charles VI  _
Charles VII   
Louis XI   
Charles VIII  _
Louis XII   
Francis I   
Henry II and Francis II   
Charles IX     
Henry III   
Henry IV   
Louis XIII   __
Louis XIV  _
Louis XV  _
Louis XV. and XVI    _
Years.
800 to
1103 —
1180 —
1226 —
1314 —
1322 —
1350 —
1364 —
1380 —
1422 —
1461 —
1483 —
1498 —
1515 —
1547 —
1560 —
1574 —
1589 —
1610 —
1643 —
1715 —
1720 —
1103
1180
1226
1314
1322
1350
1364
1380
1422
1461
1483
1498
1515
1547
1560
1574
1589
1610
1643
1715
1720
1789
Value of the
Livre in the cur¬
rent money of
1789.
Liv. Sols. Den.
0
8
78 17
18 13
19 18
18 3
17 3
14 11
9 19
9 9
2
13
19
10
19
11
6
18
12 11
8 0
5
5
10
2f
8
3
9
7
7
8
2
4f
7
15
4
8
0
3
11
0
0
399
Money.
Those who wish for a detailed account of the various
changes in the wreight and purity of the French coins, may
besides the excellent work of Le Blanc, consult the ela¬
borate and very complete tables at page 905 of the Traite
des Mesures of Paucton, and at page 197 of the Essqi sur
les Monnoies of Dupre de St. Maur.
It was not to be expected, that degradations originating
in the necessities, the ignorance, and the rapacity of a long
series of arbitrary princes, should be made according to any
fixed principle. They were sometimes the result of an in¬
crease in the denomination of the coins, but more fre¬
quently ot a diminution of the purity of the metal of which
they were struck. A degradation of this kind was not so
easily detected ; and, in order to render its discovery still
more difficult, Philip of Valois, John, and some other kings,
obliged the officers of the mint to swear to conceal the
fraud, and to endeavour to make the merchants believe that
the coins were of full value. (Le Blanc, p. 212.) Some¬
times one species of money was reduced, without any alter¬
ation being made in the others. No sooner, however, had
the people in their dealings manifested a preference, as they
uniformly did, for the money which had not been reduced,
than its circulation wTas forbidden, or its value brought down
to the same level with the rest. fid. Introduction, p. 20.)
In order to render the subject more obscure, and the bet¬
ter to conceal their incessant frauds, individuals were at one
time compelled to reckon exclusively by livres and sols, at
other times by crowns or ecus; and not unfrequently they
were obliged to refer in computing to coins which were
neither livres, sols, nor crowns, but some multiple or frac¬
tional part thereof. The injurious effects of these constant
uctuations in the value of money are forcibly depicted by
t e French historians; and so insupportable did they be-
oome, that in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, seve-
r cities and provinces were glad to purchase the precari¬
ous and little respected privilege of having coins of a fixed
s andard, by submitting to the imposition of heavy taxes.
(Le Blanc, p. 93.)
In the duchy of Normandy, when it was governed by the
mg ish monarchs, there wTas a fax upon hearths paid every
iree years, called monetagium, in return for which the so-
vermgn engaged not to debase his coins. This tax was in¬
troduced into England by our early kings of the Norman
race ; but Henry I. in the first year of his reign, was in¬
duced to abandon it, and it has not since been revived.
(Liverpool on Coins, p. 107.)
According to the present regulations of the French mint,
the coins contain T95ths of pure metal, and r'5 of alloy. The
franc, which is equal to 1 livre, 0 sols, 3 deniers, weighs
exactly 5 grammes, or 77’2205 English Troy grains. The
gold piece of 20 francs weighs 102'96 English grains. (Peu-
chet, Statistique Elementaire de la Fratice, p. 538.)
English Money.—In England, at the epoch of the Nor- Of Eng-
man conquest, the silver, or money pound, weighed exact-lari(f Rp-
ly twelve ounces Tower weight. It was divided into twenty Sedation of
shillings, and each shilling into twelve pence, or sterlings.
This system of coinage, which is in every respect the same8 G1 in=’
with that established in France by Charlemagne, had been
introduced into England previously to the invasion of Wil¬
liam the Conqueror, and was continued, without any alter- ,
ation, till the year 1300, in the 28th Edward I. when it was
for the first time violated, and the value of the pound ster¬
ling degraded to the extent of If per cent. But, the
really pernicious effect of this degradation did not consist
so much in the trifling extent to which it was carried by
Edwrard, as in the example which it afforded to his less
sci*upulous successors, by whom the standard was gradually
debased, until, in 1601, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,
62s. were coined out of a, pound weight of silver. This was
a reduction of above two-thirds in the standard; so that all
the stipulations in contracts, entered into in the reigns im¬
mediately subsequent to the Conquest, might, in 1601, and
since, be legally discharged by the payment of less than a
third part of the sums really bargained for. And yet the
standard has been less degraded in England than in any
other country.
The tables annexed to this article give an ample account
of these degradations, and also give the weight of the gold
coins, and the proportional value of gold to silver, estimated
both by the mint regulations, and by the quantity of fine
gold and fine silver contained in the different coins.
Scotch Money—In the same manner as the English Of Scot-
had derived their system of coinage from the French, the land.
Scotch derived theirs from the English. From 1296 to
400
MONEY.
Money. 1355, the coins of both divisions of the island were of the
's^V^wsame size and purity. But, at the last mentioned period, it
was attempted to fill up the void occasioned by the remit¬
tance of the ransom of David II. to England, by degrading
the coins. Till then the money of Scotland had been cur¬
rent in England, upon the same footing as the money of that
country ; and the preservation of this equality is assign¬
ed by Edward Ill.as a reason for his degrading the English
coins. But this equilibrium was soon afterwards destroyed.
In the first year of Robert III. (1390), Scotch coin only
passed for half its nominal value in England ; and, in 1393,
Richard II. ordered that its currency, as money, should en¬
tirely cease, and that its value should be made to depend
on the weight of the genuine metal contained in it. “To
close this point at once,” says Mr. Pinkerton, “ the Scottish
money, equal in value to the English till 1355, sunk by de¬
grees, reign after reign, owing to succeeding public calami¬
ties, and the consequent impoverishment of the kingdom,
till, in 1600, it was only a twelfth part of the value of En¬
glish money of the same denomination, and remained at that
point till the union of the kingdoms cancelled the Scottish
coinage.”—(Essay on Medals, vol. ii. p. 99.)
The tables at the end of this article exhibit the succes¬
sive degradations both of the Scotch silver and gold coins.
At the Union, in 1707, it was ordered that all the silver
coins current in Scotland, foreign as well as domestic, ex¬
cept English coins of full weight, should be brought to the
Bank of Scotland, to be taken to the mint to be recoined.
In compliance with this order, there were brought in,
Of foreign silver money, (Sterling), £132,080 17 9
Milled Scottish coins, . . . 96,856 13 0
Coins struck by hammer, . . 142,180 0 0
English milled coin, . . . 40,000 0 0
Total, £411,117 10 9
Mr. Ruddiman conjectures, apparently with considerable
probability, that the value of the Scotch gold coins, and of
the silver coins not brought in, amounted to about as much
more. Much suspicion was entertained of the measure of
a recoinage ; and that large proportion of the people who
were hostile to the Union, and did not believe that it would
be permanent, brought very little money to the bank. A
few only of the hoarded coins have been preserved, the far
greater part having either been melted by the goldsmiths,
or exported to other countries. (Preface to Anderson’s
Diplomata, p. 176.)
Of Ireland. Irish Money.—The gold and silver coins of Great Bri¬
tain and Ireland are now the same, and have been so for a
considerable period. The rate, however, at which these
coins used to circulate in Ireland, or their nominal value as
money of account, was 8^ per cent, higher than in Great
Britain. This difference of valuation, though attended with
considerable inconvenience in adjusting the money transac¬
tions between the two countries, subsisted from 1689 till
1825 when it was put an end to. For an account of the
various species of metallic money which have at different
times been current in Ireland, we must refer our readers
to Mr. Simons’ Essay on Irish Coins ;> a work pronounced
by Mr. Ruding to be “ the most valuable of all the publi¬
cations on the coinage of any part of the united empire.”
(Annals of the Coinage, Preface, vol. i. p. 11.)
Of Ger- Money of Germany, Spain, &c—A similar process of
many, &c. degradation had been universally carried on. “ In many
parts of Germany, the florin, which is still the integer, or
money of account of those countries, was originally a gold
coin, of the value of about 10s. of our present money (old Money
coinage.) It is now become a silver coin, of the value pp.*- '
only 20d.; and its present value, therefore, is only equal to
a sixth part of what it was formerly. In Spain, the mara-
vedi, which was in its origin a Moorish coin, and is still the
money of account of that kingdom, was in ancient times
most frequently made of gold. Le Blanc observes, that, in
1220, the maravedi weighed 84 grains of gold, equal in va¬
lue to about 14s. (old coinage) of our present money. But
this maravedi, though its value is not quite the same in all
the provinces of Spain, is now become a small copper coin,
equal in general to only of an English penny! In
Portugal, the re, or reis, is become of no greater value than
of an English penny ; it is so small, that in estimating
its value in other coins, it is reckoned by hundreds and
thousands. The moeda, or moidore, is equal to 4800 reis;
and this little coin has now, in fact, no existence but in
name. Such has been the fate of all these coins, and such
is the present state of their depreciation.” (Liverpool on
Coins, p. 111.)
Russian Money—The following, according to M. Storch, of russs
are the fluctuations in the weight and value of the rouble,
or money unit of Russia, since 1700.
Weight of
the Rouble.
Value in
Current
Roubles of
1821.
Zolot. Dolis.
11 40
67
83
16
21
Ron. Cup-
2
1
1
70i
35
151
1 221
0
Years.
1700 
From 1700 to 1718,.
— 1718 — 1731,.
— 1731 — 1762,,
— 1762 — 1821 ,
The principle of degradation has not, however, been uni-Raising of
formly acted upon. The quantity of bullion contained inthevalueol
coins of the same denomination has sometimes, though hie coin,
rarely, been increased, and creditors enriched at the ex¬
pence of their debtors. This method of swindling his sub¬
jects is said to have been first practised by the profligate
Heliogabalus. The Roman citizens being bound to pay
into the imperial treasury a certain number of pieces of
gold, or aurei, the emperor, whose vices have become pro¬
verbial, to increase his means of dissipation, without appear¬
ing to add to the weight of the taxes, increased the quan¬
tity of metal contained in the aureus; and thus obtained,
by a fradulent trick, what he might not have obtained by
a fair and open proceeding.2 In France, the value of the
coins has been frequently raised. During the early part of
the reign of Philip le Bel, who ascended the throne in 1285,
the value of the coin had been reduced to such an extent
as to occasion the most violent complaints on the part of
the clergy and landholders, and generally of all that por¬
tion of the public whose incomes were not increased pro-
portionably to the reduction in the value of money. To
appease this discontent, and in compliance with an injunc¬
tion of the pope, the king at length consented to issue new
coins, of the same denomination with those previously cur¬
rent, but which contained about three times the quantity of
silver. This, however, was merely shifting an oppressive
burden from the shoulders of one class to those of another,
less able to bear it. The degraded money having been in
circulation for about sixteen years, by far the largest pro-
‘ Originally printed at Dublin in 1749, in 4to, and reprinted with some additons in 1810.
amp ita ex. Severi, cap. 39. Perhaps Heliogabalus took the hint from Licinius, a freedman of Julius Caesar, who, in his go-
ernmen o e au s undei Augustus, divided the year into fourteen months instead of twelve, because the Gauls paid a certain monthly
tribute. Dion Cassius, lib. 72. ^
MONEY.
ey.
portion of the existing contracts must have been adjusted
'with reference to it. No wonder, therefore, that debtors
should have felt indignant at the shameful act of injustice
done them by this enhancement of the value of money, and
have refused to make good their engagements, otherwise
than in money of the value of that which had been current
when they were entered into. The labouring class, to whom
every sudden change in the value of money is injurious,
having joined the debtors in their opposition, they broke
out into open rebellion. “ The people,” says Le Blanc,
“ being reduced to despair, and having no longer any thing
to care for, lost the respect due to the edict of his Majesty ;
—they pillaged the house of the master of the mint, who
was believed to have been the chief adviser of the measure,
besieged the temple, in which the king lodged, and did all
that an infuriated populace is capable of doing.” (Traite
Historique des Monnoyes de France, p. 190.) The sedition
was ultimately suppressed ; but it is not mentioned whether
any abatement were made, by authority, from the claims of
the creditors, in the contracts entered into when the light
money was in circulation. It seems probable, however,
from what is elsewhere mentioned by Le Blanc (Introduc¬
tion, p. 30,) that such was really the case.
Inciise of The history of the French coinage affords several in-
feeiue of stances similar to the very remarkable one we have now
401
the
nglish brought under the notice of our readers ; but, in England,
coinn tbethe new coinage jn the last year of the reign of Edward VI.
Ed Vd VI i® t^ie only instance in which the value of money has been
augmented by the direct interference of government. Pre¬
viously to the accession of Henry VIII., the pound of stand¬
ard silver bullion, containing 11 oz. 2 dwts. of pure silver,
and 13 dwts. of alloy, was coined into thirty-seven shillings
and sixpence. But Henry not only increased the number
of shillings coined out of a pound weight of silver, but also
debased its purity. The degradation was increased under
his son and successor, Edward VI., in the fifth year of whose
reign, seventy-two shillings were coined out of a pound
weight of bullion ; but as this bullion contained only three
ounces of pure silver to nine ounces alloy, twenty of these
shillings were only equal to 4s. Tfd. of our present money,
including the seignorage. (Folkes’s Table of English Coins,
p. 34.) It appears from the proclamations issued at the
time, and foom other authentic documents, that this exces¬
sive reduction of the value of silver money had been pro¬
ductive of the greatest confusion. A maximum was set on
the price of corn and other necessaries; and letters were
sent to the gentlemen of the different counties, desiring
them to punish those who refused to carry their grain to
market. But it was soon found to be quite impossible to
remedy these disorders otherwise than by withdrawing the
base money from circulation. This was accordingly re¬
solved upon ; and, in 1552, new coins were issued, the .sil¬
ver or which was of the old standard of purity, and which,
though less valuable than those in circulation, during the
early part of the reign of Flenry VIII., were above four
times the value of a large proportion of the coins of the
same denomination that had been in circulation for some
years before.
It is certain, however, that such a rise in the value of
money could not have taken place without occasioning the
most violent commotions, had all the coins previously in
circulation been debased. Equal injustice, it must be re¬
membered, is always done to the poorest, and not least nu-
meious class of society, by increasing the value of money,
.,at ^ done to the wealthier classes by depressing it. But,
°ugh government had been disposed to sanction so enor¬
mous an invasion of the right of property, it is altogether
IwLin 6 t^le country could have submitted to have
i-a , j or 450 per cent, added to its taxes and other pub-
!C burdens, by a legerdemain trick of this kind, or that in-
lvi uals would have consented to pay so much more than
VOL. xv.
they had originally bargained for. Instead of deserving Money,
praise for accomplishing such a measure, Edward VI., who
began the reformation of the coins, and Elizabeth, by whom
it was completed, would have justly forfeited the esteem of
their subjects, and lost all their popularity. The truth is,
howrever, that little or no change had been made, during all
this period, in the value of the gold coins ; and there is, be¬
sides, abundance of evidence to showq that many of the old
silver coins had remained in circulation. Now, as there is
no mention made of the issue of the new coins having been
attended with any inconvenience, it is nearly certain, as
Mr. Harris has remarked, that, during the period of the de¬
basement of the standard, individuals had regulated their
contracts chiefly with reference to the gold°or old silver
coins ; or, which is the same thing, that “ they had endea¬
voured, as well as they could, to keep by the standard, as
it had been fixed in the preceding times” (Harris on Coins,
part ii. p. 3.)
We have been thus particular in examining this measure,
because it has been much referred to. It is plain, how¬
ever, that it can give no support to the arguments of those
who appeal to it as affording a striking proof of the benefits
which they affirm must always result from restoring a de¬
based or degraded currency to its original purity or weight.
Invariability of value is the great desideratum in a currency.
To elevate the standard after it has been fora considerable
period depressed, is really not a measure of justice, but the
giving a new direction to injustice. It vitiates and falsifies
the provisions in one set of contracts, in order properly to
adjust those in some other set.
This, however, as already remarked, is the only instance
in which the government of England has ever interfered
directly to enhance the value of money. In every other
case, where they have tampered with the standard, it has
been to lower its value, or, which comes to the same thing,
to reduce their own debts and those of their subjects.
It is unnecessary to enumerate in detail the various bad Pernicious
consequences that must have resulted from these succes- effects of a
sive changes in the standard of value. But, it deserves to reduction of
be remarked, that an arbitraryreduction of the standard doesthe sta!ld-
not afford any real relief to the governments by whom it isar^
practised. Their debts are, it is true, reduced proportion¬
ally to the reduction in the value of the currency, but their
revenues are, at the same time, reduced in the same pro¬
portion. A piece of money that has been degraded will
not exchange for the same quantity of commodities that it
previously did. To whatever extent the standard may be
reduced, prices are very soon raised to the same extent.
If the degradation be 10 per cent., government, as well as
every one else, will, henceforth, be compelled to pay L.110
for commodities previously obtainable for L.100. Hence
to bring the same real value into the coffers of the treasury,
it is necessary that taxation should be increased whenever
the standard is diminished; a measure always odious, and
sometimes impracticable.
But a diminution of revenue is not the only bad effect
wliich governments experience from reducing the standard
of the currency. A state which has degraded its money,
and cheated its creditors, is unable to borrow again on the
same favourable terms as if it had acted with good faith. We
cannot expect to enjoy the reputation of honesty, at the
same time that we are openly pocketing the booty earned
by duplicity and fraud. Those who lend money to knaves
always stipulate for a proportionally high rate of interest.
They must not only obtain as much as may be obtained
from the most secure investments, but they must also ob¬
tain an additional rate or premium, to cover the risk they
run in transacting with those who have given proofs of bad
faith, and on whose promises no reliance can be placed. A
degradation of the standard of value is, therefore, of all
others, the most wretched resource of a bankrupt govern-
3 e
li
402
M O N E Y.
1
Money, ment. It will never, indeed, be resorted to, except by those
^^^who are alike unprincipled and ignorant. “It occasions,
says Dr.Smith, “a general and most pernicious subversion
of the fortunes of private people ; enriching, in most cases,
the idle and profuse debtor at the expence of the frugal and
industrious creditor; and transporting a great part of the
national capital from the hands which were likely to in¬
crease and improve it, to those which are likely to dissipate
and destroy it. When it becomes necessary for a state to
declare itself bankrupt, in the same manner as when it be¬
comes necessary for an individual to do so, a fair, open, and
avowed bankruptcy, is always the measure which is both
least dishonourable to the debtor, and least hurtful to the
creditor. The honour of a state is surely very poorly pro¬
vided for, when, in order to cover the disgrace of a real
bankruptcy, it has recourse to a juggling trick of this kind,,
so easily seen through, and at the same time so utterly per¬
nicious.”—(Wealth of Nations, vol. iv. p. 42.)
Some of the bad consequences resulting from a change
in the value of money might, indeed, be obviated, by enact¬
ing, that the stipulations in all preceding contracts should
be made good, not according to the present value of money,
but to its value at the time when they were entered into.
This principle, which is conformable to the just maxim of
the civil law (Valor monetce considerandus atejue inspiti-
endus est, a tempore contractus, non autem a tempore solu¬
tionis) was acted upon, to a certain extent, at least, by the
kings of France, during the middle ages. Ordonnances of
Philip le Bel, Philip of Valois, and Charles VI., issued sub¬
sequently to their having increased the value of money, or,
as the French historians term it, returned from the foible to
the forte monnoie, are still extant, in which it is ordered,
that all previous debts and contracts should be settled by
reference to the previous standard. But though the same
reason existed, it does not appear that any such ordonnan¬
ces were ever issued when the value of money was degrad¬
ed. It is obvious, indeed, that no government could de¬
rive any advantage whatever from reducing the value ot
money, were it to order, as it is in justice bound to do, that
all existing contracts should be adjusted by the old stand¬
ard. Such a measure would reduce the revenue without
reducing the incumbrances of the state; whilst, by esta¬
blishing a new standard of value, and unsettling all the
notions of the public, it would open a door for the grossest
abuses, and be productive of infinite confusion and disorder
in the dealings of individuals.
The odium and positive disadvantage attending the de¬
gradation of metallic money, appear to have at length in¬
duced most governments to abstain from it. But they have
only renounced one mode of playing at fast and loose with
the property of their subjects, to adopt another and a still
more pernicious one. The injustice which was formerly
done by diminishing the quantity of bullion contained in the
coins of different countries, is now perpetrated with greater
ease, and to a still more ruinous extent, by the depreciation
of their paper currency.1
From 1601 In ^e long period from 1601 to 1697, no change was
to 1797, no made in the standard of money in this country. A project
change for enfeebling the standard had indeed been entertained,
made in the^Q^ in 1626 and 1695 ; but, in the former instance, it was
standard. quaghed by the celebrated speech addressed by Sir Robert
Cotton to the Lords of the Privy Council, and in the latter
by the opposition of Mr. Montague, then Chancellor of the
Exchequer, in the House of Commons, and by the impres¬
sion made by the writings of Mr. Locke, by whom the in¬
justice of the scheme was admirably exposed, out of doors.
It was reserved for Mr. Pitt to set aside a standard which
had been preserved inviolate for nearly two centuries. The
Order in Council of the 25th February 1797, and the acts Money
of Parliament by which it was followed up, effected a total
change in our ancient monetary system ; and, instead of the
old standard, gave us the self interested views and opinions
of twentg-four irresponsible individuals. The circulation
of Bank of England paper was secured, by its being exclu¬
sively issued in payment of the interest of the public debt,
and by its also being received as cash in all payments into
the exchequer; but no attempt was made to sustain the
value of this paper on a par with the value of gold or silver.
Full power was given to the directors of the Bank to raise
or depress the value of money, as their interest or caprice
might suggest. They were enabled to exchange unlimited
quantities of scraps of engraved paper, of the intrinsic worth,
perhaps, of 5s. a quire, for as many, or the value of as many,
hundreds of thousands of pounds. And, in such circum¬
stances, our only wonder is, not that paper money became
depreciated, but that its value was not more reduced, and
that a still greater quantity of bank-notes were not thrust
into circulation.
For the first three or four years after the restriction, the Effects d
Directors, unaware, perhaps, of the nature of the immense the restri:
power placed in their hands, seem to have regulated theirtionmid
issues nearly on the same principles that had regulated them,"1 (1|rafl'
while they were obliged to pay in coin. It appears fromjj^'-
the Tables of the Price of Bullion, published by order ofpapei
the House of Commons, that until 1801, bank-notes were on
a par with gold. In 1801 and 1802, however, they were at
a discount of from 8^ to 7^ per cent.; but they again reco¬
vered their value ; and from 1803 to 1809, both inclusive,
they were only at a discount of £2, 13s. 2d. per cent. But
in 1809 and 1810, the Directors appear to have totally lost
sight of every principle by which their issues had previously
been governed. The average amount of bank-notes in cir¬
culation, which had never exceeded 17tt millions, nor fallen
short of 16^ millions, in any one year, from 1802 to 1808,
both inclusive, was in 1809 raised to £18,927,833; and,in
1810, to £22,541,523. The issues of country bank paper
were increased in a still greater proportion ; and, as there
was no corresponding increase in the business ol the coun¬
try, the discount on bank-notes rose from £2, 13s. 2d., in
1809, to £13, 9s. 6d. per cent, in 1810. The recommen¬
dation to return to cash payments, contained in the Beport
of the Bullion Committee, presented to the House of Com¬
mons in 1810, appears to have given a slight check to the
issues of the Bank. All apprehensions from this quarter
were, however, speedily dissipated; for in May 1811, when
guineas were notoriously bought at a premium, and bank¬
notes were at an open discount, as compared with gold bul¬
lion, of upwards of ten per cent., the House of Commons £xtraordi.
not only refused to fix any certain period for reverting tonaryresoli
cash payments, but actually voted a resolution, declaringtion of®
that the promissory notes of' the Bank of England had hither-
to been, and were then, held to be, in public estimation, equi¬
valent to the legal coin of the realm.
This memorable resolution ; a resolution which took for
granted that a part was equal to a whole ; that £90 and ,
£100 were the same thing; relieved the Bank from all un¬
easiness respecting the interference of Parliament, and tempt¬
ed the Directors to increase the amount of paper in circu¬
lation. The consequence was, that in 1812, it was at an
average discount of 20^; in 1813, of 23; and, in ISl'h0
25 per cent. This wsisthemaxitnum of depreciation, f
importation of foreign corn, subsequent to the opening of the
Dutch ports in 1814, having occasioned a great decline o
the price of the principal article of agricultural produce,
produced an unprecedented degree of distress, first among
the farmers, and latterly among the country bankers.
1 In the last volume of the Cours d'Economie Politique of M. Storch, there is a very instructive account of the paper money of the dif
ferent continental states. We can confidently recommend it as containing much useful information.
M O N E Y.
i#ey. is estimated that, in 1814, 1815 and 1816, no fewer than
^240 private banking companies either became altogether
upt- bankrupt, or, at least, stopped payment; and the reduction
the that was thus occasioned in the quantity of bank-notes in
ba [n circulation, raised their value so rapidly, that, in October
jg (815,1816, the discount was reduced to L.l, 8s. 7d. percent. In
ani SI6, 1817 and 1818, the average discount on bank paper, as com-
cai of the pared with gold, did not exceed L.2, 13s. 2d. per cent. In
ris the the early part of 18.19, it rose to about six per cent., but it
va! of very soon declined; and in 1820and 1821 paper was nearly on
hai aPer- a]eveiwithgold. (See Table No. V.annexed to thisarticle.)
on a level with gold, being again degraded. By main¬
taining the old standard, or, which is the same thing, by'
maintaining the currency at a value nearly corresponding
to that to which it had attained in 1816, 1817, and 1818,
Parliament certainly gave permanence to the injury which
the rise in the value of money had occasioned to the debt¬
ors in all the contracts entered into between 1810 and 1815 ;
but if, instead of maintaining this old standard, they had
raised the mint price of bullion to its market price in 1814,
they would have done an equal injury to the far more nu-
r.,, o' '.   merous body of creditors, in all the contracts entered into
exceedingly injurious. From previously to VM), and in the three years subsequent to au-
1809 to 1815, the creditors of every antecedent contract, tumn 1816.
land-holders whose estates had been let on lease, stock-hold- Under these circumstances, it was impossible to adopt any Standard as
ers, and annuitants of every description all, in short, who measure capable of giving general satisfaction to those whose now fixed
could not raise the nominal amount of their claims or of interests were so widely different; and against which many ought to fie
their incomes proportionally to the fall in the real value of plausible, and even forcible objections, might not have beenrnaintained
money, were to this extent losers. The injustice that would stated. We are firmly persuaded, however, that the lems-inviolate-
have been done to the creditors of the state and of indivi- lature followed that course which was, on the whole, W
duals, who had made their loans in gold, or paper equivalent wisest, and most advantageous. It must be remembered,
that much of that inconvenience and distress, which always
to gold, by raising the denomination of the coin twenty-five
per cent., however gross and palpable, would not have been
greater than was actually done them in 1814, by compell¬
ing them to receive payment of their just debts in paper de¬
preciated to that extent. Circumstances which could nei¬
ther be controlled by the Bank of England nor the govern¬
ment, put an end, as has been seen, to this system. But
we suffered much, and perhaps are still suffering somewhat
from the sacrifices imposed by the rise in the value of money.
And yet, strange to say, there is a considerable party
amongst us who, are even now, (1837) at the end of eight¬
een or twenty years, clamouring for a fresh reduction of the
standard. It is no doubt true, that after a currency has been
for a considerable perio.d depreciated, equal injustice is done
by again raising its value, as was done by first depressing it.
There is good reason, however, to doubt, whether the de¬
preciation from 1809 to 1815 (for the depreciation of 2\
per cent, during the seven preceding years is too inconsider¬
able to be taken into account) extended over a sufficiently
lengthened period to have warranted the legislature in de¬
parting from the old standard. But, without giving any
opinion on this point, which is confessedly one of consider¬
able difficulty, it is sufficient to remark, that the value of
the currency was raised, independently altogether of the in¬
terference of government. The destruction of country bank
paper, occasioned by the renewed intercourse with the con¬
tinent, and the consequent introduction of cheap foreign
corn, raised the value of paper, in October 1816, to within
per cent, of par. Now, as the act 59 Geo. III. was not
passed until 1819, and as the currency had not been depre-
_oC e ”ated in the interim, we confess our inability to discover
valufj the1",6 grounds on which it is affirmed to have been the cause
°‘ that rise in the value of money which took place three
years before it was in existence. The proceedings in 1819
did not really add three per cent.1 to the value of bank
paper, nor were they intended to raise it. Their great ob¬
ject was to shut the door against a new depreciation, and
to prevent paper, which had for three years been nearly
Act
Oco,
did i
raise
CUITfl
[I.
result from every sudden rise in the value of money,
had been got over in 1817 and 1818. The rents of such
farms as had been let during the depreciation had been very
generally reduced, a vast number of annuity bonds had been
cancelled, and prices and wages had begun to accommodate
themselves to the new scale of value. Sir Robert Peel’s
bill gave stability to arrangements which had been brought
about by the natural course of events ; and, by fixing the
standard at its former limit, secured us, as long at least as
we have good sense and honesty to maintain it inviolate,
against the risk of future derangement and fluctuation.
But, even if it could be shewn that the 59 Geo. III. was
inexpedient at the time w hen it was passed, that would add
nothing to the plea of those wdio are now contending for its
repeal. All the objections which it was possible to make to
the degradation of the standard in 1819, must apply with a
thousand times the force to every scheme for degrading it in
1837 ; while, on the other hand, all the arguments that
could have been urged in favour of the measure at the former
period are now quite worthless. The restored standard has
been maintained for eighteen years ; and ninety-nine out of
every hundred of the existing contracts have been entered
into with reference to it. To tamper w ith it now would be
the extreme of madness. We should again witness the most
pernicious subversion of private fortunes. Debtors would
be enriched at the expence of their creditors ; the ignorant
and unwary would become the prey of the cunning and the
crafty; and capitalists would be eager to transfer their
stock from a country where it was impossible to lend it, ex¬
cept at the risk of getting it repaid in a depreciated cur¬
rency. “ Whatever, therefore,” to avail ourselves of the just
and forcible expressions of Mr. Harris, “ may be the fate of
future times, and whatever the exigency of affairs may re¬
quire, it is to be hoped that that most awkward, clandestine,
and most direful method, of cancelling debts by debasing
the standard of money, will be the last that shall be thought
of.”—(On Money and Coins, part ii. p. 108.)
13s. Sd^per^cent^ 'V^en ^'r ^°^ert Peels bill was passed, bullion was at L-4 an ounce; consequently, the depreciation was only L.2,
MONEY.
TABLES RELATIVE TO THE MONEY OF GREAT BRITAIN AND OTHER COUNTRIES.
Tablesi
No. I.
encash Money.—Account of ,ke M ,7Wr ^ [fZtrl^ZTSrJroCfne Z-
‘ouest'Zfe'sear mCcnt 1‘dTneZt Lie, No. //, are taken from Part II. 0/Essays on Money, Exchanges,
and Political Economy, by Henry James.)
A. D.
Anno Regni-
SILVER.
1.
Fine¬
ness of
the sil¬
ver in
the
coins.
2. I 3.
Pound Profit or
weight of seignorage
such sil- on the
ver coinedl coinage,
into
1066
Conquest.
1280
1300
1344
1349
1356
1394
1401
1421
1425
1464
1465
1470
1482
1483
1485
1509
1527
8 EdwardI...
28
18 Edward III.
23
30
18 Richard II.
3 Henry IV.
9 Henry V...
4 Henry VI.
4 Edward IV
49 Henry VI.
22 Edward IV
1 Rich. III.
1 Henry VII
1 Henry VIII
18  
1543
1545
1546
1547
1549
1551
34
36
37
1 Edward VI
3  
5 
1552
1553
1560
1 Mary..
2 Elizabeth...
. dts.
4.
Prices paid
to the pub¬
lic for the
pound-wt.
of silver.
1 2
s. o.
0 0
0 0
0 3
0
2
5
5
5
1 10 0
1 10 0
1 17 6
1 17 6
1 17 6
1 17 6
1 17 6
1 17 6
1 17 6
2 0 0
2 5
0
2i
3
3
5.
Equal to the
mint-price
for standard
silver of
1 loz. 2 dts.
fine troy-
weight.
6.
Fineness
of the
gold in
the coins.
0
10 0
6 0
4 0
4 0
6 0
3 0
11 0
0 10
0 10
0 10
0
0
6
6
0
6
6
6
0
04
0
0 19 o
0 19 0l
0 19 0
1 1 3
1 4 2
1 4 2
4 2
9 0
9 0
13 0
13 0
15 6
16 0
16 0
16 0
1 16 6
1 18 1H
4 0
1 0 3i
2 8 0
2 8 0
2 8 0
2 8 0
3 12 0
3 12 0
3 0 0
11 1
3 0 0
11 0
11 2
1600
1604
1626
21666
1717
1816
43
2 James I..
2 Charles I...
18 Charles II..
3 George I...
56 George III.
8 0
0 0
4 0
4 0
0 0
0 1 0
3 0 0
3 0 0
3 2 0
0 2 0
GOLD.
7.
Pound-
weight of
such gold
coined into
crts. gns.
23 3b
9^
1 10 Hi
1 10 1U
1 15 2
1 15 2i
1 17 10f
1 18 4f
1 18 4f
1 18 4f
1 18 114-
1 18 11}
2 4 0
8 0
2 16 0
0 0
0 0
4 0
2 4
2 11
2 15
2 15
2 19
Profit or
seignor¬
age on
the coin¬
age.
. 9l
Price paid
to the pub¬
lic for the
pound-
weight of
gold.
2 19 0
2 19 0
2 18 6
3 0 0
0 2 6
0 2 0
0 0 0
0 0 0
0 4 0
2 19 6
3 0 0
3 2 0
3 2 0
4}
9}
6
6
2#
--J
22 0 l
23 0
22 0
20 0
20 0
22 0
2 19 3}
2 19 6j
2 18 6
13 3
14 0
15 0
15 0
15 0
16 13
16 13 4
20 16 8
22 10 0
22 10 0
22 10 0
22 10 0
22 10 0
22 10 0
24 0 0
27 0 0
25 2 6
28 16 0
30 0 0
30 0 0
30 0 0
34 0 0
0 8
0 11
0 6
0 5
0 5
0 5 0
0 5 10
2 10 0
1 0 10
0 13 0
10.
Equal to
the mint-
price for
standard
gold of '22
carats fine
troy-\vt.
23 3} J-
22 0 \
23 31J
22 0 \
23 31
3 0 0
2 19 6
3 0 0
3 2 0
3 2 0
23 31 f
22,0 |
23 31J
22 0 l
22 0
7
7
7
2
2
2
3
4
2 10 0
5 0 0
12 15 0
13 8 4
14 13 4
14 15 0
16 15 0
16 8
16 7
18 6
21 9
21 17
22 2
22 2
22 2
22 7
23 17
26 17 3
24 19 6
27 12 0
27 10 0
27 10 0
12 10 8
13 3 9
14 8 4
14 9 11
14 9 11
16 2 9
16 1 11
18 0 5
21 1 10
21 9 7
21 15 0
21 15 0
21 15 0
22 0 0
22 0 0
1 10 028 10 0
1 0 0
36 0 0
33 0 0
36
33
36
36
33
33 0 0
0 00
0 00
0 00
0 00
0 00
36 10 0 0 10 0
33 10 0 0 10 0
37 4 0 1 10 0
41 0 01 1 5
44 10 0 0 0 0
46 14 6 0 0 0
24 19 6
26 8
27 10 0
27 10 0
31 7
33 0 0
35 17
32 17 0
35 17 0
35 15 0
32 16 0
36 0 0
33 0 0
35 14 0
39 18 7
44 10 0
46 14 6
32 17 0
33 0
46 14 6 0 0 0
46 14 6 46 14
32 16
33 0
35 14
39 18
44 10
46 14
1 1527, Henry VIII. 1 The Saxon or Tower-pound was used at the mint up to this time, when the pound troy was substitute g'^e
stead. The Tower-pound was but 11 oz, 5 dwts. troy ; so that, from the Conquest to the 2Sth of Edward I., twenty sni ing
exactly a pound in weight. Uip mint has ever
* 1666, 18 Charles II.] The seignorage on the coinage was at this time given up, and the gold bullion brougnt to t
since been coined free of expence. A seignorage of 6i| per cent, was imposed on the coinage of silver by 56th Geo. All*
M O N E Y
405
Tables.
No. II.
English Money—Account of the quantity of fine silver coined into 20.?. or the pound sterling ; the quantity of standard
silver, of \ \ oz. 2 dwts.fine, and 18 dwts. alloy^ contained in 20.?. or the pound sterling, and the quantity of standard
silver which was delivered to the mint, by the public, for 20.?. of silver money, in the different reigns, from the time of
Edward I. to the reign of George III. A similar account with respect to gold. And an account of the proportionate
value offine gold to fine silver, according to the number of grains contained in the coins ; and the proportionate value
of fine gold to fine silver, according to the price paid by the mint to the public. Calculated in grains and 1000 parts
troy-weight.
A. D.
1066
1280
1344
1349
1356
1401
1421
1464
1465
1470
1482
1509
1527
1543
1545
1546
1547
1549
‘1551
1552
1553
1560
1600
1604
1626
1666
1717
21816
Anno Regni.
SILVER.
Conquest 
' 8 Edward I...
18 Edward III.
23  
30  
3 Henry IV..
9 Henry V...
4 Edward IV.
5  
49 Henry VI..
22 Edward IV.
1 Henry VIII.
18  —
34  
36  
37  
1 Edward VI,
3 
5  
1 Mary 
2 Elizabeth...
43  
2 James I 
2 Charles I...
18 Charles II...
3 George I...
56 George III.
S 'S =
zC s "a
O G
Gh 03
O
'G ,~G
O
— 03
S bC O
bo s
<U_ C/3 .
W 03
s-
o be 3
'fS-5 c
3 03 rC
£.s «.5
Grains.
4995-000
4995-000
4933-333
4440-000
3996-000
3996-000
3330-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2368-000
2000-000
1200-000
800-000
800-000
800-000
400-000
1760-000
1768-000
1760-000
1776-000
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1614-545
2.
g “ <n
T! O - S
C = S
2 « • S £
“ . ^ OJ
03 03
o ^ «.5
§ a
^ N G* 03
° 03 ’S
°^-S
jd •> o -a
S S - Ji
zs >
r3 ^ o
^4 03 03
Grains.
5400-000
5400-000
5333-333
4800000
4320000
4320-000
3600-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2560-000
2162-162
1297-297
864-864
864-864
864-864
1902-702
1911-351
1902-702
1920-000
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1745-454
3.
oH
i >
^4 *CO
1 33 CJ
! g -G
: *S 2
Gh ^
I 03 ^
'•5^
2 3
bp ^
.5 c
■^3 ’3
Grains.
5684-210
5684-210
5082-352
4468-965
4468-965
3724-137
3272-727
3272-727
3042-253
3000-000
2958-904
2618-181
2594-594
2223-938
2075-675
2075-675
1945-945
1943-757
1935- 050
1969-230
1920-000
1936- 134
1920-000
1858-064
1858-064
GOLD.
4.
bo £
o c P
g S 5
G w -c
M s
t-*-< .
o ^ +J
(T, G c
G G
’« E.a
“o'0
Pi ® rS
S w .
cj
o "S
CM o
Grains.
407-990
383-705
358-125
358-125
322-312
257-850
238-750
238-750
238-750
238-750
210-149
191-666
176-000
160-000
160-000
155-294
160-000
160-000
159- 166
160- 000
157-612
141-935
128-780
118-651
113-001
113-001
.5
a-r? a-s
Grain
445-080
418-588
390-682
390-682
351-613
281-291
260-454
260-454
260-454
260-454
229-253
209-090
192-000
174-545
174-545
169-412
*174-545
174-545
173- 636
174- 545
171-940
154-838
140-487
129-438
123-274
123-274
02 O fG
g+-< ^ P
° 2
.5 ll-i
tbo ® ®
a,
.s “
° “ 3 •£
§ -5 bo o
i 2 3 =
§3 8 s
Grains.
459-625
436-777
399-561
397-303
356-963
319-648
273-109
268-202
264-869
261-909
230-630
218-181
209-454
209-454
183-732
174-545
175-342
174- 369
175- 609
174-545
161-344
144-255
129-438
123-274
123-274
7.
be
GOG
Cj c
£ 2
Gold to silver•
to
i
i _
i _
i _
i —
i _
i _
i —
i —
i —
i _
i _
i _
i —
i —
i —
12-091
11-571
11-558
11-158
10-331
10- 331
11- 158
11-158
11-158
11-158
11-268
10-434
6-818
5-000
5-000
5-151
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
11-000
11-050
11- 057
11-100
10-904
12- 109
13- 346
14- 485
15- 209
14-287
8.
TC T3 j*
?'S p 8
bO fa ^
“ 2 = -3
<5 be £ hp
o Tp ^
Qj G G rcJ
s r. *g
r- CJ
CO
2 S S
Gold to silver.
1 to
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 —
12-479
11-741
11-286
11-350
10-527
10- 331
11- 983
11-446
11-429
11-400
11- 455
12- 000
10- 714
10-000
11- 400
11-250
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
11-186
11-198
11- 315
11-100
12- 109
13- 431
14- 485
15- 209
, 0 'Edward \ L] The coinage of debased silver money in the 5th year of Edward VI. of 3 oz. fine, ought more properly to be
2 ISlfi ■'fi p^ens" r^iie sum -£120,000 only was so coined, (See James’s Essays, chap, iv.)
to the hr h e0i?e government having taken the coinage of silver into its own hands, there is at present no fixed price paid
at 77s milf’ t"<? mmt *°r sta.I|dal'd silver. And supposing the government to continue the present mint regulations, and to keep gold
- an ounce, as the price of silver varies, the relative value of gold to silver will vary in like proportion.
406
M ONE Y.
Tables.
]\j0 jjj Scots Money. Account of the Number of Pounds, Shillings, and Pennies Scots, ivhich have been coined out T;|
of One Pound Weight of Silver, at different times; ivith the degree of Purity of such Silver, or its Fineness, from ^
the year 1107 to the year 1601. (From Cardonnell’s Numismata Scotia, p. 24.)
A. D. Anno Regni.
From
1107
to
Alexander I...'
David I 
William 
Alexander II..
Alexander III.
John Baliol....
Robert I.
David II 38
39
-Robert II.
Purity.
Alloy.
Value of
money coined
out of a lb.
of silver.
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
0 18
1 0 0
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
Robert III 4
James 1 19
11 2
11 2
0 18
0 18
1 1 0
1 5 0
1 9 4
1 9 4
1 12 0
1 17 6
A. D. ! Anno Rtgni.
1451
1456
1475
1484
1488
1489
1529
1544
1556
1565
1567
1571
1576
1579
1581
1597
1601
James II...
James III.
James IV.
Purity.
James V.
Mary 
James VI.
 15
20
....16
24
m
....16
 3
14
23
 1
5
10
13
15
31
35
Oz. Pw.
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
Alloy.
Value of
money coined
out of a lb.
of silver.
Oz. Pw.
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
9 0
8 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
L. S. D.
3 4 0
4 16 0
7 4 0
7 0 0
7 0 0
1 0
1 0
1 0
3 0
4 0
1 0
1 0
I 0
1 0
9 12 0
9 12 0
13 0 0
18 0 0
18 0 0
16 14 0
16 14 0
22 0 0
24 0 0
30 0 0
36 0 0
No. IV.—Scots Money Account of the Number of Pounds, Shillings, and Pennies Scots, which have been coined out
of One Pound WeightofGold; ivith 'the degree of their Purity, and theproportion that the Goldbore to the Silver. (Ib.p.^5.)
A. D.
1371, &c.
1390, &c.
1424
1451
1456
1475
1484
1488
1529
1556
1577
1579
1597
1601
1633
Anno Regni.
Fineness.
Robert II 
Robert III...
James I....19
James II...15
20
James III. 16
24
James IV...1
James V...16
Mary.  14
James VI..10
13
31
35
Charles I.... 9
oz. pw. gr.
11 18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
0
0
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
10 10
11 0
11
11
Alloy.
Value of the coin
coined out of one
pound of gold.
oz. pw. gr,
0 1 ~
6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
1 0 0
1 0 0
1 10 0
1 0 0
1 0 0
1 0 0
Pound of pure gold
weighed of pure
silver.
L. s. D.
17 12 0
19 4 0
22 10 0
33 6 0
50 0 0
78 15 0
78 15 0
78 15 0
108 0 0
144 0 0
240 0 0
240 0 0
360 0 0
432 0 0
492 0 0
11
11
11
9
9
10
10
10
10
10
10
11
pw. gr.
17 22
17 22
17 22
4 14
4 14
0 20
12 0
12 0
2 20
0 0
13 2
0
11
Years.
Average price
of Gold per
ounce.
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
E. S. D.
3 17 lOi
4 5 0
4 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
4 10 0
Average per
cent, of the
value of the
currency.
E. S. D.
100 0 0
91 12 4
92 14 2
97 6 10
97
97
97
97
97
97
6 10
6 10
6 10
6 10
6 10
6 10
86 10 6
Average de¬
preciation per
cent.
E. s. D.
Nil.
8
7
2 13
7 8
5 10
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
13 9
Years.
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
Average price
of Gold per
ounce.
E. S. D.
4 4 6
4 15 6
5 1 0
5 4 0
4 13 6
4 13 6
4 0 0
4 0 0
4 1 6
3 19 11
3 17 101
Average per
cent, of the
value of the
currency.
E. S. D.
92 3 2
79 5
77 2
74 17
83 5
83 5
97 6 10
97 6 10
95 11 0
97 8 0
100 0 0
Average de¬
preciation per
cent.
E. S. D.
7 16 10
20 14 9
22 18
25 2
16 14
16 14
2 13
2 13
4 9
2 12
Nil.
No. V. English Paper Money.—Account of the Average Market Price of Bullion in every year, from 1800 to 1821,
(taken from papers laid before the House of Commons), of the average value per cent, of the Paper Currency, estimated
from the market price of Gold for the same period, and of the average depr eciatixmjffke-Pa^^
MONEY.
407
Tables-
doth at London and Paris, which have been found to verifu each other" J England, and from Assays made'
N.B. The Publishers of this Work have purchased, at a very considerable expense, the rieht to n„hli«h t
from the Proprietors of the Second Edition of Dr. Kelly's Cambist, wtee it o^S^appe “d
Austrian ) Souverain 
Dominions j Double Ducat 
Ducat Kremnitz, or Hungarian 
Bavaria Carolin  
Max d’or, or Maximilian 
Ducat 
Bern Ducat (double, &c. in proportion)....
Pistole   
Brunswick Pistole (double in proportion) 
Ducat   
Cologne Ducat... 
Denmark Ducat current 
Ducat specie 
Christian d’or  
England Guinea 
Half Guinea   
Seven Shilling Piece  
Sovereign 
Feance Double Louis (coined before 1786)..,
Louis 
Assay.
Double Louis (coined since 1786)....
Louis 
Double Napoleon, or piece of 40 francs
Napoleon, or piece of 20 francs 
New Louis (double, &c.) the same as
the Napoleon 
Francfort-on-the-Maine Ducat  
Geneva Pistole, old 
Pistole, new...; 
Genoa Sequin 
Hamburgh Ducat (double in proportion) 
Hanover George d*or  
Ducat...   
TT Gold Florin (double in proportion)....
Holland. Double Ryder 
Ryder   
Ducat   
Malta..... Double Louis 
Louis... 
, Demi Louis 
^ILA1N' Sequin 
Doppia or Pistole 
xt Forty Lire piece of 1808 
aples Six Ducat piece of 1783 
Two Ducat piece, or Sequin, of 1762
vr Three Ducat piece, orOncetta, of 1818
herlands..Gold Lion, or fourteen florin piece...
Ten florin piece (1820) 
car. gr,
W. 0 0i
B. 1 2;
B. 1 3
W. 3 2
W. 3 2J
B. 1 2J
B. 1 1|
W. 0 ll
W. 0 ij
B. 1 0J
B. 1 2
W. 0 3|
B. 1 2
W. 0 1
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W. 0 2
W. 0 2
W. 0 U
W. 0 H
W. 0 If
W. 0
If
0
B. 1
W. 0
W. 0
B. 1
B. 1
W. 0
B. 1
W. 3
Stand.
Stand.
B. 1 24
w. i 4
W. 1 3
W. 1 2f
B. 1 3
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 1
B. 1
Stand. ”
W. 0 If
1
If
2}
3*
Weight.
dwt. gr.
3 14
4 12
2 5|
6 5
4 4
2 5
1 23
4 21
4 2U
2 5|
5|
2 i6|
1 19
5 3f
10 11
5 54
9 20
4 22
8 7
4
34
5f
4 74
3 15f
5f
5f
4
5f
2
12 21
6 9
2 5f
10 16
5 8
2 16
a
1 2
8
16
1 204
2 104
5 7f
if
Standard
Weight.
dwt. gr- mi
3 13 15
20
10
5
14
5
3
10
0
Contents
in pure
gold.
19 11
2
19
19
8
9
1 21 19
2 9 8
5
9
16
10
16 15
19 0
15 19
19 19
3 0
1 10
12 21
6 9
14
18
4
6
14
3
3
6
0
0
9 12
18 18
9
4
15
10
9
5
10
18
21 16
11 3
10
0
4
12 18
16 6
1
16
15
grains.
78-6
106-4
53-3
115
77
52-8
45-9
105-5
105- 7
51- 8
52- 6
42-2
52-6
93*3
118-7
59*3
39-6
113-1
224-9
112-4
212-6
106- 3
179
89-7
52- 9
92-5
80
53- 4
52- 9
92- 6
53- 3
39
283-2
140-2
52- 8
215-3
108
54- 5
53- 2
88-4
179-7
121-9
37-4
58-1
117-1
93- 2
Value in
Sterli ng.
s. d.
13 10-92
18 9-97
9 5-91
20 4-23
13 7-44
9 4-12
8 1-48
18 7-86
18 8-48
9 2
9 3-70
7 5-62
9 3-70
16 6-14
21 0
10 6
7 0
20 0
39 9-64
19 10-71
37 7-53
18 9-75
31 8-36
15 10-5
9 4-34
16 4-45
14 1-9
9 5-41
9 4-35
16 4-66
9 5-19
6 10-83
50 1-46
24 9-75
9 4-13
38 1-25
19 1-37
9 7-75
9 4-98
15 7-74
31 9-64
21 6-89
6 7-42
10 3-40
20 8-69
16 5-93
1 T
at ^ ar>s by Pierre Frederic BonnXiUp6 ^ Robert Bingley, Esq., the King’s Assay Master of the Mint, and those
Specimens of all the foreign coins hrm ~bt / r ^ C<lmrnerce’ as published m his elaborate work on the coins of all nations.
Bank of England, by order of the Bank Direnr C°n,merc?al P^P0868 have been supplied for this Table from the Bullion Office,
lnined the Tables n the r progress i -’ “"n If by Jobn Humble’ Es^ the chief of that office, who also ex^
7^5 flnd tbat all thecomputatio'ns th* Mu,t R^°,rts of these commercial. coins are chiefly from average
'« published in 1821.) ‘‘™ be“ tanifull>' vet,fie,i ^ ,ll,rcreM «l™lators. (Note by Dr. Kelly to the second edition of
M O N E Y.
Assay.
Parma Quadruple Pistole (double in prop.)..
Pistole or Doppia of 1787 
Ditto of 1796  
Maria Theresa (1818) .........
Piedmont Pistole coined since 1785(-|,&c. in prop)
Sequin (^ in proportion) 
Carlino, coined since 1785 (-!■, &c., |
in proportion) J
Piece of 20 francs, called Marengo...
Poland. Ducat 
Portugal Dobraon of 24,000 rees 
Dobra of 12,800 rees  
Moidore or lisbonine, (^, &c. in prop.)
Piece of 16 testoons, or 1600 rees ...
Old Crusado of 400 rees 
New Crusado of 480 rees  
Milree, (coined for African cols. 1755).
Prussia .'...Ducat of 1748 
Ducat of 1787  
Frederick (double) of 1769 
Frederick (single) of 1778  
Frederick (double) of 1800 
Frederick (single) of 1800  
Rome Sequin (coined since 1760) 
Scudo of the Republic 
Russia Ducat of 1796 
Ducat of 1763 
Gold ruble of 1756 
Ditto of 1799  
Gold Poltin of 1777  
Imperial of 1801  
Plalf Imperial of 1801 
Ditto of 1818  
Sardinia Carlino (^ in proportion) 
Saxony Ducat of 1784 
Ducat of 1797 
Augustus of 1754 
Augustus of 1784 
Sicily1 Ounce of 1751 
Double Ounce of 1758  
Spain Doubloon of1772(double and single j
in proportion /
Quadruple Pistole of 1801  
Pistole of 1801    
Coronilla, gold dol. or vintem of 1801
Sweden Ducat 
Switzerland...Pistole of the Helvetic Repub. of 1800
Treves Ducat 
Turkey Sequin fonducli of Constantinop.ofT773
Sequin fonducli of 1789 
Half misseir (1818) 
Sequin fonducli 
Yermeebeshlek 
Tuscany Zecchino or sequin 
Ruspone of the kingdom of Etruria..
United STATES.2Eagle (^ and^ in proportion),
Venice Zecchino or sequin (1 and^ in prop.)
Wirtemberg. ...Carol in 
Ducat 
Zurich, Ducat (double and ^ducat in prop.).
EAST INDIES.
E.vst India Rupee, Bomba y (1818) 
Rupee of Madras (1818) 
Pagoda, Star  
car-
W. 1
w. 0
W. 1
W. 0
W. 0
B. 1
w. 0
9r’
0
3
oi
H
li
w.
B.
o
oi
Z2
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W. 0 Of
W. 0 0|
W. 0 Of
Stand.
B. 1
B. 1
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
B. 1
W. 0
B. 1
B. 1 2
Stand.
W. 0 C
Stand.
Weight.
Standard
weight.
diet.
18
4
4
4
5
2
29 6
4
2
34
B.
B.
B.
W.
B.
B.
W. 0
W. 0
W. 1
W. 1
W. 0
w.
w.
w.
B.
W. 0
B.
W.
W.
W.
W.
B.
B.
B.
W. 0
B.
W.
B.
B.
B.
2i
2+
o|-
2f
2
2|
i
2i
1
1
2*
2
11
2
2^
3|
3
31
3
3|
01
31
2
2
2
9r-
9
14
14
Ql
2
20
5f
0 01
Stand.
W. 3 0
31
51
12
dwt, gr. mi.
17 12 18
10
8
1
17
9
18 6
6 22
2 6
0
0
0
2
2
8
4
8
4
2
17
2
2
1
0
0
7
3
4
10
2
2
4
4
2
5
17
17
4
1
2
4
2
2
2
0
.2
2
3
6
11
2
6
2
2
7
7
2
15
i6i
191
51
51
14
7
14
7
41
01
181
9
171
201
qi
7!
5f
61
6J
20-1-
17
81
9
Si
211
<3
4
.”,-3
Ox
5:
28 20 0
Contents
in pure
gold.
1 Si¬
ll
51
171
6
6
3i
°2
51
11
12
41
18
9
12
6
22
5
14
16
19
9
9
9
5
9
4
9
16
10
9
0
18
9
6
3
3
23
9
9
3
4
15
5 7
61 21
3
2
34
18
6
2
0
0
0
2
2
8
4
8
4
2
16
2
2
1
0
0
8
4
4
9
2
2
4
4
2
16
4
1
2
4
2
1
1
0
1
3
2
7
11
2
5
2
2
7
7
1
19
9
23
22
13
22
4
10
7
4
10
4
8
9
11
12
21
4
12
0
0
0
14
18
2
15
14
6
18
4
6
13
0
6
0
8
10
14
0
8
4
12
16
8
14
8
12
8
14
16
6
6
18
12
9
Value in
Sterling.
6
16
5
7
13
14
13
8
10
0
12
8
13
0
11
qrains.
386
97-4
95-9
89-7
125*6
52-9
634*4
82*7
52-9
759
401*5
152*2
49*3
13*6
14*8
18*1
52*9
52*6
185
92*8
184*5
92*2
52*2
367
532
52*6
22*5
17*1
8*2
181*9
90*9
9P3
219-8
52*6
52*9
91-2
92*2
58*2
117
372
360*5
90*1
22*8
51*9
105*9
52*6
43.3
42.9
12*16
42*5
70*3
53*6
161
246*1.
53*6
113*7
51*9
52*6
164*7
165
41*8
68
17
16
15
22
9
d.
3*78
2*85
11*67
10*5
2*75
4*34
112 3*33
14
9
134
71
26
8
2
2
3
9
9
32
16
32
16
9
64
9
9
3
3
1
32
16
16
30
9
9
16
16
10
20
7*63
4*34
3*96
0*70
11*24
8*70
4*88
7*43
2*44
4*34
3*71
8*90
5*08
7- 84
3*42
2*86
11*43
4*98
3*71
11*78
0*31
5*41
2*31
1*05
1*98
8*10
3*71
4*34
1*69
3-81
3*60
8- 48
Tal*
65 10*05
63 9-62
15 11-35
4 0-42
9 2*22
18 8*91
9 3-71
7 7-94
7 7*11
2 1*82
7 6*26
12 5*30
9 5*83
28 5-93
43 6*66
9 5*83
20 1-47
9 2*22
9 3-71
29 1"78
29 2*42
7 4*77
1 Much variation is found in the fineness of the Sicilian gold coins.
2 This value of the American Eagle is taken from average assays of the coins of twelve years.
MONEY.
409
NT°. yn. biLVKn Coras or DIFFEREKT Countrirs_-/( Table containing the Assays, Weights, and Values of the^
^r^andTaitttr™’ COmPUtei at the rate 0/5S' 2i ^ ^*4/- ^s rJJl
Tab!
Austria.
Baden..
Bavaria .
Bern.
Bremen 
Brunswick.
Denmark.
England.
France.
Geneva.
Genoa..,
Hamburgh.
Hanover.
....Rixdollar of Francis II., 1800.
Rixdollar of the kingdom of Hungary
Half rixdollar or florin, Convention..
Copftsuck, or 20 creutzer piece 
17 Creutzer piece 
Halbe copf, or 10 creutzer piece....
...Rixdollar 
...Rixdollar of 1800 (-I- in proportion)..
Copftsuck   
...Patagon or crown in proportion)..
Piece of 10 Batzen 
...Piece of 48 Grotes 
...Rixdollar, Convention 
Half rixdollar 
Gulden, or piece of f, fine, of 1764.
Gulden, common, of 1764 
Gulden, ditto, of 1795 
Half Gulden, or piece of T, of 1764
..Ryksdaler, specie, of 1798 
New piece of 4 marks 
Half ryksdaler 
Mark, specie, or £ ryksdaler.. ..
Rixdollar, specie, of Sleswig and 4
Holstein (pieces of f and £ in V
^ Prop-) )
Piece of 24 skillings 
..Crown (old) 
Half-crown 
Shilling 
Sixpence 
Crown (new) 
Half -crown  
Shilling... 
Sixpence 
..Ecu of 6 livres 
Demi ecu 
Piece of 24 sous (divisions in 1
proportion)  j
Piece of 30 sous (-g- in proportion)...
Piece of 5 francs of the Convention
Piece of 5 francs (Napoleon) of 1808
Piece of 2 francs of 1808 
Franc of 1809 
Demi franc   
Franc (Louis) of 1818, same as franc
of 1809 
..Patagon 
Piece of 15 sous of 1794 
■ Scudo, of 8 lire, of 1796 (l, £, |
&c. in proportion) f
Scudo of the Ligurian Republic 
.Rixdollar, specie 
Double mark, or 32 schillings)
piece (single in proportion)... J
Piece of 8 schillings 
Piece of 4 schillings 
.Rixdollar, Constitution 
florin, or piece of -|, fine 
Halt florin, or piece of ditto 
Quarter, or piece of 6 good gro- )
schen, do   f
Assay.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
B.
w.
w.
w.
w.
w.
dwt.
5
2
3
3
8
5
4
41
3
7
2
2
3
3
1
1
1
4
4
5
1
1
4
0
1
2
1
1
0 16
1 2
2 2
1 2
0 13
0 12
W. 0 13
W. 3 1
W. 0 12
W. 4 7
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W.
W.
W. 0
W. 3
W. 010i
w. 0
w. 0
w. 0
w. 0
w.
w.
7
7
7
W. 0 8
w. 0 9i
w. 0 10
W. 2 3
W.
W.
3 12
4 6
W. 0 9
B. 0 16
B. 0 16
B. 0 16
Weight,
dwt. gr.
18 1
18 1
9 01
4 61
4 0
2 11
18 2
17 12
4 61
18 22
5 3
11 0
18 1
9 01
8 10
9 0
11 11
4 12
18 14
12 9
9 7
4 0
18 13
5 21
19 81
9 161
3 21
1 221
18 41
9 2
3 151
1 19f
18 18
9 9
3 20
6 12
16 0
16 1
6 11
3 51
1 15
17 9
2 1
21 9
21 9
18 18
11 18
3 8J
2 2
18 19
8 10
4 4
2 1
Standard
Weight.
dwt.
16
16
8
2
2
1
16
gr. mi.
0 4
6
2
16
18
4
9 18
7 1
3 1
15 13 13
2 16 3
7 14
14 17
8 22
16 4
8 2
9 1
8 2
8 23
4 1
17 11
11 16 14'
8 17 8
2 21 12
17 12 6
1
4
2
1
10
7
5
17
9 16
3 21
10
10
5
0
1 22 10
4
2
15
19 14
3 16 19
15 12
6 6
3
13
15 19 8
1 15 1
20 14 10
20 11 2
17 21 12
9 118
0 14
0 10
11 4
4 10
Contents in
pure'silver.
grams-
355-5
360-9
179-6
59-4
53-5
28-8
358- 1
345-6
59-4
406-7
102-5
198
359- 2
179-6
200-8
180
199-1
90
388-4
259-8
194-2
64-4
389.4
68-9
429-7
214-8
85-9
42-9
403-6
201-8
80-7
40-3
403-1
201-5
83-4
100-2
338-3
344-9
138-8
69 4
34-7
351
36-1
457-4
454-3
397-5
210-3
50-1
28-3
400-3
200-3
99-2
48-6
Value in
Sterling.
d.
1- 64
2- 39
1- 07
8-29
7- 47
4-01
2
0-25
8- 29
8-79
2- 31
3- 64
2- 15
1-07
4- 03
M3
3- 80
0-56
6- 23
0-27
3-11
7- 59
4 6-37
9-62
0
6
0
6
8-36
4-18
0 11-27
0 5-63
4 8-28
2 4-13
0 11-64
1-99
11-24
0-16
7-38
9-69
4-84
1-03
5-04
5 3-87
3-43
7-49
2 5-36
0 6-99
0 3-95
4 7-89
2 3-96
1 1-85
0 6-78
3 F
vOL. XV.
MONEY.
Hanover 
Hesse Cassee.
Holland.
Lubec.
Lucca..
Malta.
Milan..
Modena.
Naples.
Netherlands
Parma 
Piedmont.
..Florin, or piece of §, base
.Rixdollar, Convention 
Florin, or piece of § in proportion)
Thaler of 1789 
Ecu, Convention (1815) 
Bon Gros 
.Ducatoon 
Piece of 3 florins 
Rixdollars (the assay varies) 
Half rixdollar 
Florin or guilder (| in proportion)...
12 Stiver piece 
Florin of Batavia 
Rixdollar, or 50 stiver piece of the 1
kingdom of Holland J
. Rixdollar, specie 
Double mark 
Mark   
..Scudo 
Barbone 
..Ounce of 30 tari of Emmanuel Pinto
2 Tari piece  
,.Scudo of 6 lire (^ in proportion)  
Lira, new  
Lira, old 
Scudo of the Cisalpine Republic  
Piece of 30 soldi of ditto  
..Scudo of 15 lire, 1739 (double, &c. \
in proportion) J
Scudo of 5 lire, of 1782 
Scudo of 1796 
...Ducat, new (| in proportion) 
Piece of 12 Carlini of 1791 
Ditto of 1796 
Ditto of 1805 (|- in proportion) 
Ditto of 10 Carlini (1818) 
..Ducatoon, old 
Ducatoon of Maria Theresa 
Crown, (^, &c. in proportion) 
5 Stiver piece 
Florin of 1790  
Florin of 1816 
Half florin (with divisions in prop.) .
..Ducat of 1784   
Ducat of 1796, (^ in proportion) 
Piece of 3 lire 
.Scudo (1755) p &c. in proportion.
Scudo (1770) \ and ^ in proportion..
Poland....
Portugal.
Piece of 2 lire (1714)
5 franc piece (1801)..
.Rixdollar, old 
Rixdollar, new (1794)
Florin, or gulden 
.New crusado (1690).,
Ditto (1718).,
Ditto (1795).,
Doze vintems, or piece of 240 rees )
(1799). 
Testoon (1799) 
New crusado (1809,) 
Seis vintems, or piece of 120 rees
(1802)  
Testoon (1802) 
Tres vintems, or piece of 60 rees
(1802) 
Half testoon (1802) 
02. dwt.
W. 2 1
W. 1 6
W. 1 6
W. 1 6
W. 6 14
B. 0 3
W. 0 2
W. 0 16
W. 0 16
W. 0 41
W. 0 161
W. 0
W. 0 13
W. 2 3
W. 2
W. 0
W. 3
W. 2
W. 2 19
W. 0 7
W. 4 10
W. 0 3
W. 0 7
W. 2 18
W. 0 14
W. 0
W. 3
W. 1
W. 1
W. 1
W. 1
W. 1
B. 0
W. 0 14
W. 0 14
W. 6 3
W. 0 14
W. 0 71
W. 4
W. 0
W. 0
W. 1
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. I 2
W. 2 17
W. 4 2
W. 0 4
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0 7
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
52
52
61
17 0 16 13 18
18 18
11 18
21
0
1 201
U
14 20f
0
10
14 211
4 17
18 121
5 19
18 1
14 15
17 15
17 l6f
17 181
14 18
21 0
21 10
19 0
231
22
11
16 11
16 12f
4 14
22 14
22 14
7
16
18
201
li
6
11
9
9
4 16
9 3
2 0
15 101
2 01
2 41
1 21
17 15 12
9 11 8
4 17 14
16 18 10
1 7
4
15
0 19
14 9
14 10
3 11
17 8 9
5 17 2
12 22 12
13 7 8
16 0 18
15 22 12
15 23 18
13
21
20
17 19
1
5
9 18
14 9
6 16
3 9
6
2
15 18 18
2 18
2 2
0 10
1 16
0 23
16
4
22
22
7 16 13
15 11 12
6 0
11 6
16
11
3 18 16
10 19 0
9 1
9 1
0
18
4 12 10
1 22 18
8 23 0
2 2 8
1 22 0
1 1 4
0 22 0
grains.
199-6
353
176-8
259-7
349-3
10-3
471-6
446-4
375-9
185-4
146-8
92-4
141-6
367-9
391-9
210-3
105-1
372-3
29-3
337-4
17-7
319- 6
52-8
52-9
320- 2
77-2
385-2
126-8
287-4
295-4
356-
353-9
355-2
295-1
474-6
445-5
395-2
31-3
124-3
148.4
75
350-6
357- 9
90-7
488-9
490-0
170-8
343-7
360-8
254-3
84
239-2
200-2
201-6
100-4
43-4
198-2
46-6
42-5
23-3
20-4
1 7-77
4 3-37
4 6-72
2 5-36
1 2-67
4 3-98
0 4-09
3 11-11
0 2-47
3 8-62
0 7-37
0 7-38
3 8-71
0 10-78
4 5-78
1 5-70
3 4-13
5-24
1-71
1- 41
1-60
5- 20
6- 27
2- 20
7- 18
0 4-37
1 5-35
1 8-72
0 10-46
0-95
1-97
0-66
8-26
8-42
1 11-85
3 11-99
4 2-38
2 11-51
0 11-72
2 9-40
2 3-95
2 4-15
1 2-01
0 6-06
2 4-67
0 6.50
0 5-93
0 3-25
0 2-84
MONEY.
les.
Portuguese
Colonies.
Prussia.
Rome.
Russia.
Sardinia.
Saxony..,
Sicily.
Spain..
Sweden  
Switzerland
( Piece of 8 macutes, of Portuguese )
-< Africa J
( Ditto of 6 ditto 
Ditto of 4 ditto 
• -1 Rixdollar, Prussian currency in
ProP-) 
Rixdollar, Convention 
Florin, or piece of § 
Florin of Silesia    
Drittel, or piece of 8 good groschen
Piece of 6 groschen 
...Scudo, or crown (coined since 1753)
Mezzo scudo, or half-crown 
Testone (1785) 
Paolo (1785)  
Grosso, or half paolo (1785) 
Scudo of the Roman Republic (1799)
...Ruble of Peter the Great 
Ditto of Catherine I. (1725) 
Ditto of Peter II. (1727) 
Ditto of Anne (1734) 
Ditto of Elizabeth (1750) 
Ditto of Peter III. (1762) 
Ditto of Catherine II. (1780) 
Ditto of Paul (1799) 
Ditto of Alexander (1802) 
Ditto of ditto (1805) 
20 Copek piece (1767 
Ditto (1784) 
15 Copeck piece (1778) 
10 Copeck piece 
Ditto (1798) 
Ditto (1802) 
5 Copeck piece (1801) 
...Scudo, or crown (^ and £ in prop.).
,.. Rixdollar, Convention^ a.ndL^\r\ prop.)
Piece of 16 groschen of Leipsic.
Rixdollar current of Saxe Gotha
^Thaler of 1804  
Ditto of 1808 
Ditto of Jerome Bonaparte of 1809 ••
...Scudo (£ in proportion) 
Piece of 40 grains 
..Dollar,2 of late coinage 
Half dollar, ditto 
Mexican peceta (1774) 
Real of Mexican plate (1775) 
Peceta provincial of 2 reals of new I
plate (1775) j
Real of new plate (1795) 
...Rixdollar (1762) 
Rixdollar of late coinage 
..Ecu or rixdollar of Lucerne, &c. )
in proportion (1715) J
Old gulden, or florin of Lucerne (1714)
Ecu of 40 batzen of Lucerne (1796)
Half ditto  
Florin, or piece of 40 schillings of |
Lucerne (1793) J
Ecu of 40 batzen of the Helvetic {
Republic (1798J ^ in proprtion. J
Ecu of 4 Franken (1801) 
Assay.
Weight.
oz. dwt.
W. 0 9
W. 0
W. 0
W. 2 5
W. 1
W. 2
W. 2
W. 3
W. 2
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 2
W. 2
41
W. 2 122
W. 1 11
W. 1 7
W. 2 2
W. 2 4
W. 0 14
W. 0 13
W. 0 16
W. 2 2
W. 2 2
W. 2 2
W. 2 6
W. 0 141
W. 0 13
W. 0 131
W. 0 7
W. 1 3
W. 2 2
W. 4 41
W. 4 11
W. 4 111
W. 5
W. 1
W. 1
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 0
W. 1 9i
W. 1 9i
W. 0 12
W. 0 141
W. 0 141
W. 1 19
W. 0 5
W. 1 2
W. 1 5
W. 0 6
W. 0 7
Standard
Weight.
dwt. gr.
7 12
5 13
3 16
14 61
18
11
9
5
3
17
1
2
11
8f
14
1
8 121
2
17
0 201
17
18
17 11
18 5J
16 14]
16 12‘
15 10
15 12
13 12
13 H
13 12
3
3
2
2
1
1
0
15
18
9
18
3
3
3 17
17 14
5 21
17 8
8 16
lOf
3
6
1
9
4
0
9i
1
11
52
71
' 2
3#
3 18
1 21
18 20
18 17
17
8 141
0
20
19
9
4 22
18 23
18 23
dwU gr- mi'
7 4 14
5 7 12
3 12 8
11 9 0
16 4
8 22
2
8
0
4
6
16 17 13
8 8 16
4 23 4
1 16 4
16
20
19
0 20
16 13 18
14 1 8
13 23 0
13 23 4
14 6 16
14 11 16
12 12 0
12 10 6
12 15 10
17 7 2
12 12 12
2 19 0
12 18
19 18
14 16
6
6
0 15 10
14 15 0
16 3 4
4 16
4 2
16
11
7
11
2 0 19
1 21 8
1 23
15 16
5 7
6
6
2
16 17 0
8 8 10
4 3
2 1
16
20
3 6 0
1 15 0
17 19 10
17 12 0
16 5 8
7 2 8
18 13 14
8 20 12
4 8 14
18 10 14
18 8 12
Contents
in pure
silver.
grains.
159-8
118
78-1
252-6
359
198-4
170-3
85-3
62-3
371-5
185-7
110-3
37-2
18-5
368-1
312-1
309- 9
310-
317-2
321-8
277- 5
275-9
280-8
273-
278- 1
62-6
56-2
40-5
35.9
28-5
28-3
15-3
324-7
358-2
169-1
248-1
45- 3
42- 1
43- 7
348-2
117-5
370-9
185-4
92-3
46- 1
72-2
36-1
395-5
388-5
360-1
157 5
412-3
196-7
96-8
409-5
407-6
Value in
Sterling.
s. d.
1 10-31
1 4-47
0 10-90
2 11-27
4
2
1
0
0
4
2
1
0
0
4
3
3
3
3
3
3
3
3
3
3
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
3
4
1
2
0
0
0
4
1
4
2
1
0
2- 13
3- 70
11-78
11-91
8-69
3-87
1- 93
3-40
5-19
2- 58
3- 40
7-58
7-27
7- 28
8- 29
8-93
2-75
2- 52
3- 21
2-12
2- 83
8- 74
7-84
5-65
5- 11
3- 97
3- 95
2- 13
9- 34
2-01
11-61
10-64
6- 32
5- 87
6- 10
0-62
4- 40
3- 79
1-88
0-88
6-43
0 10-08
5- 04
7-22
6- 28
4 2-28
9-99
9-57
3-46
1 1-51
4 9-18
4 9-18
’ The Prussian coins, having been debased at different periods, vary in their reports.
This is the coin which is universally circulated under the name of the Spanish dollar.
MONEY
412
Tables.
Turkey   Piastre of Selim of 1801 
Piastre of Crim Tartary (1778) 
Piastre of Tunis (1787) 
Piastre (1818) 
Tuscany Piece of 10 paoli of the kingdom |
of Etruria (1801)  f
Scudo pisa of ditto (1803) 
Piece of 10 lire ditto (1803) 
Lira (1803)    
United STATES^Dollar (1795) &c. in proportion.
Dollar (1798) 
Dollar (1802) 
Dollar, an average of 8 years 
Dime, or one-tenth dollar (1796) 
Half dime (1796) 
Venice Piece of 2 lire, or 24 creutzers (1800)
Ditto of 2 lire, called moneta pro- )
vinciale (1808) J
Ditto of 2 lire (1802) ^ and £ in prop,
Wirtemberg.. .. Rixdollar, specie 
Copftsuck 
Assay.
oz. dwt.
W. 5 6
W. 6 13
W. 6 5£
W. 5 14
W. 0 4
W. 0 2
B. 0 7
B. 0 7
W. 0 61
W. 0 7
W. 0 101
W. 0 81
W. 0 4
W. 0 7
EAST INDIES.
East India.
. Rupee of Sicca, coined by the East )
India Company at Calcutta. J
 Calcutta (1818) 
Bombay, new, or Surat (1818)
Fanam, Cananore.
 Bombay, old.
 Pondicherry.
Ditto, double.
Gulden of the Dutch East India {
Company (1820)  f
W. 8 41
W. 8 3
W. 8 4
W. I 3
W. 4 2
B. 0 13
Stand.
W. 0 01
W. 0 01
B. 0 13
B. 0 51
W. 0 3
W. 0 71
Weight.
diet. gr.
8 6
10 5
10 0
6 61
17 131
17 12
25 6
2 8
17 8
17 101
17 10
17 8
1 19i
0 211
Standard
Weight.
dwt. qr. mi.
4 7 8
4 2 4
4 8 6
3 1 4
17 5 18
17
26
2
5 19!
5 131
5 6£
18 1
4 161
111
8 0
7 11
1 Ilf
1 H|
¥
oi
18#
6 22
8 4
1 12
9 16
16 19 16
16 21 6
16 14 0
16 16 0
1 18 14
0 21 0
1 12 2
1 11 8
1 8 19
16 14 2
2 16 12
7 22 0
13 16
1
18
6 16 6
Contents
in pure
silver.
Value in
Sterling.
qrains.
95-7
90-9
96’5
67*7
382-9
385-0
578-7
53-4
373- 5
374- 9
368-3
370-1
39-5
19-5
33-4
32-8
d.
1-36
0-69
1-47
9-45
Tablej •
4 5-46
4 5-76
6 8-80
0 7.45
4 4-15
4 4-35
4 3-42
4 3-68
0 5.71
0 2-72
0 4-66
0 4-58
30-5
359*1
59*8
175-8
175-9
164-7
32.9
35-
22-8
39*
148-4
0 4-25
4 2-14
0 8.35
2 0-54
2 0-56
1 11-01
0 4-5
0 4-88
0 3-18
0 5-44
1 8-72
No. VIII Account of the Relative value of Gold and Silver in the 'principal Trading Places of the World, computed
from the proportional Quantity of Pure Metal, in their principal Coins, and the legal or current Price of those
Coins respectively. Given in by Dr. Kelly to the Committee of the House of Lords, appointed, 1819, to inquire
into the Expediency of the Bank’s resuming Cash Payments.
By Mint Regulations.
England, )
By Old Coinage /
By New Coinage
Amsterdam.
Hamburgh.
Paris  
Madrid 
Lisbon...
Leghorn.
Genoa...
Naples...
Venice...
Petersburg
15-2096 to 1
14- 2878 to 1
15- 8735 to 1
15 to 1 nearly
15-5 to 1
16 to 1
13- 56 to 1
14- 65 to 1
15- 34 to 1
15-21 to 1
15 to 1 nearly
15 to 1 nearly
By Assays.
f Proved correct
- by the Trials of
^the Pix.
14-83 to 1
15- 5 to 1
15,85 * to 1
16- 46 f
13- 33 to 1
14- 32 to 1
15- 35 to 1
Per Doubloon and Dollar of different Coinages.
United States  15 to 1
Bengal...
Madras...
Bombav.
China.
14-857 to 1
13-872 to 1
15 to 1
14- 35 to 1
15- 25 to 1
15-94 to 1
14-827 to 1
13-857 to 1
15 to 1
14-25 to 1
Names of the Coins from which the Proportionsare taken,
Per Guinea and Old Shilling.
^ Per Sovereign and New Shilling.
( Per 10 Guilder Piece decreed in 1816, and
( Silver Florin of the same date,
f Per Ducato reckoned at 6 Marks Banco and
{ Rixdollar.
Per 20 Franc Piece, and 5 Franc Piece.
Per Joannese and New Silver Crusado.
Per Ruspono and Francescone.
Per Genovina and Scudo.
Per Oncetto and Ducato. (Coinage of 1818.)
Per Sequin and Ducat.
Per Ducat and Ruble.
Per Eagle and Dollar.
Per Gold Mohur and Sicca Rupee.
Per Star Pagoda and Current Rupee.
Per Gold Rupee and Silver Rupee,
f Per Tale of Gold, and the Average price of
) Spanish Dollars.  
1 The American dollars, and inferior silver pieces of late coinage, vary in fineness from W. 4 dwt. to W. 9^ dwt.
r
M - O N
Mo -out MONFALOUT, or Manfalout, a town of Upper
Egypt, situated on the left bank of the Nile, about a mile
■ Wp6- from the river, in a fertile and beautiful country. It is
^ well built, of considerable magnitude, and carries on an
extensive commerce in every species of grain. There is
likewise a large manufactory of cloth here. Long. 31. 36.
E. Lat. 27. 42. N.
MONFIA, one of the Querimba Islands, which are situ¬
ated north from Mozambique, off the western coast of Af¬
rica. It is described as nearly 100 miles in length from
north to south, but seldom more than eight or ten in
breadth. It is formed of coral, and has a low, flat surface,
covered with a soil remarkably productive in grain and
sugar. It is partly independent, and partly subject to the
imam of Muscat. Lat. 7. 30. S.
MONFLANQUIN, a city of France, in the department
of the Lot and Garonne, and arrondissement of Villeneuve
d’Agen. It is situated in a stony, barren district, and is i
built, but contains 698 houses and 5450 inhabitants.
MONGE, Gaspar, the inventor of descriptive geome¬
try, and one of the founders of the Polytechnic School, was
born at Beaune in 1746. Elis father was a dealer in small
wares, who had much difficulty in supporting his family,
consisting of three sons, all of whom were inclined to tlie
sciences; but having the good sense to appreciate the im¬
portance of instruction, he employed every means in his
power to procure this benefit to his children. The sub¬
ject of this notice, being the eldest, received the rudi¬
ments of his education at the college of the Oratory in his
native town, wffiere he was initiated in the elements of
mathematics, and whence, having completed the usual
course, he was removed to a superior school at Lyons,
where his precocious talents quickly developed themselves.
At the age of sixteen, he was judged qualified to assist
his new masters in teaching physics ; and before he had
completed his nineteenth year, he had been admitted into
the school which had been founded at Mezieres for the
instruction of engineers. But this establishment was only
opened to privileged scholars, twenty in number, of whom
| one half left, and as many joined it, every year. In order
to participate in its advantages, it was essential to possess
an elevated station in society; and the humble fortune of
ilonge vvas therefore a title of exclusion. He was placed
as a pupil and modeller in the class, with the superinten¬
dence and direction of works in fortification ; and amidst
these obscure labours, where dexterity was of more impor¬
tance than intelligence, the qualities of his mind remained
unobserved. He was considered merely as an expert mo-
, deller, and he longed to escape from a reputation which
was equally unworthy of his genius and offensive to his
self-love.
Meanwhile, the commandant of the school selected him
o make the practical calculations of an operation of de-
p ojment, or defiling, which had been prescribed as a task.
,ut Monge, dissatisfied with the tentative means by which
e problem was usually resolved, and impressed with the
i importance of signalizing the commencement of his career,
imagined a more expeditious and not less certain, though
ar roore scientific method, for attaining the result desir-
6 ’ ♦ ^ j instrumentality of geometry. His solution w as
contested, upon the ground that he had not made al-
wance for the time required to exhaust the series of
an ^,atlons ’ ^ut its merit was nevertheless recognised,
i .. e °f the pupil strongly exemplified. The
tW Vx/r- vfn n^neteen* Bossut, who professed mathema-
a ezieres, now appointed Monge his assistant; and
nrr>fVaS attac^e^» *n the same capacity, to Abbe Nollet,
„„ ^SS?r, . natural philosophy, whom he soon afterwards
ber nf 6 •m c^r* 1° this situation he made a num-
and tb CUff°US e^Per\mcnts on gas, molecular attraction,
e e ects of optics and electricity, as well as refined
M 0 N
deductions on meteorology, and on the important disco-
Yery or the production of Yvater by the combustion of in¬
flammable air. Anticipated by Cavendish, without being
aware of it, he examined this phenomenon Yvith scrupulous
attention, and assigned the share of caloric and light in
its production. About the same time Monge extended
and generalised his first mathematical essays, and setting
out from the principle which refers to three rectangular co¬
ordinates the position of any point Yvhatever taken in space,
he made it the foundation of a neYv and fruitful doctrine,
indispensable for all the arts of construction, and to which,
Yvhen completed by successive developments, he applied
the name of Descriptive Geometry. This collection of
simple and uniform methods was, hoYvever, at variance
with the incoherent practices which had been sanctioned
by time; the attempt made by the inventor to introduce
his innovations into the course of instruction in the school
encountered strenuous opposition; and more than tw enty
years elapsed before he succeeded in obtaining the appli¬
cation of his geometry to the tracings of carpentry.
Monge generally passed his vacations at Paris, where
he mingled in the society of men yvIio then held the first
rank in the sciences. Being already a correspondent of the
Academy, to the honours of which he aspired, he found
active patrons in Lavoisier, Condorcet, La Rochefoucauld,
and the President Bochart de Saron ; and, through the in¬
terest of D’Alembert, he yyrs received into the Academy of
Sciences in 1780. The same year he Yvas associated Yvith
Bossut, Yvho had been appointed to deliver the course of
hydrodynamics established at the Louvre by Turgot. To
perform these double functions, he was obliged to be al¬
ternately at Paris and at Mezieres ; but the situation of
examiner of the pupils of the naval school, to which he
was appointed after the death of Bezout in 1783, Yvith-
dreiv him from Mezieres, where he had laid the founda¬
tion of his fame, and initiated in the sciences such men as
Meusnier, finseau, Carnot, Coulomb, and others scarcely
inferior to them. For the benefit of the naval school he
composed a treatise on statics, in Yvhich he proceeded
synthetically, in order to get rid of equations, and render¬
ed the principles more accessible by relaxing the rigour
of demonstration. His next appointment Yvas that of pro¬
fessor of physics in the Lyceum of Paris; an institution
which had for its object to disguise instruction under
agreeable forms, and present it in an attractive shape to a
number of indolent amateurs. To interest such frivolous
auditors he Yvould have required the peculiar talents of
Fontenelle; but if he failed to impart that fascination to
science Yvhich formed the distinguishing attribute of the
illustrious man just named, he kneYv how to render his les¬
sons attractive by piquant vieYYrs and ingenious illustra¬
tions, independently of the graces of language.
Like many others, he Yvas at first led aYvay by the pro¬
mises and hopes of the revolution. Adopting those no¬
tions of political perfectibility, which then filled all heads,
he conceived that the barriers which arrested generous
emulation w'ere for ever removed, and that talents Yvould
henceforth command that distinction which of right be¬
longed to them ; but the terrible events that folloYved in
such rapid succession in some measure dissipated this il¬
lusion, Yvhich he shared in common with so many others.
Called to the ministry of marine after the 10th of August
1792, he accepted the appointment, being determined, he
said, by the presence of the Prussians on the French soil;
he was thus a member of the government, which then
formed the ministers into one body, under the denomina¬
tion of the ExecutLe Council; and it was in this capacity
that he concurred Yvith his colleagues in causing the judg¬
ment which condemned Louis XVI. to death to be carried
into execution. But he soon discovered that, amidst the
exasperation of faction, his place Yvas not tenable, and ac-
413
Monge.
M O N
M O N
Having completed his labours in this department, he
was charged, along with General Berthier,. to lay be*
fore the Directory the treaty of Campo Formio ; and, not
long afterwards, he was sent to Rome, along with Daunou,
there to organize a republic; an undertaking which had
c0rdi„.ly, in the month of April 1793, he tendered his re-
shrnation which was accepted. Some time afterwards, the
committee of public safety made an appeal to the savans to
i t , .Ug defence of the French territory. Nine hun-
dred thousand men were ready to march t0 ^ "o _ scarcely been completed when Bonaparte sailed for Egypt.
repulse the European crusade which menaced tne rep > Monge, having been ordered to join the expedition, em-
but the existing manufactories were msuibcient t P ^ ^ Civita.Vecchia> aiong with Desaix, and, in June
dupe the tenth part of the materiel requisite tor somigniy T ^ . , . , ,
preparations', ft was necessary to multiply manufactures,
to describe and simplify their processes, to direct the ope
rations of the workshops, to decompose innumerable me¬
tallic alloys for the wants of the artillery, to extract cop¬
per, to p/epare steel, and to draw from the resources^f the
country alone a prodigious quantity of P0"^® •
cress of the enemy required extraordinary celerity. JVio g
applied himself wholly to these operations, and distmguis i-
ed himself by his indefatigable activity. He directed his
attention'Wthe manufacture of arms, the foundenes, the
boring of cannon, and the powder-mills, superintending
■ind simplifying the various processes; he gave instruc
tions forPthe preparation of saltpetre, and composed, at
UUU& r t , •  w/Viirh was soon
1798, overtook the army at Malta. In Egypt his labours
were incessant. He examined the pyramids ; visited the
obelisk and walls of Heliopolis ; explored the antiquities
scattered round Cairo and Alexandria ; described the state
of the Mekias, or wells constructed in the isle of Raou-
dah by the Kalif Almamoun, to measure the rise of the
Nile ; superintended the geodesical and monumental de¬
scription of Egypt; and was at length appointed president
of the Institute formed at Cairo upon the model of that of
France. In this last capacity his exertions were prodi¬
gious. When the naval defeat of Aboukir had cut off all
communication with Europe, the savans assembled at Cairo
had to provide for wants still more numerous than those
of France in the year 1793; as, independently of military
tions for the preparation ot saupeue, t , 0f France in the year 1793; as, independently ot military
intervals, his Art de fabriquer les Canons, wll‘c“ • reSOurces, they had in fact to create the utensils necessary
followed by his Avis aux Ouvners en Per, surla^a . f th usagesof life and the operations of the arts. The
de VAcier, containing an exposition of he means of obtain tor me^ g ^ ^^ thege
inor steel by combining iron with a little charcoal.
^Services so important having raised in public estima¬
tion men of science, against whom the axe ofproscnption
was soon whetted, they obtained, after the fall of Robe
spierre, a tardy protection for public instruction. I he
Normal School was created, and a pure light diffused on
the exposition of scientific truths. At length Monge
published his Geometric Descriptive, which he had so long
kept secret, and which unquestionably forms his highest
title of distinction. In explaining this collection of inge¬
nious methods, where the modifications of extension are
developed and combined by the aid of design, and where,
from a sort of imitative language, aie deduce , y an e. believed that the Hebrews proceeded towards Mount Sinai,
act description, the truths which result from the form of of Moses. He also accompanied
bodies and their respective positions, he dilated with plea- Syria and was seized with a dangerous ill-
sure on the advantages which might be derived from hiS ^panejo byrn, a ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ to
work for rectifying the judgment and improving the receive the iast sighs of his pupil, General Caffarelh.
terity of workmen, as well as for simplifying machines, a return &to Europe with Bonaparte, Monge be-
adding to the comforts of society. Of all the applications uresident of the Egyptian Commission, and was again
of which his geometry was susceptible, he has only trea - lhe head of ^Polytechnic School, where he
ed of five, viz. carpentry, cutting stones, deployment, - P ^ ^ lace amongst the professors, and often de-
near and aerial perspective, and the distribution of hght aeainst the prejudices of Bonaparte, the generous
and shadow. To him also France was, in a great m a- h ’^om the despoJtic instinct of that military chief had
tor tne usages ui me mm me    , —
members of the Institute, however, divided these labours
amongst them, and the attempts of individuals were guid¬
ed and facilitated by the inquiries and researches ot com¬
missions formed out ot the same learned body. On this
trying occasion Monge and Berthollet were equally distin¬
guished ; and when a revolt broke out at Cairo, they proved
that their courage and presence of mind, in the midst ot
danger, were not surpassed by their zeal for the advance¬
ment of science. In a journey to Suez, undertaken by
Napoleon, Monge recognised the traces of the cana which
by the Nile established a communication between the Red
Sea and the Mediterranean ; he visited the ruins of Pelu-
sium, and, at the opening of the valley through which it is
sure, indebted for the establishment of the Polytechnic
School; forj although Berthollet and Guyton-Morveau
were associated with him in this undertaking, it was he
who arranged the system of studies ultimately adopted, and
which remained unaffected by the rapid mobility of the re¬
volutionary creations. This was not only a central school,
where aspirants might imbibe the general principles that
connect all the branches of the public service, and estab- i^ouis a y i. m um ^ 0f his sons-in-law.
lish a fraternal communication and free transmission of expatnation of M. Eschasse , Institute, in
ideas between different classes ; it was also open to all The erazure ot his name from the roll of the InstU ^ ^
J\J     - w
led him to dislike. 'On the formation of the senate, ne
was appointed a member of that body, with an ample P‘
vision, and the title of Count of Pelusium. 1 he grief oc¬
casioned by the fall of Napoleon was augmented by me
dissolution of the Polytechnic School, and the banishment
of the surviving members of the Convention w o a
Louis XVI. to the scaffold; a measure which inferred
those whose scientific conceptions were calculated to im¬
prove the useful arts, to economise labour, and to enlight¬
en industry ; and although the system of instruction was
perhaps too extensive and profound, there can be no doubt
that it proved of immense benefit to France. From these
labours Monge was called to Italy, with the sculptor Moite,
the painter barthelemy, and Berthollet, Thouin, and La-
billardiere, his colleagues in the Institute, to collect those
masterpieces of art, the cession of which had been stipu¬
lated by the treaty of Tolentino. This mission lasted
more than a year, and Monge, by his experience in me¬
chanical processes, ably seconded the zeal of his associates
for the conservation and removal of the conquered monu¬
ments.
consequence of the expurgations of 1816, ga^.e
blow to his sensibility. Repeated attacks of apoplexy
had already shaken his naturally robust irame, whist
obliteration of his ideas, and ail the symptoms o
decline, announced his approaching dissolution, n
on the 28th of July 1818, in the seventy-second year
his age. . „ . Ele-
The separate publications of Monge are, 1. I •
mentaire de Statique, Paris, 1786, “i ^o, • ^
tion de 1’Art de fabriquer les Canons, Pans, IJ ’ vo;
3. Lecons de Geometrie Descriptive, Pans, 181 ’ faces
4. Application de 1’Analyse a la Geometrie de ^ ^
du Premier et du Deuxieme Degre, Eans> ^ lanes.
In this last work he presents the equations ot nn , P
Mr
Mo
M 0 N
air and curves of the second order, the theory of tangent
planes, and the principal circumstances of the generation
of curved surfaces, expressed by equations of partial dif-
w ferences, which he employs to integrate, in an elegant
manner, a great number of equations, by following step
by step the details of descriptive geometry. As early as
the year 1772, he had shown the connection which exists
between curves of double curvature, and developed surfaces.
Monge likewise inserted four memoirs on pure analysis in
the Collection des Savants Etrangers de VAcademic des
Sciences de Paris (tomes vii. ix. and x.) His name also fi¬
gures amongst the contributors to the Dictionaire de Phy¬
sique of the Encyclopedic Methodique; and the Annales de
Chimie contain several memoirs written by him. For a
complete list of his works, see La France Litteraire, art.
Monge. ^
MONGHIR, a large district of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Bahar, situated between the twenty-sixth and
twenty-eighth degrees of north latitude. The town and
fortress of Monghir is situated on the southern bank of the
Ganges. It was the residence of Sultan Sujah during his
government of the Bengal province, and was strengthened
by him during his rebellion against his father, Shah Jehan.
The fortifications have been for many years quite neglect¬
ed, and the only part which remains is a small citadel,
containing an arsenal and store-rooms. It is still surround¬
ed by a wall and deep ditch, and is a place of considerable
antiquity. It was an object of contention between the kings
of Bahar and Bengal in the early part of the sixteenth cen¬
tury. In 1762 it was the residence of Cossim Aly Khan,
and was taken by the British the following year. The tra¬
velling distance from Calcutta is 300 miles. Long. 86. 38.
E. Lat. 25. 23. N. S
MONGOLIA, an extensive tract of country in Central
Asia, to the north and north-west of Asia. This vast
country is not separated from the adjacent countries by
any definite line of demarcation. The limits are vague,
and the whole space is traversed by the nomadic tribes
which, under the name of Mongols or Tartars, have had
so deep a share in all the political revolutions of Asia. The
various pastoral tribes which from time immemorial have
been scattered over the plains of that continent, being
united under Zengis Khan, extended their ravages from
sea to sea, and were at one time possessed not only of the
nest regions of the continent, but a great part of Europe,
n ater times the conquests of Timour were achieved by the
same union of these tribes. The Mongol tribes are at pre¬
sent split into a number of petty states, dependent on the
grea empires of China and Russia. They still retain their
roaming and pastoral habits, but since the invention of
re-arms they are no longer formidable in war. Mongo-
ua, as tar as its limits can be defined, is bounded on the
lS- DVhe country th0 Mantcheous, on the west by a
ciain of mountains continued northwards from the Beloor,
on 1 le south by China. The whole of this country is
vast level plain, which borders on the Altai, and other
mountain chains bounding Asiatic Russia on the north,
ci S lnc U”tes ^ considerable portion of the great desert of
In T °r which is composed entirely of pastorage.
rivprc'8 uC°untry are t^le beads of some of the greatest
li 7 lcb water the Russian and Chinese empires, the
disaHva ^ 1'e ^Inoui\and even the Irtisch. The great
Tho m11 a^f U"der wb'9b b labours is a scarcity of water.
dlpsiVoT^-0 S> t^e *nbabitants of this region, are of the mid-
souarp ’ be,"Smu*cular ai?d strongly built; they have broad,
ohlimip ki11 i at aces, with low and flat noses ; and small
beard n aC\ e^es1’ ^ick lips, a short chin, with very little
toral •* nle|r Pbysl°gnomy. Their habits are pas-
Peranrp Vi^6 3 ^ *ai!tar8, lbey are addicted to intem-
China • ,1^ -are no™inal]y subject to the empire of
a, but their internal government is regulated by their
MON
native princes. The Kalkas, the Eluths, and the Buriats,
the Mon "at*°nS ^s‘atlc^ussia> derive their origin from
MONISHWAR, a considerable town of Hindustan, in
the province of Bejapoor, with a good market. It is thirty
miles south-west from Poonah. Long. 74. 25. E. Lat 18
16. N.
MONJOU8, a people inhabiting the interior of Eastern
Africa, in a north-easterly direction from Mozambique,
ihey occupy a portion of that space which, in our early
maps, is allotted to the empire of Monumugi. They are
negroes of the ugliest description, of a deep shining black,
with high cheek-bones, thick lips, and small knots of woolly
hair on their heads. Their only weapons are bows and
arrows, in the use of which they are dexterous. With re¬
gard to the extent of country over which they are spread
no correct estimate can be formed.
MONK anciently denoted a person who had retired from
the world to give himself up wholly to God, and to live
in solitude and abstinence. Lhe word is derived from the
Latin monachus, and that from the Greek so-
The origin of monks seems pretty well ascertained. The
persecutions which attended the first ages of the Gospel
forced some Christians to retire from the world, and live
in deserts and places the most private and unfrequented, in
hopes of finding that peace and comfort amongst beasts
which were denied them amongst men; and this being
the case of some very extraordinary persons, their example
gave so much reputation to retirement, that the practice
was continued when the reason for its commencement had
ceased. After the empire became Christian, instances of
this kind were numerous; and those whose security had
obliged them to live separately and apart, became after¬
wards united into societies. We may also add, that the
mystic theology, which gained ground towards the close
of the third century, contributed to produce the same effect,
and to drive men into solitude for the purposes of enthusi¬
astic devotion.
Ibe monks, at least the ancient ones, were distinguished
into solitaries, coenobites, and sarabaites. The solitary were
those who lived alone, in places remote from all towns and
habitations of men. The coenobites were those who lived
in community with several others in the same house, and
under the same superiors. The sarabaites were strolling
monks, who had no fixed rule nor residence.
The houses of monks were of two kinds, \\z. monasteries
and laurcB. Those whom we call monks now-a-days are
coenobites, who live together in a convent or monastery,
make vows of living according to a certain rule established
by the founder, and wear a habit which distinguishes their
order. Those who are endowed, or have a fixed revenue,
are most properly called monks, monachi; as theChartreux,
Benedictines, Bernardines, and others. The Mendicants, or
those who beg, as the Capucins and Franciscans, are more
properly called religious and/rears,- though the names are
frequently confounded.
The first monks were those of St Anthony, who, to¬
wards the close of the fourth century, formed them into a
regular body, engaged them to live in society with each
other, and prescribed to them fixed rules for the direction
of their conduct. These regulations, which St Anthony
had framed in Egypt, were soon introduced into Palestine
and Syria by his disciple Hilarion. About the same time,
Aones and Eugenius, w ith their companions Gaddanas and
Azyzas, instituted the monastic order in Mesopotamia and
the adjacent countries; and their example was followed with
such rapid success, that in a short time the whole of the
East was filled with men, who, abandoning all human con¬
nections, advantages, pleasures, and concerns, wore out
their lives amidst the hardships of want, and various kinds
4 IB
Monk-
M O N
M O N
of suffering, in order to arrive at a more close and rapturous
' communication with God and the angels.
From the East this institution passed into West, an ^
first into Italy and its neighbouring lslandS^a!l-"gthe ce.
uncertain who transplanted it thither. St Martin, the ce
kbrated bishop of Tours, erected the first monasteries m
Gaul, and recommended religious solitude wit suc 1 P0^
and efficacy, both by his instructions and his example, tha
his funeral is said to have been attended by no less than
"usand monks. From Gaul the —c d.sc.ph, e
extended itself gradually throughout the ot] erJr°^C^
and countries of Europe. Besides the monks of St Bas^I
and those of St Jerome, there were the of St
Austin, and afterwards those of St Benedic
S, and at length came those of St Francs and St Do-
"XV^s thetroftrffth century, the -n^
sacerdotal order, were now gradually distinguished fro _
the populace, and endowed with such honourable privi¬
leges that they found themselves in a condition to claim
eminent station amongst the supporters and pil ars of
the Christian community. The fame of their piety and
sanctity was so great, that bishops and presbyters were
often chosen out of their order ; and the passion for ere -
ing edifices and convents, in which the monks and holy
virgins might serve God in the most commodious manner,
was at this time carried beyond all bounds. _ The monas¬
tic orders were at first under the immediate jurisdiction of
the bishops, from which they were exempted by the Ko
man pontiff about the end of the seventh century ; and the
monks, in return, devoted themselves wholly to advance
the interests and to maintain the dignity of the Bishop of
Rome. This immunity which they obtained was a fruit¬
ful source of licentiousness and disorder, and occasione
the greater part of the vices with which they were after¬
wards charged. In the eighth century the monastic disci¬
pline was extremely relaxed both in the eastern and west¬
ern provinces, and all efforts to restore it were ineffectual.
Nevertheless, this kind of institution was in the highest
esteem, and nothing could equal the veneration which was
paid about the close of the ninth century to such as de¬
voted themselves to the monastic or conventual life. 1 his
veneration induced several kings and emperors to call
them to their courts, and to employ them in civil affairs
of the greatest moment. Their reformation was attempt¬
ed by Louis the Meek, but the effect was of short dura¬
tion. In the eleventh century they were exempted by the
popes from the authority of their sovereigns, and new or¬
ders of monks were continually established ; insomuch that
in the Council of Lateran which was held in the year
1215, a decree was passed, by the advice of Innocent III.
to prevent the establishment of any new monastic institu¬
tions ; and several were entirely suppressed. In the fif¬
teenth and sixteenth centuries, it appears, from the testi¬
monies of Protestant writers, that the monks were gene¬
rally indolent, illiterate, profligate, and licentious epicures,
whose views in life were confined to opulence, idleness,
and pleasure. However, the Reformation had a manifest
influence in restraining their excesses, and rendering them
more circumspect and cautious in their external conduct.
Monks are distinguished by the colour of their habits,
into black, white, gray, &c. Amongst the monks, some
are called monks of the choir, others, professed monks, and
others lay monks, the last being destined for the seivice o
the convent, and having neither clericate nor liteiature.
Cloistered MoyKS are those who actually reside in the
house, in opposition to extra-monks, who possess benefices
depending on the monastery.
Monks are also distinguished into reformed, whom the
Monlij
wear-
mouth
-“Y"'
civil and ecclesiastical authority have made masters of an-
c ent convents, and put it in their power to retrieve the an¬
cient discipline, which had been relaxed ; and ancient, who
remain in the convent, to live in it according to its estab¬
lishment at the time when they made their vows, without
obliging themselves to submit to any new reform.
Anciently the monks were all laymen, and were only (hs-
tinguished from the rest of the people by a particular habit
and an extraordinary devotion. Not only were the monks
excluded from the priesthood, but even priests were ex¬
pressly prohibited from becoming monks, as appears from
the letters of St Gregory. Pope Syricius was the first who
called them to the clericate, on occasion of the gieat scar¬
city of priests under which the church was then supposed
to labour ; and since that time the priesthood has been
usually united to the monastical profession.
Monk, Geowe, Duke of Albemarle, a personage memo¬
rable for having been the principal agent in restoring
Charles II. to his crown, was descended from an ancient
family, and born in Devonshire in 1608. Being anunpro-
vkled younger son, he dedicated himself to arms from his
youth, and obtained a pair of colours in the expedition to
the Isle of Rhe; he afterwards served with reputation
in the Low Countries, as well as in both King Charles s
northern expeditions, and did such service in que!'j"g e
Irish rebellion, that he was appointed governor of Dubhn,
but was superseded by parliamentary authority. Be g
appointed major-general of the Irish brigade employed in
the siege of Nantwich in Cheshire, he was taken prisoner by
Sir Thomas Fairfax, and remained confined in the Tower
of London until the year 1646, when, as the m^s 0
taining liberty, he took the covenant, and accepted a co
mand in the Irish service under the parliament. He
mined the chief command of all the parliamentary force
in the north of Ireland, where he did signal services, unfil
he was called to account for a treaty made with the Insl]
rebels • a circumstance which was only obliterated by his
future good fortune. He served in Scotland under Oliver
Cromwell, with such success, that he was left there as com¬
mander-in-chief; and he was one of the commissioners for
uniting that kingdom with the newly-erected common
wealth. He also served at sea against the Dutch, and w
treated so kindly on his return that Oliver is said to have
grown jealous of him. He was, however, again sen
Scotland as commander-in-chief, and continue
years; when he dissembled so well, and improved circum¬
stances so dexterously, that he restored the king »i ho“_
nnv disturbance. For this service he was immediately ie
warded with both honours and l’rf4h "““teWes
of Albemarle, with an estate worth L. ^ jpnr’e 0f his
other emoluments ; and he enjoyed the confidence j ^
master as a compensation for having forfei e <■,
people After his death in 1670, there was publish d a
treatise composed by him whilst he re«
the Tower, entitled Observations on Military a
AfMONKWEARMOUTH, a town of the coanty °f DuJ*t
ham, in the ward of Chester, 275 miles from Undo Jl
is divided from Bishopswearmouth by the l?ve xceptthe
which there is abridge made wholly of cast iron,
pins binding the parts together, which are of it
It is sufficiently high to admit of
without lowering their topmasts. An ancm The
stood here, from which its name is in par den ^
population amounted in 1801 to 1103, in 181 ^ .g the
1821 to 1278, and in 1831 to 1498. AdJ0U?in»he sarae pa-
populous district or suburb, but comprised by
rish, Monkwearmouth Stone. It is cbie Y who are
sailors, and by a numerous class calle called
employed in conveying coals in barges, pr y essels.
keels, from the interior of the country to the largei
Monk,
Georg;
a
MON
The population of this district amounted in 1801 to 4239,
i in 1811 to 4264, in 1821 to 4924, and in 1831 to 6051.
MONMOUTH, James Duke of, son of Charles II. by
Mrs Lucy Walters, was born at Rotterdam in 1649. Upon
the Restoration, he was called over to England, where the
-'king received him with all imaginable joy, and created him
Earl of Orkney, which was changed into that of Monmouth ;
and he took his seat in the House of Peers in the ensuing
session of parliament. He married Anne, the heiress of
Francis earl of Buccleuch ; and hence it came to pass that
he had also the title of Buccleuch, and took the surname
of Scott, according to the custom of Scotland. In 1668 his
father made him captain of his life-guard of horse ; and in
1672 he attended the French king in the Netherlands, and
gave proofs of bravery and conduct. In 1673 the king of
France appointed him lieutenant-general of the army with
which he appeared before Maestricht; and he behaved with
great gallantry in the attack of that place, being the first
who entered it in the assault. He returned to England, and
havingbeen received with all possible respect, wasappointed
chancellor of the university of Cambridge. After this he
went to assist the Prince of Orange to raise the siege of Mons,
and contributed not a little towards the success of the en¬
terprise. He again returned to England, and was sent, in
quality of general, to quell an insurrection in Scotland, which
he effected ; but soon afterwards he fell into disgrace ; for,
being a Protestant, he was deluded into ambitious schemes,
upon the hopes of the exclusion of the Duke of York. He
conspired against his father and the duke; and when the
latter came to the throne by the title of James II. he open¬
ly appeared in arms, encouraged by the discontent that
prevailed ; but coming to a decisive battle before he had
sufficient force to oppose the royal army, he was defeated,
made prisoner, tried for high treason, condemned, and be¬
headed, in 1685, at the age of thirty-six,
t^ie caP^ta^ county of the same name,
miles from London. It is situated at the junction of
the river Munnow with the Wye, and there are bridges
over both streams. It is indifferently w'ell built, has a town-
hall in the market-place, built on pillars, which form a hand¬
some colonnade, ornamented with a statue of King Hen¬
ry V., who w'as born in this town. At the extremity of the
town is the county gaol and court-house, commodiously
arranged and the former well regulated. It is incorpo¬
rated, and governed by a mayor, recorder, two bailiffs, and
mteen common councilmen. It has long returned one
member to the House of Commons, and continues to do so
under the recent law. As the river Wye is navigable from
uiepstow, some trade arises from that communication. The
country around, but especially on the banks of the Wye,
highly picturesque and beautiful. Near it are several
oujects of antiquity, which are much visited. The popula-
tn JiS°Un!ed m 1801 t0 3345' in 1811 t0 3503, in 1821
w 4164, and in 1831 to 4916.
a Mr?nf'w 7TIJSH1IRE: This county was, before 1585,
thnno-ti .,aes’ but has smce been a part of England, al-
tnough the greater part of the inhabitants still speak one
LrJT dlalecuts of the Welsh language; so that in
toneme tbe churches divine service is conducted in that
Mnn’nfnCli!nu®th^rS alternately in that and in English,
shire 1ShlreLIS bounded on tbe north by Hereford-
river’se ^ east by Gloucestershire, on the south by the
Brecon nn6rriand °n the west hy tbe Welsh counties of
miles ii? Glamorgan- Its greatest length is thirty-three
rence 11 ^adth twenty-six, and its circumfe-
330,240 acre^ ^ S(Iuare extent is 516 miles, or
evervVmXu^ C0U1nt5y 18 highly diversified, exhibiting
verdant and ^ and bleak mountains to highly
CSns as thtUfUl *T?Strd Valle>- Some tb"
vol, xv* Sugar-loaf, of 1850 feet, the Blorenge, of
M O N
1720, and the Skyridvawr of 1498 feet, with several others,
uu , u •1F .symmits for many months covered with snow,
whilst their sides, near the bottom, are cultivated with the
different species of grain, and terminate in meadows ^of
the most luxuriant fertility. Mr Fox, in his Agricultural
burvey of this county, divides it into three districts. The
first, comprising the southern division, consists in part of
large tracts of moor or marsh land, exhibiting in some parts
of it a great depth of unctuous loamy soil, and in others a
vast body of black peaty earth. In certain parts of this dis-
tnct the soil is of a light loamy consistence, highly favour¬
able to the growth of various trees. Another portion is a
mixture of clay and loam, forming fertile meadows; and
above them is an excellent red soil, in which turnips, pota¬
toes, and gram, liberally repay the cultivator. The second
division comprehends the eastern part of the county, ex-
tenchng to a considerable but varying distance on both
sides of the river Usk. The soil is of a faint red colour,
highly grateful; and being carefully cultivated, the whole
displays the appearance of great fertility. The third di¬
vision comprises the western and most mountainous parts
of the county. The soil on the hills is generally of a thin
peaty nature, covering strata of stone, underneath which
are mines of coal and iron ore, of almost unbounded pro¬
ductiveness. The low lands in this division are chiefly in
the state of meadow and pasture, whilst the middle lands
are occupied partly by pasture and partly by arable hus¬
bandry.
The rivers of this county have been generally celebrated
for the picturesque scenery which their banks display, and
which, added to the many remains of antiquity that are
to be seen near them, invite the visits of numerous parties
in the summer months, and afford the highest gratification
to travellers of taste. The most eminent of these rivers,
in beauty as well as utility, is the Wye. It rises on the
southern side of Plinlimmon, in Montgomeryshire, and,
forming the line of division between the counties of Brecon
and Radnor, passes through a part of Herefordshire, and,
entering this county at Dizon, becomes navigablefor boats at
Monmouth, and empties itself into the Severn at Chepstow.
Ihe beauties of this stream are derived from the sinuosi¬
ties of its course, the uniformity of its breadth, the pictu¬
resque country through which it flows, and, amongst many
other striking objects on its banks, from the Abbey of
Tintern, and the mansion and grounds of Piercefield. The
tide in this river rises at Chepstow to a greater height
than in any other English river; at the bridge of that town
the elevation varies, on some occasions, from fifty to sixty
feet, and it takes place with most unusual celerity. The Usk
rises in the black mountains of Brecknockshire, and, when
it enters this county, passes between lofty hills, which gives
its borders every variety of beauty that landscape can dis¬
play. It is navigable for a short distance, but only for
barges. It abounds with salmon, some of which are fre¬
quently caught in it of a most unusual size. The other
rivers are the Rumney, the Munnow, and the Ebwy, each
of which has peculiar and characteristic beauties.
The heavy productions of this county, iron, coal, and
limestone, have given rise to the establishment of various
canals for their conveyance. The Monmouthshire Canal
begins at Newport, and, dividing into two branches, con¬
nects that town, by the one with Pontypool and Pontnewyd,
and by the other with Crumlin Bridge. The Brecknock¬
shire Canal unites with this, and passes, in its course, un¬
der a hill, by means of a tunnel 360 feet in length. The
county is most abundantly supplied with railroads leading
from the principal mining districts to the canals; and many
private mines have small railways, provincially called tram-
roads, leading to the principal iron railroads, by which a fa¬
cility is afforded for the conveyance of productions through
a country the roads of which are eminently bad.
3 G
417
Mon¬
mouth¬
shire.
418
MON
Mon¬
mouth¬
shire.
The agricultural productions are wheat, barley, and oats,
with a few pease and beans. They are sufficient for the
, supply of the inhabitants, and the small surplus, as well as
much fruit, is sent to the markets of Bristol. On the
arable lands the system of summer fallowing is pretty ge¬
nerally pursued. The principal manure is lime, the stone
from which it is burned being most abundant. The oxen
of this county are highly esteemed, both for draught and
for fattening. They are usually of a deep-red colour, short
in the legs, and compact in the carcass, being a cross be¬
tween the breeds of Hereford and Glamorgan. They are
very docile in harness, and will fatten so as to weigh 11 om
seven to nine hundredweight. They are much sought
after by the English graziers, who purchase them when
young, and, after employing them in labour, fatten them
for the butcher. The sheep are remarkably small, and the
wool is short and coarse; but the flesh is fine in the grain,
and of a most delicate flavour. Of late years much im¬
provement has been made in the flocks by judicious crosses
with the Cotswold, Southdown, and Dorset sheep. Ihe
horses of the county are generally of a very meagre, light,
and uncompact breed. In this county and Brecknock¬
shire the breeding and rearing of mules is carried to a
greater extent than in any other part of the island. I hey
are found very beneficial in the hilly districts, where the
mines are worked. Male asses are imported from Spain
and the south of France, to propagate, and the mules are
frequently of a size and strength equal to the natives ot
those countries. . . i j u .
The landed property of this county is in tew hands, but
divided generally into small farms, varying in rent from
L.70 to L.200. The leases are generally for twenty-one
years, and the conduct of the landlords to their tenants is
liberal, and somewhat parental. Many farms are held by
copy of the court-roll. <
The greatest riches of Monmouthshire are derived from
its mines. Coal and iron ore abound in all the hills. Ihe
facilities for interior conveyance have already been noticed.
The coals of this county have, under the act of parliament
for constructing the canal, the peculiar privilege of being
carried to the opposite shore, including the city of Bristol
and the towns on that coast, as far as Bridgewater, without
paying the water-borne duty. This gives to them a mo¬
nopoly of those large markets, to the exclusion of the col¬
lieries in the Forest of Dean, and of Glamorgan and Cai-
marthenshire. The proprietors of these last-mentioned
mines have petitioned parliament to be placed on a similar
footing; but, after a most patient investigation of all the
circumstances in a committee, the peculiar rights of the
coals brought by the Monmouthshire Canal were confirmed.
The iron mines were worked as early as the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, and made a rapid progress ; but, owing to the
great consumption of wood, which soon caused a scarcity
of fuel, they had sunk very low, till about fifty years ago,
when the mode of making iron from coke was introduced.
This discovery, with the improvements in machinery, has
given a vast impulse to the working of the iron mines. Fif¬
teen or sixteen works, on the largest scale, and many smaller
ones, have been established. A t one period the weekly
delivery of pig iron and bar iron from these different works
is stated to have amounted to one thousand tons.
The abundance of iron, and the facility of intercourse
with Cornwall, have led to the establishment of some very
extensive manufactories of tin plates. The manufactory
of a kind of Japan ware was first practised in England by
Thomas Allgood of Pontypool, in the reign of Charles II.;
and though the skill of Birmingham has been successfully
exerted to rival the town whence that ware derived its
name, the business is still continued there, but upon a li¬
mited scale. The manufactory of caps, for which Mon¬
mouth was celebrated at the period when Shakspeare wrote,
MON
has long been abandoned. At Newport and Chepstow there Ml
are some considerable establishments for building ships. ma
Few parts of the island contain more numerous or better J
preserved remains of Roman and Saxon antiquity than this
county. Caerleon was long the metropolis of the British
dominions, and the residence of King Arthur. The ruins
of the wall, about 530 yards by 480, may still be traced;
and the vast masses of stones, which now appear in a confus¬
ed state, show that it was formerly a place of great import¬
ance. There are many Roman encampments still visible.
The remains of the abbeys of Gracedieu, Llantarnam, Llan-
thony, and Tintern, and of the priories of Goldcliff, Thyne-
mark, Monmouth, and Usk, invite the close examination
of antiquaries. The castles of Abergavenny, Caerleon,
Caldecot, Castell-Glas, Chepstow, Dinham, Grossmont,
Llanfair, Scenfrith, Striguil, Usk, and Llandeilo, are the
most remarkable amongst numerous other similar buildings.
The character of the architecture of the churches of Aber¬
gavenny, Caerleon, Caldecot, Chepstow, Newport, and
others, discovers a very ancient origin. The antiquities
of Monmouthshire would, indeed, require a volume for
their delineation.
The county gives the title of Earl of Abergavenny to
the family of Neville, not by creation or writ, but as pos¬
sessors of the castle of that town. The Irish Marquis of
Ormond derives from it the title of Baron Butler; and the
Duke of Beaufort is Baron Herbert of Chepstow and Rog-
land, and Baron Beaufort of Caldecot Castle. The mem¬
bers returned to the House of Commons are two for the
county, and one for the united boroughs of Monmouth,
Newport, and Usk. The whole county is within the dio¬
cese of Llandaff, except three parishes, which are in St
David’s, and three others in that of Hereford.
The population of this county at the periods of the four
decennial enumerations has been as follows: In 1801 it
amounted to 45,582, in 1811 to 62,127, in 1821 to 71,833,
and in 1831 to 98,200, thus having more than doubled
itself in thirty years. The number of baptisms in the year
1830 was 840 males and 796 females; the burials were
617 males and 577 females ; the marriages were 677 ; and
the illegitimate children 71 males and 71 females. Ihe
number of families in the same year was 19,911, of whom
5614 were chiefly employed in agriculture, 8626 were
chiefly employed in trade, manufactures, and handicraft,
and the remainder, 5671, were not comprised in eit er o
the preceding classes. Ihe males under twenty years o
age were 26,910. The occupiers of land employing la¬
bourers were 1648, those not employing labourers were
1143, and the number of labourers in agriculture was 4840.
The persons employed in manufacture or making manu¬
facturing machinery was 3203; those employe in ’
trade or handicraft, as masters or as workmen, were bbw,
the capitalists, bankers, professional and other educatea
men, amounted to 805 ; the labourers employed m labour
not agricultural were 7173 ; other males twenty years or
age, excepting servants, 1011; male servants under w y
years of age 122, and above twenty years 343. The fern*
servants of all ages were 3741. The annual value oHK
whole real property of the county, as assessed for the me
tax in 1815, w^as L.295,097. _ e
There are but seven towns having markets, hut 8
others are more populous than these. Those of mor
1000 inhabitants are as follows:
Trevethin with Pontypool 10,280 Penmaen  > ^
Newport  7,064 Llanover....-— ^
Aberystwyth  5,992 Llanwenarti...- >
Ushkawreod  5,359 Mynydd-maen.
Monmouth  4,916 Panteague  >
Abergavenny    4,230 Machen  ,’jgo
Chepstow  3,524 Usk. 
Mamhole  3,208 Caerleon 
'I
MON
jj :eros The seats of noblemen and gentlemen within the county
are very numerous. The most remarkable are, Troyhouse,
Duke of Beaufort; Bix Weir, General Rooke ; Courtfield’
l' jWilliam Vaughan, Esq.; Coldbrook, J. H. Williams, Esq.;
Dynastow Court, Samuel Bosanquet, Esq.; Kesneyshouse,'
L. Lord, Esq.; Llanarth Court, John Jones, Esq.; Llano-
fer, Benjamin Waddington, Esq.; Llanvitsangle, Earl of
Oxford; Mamheled, W. Morgan, Esq.; Mayndec, Sir
Robert Kemeys; Pen Park, — Williams, Esq.; Pierce-
field, late Nathaniel Wells, Esq.; Pontypool, C. H. Lei°-h,
Esq.; Tredgar, Sir Charles Morgan, Bart.; Trewyn.V.
Rosier, Esq.; Wynastow Court, Thomas Swinnerton, Esq!
MONOCEROS, Unicorn, in Astronomy, a southern
constellation, formed by Hevelius, and consisting, in his ca¬
talogue of nineteen stars, but in the Britannic catalogue, of
thirty-one stars.
MONOCHORD, an instrument by which the several
proportions of musical sounds and intervals, as well in the
natural as in the tempered scales, are tried. Originally it
had, as its name implies, only one string ; but it ^is better
constructed with two; for, by means of the additional
string, an opportunity is afforded of judging of the har¬
mony of two tempered notes in every possible variety of
temperament.
MONODY, in ancient poetry, a mournful kind of son^,
sung by a person all alone, to give vent to his grief. The
word is derived from /aovos, alone, and adu, I sing.
MONOGAMY, compounded of /j,ovog, alone, and ya/xof,
marriage, the state or condition of those who have only
married once, or who are restrained to a single wife. See
Polygamy.
MONOGRAM, a character or cipher, composed of one,
two, or more letters interwoven, being a kind of abbrevi-
atlMn0xi^1fVvr *a£Ciently USed as a seaI’ badge, arms, &c.
MONOMOIAPA. See Motapa.
MONOPHYSITES (from fiovog, solus, and tpvcas, naturo),
a general name given to all those sectaries in the Levant
v 10 on y own one nature in Jesus Christ, and who main¬
tain that the divine and human natures of Christ were so
united as to form only one nature, yet without any change,
confusion, or mixture of the two natures.
ie Monophysites, however, properly so called, are the
to!lowers of Severus, a learned monk of Palestine (who was
created patriarch of Antioch in 513), and of Petrus Ful-
iensis. the Monophysites were encouraged by the Em¬
peror Anastasius, but depressed by Justin and succeed-
ing emperors. However, this sect was restored by Jacob
Wi eUf £ j °bsUre monk’ insomuch that when he died
S,0fE e-> ia the year 588, he left it in a most
ourislung state in Syria, Mesopotamia, Armenia, Egypt,
^ubia Abyssmia, and other countries. The laborious ef-
ZllTKri seconded in Egypt and the adjacent
„am e y leodosms bishop of Alexandria, and he be-
consHe?JTUS 311 the Mon°Physites of the East
were Jh their second parent and founder, and
ere Cai]ed Jacoblte^ m honour of their new chief: The
one ^ .ysites are divided into two sects or parties; the
is the naS"’ ^ ®tber.Asiatic- At the head of the latter
in the mtnar*Ch °f Aatloch’ w,1° resides for the most part
the formerStery °if St Ananias» near the city of Merdin ;
Aleximl • under the jurisdiction of the patriarch of
subdivide?’^0 genera% resides ^ Grand Cairo, and are
teenth rent- lnt°j CoptS and Abyssinians. From the fif-
phvsites hn U1T down'vards> all the patriarchs of the Mono-
1 ve taken the name of lanatiux. in nrrler t-n ctmuT-
MON
that thev are e rthe,name of ^9™^, in order to show
bishon of •neau saccessors of Ignatius, who was
the lawful mt1,0C I*” rbf brSt century5 and consequently
tury a smnn h'T0 ^Ailtlocb* In the seventeenth cen-
lor^ome time°thy t le- Mon°Pbys!tes.in Asia abandoned
tors, and emh G ,oc,tnne and institution of their ances-
d embraced the communion of Rome. But the
African Monophysites, notwithstanding that poverty and
ignorance which exposed them to the seductions of sophis-
ry and gain, remained firm in their principles, and made an
o stinate resistance to the promises, presents, and attempts
employed by the papal missionaries to bring them under
e Roman yoke; and in the eighteenth century, those of
Asia and Africa have persisted in their refusal to enter in-
o the communion of the Catholic church, notwithstanding
the earnest entreaties and alluring offers which have from
ime to time been made by the pope’s legates to conquer
their inflexible constancy. The Monophysites propagate
their doctrine in Asia with zeal and assiduity, and have at
length gained over to their communion a part of the Nes-
tonans, who inhabit the maritime coast of India.
MONOPOLI, a city of the province of Bari, in the
ingdom of Naples, on the spot where formerly stood the
Roman city of Egnatia. It is situated on the sea-shore,
between three hills, and has a small harbour, whence ex¬
tensive fisheries are carried on. It suffers much at times
from a scarcity of water, as there are neither brooks nor
springs, the only supply being from rain. It is the seat of
a bishop, and, besides the cathedral, contains fourteen
churches, nine of which appertain to as many convents
and monasteries. It contains 15,500 inhabitants.
MONOPOLY. See on this head Commerce and Po¬
litical Economy.
MONOSYLLABLE, in Grammar, a word which con¬
sists only of one syllable, and is composed either of one or
more letters pronounced at the same time.
MON O FHELI FES (compounded of /ioi/of, single, and
will, from SsXw, volo, I will), an ancient sect, which
sprung out of the Eutychians, and were so called from al¬
ow ing only one will in Jesus Christ. The opinion of the
Monothelites took its rise in 630, and had the Emperor
Heraclius for an adherent; it was the same with that of
the Acephalous Severians. They allowed of two wills in
Christ, considered with regard to the two natures, but re¬
duced them to one, by reason of the union of these natures,
thinking it absurd that there should be two free wills in
one and the same person. They were condemned by the
sixth general council in 680, as being supposed to destroy
the pei fection of the humanity of Jesus Christ, by depriv¬
ing it of will and operation. Their sentiments were after¬
wards embraced by the Maronites.
MONOTONY, an uniformity of sound, or a fault in
pronunciation, when a long series of words is delivered in
one unvaried tone.
MONREALE, a parliamentary city of the kingdom of
Naples, in the island of Sicily and province of Mazzara,
situated on the side of a hill, at the foot of which the river
Ammiraglo flows, four post miles from Palermo. It is the
seat of an archbishop, is both healthy and fertile, and has
a cathedra], a palace, several monasteries, with 12,770 in¬
habitants, who depend chiefly on agriculture, and whose
most valuable product is abundance of almonds.
MONRO, Dr Alexander, senior, a celebrated phy¬
sician and anatomist, was the son of Mr John Monro, who
was for some years a surgeon in the army under King
Milliam in Flanders, and who afterwards settled in that
capacity in Edinburgh. The subject of this biographical
sketch was born in London in 1697. He showed an early
inclination to the study of physic; and his father, after
giving him the best education which Edinburgh then afford¬
ed, sent him successively to London, Paris, and Leyden,
to improve himself further in his profession. At London
he attended the lectures of Hawksbee and Whiston on ex¬
perimental philosophy, and the anatomical demonstrations
of Mr Cheselden. At Paris he frequented the hospitals,
and the lectures on the different branches of physic and
surgery; and, towards the end of autumn 1718, he went to
Leyden, and studied under the celebrated Boerhaave. On
MON
his return to Edinburgh in the autumn of 1719, Drum¬
mond and Macgill, who were then conjunct nominal pro¬
fessors and demonstrators of anatomy to the Company ot
Surgeons, having resigned in his favour, his father pre¬
vailed on him to read some public lectures on anatomy,
and to illustrate them by showing the curious anatomical
preparations which he had made and sent home when
abroad. He at the same time persuaded Dr Alston, then
a young man, to give some public lectures on botany. Ac¬
cordingly, in the beginning of the winter 1720, these two
voung professors began to give regular courses of lectures,
the one on the materia medica and botany, the other on
anatomy and surgery; and these were the first regular
courses of lectures on any of the branches of medicine
which had ever been read at Edinburgh, and may be
looked upon as the opening of that medical school which
has since acquired so great reputation all over Europe.
In the summers of 1721 and 1722, Dr Monro, by the
persuasion of his father, read some lectures on chirurgical
subjects, particularly on wounds and tumours, which he
never would publish, having written them in a hurry, and
before he had much experience ; but he inserted from time
to time the improvements which he thought might be
made in surgery, in the volumes of Medical Essays and
Observations, to be hereafter mentioned.
About the year 1720, his father communicated to the
physicians and surgeons at Edinburgh a plan which he
had long formed in his own mind, of having the different
branches of physic and surgery regularly taught at Edin¬
burgh. This was highly approved of by them ; and through
their interest regular professorships of anatomy and medi¬
cine were instituted in the university. Such was the founda¬
tion of the Medical Faculty of Edinburgh. His son, Dr
Monro, was first made university professor of anatomy; and,
two or three years afterwards, Drs Sinclair, Rutherford,
Innes, and Plummer, were made professors of medicine;
the professorship of materia medica and botany, which Dr
Alston then held, having been added to the university many
years before. Immediately after these gentlemen were
elected professors, they began to deliver regular courses
of lectures on the different branches of medicine ; and
they and their successors have uniformly continued to do
so every winter since that time.
But the plan for a medical education at Edinburgh was
still incomplete without an hospital, where students could
see the practice of physic and surgery, as well as hear the
lectures of the professors. A scheme was therefore propos¬
ed by Dr Monro’s father, and others, particularly the mem¬
bers of the Royal College of Physicians and Board of Sur¬
geons, for raising by subscription a fund for building and
supporting an hospital for the reception of diseased poor ;
and Dr Monro published a pamphlet setting forth the ad
MON
of the particular's of all the cases which have been received Mob
into the house since it was first opened has been kept, in s—v'
books appropriated to that purpose, for the use of the stu¬
dents.
In order to render the hospital of still further use to the
students, Dr Monro frequently, whilst he continued pro¬
fessor of anatomy, gave lectures on the chirurgical cases;
and Dr Rutherford, then professor of the practice of phy¬
sic, began, in the year 1748, to deliver clinical lectures, to
be continued every winter, on the most remarkable cases
which occurred in the hospital.
Dr Monro, though he was elected professor of anatomy
in the year 1721, was not received into the university till
the year 1725, when he was inducted along with Mr Colin
Maclaurin, the celebrated mathematician, with whom he
ever lived in the strictest friendship. From this time he
regularly every winter gave a course of lectures on ana¬
tomy and surgery, from October to May, upon a most ju¬
dicious and comprehensive plan ; a task in which he per¬
severed with the greatest assiduity, and without the least
interruption, for nearly forty years; and so great was the
reputation he had acquired, that students flocked to him
from the most distant corners of his majesty’s dominions.
In 1759 the professor entirely relinquished the business
of the anatomical theatre to his son Dr Alexander Monro,
who had returned from abroad, and had assisted him in the
course of lectures the preceding year. But after this re¬
signation, he still endeavoured to render his labours useful
t(T mankind, by reading clinical lectures at the hospital for
the improvement of the students. Ot these, Dr Duncan,
who was one of his pupils, has given an interesting account.
“ There I had myself the happiness of being a pupil, who
profited by the judicious conduct of his practice, and was
improved by the wisdom and acuteness of his remarks. I
have indeed to regret that I attended only the last course
of lectures in which he had ever a share, and at a time
when he was subjected to a disease which proved at length
fatal. Still, however, from what I saw and from what 1
heard, I can venture to assert, that it is hardly possible to
conceive a physician more attentive to practice, or a pre¬
ceptor more anxious to communicate instructions. His
humanity in the former of these characters led him to
bestow the most anxious care on his patients while they
were alive ; and his zeal in the latter induced him to make
them the subject of useful lessons when they happened to
die. In the different stations of physician, of lecturer, and
of manager in the hospital, he took every measure for in¬
quiring into the causes of diseases, by dissection. He per¬
sonally attended the opening of every body; and he not
only dictated to the students an accurate report of the dis¬
section, but with nice discrimination contrasted the dis¬
eased and sound state of every organ. Thus, in his own
5 au- easeu aim &uunu otatc > i
vantages which would attend such an institution. In a person he afforded to the students a conspicuous examp
short time a very considerable sum of money was raised ; of the advantages of early anatomical pursuits, as
a small house was fitted up; and patients were admitted piest foundation for a medical supersti ucture.
into it, and regularly attended by many of the physicians at once engaged in two departments, the ana om1^ j.j
and surgeons in town. As the fund for this charity had tre and clinical chair, furnished hun^wit 0PP.^ ^
considerably increased, owing in a great measure to the ac¬
tivity and influence of Mr George Drummond, the founda¬
tion was laid of the present large, commodious, and useful
hospital, the Royal Infirmary, in the planning of which Dr
Monro suggested many useful hints ; and, in particular, the
elegant room for chirurgical operations was designed and
executed under his direction. Provost Drummond and he
were nominated the building committee, and the fabric
was completed in a short space of time. It has since been
so largely endowed, as to be capable of receiving a great canon m mo -- ,. ge_
number of diseased poor, whose various cases the students nearly thirty years, had the satisfaction to be o ^
of physic and surgery have an opportunity of seeing daily minary of medical education frequented yearly }
treated with the greatest attention and care by physicians four hundred students, many of whom came irom
and surgeons eminent in their profession; and a register distant corners of his majesty’s dominions, an o
both on the dead and living body, and placed him in
most favourable situation for the improvement ot mea-
cine ; and from these opportunities he derived every pos¬
sible advantage which they could afford.” ,
His father, Mr Monro, lived to an advanced age, an
enjoyed the unspeakable pleasure of beholding a son, es¬
teemed and regarded by mankind, the prineipal act<*
the execution of his favourite plan, which formed the g
object of his life, that of foundinga seminary of medical e'
cation in his native country. The son, who survived^ ^
i
MON
ns arrive at a degree of reputation far beyond his most san¬
guine hopes. Dr Monro died on the 10th of July 1767,
-eur'Jin the 70th year of his age.
Of his works, the first in order is his Osteology, which
was written for the use of students, but is capable also of
affording instruction to the oldest and most experienced
practitioner ; as, besides a minute description of the parts
copied from nature, it everywhere abounds with new and
important observations immediately applicable to practice.
It has been translated into many different languages; has
passed through numerous editions ; and has been reprint¬
ed in foreign countries in the most superb manner, accom¬
panied with elegant and masterly engravings. His de¬
scription of the Lacteal Sac and Thoracic Duct contains
the most accurate account of that important part of the
body which has yet been published; and his Anatomy of
the Nerves will transmit to posterity an excellent example
of accurate dissection, faithful description, and ingenious
reasoning. The six volumes of Medical Essays and Ob¬
servations, published by a society in Edinburgh, are uni¬
versally known and esteemed. To that society he was ap¬
pointed secretary; but, after the publication of the first
volume, to which he had largely contributed, the mem¬
bers growing remiss in their attendance, he became the
sole collector and publisher of the work. To him we are
therefore in a great measure indebted for those numerous
and important discoveries with which this publication has
enriched every department of medical knowledge. In the
two first volumes of the Physical and Literary Essays, pub¬
lished by the Physical Society of Edinburgh, in which he
had the rank of one of the presidents, we find several pa¬
pers written by him, which are not the least ornaments of
that collection. His account of the Success of Inoculation
in Scotland may be considered as his last publication. It
demonstrates his extensive correspondence and indefati¬
gable industry, and has had great influence in promoting
that salutary practice. Besides these, he was also the
author of several other elegant and masterly productions,
which were either never published, or were published with-
out his knowledge and from incorrect copies. A collection
of his works, properly arranged, corrected, and illustrated
with copperplates, was published by Dr Alexander Monro,
his son and successor in the anatomical chair, in a splendid
quarto volume, printed at Edinburgh in 1781; and to this
was prefixed a life of the author, by another of his sons,
JJr Donald, physician in London.
' an airont^ssement province of Hennegau,
m the Netherlands, comprehending nine cantons, divided
into 141 communes, with 151,500 inhabitants. The city
n t e same name is the capital both of the province and
tne arrondissement. It is situated on the river Trouille,
and is strongly fortified ; it is well built, and its environs
are adorned with tasteful walks. It contains 4600 houses,
an about 20,000 inhabitants^ Near to it are found mill-
s ones, and abundance of coal. The trade is considerable,
consisting of cotton and woollen goods, ironmongery, soap,
Mn\^rTefined sugar- Long-3-52' E- Lat- 50- 27- N-
8EIGNEUR, in the plural Messeigneurs, a title of
onour and respect used by the French in writing to per¬
sons of superior rank or quality.
fcVr U es> Peers,.arc^^‘s*10Ps> bishops, and presidents d mor-
(were complimented with the title of Monseigneur. In
tho Presente<l to the sovereign courts, they used
the term Messeigneurs.
th^>NSEu^NE^^ absolutely used, was a title applied to
thp timUP rr E*'ance* This custom was unknown till
MonsieJkDaufhvn. ^ daUphin ^ Styled
t^ie P^ura^ Messieurs, a term or title of
St’S bSrh in speaking w iheir e’uaisi °r
M O N
421
Monsieor, absolutely used, was a title appropriated to Monsieur
the second son of France, or the king’s brother. The king II
France° ^ ^ but that onIy by the children of\Moast«\
r a r^ular or periodical wind, in the East
Indies, blowing constantly in the same direction during six
months of the year, and contrariwise during the remain¬
ing six.
• tbe In(ban Ocean, the winds are partly general, blow¬
ing all the year round the same way, as in the Ethiopic
Ocean; and partly periodical, that is, blowing half the year
one way, and the other half year on the opposite points;
and those points and times of shifting differ in different
parts of this ocean. These latter are what have been called
monsoons.
The shifting of these monsoons does not take place all
at once. In some places the time of the change is attend-
ed with calms,but in others with variable winds; and those
of China, when they cease to be westerly, are liable to be¬
come tempestuous ; indeed such is their violence, that
they seem to be of the nature of the West India hurri¬
canes, and render the navigation of those seas very un¬
safe at the time of the year when they prevail. These
tempests the seamen call the breaking up of the monsoons.
Monsoons, then, are a species of what we otherwise term
trade winds. They take the denomination of monsoon from
an ancient pilot, who first crossed the Indian Sea by means
of them; though others derive the name from a Portu¬
guese word signifying motion or change of wind and sea.
MONSTER, a birth or production of a living being, de¬
generating from the proper and usual disposition of^parts
in the species to which it belongs; as, when there are too
many members, or too few, or some of them are extrava¬
gantly out of proportion, either on the side of excess or
defect. The word comes from the Latin monstrum, a de¬
rivative of monstrando, showing; and hence also the box
m which relics were anciently kept to be shown was call¬
ed monstrum. Dugdale mentions an inventory of the
church of York with this article, Item unum monstrum cum
ossibus sancti Petri in beryl, et crucifixo in summitate.
Aristotle defines a monster to be a defect of nature, when,
acting towards an end, she cannot attain to it, from some
of the principles being corrupted.
Monsters do not propagate their kind, for which rea¬
son some rank mules amongst the number of monsters, as
also hermaphrodites. Females which bring forth twins
are found most liable to produce monsters. The reason
probably is, that although the twins are covered with one
common chorion, yet they have each their separate am¬
nios, which by their contiguity may chance to grow to¬
gether, and so occasion a confusion or blending of the parts.
Various theories have been proposed by philosophers and
physiologists to account for the production of monsters.
But after all, it must be confessed, that we are very little
acquainted with those deviations from the ordinary course
of nature.
With respect to structure, monsters are of various kinds.
Some have an excess or defect in certain parts, such as
those which are called acephalous, or want the head;
those which have two heads, two arms, two legs, and one
body, or which have two bodies and one head, or which
have three legs; and those which want the arms or the
legs. Others err through an extraordinary and deformed
conformation, through an unnatural union of certain parts
or viscera, through a great derangement in one or more of
their members, and through the extraordinary place which
these often occupy in consequence of this derangement
or transposition. The monster described by Dr Eller of
the Academy of Berlin was of this kind. It was a foetus
of nine months, twenty-eight inches long, with an enor¬
mous head and frightful countenance j and in the middle
422
MON
Monster, of a broad and vast forehead it had a reddish eye, without
' either eyebrows or eyelids, and sunk deep into a square
hole. Immediately below this eye was an excrescenc
which strongly resembled a penis with a glans, a prepuce,
and an urethra; the part covered with hair was likewise
below the nape of the neck. In other monsters we meet
with the unnatural union of some parts, which, from thei
destination and functions, ought always to be separate ,
and the separation of other parts, which, for the same rea¬
sons, ought constantly to be united. The reader may see
the different ways in which the formation of m^^r-J^es
place, in four memoirs by M. Lemery, inserted
toire de l'Academic des Sciences, 1738 and 1739
In the volume published by the Academy of Sciences
in the year 1724, mention is made by M. Geoffrey of a mon¬
ster born in Barrois, 1722. This monstrous production con¬
sisted of two children without the inferior extremities^and
ioined together by a common navel. Each of them had a
nurse, sucked, and eat pap; and the one sueked whilst
the other slept. The reader may likewise consult the se¬
cond part of Winslow’s Memoirs on Monsters, inserted in
the volume published by the Academy of Sciences in
1734 where he will find the history of the two very ex¬
traordinary twin monsters, who exhibited during their lives
a o-reat difference in their moral and physical qualities. We
are obliged to refer simply to these memoirs, as they are
too long for abridgment.
It is observed by Haller, that in some monsters the na¬
tural structure has been changed by some shock or passion,
whilst in others the structure, independently of any acci¬
dent, appears to have been originally monstrous 5 such as
when all the members are reversed from left to right, when
the person has six fingers, and in many other instances.
M. de Maupertuis mentions that there was at Berlin a fami-
lv who for several generations had six fingers on each hupd.
M. de Riville saw an instance of this at Malta, of which
he has given a description. M. Renou, surgeon at ”om-
meraye, in Anjou, published an account of some families
with six fingers, who were to be found in several pans es
of the Lower Anjou, and which had existed there from time
immemorial. This deformity was perpetuated in these fa¬
milies even when they intermarried with persons who were
free from it. Whether the propagation of these supernu¬
merary organs, which are not only useless, but inconve¬
nient and even disagreeable, be owing to the father or mo¬
ther, the children of both sexes are subject to it indiscri¬
minately. A father and mother with six fingers frequent¬
ly have a part, and sometimes the whole of their children,
free from this deformity; but it again makes its appear¬
ance, and in a very great degree, in the third generation.
From this it appears that such a fault in the conformation
is hereditary. M. Reaumur likewise published the his¬
tory of a family in the island of Malta, the children of
which were born with six fingers and six toes. But it de¬
serves to be inquired, whether these supernumerary fin¬
gers were real fingers. (The reader may here consult the
Journal de Physique fox November 1774, p. 372.) Ihis
variety of sexdigitary hands and feet is not comprehended
in the Recherches sur quelques Conformations Monstrueuses
des Doigts dans VHomme, which is inserted in the Memoirs
of the Academy of Sciences for 1771. In the Journal de
Physique for August 1776, we find a description of a double
uterus and vagina observed in a woman who died in child¬
bed, by Dr Purcell of Dublin ; and in that for June 1788,
we have an account, by Baron Dietrich, of a man with se¬
ven fingers on each hand.
Monsters are more common and more extraordinary in
the vegetable than in the animal kingdom, because the
different juices are more easily deranged and confounded
together. Leaves are often seen, from the internal parts
of which other leaves spring forth ; and it is not uncommon
MON
to see flowers of the ranunculus from the middle of which Monts
issues a stalk bearing another flower. Bonnet informs us, II
that in certain warm and rainy years he has frequently ™
met with monsters of this kind in rose-trees, ihisob-v^^^
server saw a rose, from the centre of which issued a square Y
stalk of a whitish colour, tender and without prickles,
which at its top bore two flower-buds opposite to each
other, and totally destitute of a calyx; and a little above the
buds issued a petal of a very irregular shape. Upon the
prickly staff which supported the rose, a leaf was observ¬
ed which had the shape of a trefoil, together with a broad
flat pedicle. In the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences
for 1707, mention is made of a rose, from the centre of the
leaves of which issued a rose branch two or three inches
long, and furnished with leaves. In the Memoirs for
1775, a singular instance is mentioned of a monstrosity ob¬
served by Duhamel, in an apple-tree ingrafted with clay.
At the place of the insertion there appeared a bud which
produced a stalk and some leaves; the stalk and the pedi¬
cle of the leaves were of a pulpy substance, and had the
most perfect resemblance both in taste and smell to the
pulp of a green apple. An extraordinary chamamdum
is mentioned in the Acta Helvetica. Bonnet, in his Re¬
cherches sur V Usage des Feuilles, mentions likewise some
monstrous productions which have been found in fruits
with kernels, analogous in their nature to those which oc¬
cur in the flowers of the ranunculus and of the rose-tree.
He observed a pear, from the eye of which issued a tuft
of thirteen or fourteen leaves, very well shaped, and many
of them of the natural size. He noticed a second pear
which gave rise to a ligneous and knotty stalk, on wnc
grew another pear somewhat larger than the first. e
stalk had probably flourished, and the fruit had formed.
Reynier has mentioned some individuals monstrous with
respect to the flower, in the Journal de Physique et a His-
toire Naturelle for November 1785.
These vegetable productions, which are so extraordinary,
and so contrary to the common course of things, do ne¬
vertheless present deviations subject to particular laws,
and reducible to certain principles, by distinguishing such
as are perpetuated either by seed or by transplanting, from
those which seem to be only accidental. Monstrosities
which are perpetuated exist in the original organization o
the seed of the plant, such as marked or curled leaves, so.
The word monster is more properly applied to tiiose -
regularities in plants which arise from frequent transpla -
tation, and from a particular culture, such as doub e
ers; but those monstrosities which are not perpetua ,
and which arise from accidental and transient causes ci
ranging the primitive organization of the plan w
comes to be unfolded, being the effect of diseilses’
or cold, of a superfluity or scarcity of juices, of a depra
tion of the vessels contributing to nutrition, of tnesi g
of insects, and of contusions and natuial gra ts>re u
the name of monsters. Of this kind are knods °r .
ings, stunting, gall-nuts, certain streaks, and o ie
deMONTACUTE, a small town of Somersetshire,^
hundred of Tintinhull, 123 miles from London. It has n
it a singular mound or sharp hill, covering twe y
at the base, on which a castle was built hy Morcton*
of William the Conqueror, who named it *rom * , int0
Drogo de Montacute. It was afterwards convene
a monastery and a borough The inhabitants who^
chiefly occupied in making gloves and sail-clot , a ^
ed in 1801 to 827, in 1811 to 857, in 1821 to 973
1831 to 1028. . , . . rian de-
MONTAGNANO, a city of Italy, m the ^us n and
legation of Padua. It is situated on the Fiumecel ^
is surrounded with walls. It contains a con ^ are
several other churches, with 8275 inhabitants,
MON
Me :gu
occupied in woollen manufactures, in tanneries, and in
' making hats. It is situated in longitude II. 25. 30. E. and
latitude 45. 13. 3. N.
MONTAGU, Lady MaryWortley, an English lady
of distinguished talents, but of eccentric character, was the
eldest daughter of Evelyn Pierrepont duke of Kingston,
and Lady Mary Fielding, daughter of William earl of Den¬
bigh, and was born at Thoresby, Nottinghamshire, in the
year 1690. Both on the father’s and the mother’s side Lady
Mary came of a stirring race, the Pierreponts and Field-
ings having taken active parts in the civil war, though un¬
der painful circumstances of family division. But there was
genius as well as activity in her blood; for the mother of
Beaumont the dramatist was a Pierrepont, and Lady Mary
had a common ancestor with Villiers duke of Buckingham,
who was her grand uncle. The Fieldings, however, were
not thought very bright, until Henry, who was her second
cousin, came to enhance their reputation ; and Lady Mary
says that they were all called “ fair and foolish.” At the
age of four she lost her mother; but her grandmother, a sen¬
sible woman, appears to have clone something towards sup¬
plying the place of her deceased parent. By Lady Mary’s
own account of her education, it was “ one of the worst in
the world ; but this is to be taken with very considerable
qualification. She was indeed left to a superstitious nurse
and a weak governess; but her understanding being na¬
turally much superior to that of her instructress, she was
induced to profit by her brother’s advantages, and, under
the tuition of his preceptors, acquired some knowledge
of Latin, a smattering of Greek, and the rudiments of the
French language. At the age of eight she had made con¬
siderable proficiency in her studies, and began to read all
the books she could lay her hands on ; poetry, philosophy,
and romances, particularly those of the old French school,
of which she became exceedingly enamoured. Her first
known poetical effusion was an Epistle from Julia to Ovid,
which she wrote at the age of twelve, and which, besides the
complimentary cant of gallantry, exhibits a nice apprehen-
si°n of the reigning melody in verse, being exactly in the
style which Dryden would have employed in addressing
ady Lastlemain, or Garth, in inscribing upon drinking
g asses verses on the beauty of his mistress. At fifteen
she formed a project of establishing an English nunnery ;
and had she then been mistress of an independent fortune,
she would certainly (she says) have executed it, and elect¬
ed herself lady-ahbess. At twenty, she translated Epicte-
us, most probably from the Latin version, under the eye
of her friend Bishop Burnet.
« Am°ngst the early female friends of Lady Mary was Mrs
Anne Wortley, sister of Mr Edward Wortley Montagu,
whose father, Sidney, a son of the well-known Earl of
sandwich, had added the name of Wortley to that of
ontagum consequence of his marriage with an heiress.
Mward Wortley was not a man of gallantry, and had taken
e pains to cultivate the acquaintance of his sister’s
nends; but happening one day to meet with Lady Mary
■eirepont in her apartments, he was so much struck with
er wit and beauty, as well as charmed with the unusual ac-
comp ishment of a love for the classics, that, in a few days,
fe made her a present of Quintus Curtius, an author she
asnever having read, accompanied with some
of , msrent enough in themselves, but, from a person
cist 1SfC laracter’ amounting to a declaration of love. His
anne<^ ^le dame with all her might; and a correspon-
anrl ;C which* after a good deal of hesitation, doubt,
riap-pnfVh81011 °-n t^e Part,°i the lady, ended in the mar-
dufl ni i 6 P3.1^168, -^r ^ ortley has been represented as a
egmatlC country gentleman, of a tame genius and
liant « h- TP-aClty,’ 0r a man °P Parts more solid than bril-
nor dnpa^v.1 18 °n ^ a Wa^ °P saying the same thing •
eie seem to be any good ground for question.
MON
423
g the accuracy of this description, although his attain- Montagu,
merits as a scholar, and his distinction as a politician, were ^—
both considerable. But however this may be, the marriage
seems to have been ill assorted, and certainly proved un¬
fortunate. There was probably no real affection upon either
81 ei’ M w trUe t*lat Lady Mary’s temper was not
good, Mr Wortley was scarcely the man to supply any de¬
fects on her part or to bear long with such infirmities,
ihat she possessed great good sense is evident; but her
sarcasms and her self-will, united with a sense of superi¬
ority, and perhaps also some resentment of the coldness
evinced towards her by her husband, sufficiently indicate
the radical disparity, or rather incongruity, of character
winch existed between them.
In 1714, Mr Wortley obtained a place in the treasury,
and, m consequence, took his lady to court, where her wit,
spirit, and beauty attracted general admiration, and made
a considerable impression on the Prince of Wales, after¬
wards George II. In 1716, Mr Wortley, who had made
no great figure at home, was appointed ambassador to Con¬
stantinople, where his success was not more remarkable.
But he took his wife with him to the capital of the Turkish
empire, and thus afforded her an opportunity, in her Let¬
ters from the Levant, of charming the world with the most
uxunous pictures ever yet given of a voluptuous people;
and of bringing away with her, in the shape of inocula¬
tion for small-pox, a talisman for the preservation of beau¬
ty- Fiom these, and indeed from all her future letters, it
is clear that her good sense was sound and uncompromis¬
ing, with an ever-increasing tendency towards universal
justice; and that her husband, excepting as holder of the
puise, and a person entitled to certain conventional consi¬
deration, had already become an individual of no mark or
likelihood in her society. Nobody seems to think of him
as he travels, except out of delicacy towards his companion.
Gallants at Vienna and elsewhere do not see him, nor notice
him. 1 ope maxes flagrant love to her in his letters, as if no
such person existed ; or adds his compliments to the hus¬
band, as if the love-making was an affair of perfect indiffer¬
ence to him. Besides Constantinople, Lady Mary and her
husband, whilst abroad, visited several parts of Germany ;
and on their return sailed through the Archipelago, touch¬
ed on the coast of Africa, and, crossing the Mediterranean
to Genoa, reached home through Lyons and Paris in Octo¬
ber 1718. From all these places we have letters of the
liveliest, and, considering the time at which she wrote, of
the most original description ; a traveller so shrewd and
observant was till then unknown, and her sex gave to the
novelty an additional attraction. The manners of Italy
she found peculiarly congenial to her disposition; and ac¬
cordingly, when, in 1739, she resolved to pass the remain¬
der of her life on the Continent, she betook herself to that
country, and remained there until within less than a year
of her death.
On her return from the East, Pope prevailed on her to
come and live near him at Twickenham. Both were then
in the zenith of their reputation, and mutual admiration
seemed to give assurance of the stability of their friend¬
ship. But a short time sufficed to prove that this antici¬
pation was ill founded. Jealousy of her talents, and a dif¬
ference of political sentiments, have been gravely assigned
as the primary causes of that dislike on the part of Pope,
which soon manifested itself with such exasperated and
vindictive animosity. But neither of these causes can have
had the least share in producing the rupture. To ascribe
it to jealousy of her wit is ridiculous, because on this score
there neither was nor could be rivalry or competition ; and
as to difference of political sentiments, Lady Mary’s pre¬
dilections and attachments were the same before as after
the quarrel, and hence Pope’s hatred of the Whigs could
not have had any such influence as has been ascribed to it.
424
MON
Montagu. The real cause appears to have been altogether different.
V—-n^—/Ladv Mary’s own statement, the truth of which seems to
be borne out by other evidence, was this; that at some
ill-chosen time, when she least expected what romances
call a “ declaration,” Pope made such passionate love to
her, as, in spite of her utmost endeavours to be angry
and look grave, provoked an immediate burst of laughter,
from which moment he became her implacable enemy.
Now, if “ hell has no fury like a woman scorned, it may,
by a parity of analogy, be imagined with how deep and
black a sense of mortification the poor, misshapen, ap¬
plauded poet must have felt himself smitten, and all his
future recollections degraded, by an ever-present sense of
scorn and contempt. To say that he had no right thiis to
address her, is to say the truth; yet to believe that her
manners and cast of character, as well as the nature of t
times, and of the circles in which she moved, had given
no license, no encouragement, no hope of pardon to the pre¬
sumptuous declaration, is impossible ; and to trample in this
way upon the whole miserable body of his vanity and "-
mility, upon all which the consciousness of acceptability
and glory amongst his fellow-creatures had given him to
sustain himself, and all which, in so weak, fragile, and
dwarfish a shape, required so much to be sustained, was
not very humane in her ladyship, and assuredly beyond
the reach of forgiveness in Pope. On her part, a little
pity might have divided the moment with contempt; it was
scarcely necessary to be quite so cruel to one who was
really so insignificant. On his, the contemptuous laughter
which greeted his proposals must have carried a poisonous
blight to his heart, and changed into the venom ot deadly
malice the blood by which it had been momentarily warm¬
ed into love. Yet nothing can palliate, far less excuse, the
gross and indecent manner in which he indulged 111S J6"
sentment, or the mean prevarication with which he evaded
every direct charge of ungrateful behaviour towards those
whose patronage he had once servilely solicited.
But it is a relief to turn from the sight of Lady Mary
as a beauty and a wit, to consider her in the character of
a mother, and, what is more, in that of a public benefac¬
tress. On her return from Constantinople, she introduced
inoculation for the small-pox into England, through the
medium of the medical attendant of the embassy. She
had lost her only brother by the disease, which had also
destroyed her own beautiful eye-lashes ; and she was re¬
solved to give to her family and the world the benefit of a
practice which promised to save the lives and to preserve
the beauty of millions. With courageous love, she began
upon her own offspring, and lived to see her innovation
triumphant, though not until it had encountered such an
opposition that she almost repented of her philanthropy.
But this only enhanced the merit of her perseverance,
and the many sacrifices of time and spirit which she con¬
sented to make; for she submitted to be hawked about as
a sort of nurse and directress, in families which required
comfort under the experiment. Her descendant informs
us, that when four great physicians were deputed by go¬
vernment to watch the progress of her daughter’s inocu¬
lation, they “ betrayed not only such incredulity as to its
success, but such an unwillingness to have it succeed, such
an evident spirit of rancour and malignity, that she never
cared to leave the child alone with them one second, lest
it should in some secret way suffer from their interfer¬
ence.” But these must surely have been only a mother’s
terrors, aggravated perhaps by a little of her own sarcasm
and vehemence. At the same time, professional persons
seldom evince much favour for discoveries or improvements
in their own art originating with others, whom they regard
as interlopers; and it is probable enough that, whilst she
contrived, by her ready wit, to make the physicians ap¬
pear very small in their own eyes, they, on the other hand,
MON
were fain to assert their own dignity by trying to look big Monty;
and contemptuous.
Lady Mary preserved her supremacy in the world of
fashion, and continued to give fresh proofs of her talents,
until the year 1739, when, in the month of July, she left
England with a resolution to pass the remainder of her
life on the Continent. She proceeded at once to Venice;
and having determined to establish herself in the north of
Italy, she took possession of a deserted palace on the banks
of Lake Isco, in the Venetian territory, where she planned
a garden, applied herself to the business of a country life,
and solaced herself with books sent by her daughter Lady
Bute, which in some measure supplied the want of society.
It seems probable that one of the causes which drove her
from England was the enmity she had kindled up all around
her by the license of her tongue and pen, and not any
flagrant irregularity of conduct, as some have pretty broad¬
ly msinuated. She was always writing scandal. A jour¬
nal full of it was burned by her family, not without good
reason, if, from the quality of some of her published writ¬
ings, a conjecture may be formed as to the nature of its
contents. Her very panegyrics were sometimes malicious;
and even Pope himself, with all,the temptations of wit
and resentment, would hardly have written of her as he
did, had her reputation for satirical strictures been less a
matter of notoriety. As to her life on the Continent, it
seems to have been chiefly passed, as we have already de¬
scribed, amongst books and gardens, not altogether ne¬
glecting the cultivation of intelligent society; though evi¬
dences occasionally escape her pen of things more in uni¬
son with what was alleged of her by her enemies. At the
same time it is impossible to attach any credit to the mali¬
cious exaggerations of Horace Walpole, or to regard with
any other feeling than disgust his portrait of Lady Mary in
her old age, painted with all the evil gusto and the coarse
plastering of an angry procuress.
On the death of Mr Wortley, which took place m 17bl,
she yielded to the solicitations of her daughter, and, after
an absence of twenty-two years, returned to England, where
she arrived in the October of the same year. But her health
had suffered much from a cancer she had long concealed,
and the fatigues she had undergone in her journey to Eng¬
land tended to exasperate its symptoms ; the malady in¬
creased rapidly, and, before ten months had elapsed, she
expired, on the 21st of August 1762, in the seventy-third
year of her age. Notwithstanding this cruel distemper,
she bore her sufferings with a spirit the reverse of com¬
plaining, and preserved to the last her vivacity of temper
and character. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was un¬
questionably the most remarkable woman of her time,
the presiding female wit in the days of Pope, the bene¬
factress of her species by the introduction of inoculation,
and the keen satirist of the fashionable circles. Her poems
are indeed little else than wit in rhyme, mere vers desocieK,
but her prose is truly admirable; better t^an.accUff,f’ i
which it has seldom much claim, it is idiomatical, on- a
conversation, without effort and without inelegance, tres ,
racy, and piquant, sparkling with wit, and often equay
remarkable for strong sense and sarcastic bitterness,
conventional shows of things could not deceive her,
saw beneath the painted masks which are worn in socl q
detected much that men and women try to coacea ’ t
fearlessly published her detections. Pity that she ih
see a little farther into the sweets of things which ar
conventional; that she had not.more faith in the :n
well as in the blood and in good sense ; more connd ^
virtue, higher aspirations, and more ennobling o je ^
ambition, than those in pursuing which she w’as
fine powers, and embittered the greater part ot ne *
It is unnecessary to specify her ladyship s varl°, e
ductions in prose and verse, or even to reler to
M O N
Mm tion of her works published by Dallaway, with a memoir
''of her life; because the former would lead to needless de¬
tail, and the latter has, in a great measure, been super¬
seded by the edition of her Letters and Works, with ad¬
ditional letters and particulars of her life, published by
her great-grandson Lord WharnclifFe, London, 1837, in
three volumes 8vo. This edition, notwithstanding some
inaccuracies, is peculiarly valuable on account of the new
matter which has been embodied in it, the new light which
it throws upon some parts of her ladyship’s character and
history, and the perfect candour and fairness with which
the noble editor has performed his difficult and some¬
what trying task. (a.)
Montagu, Edward Worthy, only son of the preceding
Lady Mary, was born in October 1713, and, in the early
part of his life, the object of his mother’s most tender re¬
gard. In 1716, he accompanied his parents to Constanti¬
nople, and, on their return to England in 1718, was placed
at Westminster School. Here he gave the first indi¬
cation of his wayward disposition, by running away, and
eluding all search, until about a year afterwards, when he
was accidentally discovered at Blackwall, with a basket of
fish on his head. In point of fact, he had bound himself,
by regular indenture, to a poor fisherman, whom he had
served faithfully, making shrewd bargains, and honestly
accounting to the fisherman for his gains. Emancipated
from this degrading condition, he was again placed at
Westminster School ; but ere long he absconded a se¬
cond time, and bound himself to the master of a vessel
engaged in the Oporto trade, who, supposing him a friend¬
less boy, treated him with great kindness and humanity.
This generous conduct, however, awakened no correspond¬
ing feelings of gratitude upon his part; for he had scarce¬
ly landed at Oporto when he ran away up the country, and
contrived to get employment for two or three years in tend¬
ing the vines. Here he was at length discovered, brought
home, and, on promise of amendment, pardoned ; but un¬
happily with no better effect than before. He ran away
a third time, after which his father procured him a tutor,
who so far reclaimed him to habits of regularity, that he
obtained an appointment in one of the public offices. In
1747, he was elected one of the knights of the shire for
the county of Huntingdon ; but he does not appear to
have in any way distinguished himself as a member of par¬
liament, nor did he long retain his seat, his expenses hav¬
ing so far exceeded his income, that, towards the close of
the year 1751, he found it prudent once more to leave
England. He proceeded to Paris, where, in a short time,
he was imprisoned in the Chatelet for some fraudulent
gambling transaction in which he had been concerned;
but-he soon escaped, or effected his liberation, though by
what means is unknown. He published a defence of his
conduct, written by himself, in French, against one Abra¬
ham Payba, a Jew by birth, who assumed the fictitious name
of Roberts; and had it translated into English from an au¬
thentic copy, which he transmitted to this country for the
purpose. In the parliament which assembled in 1754, he
was returned for Bossiney; and, besides some dull commu¬
nications to the Royal Society, he published a book on the
Rise and Fall of the Ancient Republics, the merit of which
was afterwards claimed by his tutor, Mr Foster. In a
wo^> he seems to have been the offspring of the perplexity
of his father’s and mother’s first position, the victim of their
mistake, and privileged to obtain what excuses and com-
orts he could get from them ; which, to do them justice,
t iej generally afforded, though not always in the best man-
nei, or with the right distribution of blame, and the proper
a lowance on all sides. His father died in the year 1761,
at an advanced age, and, by his will, bequeathed to his
son a considerable annuity, at the same time empowering
im to make a settlement of L.800 a year upon any woman
vol. xv. '
MON
425
Mon¬
taigne.
he might marry, and devising to any son of such marriage Montagu
an estate in the west riding of Yorkshire. It was this
clause which gave rise to a story that he had advertised
for a wife, promising to marry any widow or single lady, v
of genteel birth and polished manners, who happened to
be five, six, or seven months advanced in pregnancy. That
such an advertisement appeared is certain ; but then its
publication took place in 1776, within a few months of his
death, and at a time when he was abroad, circumstances
which render the story somewhat improbable. His mother
died in the year 1762, and left him only one guinea. He
had offended her irreconcilably. But as his father’s bequest
had rendered him independent, he took a final leave of
his native country, passed the remainder of his life in fo¬
reign parts, and died at Padua in 1776. Before his death
he realized a remarkable prediction of his mother, by be¬
coming first a Catholic and then a Mahommedan, in which
latter character he ended his days, with a turban on his
head, a long beard, and, it is alleged, a harem into the
bargain. He travelled into the East, and wrote some ob¬
servations on Pompey’s Pillar, as it is called, as well as an
account of a journey from Cairo to the Gebel Mokattam,
or Written Mountains, in the desert of Sinai. He is also
said to have published an Explication of the Causes of
Earthquakes, though it has not been mentioned at what
time, or in what place. His travels in the East occupied
several years, during which he underwent his different re¬
ligious transformations, and ultimately settled down into
Mahommedanism, the ceremonies of which he performed
with a punctuality savouring of that peculiar derangement
which he more or less exemplified in almost every action of
his life. (A.)
Montague Island, one of the New Hebrides, in the
South Sea, near Sandwich Island. Long. 168. 37. E. Lat.
17. 26. S.
MONTAIGNE, Michel de, aphilosophe-moraliste, fa¬
mous for his book of essays, was born at the castle of Mon¬
taigne, in Perigord, on the 28th of February 1533, being
descended of an ancient family named Eyghem, originally
from England. His father, a brave and loyal squire, who
had served in Spain and Italy, where he had cultivatedhis
mind and improved his taste, bestowed much attention on
his education, and, in particular, initiated him in the know¬
ledge of languages by a process much less tardy and labori¬
ous than that pursued in the schools. The expedient he
adopted was to provide his son with a German master, who,
being entirely ignorant of French, but well versed in La¬
tin, spoke to him only in the latter tongue, which he conse¬
quently acquired as a vernacular language, and, at the age
of six, was able to converse in it with tolerable freedom and
fluency. Greek was also taught him as a sort of diversion.
“ Nous pelotions nos declinaisons,” says he, “ a la maniere
de ceux qui, par certains jeux de tablier (echiquier), ap-
prennent 1’arithmetique et la geometric.” By means equally
gentle and attractive, he was insensibly led to acquire some
knowledge of science ; and, without forcing his inclination,
or imposing the necessity of application, his habits were
formed, and his powers agreeably exercised. All this care
and attention he repaid by the most tender affection for
the memory of his father; indeed filial piety is said to have
formed a conspicuous trait in his character, though it must
be confessed that he sometimes displayed it in a manner
sufficiently singular. At an early age he was sent to the
college of Guienne, at Bordeaux, then the most flourish¬
ing in France, and there he had as masters Nicolas Grouchy,
William Guerente, George Buchanan, and Muretus, under
whom he appears to have made considerable proficiency.
Having completed his studies at the age of thirteen, Mon¬
taigne resolved to study law; and although his mind, natu¬
rally averse to all constraint, must have been repulsed by
the conflicting and complicated mass of consuetudinary ju-
3 H
426 MON
Mon- risprudence with which the tribunals were then surcharged,
taigne. yetj jn 1554,, he became a counsellor or advocate at Bor-
' deaux, and continued to practise as such until the death of
his elder brother, when he abandoned a profession to which
he never had any real liking, and which he appeared after¬
wards to consider as derogatory. On quitting the bar, for
the business of which he had evidently no aptitude, he ap¬
plied himself to the study of men and manners, and in pro¬
secution of this object travelled through various parts of
France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, making his ob¬
servations on every thing curious or interesting in society,^
and receiving several marks of distinction in the course ot
his peregrinations. In 1581 he was admitted a citizen of
Rome, in which city he then sojourned; and the same year
he was elected mayor of Bordeaux, an office in which he
seems to have given much satisfaction to his fellow-citizens.
In 1582 he was sent on a special mission to court about some
affairs of importance, and on the expiration or his mayoralty
he was again elected to the same office. In 1588 he ap¬
peared to some advantage at the assembly of the states at
Blois, and, though not a deputy, took a share in the pro¬
ceedings, but on what pretence or in what capacity does
not clearly appear. During one of his visits to court he
received the cordon of the order of Saint Michel, a dis¬
tinction which he appears to have greatly coveted, though
we afterwards find him complaining of the discredit into
which it had fallen. Having retired to his family residence,
he devoted himself to study; but his tranquillity was dis¬
turbed by the civil wars which desolated Guienne ; and
being driven from his house, he wandered about during six
months seeking for his family, and often with difficulty ob¬
taining an asylum amongst those who had shared his hos¬
pitality. It appears, from a statement of De Thou, that
Montaigne had sought to bring about a reconciliation be¬
tween the Duke of Guise and the King of Navarre, after¬
wards Henry IV.; and on his return from Paris, where he
had completed the impression of his Essays, in 1588, he
was with the historian at Blois when the Duke of Guise
was there assassinated. In his old age he was very much
afflicted with stone and nephritic colic, which led him to
observe that “ la mort le pin^ait continuellement a la
gorge ou aux reinsbut he never could be prevailed on
to take physic, in which he had no faith whatever. He
died on the 13th of September 1589, and was buried in the
church of the Feuillants at Bordeaux, where a monument
was erected to his memory. Notwithstanding his consti¬
tutional tendency to scepticism, and certain unguarded ex¬
pressions which seem to intimate an entire extinction of
the sentiment of religion, he is said to have died a Chris¬
tian, probably because he had mass celebrated in his cham¬
ber in his last moments, and expired during the elevation
of the host.
His reputation as a writer is founded solely on his Essays,
which were at one time extremely popular, and which are
still read with pleasure by a numerous class of persons,
who, pardoning the delusions of self-love and self-deceit,
are charmed by the acuteness and originality mingled with
good nature and sensibility which he displays, and capti¬
vated by the inviting frankness and vivacity with which he
unbosoms himself about all his domestic habits and con¬
cerns. As a writer, he imparted to the French language an
energy which it did not possess before, and which has not
become antiquated, because it resides in the thoughts and
sentiments rather than in the expression. As a philosopher,
his object was to describe man as he is, without reserve
and without exaggeration ; he studied himself more than
any other subject, and recorded his observations with an
acuteness and fidelity which have rendered his work an
authentic record of many interesting facts relative to hu¬
man nature. He united in a high degree the powers of
observation and reflection, without which the study of man
MON
can never be successfully prosecuted; and although there Monta.
is no doubt much truth in the acute but severe strictures nists
on his character contained in a masterly section of the II
Port-royal Logic, where his vanity, his self-love, and the M®ta"
indulgent manner in which he speaks of his vices, to say
nothing of the use of language indicating a total absence '
of religious principle and sentiment, are very freely exposed,
yet, as Mr Stewart observes, “ this consideration, so far
from diminishing the value of his Essays, is one of the most
instructive lessons they afford to those who, after the ex¬
ample of the author, may undertake the salutary but hu¬
miliating task of self-examination.” In the first Prelimi¬
nary Dissertation (part i. section ii.), to which the reader
is referred, will be found an exposition of the philosophi¬
cal merits and defects of Montaigne, not less remarkable
for ability and discrimination, than for the fair and equit¬
able spirit in which both are distinguished and appreciat¬
ed. Montaigne’s life was first written by the President
Bouhier, and prefixed to a supplementary volume of his
works in 1740. (a.)
MONTANISTS, certain Christian heretics, who sprang
up about the year 171, in the reign of the Emperor Marcus
Aurelius. They w ere so called from their leader, the he-
resiarch Montanus, a Phrygian by birth ; and hence they
are sometimes styled Phrygians and Cataphrygians. Mon¬
tanus, it is said, embraced Christianity in hopes of rising
to the dignities of the church. He pretended to inspira¬
tion, and gave out that the Holy Ghost had instructed
him in several points, which had not been revealed to the
apostles. Priscilla and Maximilla, two enthusiastic wo¬
men of Phrygia, presently became his disciples; and in a
short time he had a great number of followers. The bi¬
shops of Asia being assembled together, condemned his
prophecies, and excommunicated all those who dispersed
them. The Montanists, finding themselves exposed to
the censure of the whole church, formed a schism, and
set up a distinct society under the direction of those who
called themselves prophets. Montanus, in conjunction
with Priscilla and Maximilla, was at the head of the sect.
These sectaries made no alteration in the creed. They
only held that the Holy Spirit appointed Montanus his organ
for delivering a more perfect form of discipline than that
which had been delivered by the apostles. They refused
communion for ever to those who were guilty of notorious
crimes, and believed that the bishops had no authority to
reconcile them. They held it unlawful to fly in time of
persecution. They condemned second marriages, allow¬
ed the dissolution of marriage, and observed three lents.
The Montanists afterwards became separated into two
branches ; one of which consisted of the disciples of Pro-
clus and the other of those of iEschines. The latter are
charged with following the heterodoxy of Praxes and Sa-
bellius concerning the Trinity.
MONTAHGIS, an arrondissement of the department
of the Loiret, in France. It is 671 square miles in extent,
is divided into seven cantons and ninety-five communes,
and contains 62,500 inhabitants. The capital is the city
of the same name. It stands on a hill at whose feet is
the river Loing and the canal of Briare ; adjoining ^ the
forest of Montargis. It contains 1240 houses, and 65U
inhabitants, who are employed in making cloth, paper,
and cutlery. Long. 2. 38. 33. E. Lat. 4>7. 39.58. N.
MONTAUBAN, an arrondissement of the departmen
of the Tarn and the Garonne, in France, 632 square miles
in extent. It comprehends eleven cantons, which are i-
vided into eighty-three communes, and contain
inhabitants. The chief city, of the same name, and t e
seat of a bishop, stands on both sides of the river larn,
which is navigable, and receives the water of another riv
near it. It is a well-built city, surrounded with walls an
ditches, and is the seat of a Protestant university, wnic
Mo
MON
MON
::,el
\H
MJ 2-
lirl t.
has a library of valuable books, and an astronomical obser¬
vatory. It contains 4000 houses, and 26,500 inhabitants,
who are occupied in various manufactures, chiefly of wool¬
len goods, which alone give employment to 15,000 per-
^ sons. This city was distinguished during the civil wars
on account of religion, by its bravery and its sufferings.
Long. 1. 15. 46. E. Lat. 44. 0. 50. N.
MONTBELLIARD, an arrondissement of the depart¬
ment of the Doubs, in France. It extends over 490 square
miles, is divided into seven cantons, and subdivided into
148 communes, containing 48,500 inhabitants. The capi¬
tal isa city of the same name, situated on the river Leine. It
contains 700 houses, with 3750 inhabitants, who are em¬
ployed, some in making hosiery, and some as watchmakers.
Long. 6. 55. E. Lat. 47. 38. N.
MONTBRISON, an arrondissement of the depart¬
ment of the Loire, in France, extending over 815 square
miles. It comprehends nine cantons, wdhch are divided
into 139 communes, and contain 105,500 inhabitants.
The capital of the arrondissement, as well as of the de¬
partment, is a city of the same name, situated on the river
Bizey, a small stream which joins the Loire. It is an ill-
built town, wuth narrow and crooked streets, and contains
four churches, 880 houses, and 4800 inhabitants. The
chief occupation is making cotton goods and paper hang¬
ings. Long. 3. 57. E. Lat. 45. 32. N.
MONTCONTOUR, a town of the arrondissement of
Loudon and department of the Vienne, in France, on the
river Dive, containing 150 houses, and 1100 inhabitants.
It is remarkable for the battle fought at it in 1569, when
Henry III. defeated the army of the Hugonots. Long.
0. 10. W. Lat. 46. 50. N.
MONT DE MARSAN, an arrondissement of the de¬
partment of Les Landes, in trance, 2180 square miles in
extent. It contains twelve cantons, which are divided
into 136 communes, and a population of about 83,000 per¬
sons. The capital is a city of the same name, situated at
the junction of the rivers Midou and Douze, which, united,
run to the Adour. It contains 4200 inhabitants, who sub¬
sist by trading in the few productions of the soil. Lons'.
0. 49. W. Lat. 44. 0. N. 5
MONTDIDIER, an arrondissement of the department
of the Somme, in France. It is 386 square miles in ex¬
tent, and divided into five cantons, which are subdivided
into 165 communes, containing 64,500 inhabitants. The
capital is a city of the same name, situated on a hill, at
the foot of which flows the river Dom. It contains 850
houses, and 4300 inhabitants, many of whom are employed
in making hats, caps, and hosiery goods. Long. 2. 28. 46.
E. Lat. 49. 38. 57. N.
MONTECHIARO, a considerable town of Italy, in the
Austrian delegation of Mantua. It is situated on the river
Mella, in a fertile district, and contains three churches, a
hospital, and 5978 inhabitants, who are employed, some in
spinning and weaving silk, and others in manufacturing
woollen goods. b
MON fEGO Bay. See Jamaica.
f ^f.^^GULIANO, a parliamentary city of the island
o bicily, in the kingdom of Naples, and province of Maz-
Zfra^i ^ WaS Er?x ancients, where formerly
stood the temple dedicated to Venus, the most sensual of
a t e heathen establishments, of which no trace now re¬
mains. I he city contains 8172 inhabitants, who produce
some excellent wine.
MONTELEONE, a city of the province of Calabria
enore, in the kingdom of Naples, the capital of a dis¬
trict bearing the title of a dukedom. It was destroyed
y e eaithquake of 1783, but has been since re-establish-
_ ’ ai). n°w contains 6650 inhabitants, who furnish large
q MntM*r^T0T1!Tand of silk’ and weave silk goods.
, TELIMART, an arrondissement of the depart-
427
Montes¬
quieu.
ment of the Dome, in France, 510 square miles in extent. Montella
It comprehends five cantons, divided into sixty-eight
communes, and contains 51,300 inhabitants. The capital
is the city of the same name, situated at the junction ofs
the river Abron with the Roubrion. It is regularly built, with
wide streets, and contains an old castle, about 1000 houses,
and 5900 inhabitants, the greater part of whom are Pro¬
testants, and have been so for a long period, as in this
distuct the doctrine of John Calvin was first introduced,
and thence rapidly spread in France. There are some ex¬
tensive tanneries, and also several mills for spinning both
s!lk and cotton ; and the trade in wine, olives, oil, and raw
silk, is extensive. Long. 4. 40. E. Lat. 44. 33. 38. N.
MONTELLA, a city of the kingdom of Naples, in’the
province Pnncipato Ulteriore. It contains eight churches
and a large Franciscan convent, and has 5750 inhabitants.
MONTE MAGGIORE, a town of the kingdom of
Naples, in the island of Sicily, and province of Mazzara,
thirty-six miles from Palermo. It is situated on the river
Torto, on the declivity of a fine mountain, and is mode¬
rately healthy. It contains 6100 inhabitants.
MON IE PELOSO, a city, the seat of a bishop, in the
province of Basilicata, of the kingdom of Naples, with a
cathedra], four churches, four monasteries, and 5834 in¬
habitants.
MONTEPULCIANO, a city of the duchy of Tuscany,
in Italy, the capital of a district of the same name. It
contains a cathedral, a Catholic ecclesiastical seminary,
and about 2100 inhabitants, who grow some of the best
wine of the duchy.
MONTESARCHIO, a city of the kingdom of Naples,
in the province of Principato Ulteriore, on the great road
from Puglia. It contains seven churches, and 5573 inha¬
bitants, whose chief trade is in corn.
MONTESQUIEU, Charles de Secondat, Baron de,
the celebrated author of the Esprit des Loix, was descend¬
ed of an ancient and noble family of Guienne, and born on the
18th of January 1689, at the castle of La Brede, near Bor¬
deaux, where he passed his early days, and composed those
works which have acquired for their author an imperish¬
able reputation. His father having early discovered in him
indications of genius, and a promise of future eminence,
bestowed the utmost pains on his education, which appears
to have been conducted with equal judgment and success ;
and being destined for the magistracy, he employed the
energies of his active mind in studying the immense col¬
lection of the different codes, and in endeavouring to de¬
tect the motives and unravel the complicated relations of
the obscure or contradictory laws contained in them. His
taste for this study was insatiable; and if it proved the source
of his future glory, it was also that of his greatest happiness.
Fie has himself stated, that he never had to reproach him¬
self with an hour of reading wasted or mis-spent. He re¬
cruited his mind with books of history and travels when
exhausted with his arid labours upon jurisprudence, and
had a high relish for the productions of the classical ages
of Gieece and Rome. Enchanted, as he says, with anti¬
quity, he, at the age of twenty, composed a work, in the
form of letters, wherein he sought to prove that the ido¬
latry of the pagans did not appear to deserve eternal dam¬
nation ; but this first production of his genius he wisely
abstained from giving to the world. On the 24th of Febru¬
ary I? 14 he was received as counsellor to the parliament
of Bordeaux, and, on the 13th of July 1716, he was, through
the influence of his paternal uncle, named president amor-
tier. The same year he was admitted into the academy of
Bordeaux, which had been recently founded by a number
of persons possessing a common taste for music and works
of entertainment. Conceiving, however, that its object was
too limited, and desirous to extend the sphere of its utility,
he undertook to convert this coterie of wits into a learned
428
Montes¬
quieu.
MONTESQUIEU.
society; and his views in this respect were warmly se¬
conded by the Duke of La Force, who founded a prize, and
held out several other inducements to the cultivation of
science. Montesquieu thought with D’Alembert, that an
experiment well performed was preferable to a feeble dis¬
course or a bad poem; and having succeeded in impress¬
ing others with the same conviction, he thus became in¬
strumental in establishing at Bordeaux an academy of
sciences. As a member of this learned association, he
contributed his contingent of memoirs or communications,
chiefly on subjects connected with natural history, a spe¬
cies of study for which he had a particular taste. But his
physical constitution disqualified him for that minute ob¬
servation which is essential to the successful prosecution
of this particular science. He was not only short-sighted,
but his vision was weak; and this infirmity increased so
much with time, that, towards the close of his life, he be¬
came almost blind. It may also be observed, that, at the
period when Montesquieu applied himself to natural his¬
tory, the fundamental principles of that science had not
yet been established. In 1719, he circulated, by means of
the journals, an Histoire Physique de la Terre ancienne et
moderne; and he read successively to the academy of Bor¬
deaux a dissertation Sur la Politique des Rornains dans
la Religion, an Eloge du Due de La Force, and a Vie du
Marechal de Berwick, a production which in several points
recalls the manner of Tacitus.
Montesquieu, however, was by no means in haste to
appear before the public in the character of author. He
preferred waiting until his faculties were ripened by time
and matured by reflection ; nor was it until the year 1721
that he entered upon his literary career, by the publica¬
tion of the Lettres Persanes, the first idea of which seems
to have been borrowed from the Siamois of the Amuse-
mens Serieux et Comiques of Dufresny, though, in works
of genius, the primary conception is of little moment com¬
pared with the execution. The success of the Lettres
Persanes, and the influence which they exercised, were
unparalleled. This is to be ascribed to two causes; the
circumstances of the period at which the book appeared,
and the form, adapted to every class of readers, into which
it was cast. Disastrous wars, cruel persecutions, and ri¬
gorous seasons, followed by famine and misery, the natu¬
ral attendants of these scourges, had darkened the close
of a reign, during the brilliant days of which the French
people, intoxicated with the glory and success of their
king, had contemplated their own grandeur as reflected in
his greatness and splendour ; and even when great public
misfortunes had produced general discontent, the habit of
obedience and the fear inspired by a monarch whose will
neither age nor reverses could bend, preserved a respect¬
ful silence around. But no sooner had Louis XIV. de¬
scended to the grave than the nation appeared to indemnify
itself for the constraint which he had so long exercised over
it; and in this it was powerfully seconded by the regent, who
had assumed the reins of government. Then libertinism
succeeded to devotion, effrontery to hypocrisy, familiarity
to respect, audacity to submission. The liberty of saying
or writing any thing with impunity led men to examine
and to combat all that had been agreed to without opposi¬
tion, or even assented to with enthusiasm. In the midst of
the general effervescence thus produced appeared the book
of the Lettres Persanes. From the shape into which it
was cast, it had all the attractions of a romance ; it abound¬
ed in voluptuous details, which flattered the taste of the
age for pleasure, and in irreligious sarcasms, which gra¬
tified its tendency to infidelity; and it treated with con¬
tempt Louis XIV. and his reign, which people now sought
to depreciate. But it must nevertheless be admitted,
that, with all these faults, the book displays an ardent love
for the welfare of mankind; a courageous zeal for the
triumph of reason and virtue; luminous views upon com- Monts
merce, public law, criminal jurisprudence, and the dearest quiev
interests of nations ; a penetrating insight into the vicess w
of society, as well as those of governments ; and, generally,
strong evidence of profound reflection, which takes the read¬
er the more by surprise that it seems to be the constant
object of the author to disguise it under the mask of fri¬
volity. Its principal attraction, however, and that which
won the suffrages of all, consisted in the keen, animated,
sprightly satire of French manners and caprices, and in a
style always lively, sparkling, full of happy innuendoes and
unexpected contrasts, the pointed irony of which some¬
times rose to the most energetic eloquence.
Four years after the publication of the Lettres Persanes,
Montesquieu caused to be printed separately, in 1725, the
Temple de Guide, an ingenious trifle, though cold and
without interest, being equally devoid of easy wit or na¬
tural grace, and which Madame du Defiant happily called
the Apocalypse of Gallantry. It appears, by a letter writ¬
ten long after the publication of the Temple de Guide,
that the author declined to acknowledge this slight pro¬
duction, which he had composed for the amusement of
some friends, in whose society he was accustomed to
mingle at the house of a lady of his acquaintance. The
same year, at the opening of the parliament of Bordeaux,
he delivered a discourse on the duties of magistrates,
advocates, attorneys, and all those connected with the
administration of law; which, though but little noticed,
is written in a flowing style and full of unction, differ¬
ent from the ordinary manner of Montesquieu, and in
that vein of eloquence which addresses itself more to
the sentiments than to the reason of men. In 1726, he
sold his office and withdrew from the magistracy, the du¬
ties of which he had so well described. The desire to re¬
gain his freedom, and apply himself entirely to philoso¬
phy and letters, was no doubt one of his motives ; but the
principal cause of this determination seems to have been
a sense of inadequacy to fill the situation in which he was
placed. That continual presence of mind, that prompt
and ready judgment, that attentive patience which traces
throughout all its details the subterfuges of private in¬
terest, and that facility of elocution which displays truth
and justice the instant they are discerned, rendering them
at once triumphant; in these qualities, so indispensable in
a judge, Montesquieu was, by his own account, entirely
deficient. He informs us, indeed, that his whole merit as
president consisted in rectitude of purpose, and under¬
standing sufficiently the questions themselves ; but that he
had never been able to master the forms of procedure, al¬
though he had applied himself to the subject. .
Being now at liberty to devote himself exclusively to phi¬
losophy and letters, he presented himself as a candidate for
the place in the French Academy, vacant by the death of
M. de Sacy; but Cardinal Fleury wrote to the academy
that the king had declared he would not give his appro¬
bation to the author of a work containing impious sarcasms
against religion. Montesquieu, however, though at once
amazed and offended by the refusal of the king an i
minister, contrived, by a little address, to propitiate e
cardinal; he asserted his claim with firmness and d'g11*"’
yet disavowed those letters of the book which foyme^
legitimate ground of objection against him. The king
appeased by the intervention of the minister, and, on
24th of January 1728, he was received into the academI’. ^
which occasion he delivered an inaugural discourse, w i
is printed amongst his works. Montesquieu having acco
plished this object, resolved to travel, and, in the cour
his peregrinations, visited almost all the countries o
rope. He proceeded first to Vienna, where he °flen .
Prince Eugene; he then passed into Hungary, whcnc
journeyed to Italy, and at Venice became acquainted
MONTESQUIEU.
es- John Law of Lauriston, who, from the height of grandeur,
u- wealth, and celebrity, had fallen into obscurity, neglect, and
““'poverty, and also with the Count de Bonneval, who had
as yet only gone through part of the cycle of his roman¬
tic adventures. From Venice he proceeded to Rome,
where he became acquainted with Cardinal Corsini, after¬
wards Clement XII., and with Cardinal Polignac, author
of the Anti-Lucrdce. He next visited Genoa, but having
met with a cold reception there, he soothed his ill humour
by writing some satirical stanzas, which, however, he did
not think fit to print. From Italy he passed into Swit¬
zerland, and traversing the different countries watered by
the Rhine, stopped some time in Holland, where he met
Lord Chesterfield, with whom he had become acquainted at
Venice. He then visited England, where he resided about
two years, was admitted a member of the Royal Society,
and treated with marked distinction by Queen Caroline.
On his return to his own country, he retired to his castle
at La Brede, where he resumed his favourite pursuits. He
had either before or during his travels caused to be print¬
ed in Holland a little work entitled Reflexions sur la Mo¬
narchic universelle, which is now but little known, and ex¬
tremely rare, though it is referred to by the author himself
in a passage of the Esprit des Loix.1 The object of this
piece was to prove that, in the actual state of the modern
nations of Europe, it is impossible even for the ablest and
most ambitious of sovereigns to establish an universal mo¬
narchy.
After two years spent in his retreat at La Brede, Montes¬
quieu published, in 1734, his Considerations sur les Causes
de la Grandeur et de la Decadence des Romains; a work
which, if not the most remarkable, is perhaps the most
finished of all his productions, and in which he had to
enter into competition with several eminent men, both
amongst the ancients and the moderns, particularly Poly¬
bius, Machiavelli, Saint-Evremond, and Bossuet. But Po-
lybms, though a learned geographer, a skilful warrior, an
adroit negociator, and a profound thinker, was a prolix his-
toiian and an indifferent writer. Machiavelli had selected
certain facts of Roman history, rather as examples than as
tie principal subject of his reflections on politics. Saint-
vremond, full of ingenious views, but deficient in general
m ormation, and not very intimately acquainted with facts,
las eft his judgments imperfect and hisanalyses incomplete,
nossuet, having to consider the history of the Romans
mere y as a portion of that of the world, has contented
nmself with an outline embracing only the principal points.
Montesquieu is the first writer who has grappled with this
great subject in all its details, and who compared all the
tacts with laborious sagacity. He has overlooked none
wnich can afford matter for reflection, or warrant any infer-
re i? irPPor*;ance, and yet he has managed to compress
tne whole into a volume of moderate thickness. The Dia-
ogue de Sylla et d’Eucrate, which is subjoined to this
owe, and may be considered as forming part of it, is one
ose productions in which Montesquieu has displayed
i ie greatest eloquence ; and with this may be classed an-
u-i/k n?t 'ess remarkable, namely, Lysimaque, in
men he has delineated, in a manner altogether sublime,
nan S^S S^°tctsrn which raised man above the ordi-
y weaknesses of his nature, and enabled him to brave
flip •• ev®n w*th Pride, the cruelties of tyrants and
the imqmues of fortune.
Knrna!,ConS,iderations on the Grandeur and Decline of the
s ma e us acquainted with the history of a single
429
people; but Montesquieu had long been engaged in study- Montes-
ing that of all other nations, in discovering the causes of quieu.
those revolutions which had successively changed the face' 
i ^i6 and in investigating those laws and customs
which had contributed to their prosperity or decline. The
success of the treatise on the Roman people, which in some
sort formed only a detached portion of the vast plan he had
conceived, served to increase his ardour in the execution of
so great an undertaking, to the completion of which fourteen
more years of incessant labour were devoted. Sometimes
he thought that he advanced rapidly, and would speedily
accomplish hisdesign; at other times he appeared to recede,
and to become perplexed by the immensity and complication
of the subject. At length, after twenty years of unremit-
ting application, he had the satisfaction to put the last hand
to a production upon which he had expended so much anxi¬
ous labour and meditation, and which he entitled EEsprit
des Loix. But before sending this work to the press, he
judged it prudent to consult one of his intimate friends,
whose talents and knowledge he respected ; and with this
view he sent his manuscript to Helvetius. The latter, how¬
ever, was so little satisfied with the production after perusal,
and so much alarmed for the danger to which the reputa¬
tion of Montesquieu would be exposed by the publication
of a work which he considered as so defective, that at first
he did not venture to express what he thought of it, and
solicited the author’s permission to communicate the manu¬
script to a common friend, Saurin, the author of Spartacus.
I he latter coincided in opinion with Helvetius, and both
agieed that, by the publication of this book, the celebrated
author of the Lettres Persanes would injure his reputation,
and lower himself in the estimation of the world. After
some hesitation, this extraordinary judgment was communi¬
cated to Montesquieu, accompanied with an earnest en¬
treaty on the part of both that he would subject the whole
to careful revision, and upon no account publish the work
m the crude and imperfect state in which it then appeared.
.he strange counsels of these friends, however, had so
little influence on Montesquieu, that he sent the manuscript
to the press without altering a word, prefixing this epigraph,
Prolem sine matre creatain, to indicate that his work had no
model; and, as if to mark still more strongly how little he
was moved by their unfavourable judgment, he congratu¬
lated himself, in his preface, on having produced a work
which was not altogether destitute of genius. Nor did the
result disappoint the just expectations he had formed. Its
success was in fact so great, that in little more than a year
and a half after its publication, it had gone through twenty-
two editions, and been translated into almost every lan¬
guage of Europe. The Esprit des Loix appeared about the
middle of the year 1748, and before the end of the year
1750 its reputation was universal.
If the Spirit of Laws, however, was much read, much
admired, and much praised, the work, like all those which
have produced a great impression, was also much criticised.
Madame du Defiant said of it, that it was not Vesprit des
loix, but de 1'esprit sur les loix, a saying which had just that
degree of ttuth which gives currency to an epigram. Those
who penetrated to a greater depth, and understood the
difficult questions he had treated, perceived that, although
the author had refuted some paradoxes of the Abbe Dubois,
he had himself fallen into grave errors ; that not having
sufficiently examined the foundations of the feudal system,
he had conceived too favourable an opinion of that form of
government; that in order to establish certain principles, he
“CeciapanUiy a pluTd^ingt ans^ans^in^pHt^’, ChaP’ 22’ tom\ii; P-27L of the edition of Lequien, and is in these terms :
des Lmx appeared in 1748 • and^if Hip « U« n6tlt 0llvrafe manusent de 1 auteur, qui a e'te' presque fondu dans celui-ci.” The Esprit
^ar 1727, or perhaps a lit’tle earlier ^ 7 " plUS de ^ ans” be exacl’ this ^tle work must have been written about Ure
430
MONTESQUIEU.
Montes- drew his examples from suspected travellers or discredited
quieu. authors; that from particular instances he too frequently de-
 v ' duced general conclusions ; that a certain degree of neolo¬
gism and obscurity appeared in his definitions, and an un¬
common use of the ordinary words of language in the
enunciation of the fundamental principles of his theory.
He was also censured for having attributed to the influence
of climate and to physical causes effects which are due
solely to moral causes; for having frittered down some sub-
iects into small chapters which have often insignificant or
indeterminate titles; for having brought together others
which have little or no connection with those which pre¬
cede and follow them ; and for being often so deficient in
method and arrangement, that his work, as a whole, is ir¬
regular, although many of the parts are exceedingly fine,
and that it appears to be in some sort an admirable c0 ec‘
tion of fragments, made for the purpose of being after¬
wards arranged and moulded into a regular and systematic
form. Lastly, he has been charged with some confusion of
ideas, certain forced turns of expression, and a style some¬
times strained, and frequently laboured. But although
these criticisms appear to be well founded, the reputation
of Montesquieu was greatly enhanced by the publication
of the Spirit of Laws; and it may be said with truth, that
this work alone would have been sufficient to insure him
lasting renown, and to constitute a noble monument of his
genius, sagacity, and wisdom. For some observations equal¬
ly liberal, profound, and discriminating, on the work in
question, the reader is referred to the first Pieliminaiy Dis-
sertation (part i. sect. hi. p. 94, et seq.).
Montesquieu had resolved not to reply to any of the ci iti-
cisms which might be made on the Esprit des Loix ; but
the attacks of an anonymous author, who, in a journal call¬
ed Nouvelles Ecclesiastiques, had, amongst other things, re¬
presented him as an atheist, induced him to deviate from
this resolution. In the Lvttrcs Parso^ncs he had treated
the Christian religion with too much levity ; but afterwards,
when his mind was fully matured by age, study, and re¬
flection, he had seen cause to alter his views; and hence,
in the Esprit des Loix, he recommends Christianity in ex¬
pressive terms, not only as the most perfect of all religious
systems, but also as the most powerful support of the whole
social system. He therefore deemed it of impoitance to
repel the calumnious insinuations of the ecclesiastical jour¬
nalist; and at the same time he wished to refute by anti¬
cipation the theologians of the Sorbonne, who, being dis¬
satisfied with some passages in the Esprit des Loix, were
proceeding to condemn the work. It was with this double
purpose that he wrote his Defense, which may be con¬
sidered as a model of solid discussion, light pleasantry,
and contemptuous moderation. “ What pleases me in my
Defense? said he, “ is not seeing the venerable theologians
gravelled; it is seeing them laid gently upon their backs.”
But he took no notice whatever of a crowd of brochures,
filled with absurd criticisms or gross abuse, which appear¬
ed against the Spirit of Laws. The public, said he, avenge
me on the one by their contempt, and on the other by
their indignation.
The appearance of a book like the Spirit of Laws natu¬
rally formed an epoch in political and literary history ; but
its effect was different in different countries, being great¬
est in Britain, where it obtained a reputation, which has
since continued to increase, and least in France, where its
influence was and still is but small. This may be account¬
ed for partly from the different circumstances in which
these countries were respectively placed, and partly also
from the fact that, whilst Montesquieu pointed out the
hazards to which the British constitution was exposed from
the incessant conflicts of a tyrannical oligarchy and a tur¬
bulent democracy, he had confined his researches to the
dark ages of the French monarchy, in regard to which his
efforts were doubtful, and his conclusions disputed. But if Mo
his work did not prove as useful to his country as he had qu
hoped, the reputation which he acquired in his lifetimew
far exceeded that which men of letters can ordinarily aspire
to obtain. He was considered throughout all Europe as
the legislator of nations, and the founder of the philosophy
of jurisprudence and politics. But, far from being dazzled
by this high reputation, he continued to live like a sage,
and to enjoy the society of his friends, dividing his time
between his castle of La Brede and Paris, that is, between
study and the world. In the country, he occupied himself
with gardening and agricultural improvements, and, though
jealous of his seignorial rights, was much beloved by the
peasantry, whose comfort and happiness it was his object
to promote. In the capital he was always a welcome guest,
although simple and somewhat negligent in his dress, as
well as in his conversation. He was always disposed to
render justice to talents, and to relieve merit in distress.
One day he received from Henry Sully, an English artist,
who had greatly contributed to improve horology in France,
the following letter: “lam tempted to hang myself, but
I believe nevertheless that I should not do so if I had an
hundred crowns.” To this Montesquieu immediately re¬
plied : “ I send you an hundred crowns, my dear Sully;
do not hang yourself, and come to see me.’
Although in some of his opinions Montesquieu inclined to
the sect of the philosophers, like Buffbn, and Duclos, and
many others, yet he kept aloof from the men, because he
loved neither the proselytism of impiety, nor the excesses
of the spirit of cabal. Nor was this the only cause of his
estrangement from Voltaire. Being in a great measure in¬
sensible to the charms of verse, he thought the reputation
of that celebrated man usurped, and did not hesitate to
express his opinion to that effect; whilst Voltaire, on the
other hand, was by no means sparing in malignant reflections
and bitter criticisms. In fact, they mutually accused each
other of having too much wit, and frequently abusing it
in their writings. But Voltaire had an exquisite sense of
literary merit, which triumphed over his strongest antipa¬
thies; and, under its benign influence, he did justice to the
author of the Spirit of Laws, by observing, that when the
human race had lost their titles, Montesquieu found and
restored them; a fine thought, notwithstanding the epigram¬
matic form in which it is expressed. But whatever might
be his sentiments in regard to Voltaire and the other men
of letters of his time, it was only in conversation, or in the
intimacy of familiar intercourse, that he allowed the se¬
cret of his opinions to escape ; he never wrote against any
of his contemporaries, and conducted himself with a dig¬
nity and wisdom which were the effect of the moderation
of his passions, as well as the result of reflection. At t e
solicitation of D’Alembert and the Chevalier de Jaucourt,
Montesquieu, having completed the Esprit des Zoix, con¬
sented to write for the Encyclopedic, and composed tor
that work the Essai sur le Gout, some inedited chapters ot
which were afterwards published in the Archives Littercures
(tom. ii. p. 301). c i v it
It appears that soon after the publication of the tispru
des Loix, his physical strength diminished rapidly, an no
longer corresponded to his ardour in literary pursuits, e
had conceived the design, as he informs us in his journa,
of giving greater extension and depth to several par s
the Spirit of Laws ; but he found that he had become mca,
pable of carrying his intention into effect. “ Mes lectures,
says he, “ m’ont affaibli les yeux ; et il me semble que
qu’il me reste encore de lumiere, n’est que faurore du jo
ou ils se fermeront pour jamais.” And in fact he die so
afterwards, on the 10th of February 1755, at the age
sixty-six, that is, only seven years after the pubhea m
his great work. He was attacked at Paris with a vioie
inflammatory fever, which, in spite of every effoit to
MON
s- its progress, carried him off after an illness of about a fort¬
night. But the benignity of his character sustained him
to the last moment; no complaint, no sign of impatience,
' escaped him. He knew from the first that he was in
^ imminent danger, and occasionally asked his physicians,
“ Comment va 1’esperance a la crainte ?” The Jesuits tried
to gain him over in his last moments, and, with this view,
sent to him Fathers Routh and Castel, who were accused,
most probably with injustice, of exercising their ministry
with undue importunity. He observed to them, “ I have
always respected religion; the morality of the Gospel is
the finest present which God has made to men.” As the
Jesuits pressed him to put into their hands the corrections
he had made on the Leltres Persanes, that- the irreligious
passages might be effaced, he refused to comply with their
request; but he afterwards placed the manuscript in the
hands of the Duchess of Aiguillon and Madame Dupre de
Saint-Maur, saying, “ I wish to sacrifice everything to
religion, but nothing to the Jesuits; consult with my
friends, and decide if this ought to appear.” Nevertheless,
he received the viaticum from the hands of the parish
priest, who, at the same time, observed to him. “ Monsieur,
vous comprenez combien Dieu est grand“ Oui,” re¬
plied the dying philosopher, “ et combien les hommes sont
petits.”
Montesquieu left a great number of manuscripts. They
consist of, 1. A little romance, entitled Ze Metempsyco-
siste, by no means worthy of the author of the Lettres Per-
sanes; 2. Morceaux qui n ont put entrer dans VEsprit des
Loix, etqui peuvent former des dissertations particulieres,
amongst which are one on Paternal Authority, another on
Verbal Obligations, and a third on Successions ; 3. Three
large volumes in quarto, bound, consisting of extracts
made by him in the course of his reading, with reflections
annexed. In these volumes there are several original
pieces of considerable extent, particularly a sort of intro¬
duction to the history of Louis XL, which is considered
as equal to any thing that Montesquieu ever wrote. In
this fragment, he commences by tracing a general view of
the political situation of Europe when Louis XL mounted
the throne; he shows that it was eminently favourable to
this king, and that what has been commonty ascribed to his
ability was only the necessary result of the circumstances
m winch he was placed; he then points out the great things
which he might have achieved, but did not perform, add¬
ing that, m the beginning of his reign, Louis saw nothing
out the commencement of his vengeance; he next de-
scri es th6 horrible cruelties wnich accompanied the last
) ears o the reign of this tyrant; and he ends by drawing
a parallel between Louis XL and Cardinal Richelieu,
w ych is altogether to the advantage of the latter, of whom
1 is observed that he made his sovereign play a second
part in the monarchy, but the first in Europe, that he de-
graaed the king, but illustrated his reign. The import¬
ance o this fragment cannot fail to increase our regret that
ic istory to which it was intended to serve as an intro-
uc ion, and which is believed to have been completed by
^ on esquieu, should have been destroyed, as is said, by
e care essness or stupidity of his secretary. But those
oare best informed in regard to all that concerns Mon-
squieu are of opinion that the account commonly given
at v e. estruc;tjon of the manuscript is apocryphal, being
mvt; ri^nc,e Wlt^ th*3 known habits of the author, who was
draii^u^u care^ preserving not only the rough
thp n 1 S> — even niaterials which he had employed in
an ArP°Sltl™0f wor^s- He is said to have written
in a Vo?""1 °* ].1S Havels, which, if it exists at all, must be
terrp . ect state ; and as to the Notes sur VAngle-
know nnfr T sonie t^le Hst editions of his works, we
which bp 11,et ler were extracted from the materials
at prepared for the Eolation de ses Voyages.
MON
431
Montesquieu has said of Tacitus, that he abridged every
thing because he saw every thing. This fine eulogium
has been applied to Montesquieu himself, and these great
men have often been compared. But geniuses of this or¬
der have each a particular character of originality, which
invalidates such comparisons, and falsifies all the simili¬
tudes that are sought to be established between them.
Were it necessary to determine the precise degrees of pre¬
eminence which distinguish Tacitus and Montesquieu, it
might be said that the French surpasses the Latin author
in the variety and extent of his knowledge, in the grandeur
of his conceptions, and in the abundance of his thoughts,
but that he yields to the Roman in respect of talent and
eloquence ; that, in a word, he is greater as a philosopher,
but inferior as a writer. Tacitus invariably sustains the
dignity of his expressions on a level with the importance
of his subject ; he impairs not the gravity of his style by
ingenious antithesis; and he is careful never to enervate
his energetic phraseology, nor to enfeeble the vigour of his
narrative, by the graces of wit or the artifices of rhetoric.
His penetration and sagacity, fortified by the study of se¬
vere models, no less than by his own natural character, saved
him from the commission of such faults. But it is not
so with Montesquieu, of whose manner as a writer, if we
desired to convey an idea by referring to ancient exam¬
ples, we should say that it consisted of several of the
finest qualities of Tacitus, and many of the brilliant defects
of Seneca. /A \
MON IE VIDEO, CisrLATiNo, or Banda Orientae,
a tract of country in South America, which for some time
was the subject of an obstinate war between Brazil and the
united provinces of La Plata. It has Brazil on the east
and north-east ; on the west and north-west it is separated
from Entre Rios and other provinces of La Plata, as also
from Paraguay, by the river Uruguay ; and on the south it
is washed by the Atlantic and the Rio de la Plata. It is
somewhat of a conical form, rounded at the bottom, and
bending to one side towards the apex, which is situated in
latitude 2/° 3|)' south. At the broadest it extends over
five degrees of longitude; and Monte Video, the capital,
which lies nearly in the centre of the base, is situated in
latitude 34° 50' south, and longitude 56° 20' west. It re¬
ceived its name of Banda Oriental from its position with
respect to the Uruguay ; but this was changed to Monte
Video when it was erected into an independent republic.
This country, the first which salutes the eye of the Euro¬
pean traveller on entering the Rio de la Plata, is equally dis¬
tinguished for salubrity of climate, fertility of soil, natural
beauty, and geographical position. In these respects it is
superior to any of the provinces of La Plata, or the repub¬
lics of Buenos Ayres and Brazil. Fertility is indeed cha¬
racteristic of the whole of these countries, but the land is
exceedingly flat and monotonous. The surface of Monte
Video, on the contrary, is diversified by an endless varie¬
ty of hills and valleys; and yet scarcely an unproductive
spot is to be found. A Spanish traveller thus speaks of it:
“ The whole country abounds in excellent pastures, and not
a single spot of ground is left waste. The pastures are of
excellent quality, and fertilized in an astonishing manner
by the irrigation of many rivers, rivulets, and springs. At
each step the traveller finds himself agreeably surprised
by meeting with streams of pure and salubrious water,
which tend to enhance the charms of the surrounding
scenery, consisting of a constant succession of hills, emi¬
nences, meadows, wilds, rugged defiles, and mountains,
with which all the territory abounds.” The principal
river is the Uruguay, which rises amongst the mountains
of Brazil, and, after traversing the province of Rio Grande,
sweeps past the north-western and down the western li¬
mits of Monte Video. It is celebrated for its volume of
water, but is only navigable for the space of sixty leagues,
Monte
Video.
432
M O N
M O N
Monte
Video.
on account of a slight fall, which, however, might be easi¬
ly avoided by a regular canal along one ot its sides, a wor
' of little difficulty. The most considerable tributary ot the
Uruguay is thekgro, which is likewise the larg-1 mer
in the province. It originates in a ridge of hills, whic
runs northward from Maldonado and Monte Video, and is
navigable for some leagues above its junction with the
principal stream. The scenery of the Rio Negro is cele
brated for its beauty, its banks being delightfully Ringed
with various shrubs, particularly the sarsaparilla plant
which is reputed at certain seasons to impart medici
properties to the water. A bend of the river before its
function surrounds a fertile, lozenge-shaped piece ot
ground, so as nearly to isolate it. This is called Rmcorn de
Gallinas, and it was found extremely useful du ing tl e
war as a place of refuge for the cattle, a dike having bee^
run across the narrow isthmus. The Gualeguay s c
S nearly the same size as the Negro. The other streams
of note Le the Ybicui, Cibollati, Yi, St Lucia, Guegisay,
Diaman, Arapei, Guarey, Ohmar, Pardo, Tac"arh
ron, and Tacuarembo. The immense currents of these
rivers are formed by a multitude of rivulets, many of them,
very considerable, which run in all directions, excepting
an elevated ridge of land which crosses the whole coun¬
try, and is called Cuchilla Grande. Almost all these rivers
mio-ht be rendered navigable with little trouble throughou
the greater part of their courses. Those that are easi y
navigated,besides the two already mentioned, are tne tebol-
lati and St Lucia. For ten or fifteen leagues from the
banks of all the principal rivers, the country has been occu¬
pied by grazing farms; but the centre and northward por¬
tion of the province is wild, and covered with wood ; and
northward, beyond latitude 30°, the trees acquire consider¬
able magnitude, and are suitable for all purposes of house
and ship building. These are floated down the Uruguay,
and, when the river is full, pass over the falls of Salto Grande
and Salto Chico without difficulty. As the grazing business
produces such immense profit to those who possess capi¬
tals laid out in estates, of which there are soijie of immense
size, agriculture as a speculation has occupied but little
attention. The soil, however, is capable of producing
abundantly, and almost without labour, all kinds of gram,
fruit, and vegetables. A traveller thus speaks of the cli¬
mate and the productions of Monte Video : “ The fruits,
peaches, grapes, figs, oranges, apples, &c. are exceedingly
fine. In this enchanting climate, with the exception ot
a few of the tropical fruits, all the fruits most esteemed
ripen in great perfection in the open air. In fact, I be¬
lieve that the climate is surpassed by none in the world,
not even by that of Italy or the south of France. It ex¬
periences neither the sultry heat of summer nor the chil¬
ling blast of winter.”1 .
The city of Monte Video, the capital of the republic, is
situated on the northern bank of the Rio de la Plata, near
its mouth, 120 miles north-east from Buenos Ayres, in lati¬
tude 34° 50' south, and longitude 56° 20' west. It is built
on a small peninsula, which projects forwrards, and consti¬
tutes the eastern boundary of the harbour. On the oppo¬
site isthmus a strong fort is erected, and the town is still
further secured by a wall and ditch, and several minor
forts. On the opposite side of the harbour rises the hill
of Monte Video, also surmounted by a fort, which, along
with those already mentioned, commands the harbour. The
town rises gradually from the harbour, and presents a
handsome appearance as it is approached from the shore.
Like Buenos Ayres and other places built by the Spaniards,
Monte Video is disposed in regular squares all nearly of a
uniform size. The streets are wide, well paved, and cross
each other at right angles. There is a plaza aoout 150
yards square at the upper end of the town, the west side
of which is occupied by the cathedral, a large and hand¬
some brick edifice, surmounted by a cupola, covered with
glazed tiles; and on the east side is thebarracks. The houses
are chiefly one story in height, and are built of stone
or brick, with.flat roofs without chimneys. The better
sort of houses are generally built round a square area or
court, the sitting rooms being on the side next tlm street,
the lodging rooms in the two wings, and the inferior
apartments at the back. Provisions here are cheap and
in great abundance. Monte Video is a most excellent po¬
sition for commerce. It is central for collecting and ex¬
porting the produce of the province, and for distributing
the goods imported in return. It is also very superior to
Buenos Ayres as an intermediate port for the tranship¬
ment of goods from the larger vessels which arrive from
distant countries into smaller vessels fitted to navigate the
Parana and Uruguay, because the channel of deep water
runs along the north side of the Rio de la Plata. Indeed, from
various circumstances, this port is the best on the Plata.
The exports consist of tallow, hides, and salt beef; and
the imports are manufactured goods, coffee, sugar, and the
like. The atmosphere at this place is humid ; storms are
not unfrequent in summer; and in the winter months,
June, July, and August, the cold is sometimes severe.
The climate of the capital, therefore, is not equal to that
of the interior parts of the country. Monte Video was
built by a Spanish colony from Buenos Ayres, and for a long
period formed an object of ambition to Portugal. Vhen
the former shook off the Spanish yoke, the Brazilian court
seized the opportunity of taking possession of it ; but it was
recovered, after a long siege, in 1814, and retaken by the
Brazilians in 1821. By the treaty of 1828 it became the
capital of the republic, which was called by the same name.
The population cannot be estimated with any exactness;
it may be from 15,000 to 20,000. • m i
The place next in importance to Monte Video is Mal¬
donado, which is situated upon a bay of the same ^ name,
lying more immediately at the mouth of the river than the
capital. By some writers it is considered as preferable to
Monte Video for a place of anchorage and shelter. It stands
on the brow of a hill, rising gently to the height of
feet above the level of the sea. Immediately off the coast
lie two islands, Lobos and Gorrete. Under cover 0
latter, which stands in the mouth of the naiJour, and i
noticed for the growth of stick-Fquorice, a small numbe
of ships may ride in safety in all weathers. The pnncipa
buildings form a quadrangle, on the north side of which is
a considerable inn, and on the south side a spacious churc ,
whilst the rest of the square is occupied by common hat)
tations. The houses in the streets issuing from the square,
or running parallel to its sides, are chiefly low, a
structed of earth. The whole number is about 2o0, a
the inhabitants amount to about 1000. A Placa b , ig
ing the same name is situated about nine miles r
town towards the north-east, and is said to have been
merly the chief place in the district.
Northward of Maldonado the coast continues low to «
Rio Grande, in lat. 32° 15', in which parallel the Brazdia
territory commences. The soil is extremely rich, ami, m
a ridge of hills which runs northward from the ne g
hood of Maldonado, mines of gold and silver were ™
ly worked. Proceeding to the westward of Monte V d
we meet with several bays and rivers well adaPte ,
purposes of navigation, to which they will no d°ub
plied as the country advances in population. At diouS
opposite to Buenos Ayres, there is a tolerably com
Mjie
1 Brackenbridge’s Voyage to South America.
i
MON
ite harbour for large ships, which is well fortified. At Las
eo. Vacas, a few leagues farther, at the mouth of the Uruguay,
there are good anchorage and shelter for small vessels ; and
the Isle of Martin Garcia, which is near to it, is the ren¬
dezvous of ships of war. There are several other towns
and villages besides those mentioned, but none of sufficient
moment to require particular notice.
Monte Video, having been originally settled by a Spa¬
nish colony from Buenos Ayres, fell naturally under Spa¬
nish domination, but came at length to be a bone of
contention between Spain and Portugal. From its pecu¬
liar position it was a prize of no common value to either
nation. To Spain it gave the control of both sides of
the Rio de la Plata, whilst to the sister- kingdom it was
necessary to the free and secure navigation of the vast in¬
terior expanse of Brazil. During the devastating wars be¬
tween these two powers, relative to the various boundaries
of their immense South American possessions, Monte Vi¬
deo, then the Banda Oriental, was overrun and wasted,
sometimes by one party, sometimes by the other; and
their respective pretensions were differently regulated by
successive treaties. At the commencement of the revo¬
lution, the Orientalists, as the inhabitants of Monte Video
were then called, naturally joined the government of Bue¬
nos Ayres ; but in what capacity, whether as a dependent
or independent power, has not been made apparent. At
all events, when the British were expelled from the Plata,
hostilities commenced between the rival cities of Monte
Video and Buenos Ayres, during the continuance of
which the former suffered severely. For some time the
party in the Spanish interest maintained the ascendency,
notwithstanding an effort of the Creoles to follow the ex¬
ample of Buenos Ayres, in throwing off the Spanish yoke.
In 1810 the government of Buenos Ayres laid siege to
Monte Video, which was carried on at intervals, being al¬
ternately abandoned and resumed as they were successful
or otherwise against the Spanish royalists in the upper pro¬
vinces, till the close of the year 1814, when the republi¬
cans succeeded in capturing the place. During this pro¬
tracted struggle, all intercourse between the city and the
interior was necessarily cut off; and the ruinous effects of
this on trade may easily be conceived. But its calamities
did not terminate here. Not many months after the estab¬
lishment of a republican government in Monte Video (the
first acts of which were to set up a printing press, and to
open schools and colleges), the troops of Buenos Ayres
were called off to combat the enemy in the upper pro¬
vinces; and thecitysoon afterwards fell into the hands of Ar-
tjgas, a notorious brigand, and his lawless banditti. Under
| e guidance of this individual, whose authority wasabso-
ute and without the slightest control, the Orientalists gain¬
ed a victory over the Buenos-Ayreans in f815, at Gaubiju,
and thus made themselves independent of that republic.
ut the Brazilians soon found a pretext for occupying the
country Pretending an apprehension that Artigas would
spread the revolutionary contagion over Brazil, they attack-
^ im, scattered his forces, and compelled him to seek re-
/Kn y^aguay. The Brazilians maintained possession of
ie anda Oriental till 1822, when the republic, nominally
east, attached itself to Brazil under the name of the Cis-
tho me That same year Brazil separated itself from
mother country, to which for a time the Orientalists re-
pall0*] *rUe ’i on suknoission of the royal troops they
„n j6 ^P011 the Buenos-Ayreans for aid. This was granted,
hp U •!m,ate j ^le ^an(^a Oriental was formally declared to
nJni ec Buenos Ayres. But the standard of inde-
"C?v iav'ln£ been raised in 1826, war was declared
infn nr>S i u c ose l^at year by Dom Pedro, who entered
IWt, 6 ora*'e exposition of the alleged rights of Brazil,
the ran ^ 1fS waste^ Monte Video, which, whilst it was
se o quarrel, became likewise the arena where either
vviu# XV.
MON
433
party attempted to decide it. But their resources were in- Montezu-
adequate for enabling them to strike a decisive blow ; and 1Tla
the solicitations of Great Britain, which, like other neutral , . ^
nations, suffered by the war, at length procured a peace,
which was signed at Rio in August 1828. By this pacifica- mer^slnre-
tion it was in substance provided thqjt the Banda Oriental
should become an independent state, under the mutual
guarantee of the two contracting parties. Thus the war,
after having drained the resources of both Brazil and Bue¬
nos Ayres, ended in a drawn game as to the subject of the
contest. From time to time since that period, hostilities
have broken out in the various provinces situated in this
part of the South American continent; and it will require
many years of tranquillity before the great resources of
Monte Video are properly developed. According to the
official returns of 1835, the number of British and foreign
vessels employed in the import trade amounted in that
year to 893; tonnage, 89,238; the value of their cargoes
amounted to 3,095,398 dollars currency; whilst the exports,
as far as the returns have been given, are of the value of
2,765,401 dollars. The political misfortunes with which it
has been overwhelmed have greatly retarded the increase
of the population, which at present amounts to about
100,000 souls. (R. Rt R v
MONTEZUMA, or Mocte^ma, emperor or king of
Mexico when Cortes invaded that country in the year 1518.
See Mexico.
MONTFORT, an arrondissement of the department of
Ule Vilaine, in France, extending over 390 square miles,
and containing a population of 56,800 persons. It is di¬
vided into five cantons and forty-six communes. The
capital, of the same name, stands on the river Meu, near its
junction with the Chaillon. Its walls are dilapidated, and
it contains only 1250 inhabitants.
MONTGOMERY, a borough and market-town, the ca¬
pital of the county of that name, in North Wales, 169 miles
from London. It is situated on an elevation on the right
bank of the Severn. In ancient times it was fortified, and
had a castle, the remains of which show it to have been
an extensive pile of building, though but a small portion
of it is now entire. It is an ancient corporation, and sends
one member to parliament, in conjunction with five other
towns, viz. Llanidloes, Welshpool, Machynllaeth, New¬
town, and Llanfyllin. There is a market on Tuesday, and
six annual fairs are held. The population amounted in
1801 to 972, in 1811 to 932, in 1821 to 1062, and in 1831
to 1188.
MONTGOMERYSHIRE, an inland county of North
Wales. It is bounded on the east by Shropshire, on the
north by Denbighshire and Merionethshire, on the west by
Cardiganshire and Merionethshire, and on the south by
Radnorshire. It is of an irregular form, its greatest length
from north to south being thirty-six miles, and its mean
breadth from east to west about thirty-two miles. Its area
is estimated at 982 square miles, or 620,720 statute acres;
but it is probably overrated.
It is a county of very irregular surface, composed in the
centre of a ridge of lofty mountains, which nearly divide
it, and whence various branches project, which, though not
equal in height to the mean ridge, attain a considerable ele¬
vation. The loftiest of the mountains, Plinlimmon, or Pum-
lumon, is continued through Montgomeryshire, and enters
Merionethshire ; from its centre various streams run, some
to the east and some to the west, the former into the Se¬
vern, and the latter to the sea at Cardigan Bay. Plinlim¬
mon is, at the highest point, 2463 feet above the level of
the sea ; the other mountains which branch from it are,
Llandinam, 1898 feet, the Long Mountain, 1330, and that
on which a pillar to the memory of Lord Rodney is erect¬
ed, 1204. From the irregularity of the surface, and the
great elevations, the chief part of the county is bare, raw,
3 i
434
MON
Montgo- and barren; but in the valleys between the mountains there
meryshire. are some most delightful and fertile spots, watered by trans-
' 'lucid rivulets, and bordered with the richest forest scenery.
The rivers which run westerly from the mountain ridges
are, the Traeth-bach, the Maw, and the Dovey. The
Wye, the Severn, the Vyrnwy, and the lanat, which re¬
ceive smaller mountain torrents, run to the eastward; the
two first, which receive the others, keep nearly a parallel
course to the plains of Salop. The Severn, though at first
a mere mountain rill, and soon afterwards a rapid torrent,
speedily assumes a tranquil character, and glides through
deep vales till it enters Shropshire, and becomes the se¬
cond of our English rivers. It is the only stream navigable
in this county, but it is not passable by boats except at
periods of rain, and frequently ship timber lies on its banks
a long time, waiting for sufficient water to float it down the
stream. A canal has been constructed, connected with the
Ellesmere Canal in Shropshire ; but though completed, it
is found to be a very unproductive undertaking. I here
are some picturesque waterfalls, which invite the inspection
of travellers in this romantic county. The most remark¬
able of these is Pystyll-Rhaiadr. The brook, or rather the
river Rhaiadr (for, after rains, it deserves the latter name),
runs down a gentle declivity for a short distance, and then
suddenly precipitates itself over a perpendicular ledge,
whence it falls, rather in the form of spray than in that of
a torrent, to the depth of two hundred feet, whilst the pro-
iectino- rocks which intercept its fall produce a spectacle
and sounds that are highly terrific. This cataract appears
in its grandeur only after a wet season, for in very dry
weather it is an insignificant rill.
The agriculture of Montgomeryshire is in a very back¬
ward state ; not one eighth of the land is under the plough ;
about three eighths of it is devoted to pasture, but the
food it produces is small for the extent on which it grows.
Nearly half the county is in an uncultivated state, or co¬
vered with wood. Some few good cultivators have latterly,
in some spots, introduced the Norfolk four-course system
of turnips, barley, clover, and wheat; but it pievails to a
very limited extent, owing to the deficiency of capital
amongst the occupiers. The greater part of the arable land
is destined to produce corn without intermission till it
becomes exhausted, when it returns of itself to a very im¬
perfect and unproductive kind of pasture. Though these
remarks refer to the greater part of the county, yet a poi tion
of it adjoining to Shropshire forms an agreeable exception,
as it is well cultivated, and very prolific, especially on the
banks of the Severn. In almost every part of the county
hemp is cultivated for domestic use, in small patches ; and
themakingofitinto cloth forms the employmentof itinerant
weavers.
The cows of this county somewhat resemble the Devon¬
shire breed, and are said to have been originally brought
from that county. When removed to better pasture, and
fattened, they are highly valued by the butchers, because
they yield less offal, and collect a greater mass of flesh on
the more valuable parts of the body. The sheep are of
small size, but their mutton is exquisite. The wool is of
a very fine quality, and the best Welsh flannels are made
from it. There is a very numerous breed of small horses
in the mountainous parts of Montgomeryshire, which are
nearly in a state of nature. They are known by the name
of Merlyns, and range during the whole year through the
most elevated parts of the country. By their exposure,
and the ease with which they are subsisted, they acquire
a very hardy frame, and are capable of performing labour
far beyond what their size and apparent strength indicate.
They are driven, when required, into an enclosure, where
the best are selected from those which have attained their
third year, and the remainder are turned out to range at
large as before. Notwithstanding their diminutive size,
MON
the greater part of the commodities furnished by the Moni:
county are conveyed on their backs from one place toan-merys
otherf The valleys in this county have been long celebrat-^ ■
ed for a breed of excellent horses, introduced originally (
from the south of Spain, by the Earl of Shrewsbury, in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth. These, by various crosses, have
been much improved, and they now furnish some of the
best hunters in the kingdom, from uniting strength with
speed.
Limestone is not generally found in this county, and
rarely unmixed with argillaceous earth; so that the lime
required for building is brought from one extremity to the
other bv the canal. Coal is only found in an angle of the
county,* on the borders of Salop ; but the quantity is small,
and its combustive quality causes it to burn so rapidly as
to make it a much more expensive fuel, except in the vici¬
nity of the pits, than either wood or turf.
mineral which abounds most in the mountains ol
Montgomeryshire is lead, which is extracted in many parts
of them. The ore known by the name of galena, provincial-
ly called potters’ ore, was formerly discovered in a prodi¬
gious vein at Llangynnog ; but, after much profitable ex¬
cavation, the miners reached a fault in the vein, and its
continuance has not yet been ascertained. At Llanymy-
nach are the vestiges of mines worked in very remote pe¬
riods, which exhibit intricate recesses, and form a kind of
subterraneous labyrinth. Both copper, and lead ore are
still found in these ancient mines, and zinc in combination
with sulphuric and carbonic acids, known by the common
appellations of calamine and black-jack. A very rich lead
mine at Tallessi was formerly worked, and yielded large
profits to its owner, Sir Watkins Williams Wynne; but,
owing to a great increase of water, the working has been
discontinued. The ranges of mountains are partly com¬
posed of schistus, from which are drawn large quantities ot
slates, applied to the covering of houses, or sent to Lon¬
don and Bristol to be fitted for writing.
This was formerly one of the best wooded counties ot
North Wales, and it has, for the last seventy years, con¬
tributed to supply a great part of the best oak timber to
the royal dock-yards. The size of the Montgomeryshire
oaks has made them much prized for naval purposes; some
have been felled which have contained more than OUU cu¬
bic feet. This oak is of a remarkably good quality; but
the difficulty of conveyance has rendered the price very
low on the spots where it is grown, and formerly much ot
even the most valuable quality was used for fuel.
The only manufactures are those of woollens, made from
the fleeces of their native sheep, and mostly conhned to
flannels known through England, and highly prized, under
the denomination of Welsh flannels. They have been imi¬
tated both in Lancashire and Yorkshire, but have not been
equalled in fineness of texture, combined with softness.
The farmers, and even the cottagers, make these flannels,
and they are collected by a kind of middle-men, w
bring them to the market of Welshpool, whence they
sold to the merchants of Shrewsbury, who distribute the
over the kingdom. The annual value of those so a
market is about L.50,000, and the cost of the wool is esti¬
mated at about half that amount. ,
One member is returned to parliament by the heemn
ers for the county, and one for the towns of Montgome y
Llanidloes, Machynllaeth, Llanfyllin, Newtown, and V
P°The population of this county amounted m the year
1801 to 47,970, in 1811 to 51,931, in 1821 to 66,482,^
in 1831 to 65,700. The baptisms in the year 183 e
of males 656, and of females 644. The burials
were 498, and of females 506. The marriages
The families were 13,407, of which those chiefly emp ^
ed in agriculture were 6610; those chiefly emp )
MON
MON
435
M
M
h trade, manufactures, and handicraft, were 4198; and the
remaining 2599 were not comprised in the two preceding
M- classes. The males under twenty years of age were
^ 16,723. The occupiers of land employing labourers were
1938, those not employing labourers were 1610, and agri¬
cultural labourers were 5749. Those employed in ma¬
nufactures, or in making manufacturing machinery, were
1630 ; those employed in retail trade or handicraft as mas¬
ters were 3370; the capitalists, bankers, professional and
other educated men, were 418 ; the labourers employed in
other than agricultural labour were 976 ; and the other
males twenty years of age, except servants, were 851. The
male servants were 311, and the female 3695.
The annual value of the real property^ as assessed in
1815, amounted to L.207,286.
The most remarkable seats of noblemen and gentlemen
are, Powis Castle, Lord Powis; Lydiarth Hall, Sir W. W.
Wynne, Bart.; Llangedwen, Mr Wynne; Towyn, E. Cor¬
bet, Esq.; Llandinam, M. Stephens, Esq.; Vayner, Cap¬
tain Windus; Newton Park, Richard Shaw, Esq.
MONTH, the twelfth part of a year. See Chrono¬
logy and Calendar.
MONTI, Vicenzo, the greatest poet which Italy has pro¬
duced since the bright days of its literary glory, was born
in Romagna, on the 19th of February 1754. His father
was one of those small Italian landholders whose mode of
life is peculiarly primitive and patriarchal, and the farm¬
house, or villa, as it is called, which he occupied, was si¬
tuated amongst the vineyards and agricultural country
which lies between Fusignano and the Alfonsina, in the ter¬
ritory of Ravenna. In this rural retirement Monti pass¬
ed several years of his boyhood, without receiving any in¬
structions except from his parents; but the family having
removed to Majano, he was sent to the seminary of Faen-
za, and there he acquired an extensive knowledge of the
Latin language. His first attempt in Latin verse was sin¬
gularly unhappy; but his attachment to the Roman poets
amounted to a passion, and the second effort of his muse
was regarded by his masters as a miraculous effort of pre¬
cocious genius. By his father he was destined to follow
the profession of agriculture ; but yielding a reluctant
compliance with the wishes of his parent, and continuing to
evince a predilection for literature which was subversive
of all manual application, the elder Monti sent the youth-
mi poet to the university of Ferrara to study the legal or
medical profession. Yet even these pursuits were found
too abstract for a mind so highly imaginative and ardent,
ana ultimately Monti resigned himself wholly to the cul¬
tivation of literature and poetry. His first Italian poem
was entitled The Prophecy of Jacob; and, although an
unequal production, it contains some vigorous and even
sublime passages. About this time, the perusal of Dante
opened up to him new and splendid views of the grand
and beautiful in the poetry of his native land, and hence-
orth the bard of the Divina Commedia became his model
and his master. His admiration of Dante bordered on
i o atiy, and catching a portion of the inspiration of his
tavounte, he wrote the Vision of Ezekiel, in which he
^isplayed that grandeur of imagery and command of lan¬
guage which distinguish his compositions. Monti was at
mis time scarcely eighteen years of age.
I 18 ?.en*|ls attracted the notice of Cardinal Borghese,
io took him under his protection, and conducted him to
an!n?* tiere he extended his knowledge of the classics,
1Si ^C(luaintance with the learned, whose favour he
til^6 f • var^°.us efforts of his muse. But it was not un-
was ei-a twenty-sixth year that public attention
nected to him, on the occasion of the celebration of
1 Louis XVI. was beheaded
the quinquennali of Pius VI. in 1780. The compositions
winch he recited drew forth such general applause that
the Duke of Braschi, the pope’s nephew, made him his
private secretary. Under this nobleman he continued se¬
veral years at Rome, producing at intervals such occasional
poems as kept alive rather than extended his poetic repu¬
tation. At last the fame of Alfieri inspired him with emu-
ation ; and burning with a desire to rival Virginia, which
he had heard read by the poet in a circle of the most dis¬
tinguished literati of the day, he composed his tragedy of
Aristodemo. It was acted with the greatest success at
Rome in 1787, and Monti was induced to write another
drama, Galeotto Manfredi, which proved an entire fail¬
ure. His genius was not dramatic, but lyrical; and highly-
wrought imaginative rhapsodies w^ere more in accordance
with the natural bias of his mind than the concatenation
of plots, and the delineation of human passion. About this
period Monti married.
The French revolution had now begun to shake, as if by
an earthquake, the time-worn and decayed governments of
Europe; and the French, eager to extend the moral con¬
vulsion, and regenerate the whole world, despatched num¬
bers of individuals to different countries, there to spread
revolutionary tenets. Amongst those who had crossed the
Alps for this purpose was Hugh Basseville, a person of con¬
siderable talents and some literary acquirements. He had
been appointed secretary to the French embassy at Naples;
and whilst thus employed he visited Rome, for the purpose
of propagating revolutionary doctrines. This imprudence
cost him his life. He was stabbed on the night of the 13th
of January 1793, and died soon afterwards, overwhelm¬
ed with remorse, it is said, for having attempted to raise
sedition against the pope. Monti being attached to the
papal court, laid hold of this circumstance, and celebrated
at once the repentance of Basseville, and the unfortunate
tragedy acted in France almost at the same moment,1 in a
poem entitled the Basvilliana. This production is en¬
tirely,; supernatural in its construction. The soul of the
muidered man, like the body of Moses, is contended for
by the angel of God and the enemy of mankind ; and al¬
though the former is triumphant, yet the disembodied spi-
lit of the republican is doomed for a certain period to
hover about the banks of the Seine, and to witness all the
atrocities which are there perpetrated. The subject is treated
in a powerful and happy manner, the imagery with which
the poem is adorned being in the highest degree original
and majestic. As a whole, it approached more nearly to
the grandeur and sublime daring of Dante than any thing
which had been produced for centuries; and the fame of
Monti rose above all rivalry. But the tide of French re¬
publicanism, having now rushed through the passes of the
Alps, and overflowed the fertile plains of Italy, entirely
changed the aspect of affairs in that country, and brought
Monti into close contact with some of Napoleon’s gene¬
rals. To this circumstance we must attribute the admira¬
tion which the poet began to entertain for the French hero,
and the lively anticipations of good to be derived by his
country from the new order of things which were awaken¬
ed in his mind. But the Italian nobility eyed with ex¬
treme suspicion the masqueradeof liberty in which they were
invited to play a part; and many of them, seceding from
the offices of government, left these open to the ambition
of meaner or less scrupulous aspirants. The enthusiasm
of Monti hurried him away with the general current in
which so many warm young hearts were borne along.
In one of his letters, the poet observes, “ I grew insane
with the rest, and my conversion procured me patronage
and gracebut it did not procure him either peace or
the 19th of January 1793.
Monti.
436
MON
Monti.
respect. By many of his own countrymen he was viewed
' with envy and aversion, whilst the republicans denounced,
in the author of Basvilliana, the arch enemy of democracy,
and Monti was ultimately dismissed from his ottice.
In a mythological poem entitled Musogoma, he paid
court to Napoleon; and in a still finer production, 1 rome-
teo, he enthusiastically celebrates the triumphs of the Gal¬
lic chief, at the same time pouring out the vials of his wrath
upon England. This must doubtless have greatly delight¬
ed Bonaparte, and the poet was soon afterwards named
commissary of the province of the Rubicon ; but in a s or
time he was obliged to resign his office. During the ab¬
sence of the conqueror in Egypt, the Italian repub ics
melted away like frost-work before the sun ; and their par¬
tisans, amongst whom was Monti, were compelled to see
refuge beyond the Alps. The poet fell into a state of the
most deplorable destitution; but the return of Napoleon,
and his new victories in Italy, afforded Monti an opportu¬
nity of partially retrieving his fortunes. He returned to
Milan, and there published his poem, the Mascheroniana,
the chief object of which is to bind new wreaths of victory
around the brow of Napoleon, already encumbered with
laurels. Shortly afterwards, Monti produced a third tra¬
gedy, entitled Caius Gracchus; and, in 1802, an ode, in
which he calls upon his military idol to place himself at
the head of the Italian people, which, as is well known,
Bonaparte did not long hesitate to do. The rewards of the
poet were, first, a professorship at Pavia, and, a few years
subsequently, a number of offices and honours at Milan.
In 1805, when Napoleon was crowned king of ltaly» the
event was celebrated by Monti in a poem called II Bem-
ficio. Indeed, every fresh victory and new conquest of
the Emperor of France afforded a theme for the courtly
muse of the Italian poet. The triumph of Jena resounded
in his ode entitled the Spada di Federico; the attempted
usurpation of the Spanish throne was sung in the 1 alinge-
nesi; and various other conquests were celebrated in nu¬
merous odes and hymns. Besides these works, he finished,
in less than two years, a translation of the Iliad, which,
without possessing much spirit, is considered as elegant
and faithful. . .
The overthrow of Napoleon in 1814 deprived Monti ot
all his public employments ; and after this period, although
he composed an occasional poem, his labours were chiefly
confined to prose. The principal of these are, consideia-
tions on the difficulty of properly translating the poetry
of the Iliad, and several dialogues on the Italian language,
full of wit and acute criticism. By an order of govern¬
ment to reform the national dictionary, his attention was
still more entirely engrossed with the subject ot language.
The great question in Italy was, and still is, whether the
pure and classical language, the only one not wholly bar¬
barous and vulgar, is Italian or Tuscan. The academy
Della Crusca espoused the latter view of the question,
whilst Monti undertook a crusade against them, attacking
their decisions with the utmost vigour, and no common suc¬
cess. He continued to reside at Milan, corresponding
with various members of his family, and with the distin¬
guished men of the day. In 1823 his imagination awoke
again, and he once more turned his thoughts to poetry.
He restored the true reading of the Convito of Dante,
wrote an idyl on the nuptials of Cadmus, and then contem¬
plated the completion of the Feroniade, a poem which
he had begun many years before. In this production he
celebrates the praise of the house of Braschi, for having,
by a magnificent work, drained the insalubrious Pontine
Marches. He had nearly completed his design, when
death put a final period to his labours. In 1826 an apo¬
plectic attack gave a severe shock to his frame ; but he
lingered more than two years, and expired on the 13th
of October 1828, in the seventy-fourth year of his age.
MON
It has been said of Dryden, that if all the great chiefs Mont
of poetry surpassed him, each in his own peculiar vein, ||
yet his native fire and originality gave him a place close ^ont
beside them. It is much the same with Monti. He has^™1
neither the sublimity of Dante, nor the tenderness of Pe-^*
trarch, nor the inventive flow of Ariosto, nor the epic
conception and voluptuous grace of Tasso ; but he has a
fervour of feeling, a power of imagery, and an overflowing
redundance of ideal thought, which mark the genuine
poet, and entitle him to a place immediately after these
great masters of the lyre. His genius was not that of a
tragedian; lyrical and imaginative rhapsodies, rather than
the concatenation of a plot and the representation of hu¬
man passion, were adapted to the natural bent of his mind,
and in these he chiefly excelled. It is more difficult to jus¬
tify his character and conduct as a man than to vindicate
his claims to the laurel. In times of less public excite¬
ment, he would have quietly cultivated letters and poetry
in retirement, and his faults would never have been drag¬
ged into notice. But, to atone for his political tergiversa¬
tion and servile worship of power, he possessed the domes¬
tic virtues in the highest degree. He had great warmth
of heart, was zealously attached to his friends, and grate¬
ful for benefits; generous, kind, and true in all the or¬
dinary intercourse of life. A friend thus speaks of him:
“ In person he was tall and handsome ; his forehead am¬
ple ; the shape of his face regular ; and his eyes, gleaming
from beneath his arched and full brows, shone at once
with lively yet softened light, which commanded both
affection and respect. An air of melancholy was diffused
over his countenance, to which the habits of reflection
would have given a severe and even disdainful expression,
had not the sweetest smile illuminated it with the gracious
light of love. His carriage was dignified, his mien serious,
and his whole aspect that of a man of talent, and of one
warmed and softened by the benevolence and affection of
his disposition.5’ (R> R> Ri)
MONTILLIA, a city of Spain, in the kingdom of Cor¬
dova, in Andalusia. It is situated near the river Xenil,
and produces a white wine of great excellence, and which
is most highly prized by the connoisseurs in the southern
cities. The city stands on the Castro and Biofrio, and
contains 6300 inhabitants.
MONTJOIE, a town, the capital of the circle of the
same name, in the Prussian government of Aix-la-Cha-
pelle. It is situated in a narrow valley between lofty hills,
and contains 380 houses, with 3280 inhabitants. The finest
cloths and cassimeres are made here, and the best ma¬
chinery for the purpose is extensively applied.
MONTLUCON, an arrondissement of the department
of the Allier, in France, 457 square miles in extent. It is
divided into five cantons and 79 communes, and contains
61,500 inhabitants. The capital is the city of the same
name, situated on the right bank of the river Cher. It is
surrounded with walls, and defended by a castle upon an
elevation which commands the town. The inhabitants are
4800, employed in woollen manufactures. Long. 2.31.
Lat. 46. 22. N
MONTMEDY, an arrondissement of the department
of the Meuse, in France, extending over 522 square mi es.
It is divided into six cantons, and these again into
communes, containing 60,000 inhabitants. Ihe capita i
a city of the same name, situated on the river Ehiers.. i
strongly fortified, and defended by a citadel in the upp
town, built on a rocky eminence. It contains only l
inhabitants. Long. 5. 20. E. Lat. 49. 36. N.
MONTMORENCY, a town of the department ot
Seine and Oise, and arrondissement of Ponloise, m i<ra^ ’
It is finely situated, and near it is the valley of tRe s .
name, which was long the residence of the cele r
Rousseau. It contains 250 houses, and 1950 inhabita
MON
mo
r a
M
r
Md 'eal
MONTMORILLON, an arrondissement of the depart¬
ment of the Vienne, in France, extending over 797 square
miles. It contains six cantons, divided into 65 communes,
^inhabited by 49,500 persons. The capital is the city of
the same name, situated on the river Gartempe, by which
it is divided into two parts. It contains 460 houses, and
3250 inhabitants.
MONTPELLIER, an arrondissement of the depart¬
ment of the Herault, in France, 838 square miles in ex¬
tent. It comprehends 14 cantons, which are divided into
117 communes, and contains 103,500 inhabitants. The
capital, which gives its name to the arrondissement, is in
a fine district, is surrounded with walls, and stands on the
declivity of a hill between the river Mardanson and the
Lez. The higher part of the city consists of narrow and
crooked streets, with very few good buildings; but the
lower part or suburb has good, well-built, regular streets.
The city has some beautiful promenades around it; and
from an elevated public walk near it, called the Place du
Peyron, there is one of the finest prospects in Europe. The
city contains a university of great celebrity, with a library
of42,000 volumes, a museum, and observatory. It contains
8000 houses, with 3500 inhabitants, of whom about 6000
are Protestants, who, besides cloths of cotton and wool,
produce many chemical preparations, particularly cream
of tartar, vitriol, aquafortis, ether, glauber salts, sugar of
lead, spirit of salt, and much perfumery. The trade is
facilitated by a canal, which connects the city with the
Mediterranean. Long. 3. 47. E. Lat. 43. 36. N.
MONTREAL, a city of Lower Canada, the first in size
and commercial importance, and the second in rank, in
that district. The island and signiory, on the south side
of which the city stands, is about thirty miles in length by
from five to ten in breadth, and contains 197 square miles.
It is situated on the St Lawrence, at the head of ship na¬
vigation, 180 miles above Quebec, and 200 below Lake
Ontario. On the north a small stream divides it from the
Isle of Jesus, which is also a signiory, and about twenty
miles long; and from Isle Bizare, which is four miles in
length. Montreal is situated close to the river, upon a belt
ofland about two miles in breadth, and at the back of which
is the Royal Mountain. The bank of the river upon which
it is built has a gradual elevation of from twenty to thirty
feet, sloping again at the back of the town, where there is
a canal to carry off any accumulated water. Including the
suburbs, it is much more extensive and somewhat more po¬
pulous than Quebec, but it wants the sublime scenery which
c laracterizes that city. The whole of the lower town has
a gloomy and uncomfortable appearance, the streets being
narrow and incommodious. It consists of one principal street
or shops and trade, which runs parallel to the river, with
others which cross it at right angles, and also intersect an¬
other street running parallel to it, and dividing the old
from the more modern town. This part of Montreal con¬
tains several spacious public buildings, with a number of fa¬
shionable dwelling-houses, built of stone; and the villas in
e neighbourhood have an imposing appearance. It has
a respectable esplanade called the Champ de Mars, where
e troops are reviewed. To the east extends the Quebec
su urb, and to the north and west the suburbs of St An-
oine, St Lawrence, and St Recollet. Amongst the pub-
uiJdings, the first which requires to be mentioned is the
in a ^at. *c cathedral, said to be the most splendid temple
menca, not excepting that of Mexico, which, however,
]89<iar f°undation-stone was laid in
and it was opened for public worship in 1829. This
nagmticent structure is thus described by Mr M‘Gregor
VW8 °n America. “ It is dedicated to the
tJ^ry. Its length is 255 feet, breadth 234, and
turp f1^ f wa^s feet. The style of architec-
s aken from the rich Gothic of the thirteenth and
MON
437
fourteenth centuries. It has six massive high towers; be- Montreal,
tween these, along the roof, is a promenade twenty-five feet'
wide, elevated 112 feet above the ground. It has one su¬
perior altar, and six of less grandeur. It has five public
and three private entrances ; and from 10,000 to 12,000
people, which it will accommodate, may disperse in five or
six minutes. The eastern window, behind the altar, is
t iirty-t ii ee feet broad and seventy high ; the other win¬
dows are ten feet by thirty-six feet. It is surrounded by
a fine terrace. The chime of bells, clocks, altars, and all
tiie interior arrangements, correspond with the magnifi¬
cence of the exterior. From 7000 to 8000 persons'3 fre¬
quently congregate within this edifice.” There are seve¬
ral other Catholic churches besides the cathedral; one of
these, large, but plain in appearance, was built im the sub-
uibs, upon the arrival of a bishop from France, after the
termination of the late war, and for whom a palace was
built near it. The bells of the Catholic churches are kept
constantly ringing, which is a great annoyance, especially
to strangers. The whole island of Montreal is comprised
m one signiory, and is claimed by the seminary of St
Sulpice, which consists of twenty members and four assist¬
ants. They discharge the whole parochial duties for the Ro¬
man Catholic population of the town and suburbs; and they
maintain, in whole or in part, a college, at which 204 young
men are educated in the classics and sciences. They also
educate, at various schools which they have established,
more than 1300 scholars, besides making extensive distri¬
butions in charity. In addition to these various duties, the
whole management of the farms, and other temporal con¬
cerns, is carried on by the members. The revenues of the
seminary may be taken at an average of L.8277 currency
a year, equal to L.6700 sterling. In exacting the tods et
rentes due to them on the transference ofland, they are very
liberal, and usually compound for these fines. The im¬
provement of Montreal has been much retarded by sig-
norial and feudal exactions. The feelings of the Protes¬
tants have been much mortified in being compelled to sub¬
mit to demands for the support of institutions contrary to
their principles; whilst no attention was paid by the Bri¬
tish government to the establishment of scholastic institu¬
tions for the benefit of the Protestant community. The
adjustment, therefore, of the claims of the seminary of St-
Sulpice is the most important subject in which the inhabi¬
tants are interested. The principal English church is a
handsome and spacious edifice. The Scotch kirk is a
plain unadorned building, but the Methodists have a very
fine chapel. Ihe court-house, prison, and government-
house, are substantial buildings, but without any preten¬
sions to architectural beauty. Ihere are three nunneries in
the city, belonging to which are some beautiful islets, as
well as lands on the largest of these islands. There is an
English university, where the various branches of a polite
and learned education are taught. There is a natural his¬
tory society, which has been of great use in illustrating the
natural history and unfolding the vast resources of Ame¬
rica. Ihere are also a mechanics’ institution, a general hos¬
pital, and a well-conducted news-room; and twelve news¬
papers, as well as some other periodicals, are published in
Montreal. It enjoys considerable trade, and possesses se¬
veral manufactures. There is a cast-iron foundery; and
machinery for steam engines, stoves, and the like, is made
in the town. There are likewise distilleries, breweries, and
other manufactures of necessary articles ; and also several
ship-building establishments. A bank was established in
1817, and there is now a branch of it at Quebec. There
is likewise a committee of trade, which regulates various
commercial matters and charges. There are no wharfs at
Montreal, and the ships and steamers lie quietly in pretty
deep water, close to the clayey and generally filthy bank in
front of the city. From its position, Montreal will always
438
MON
M O N
Montreuil constitute one of the greatest commercial emporiums of voters. The town-council consists of nineteen members, Montror
and it must increase in magnitude and import- including the provost, three bailies, dean of guild, trea-^~
Montrose.
ancfafon “wilh 'Ihl^apidTmprovementlndTncreasing surer, a^d master of the hospital. Their jurisdiction ex.
’ ’ . ® , 1 i  j:—, Tlio tpnrls nvpr the rovaltv of the bun
population0of the upper and surrounding countries. The
trade is not suspended in winter, as at Quebec. During
that season, thousands of sledges come in from all direc¬
tions laden with agricultural produce, frozen carcasses of
beef and pork, firewood, and other articles. In return
these traffickers receive manufactured goods of all kinds,
the warehouses and markets being always well supplied. - , , xoon
In summer vast rafts of timber pass Montreal for Que- brated Sir James Douglas embarked in 1330, with a nume-
bee; and boats of a rude construction bringdown the rous retinue, on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to bury
productions of the upper country. This was the head- the heart of King Robert Bruce in the Holy Sepulchre. It
tends over the royalty of the burgh. The Constable Hill,
which the town acquired by purchase, is beyond their juris¬
diction, although included in the parliamentary boundaries.
The name of the town is connected with some import¬
ant events in Scottish history. It was here that in 1296
John Baliol surrendered his crown to Edward I. of Eng¬
land ; and it was from the port of Montrose that the cele-
quarters of the fur trade before the North-west and Hud-
_ /"t * ^ i~~infzvvocfo • nnrl tViprp fit.il] a
son Companies joined their interests; and there is still a
warehouse there. More than three fourths of the popula¬
tion are French ; the rest are Britons and Americans.^ ihe
population in 1825 amounted to 22,357, and in 1831 to
27,297; at present (1837) it is nearly 37,000. The city of
is distinguished as the first place in Scotland where the
Greek language was taught, and as having sent forth from
its seminary the learned scholar and divine, Andrew Mel¬
ville. It is likewise the birth-place of the celebrated Mar¬
quis of Montrose. This was the only town in Scotland, so
late as the commencement of the eighteenth century, where
M^ntrearis represented in the provincial legislature by four an individual could be found who understood the manage-
members; the county by two. The imports and exports, as ment of pumps in coal-woiks. In December 1715, James,
well as other statistical information, are included in those the first pretender, landed here from tie wench fleet,
of Quebec, and will be found under that article. Montreal which had passed the Frith of Forth, the place of its destr
is situated in long. 73. 25. W. and lat. 45. 30. N.
MONTREUIL, an arrondissement of the department
of the Pas de Calais, in France. It extends over 490
square miles, and is divided into six cantons, which are
subdivided into 142 communes, having a population of
72,800 persons. The capital is of the same name, and
stands on the left bank of the river Canche, eight miles
from the sea. It contains 840 houses, and 3560 inhabi¬
tants, who subsist in part from trading in leather and
linen, and refining sugar and tanneries, and in part from
the custom of travellers passing through it in the way be¬
tween Calais and Paris.
MONTRON, an arrondissement of the department of
the Gironde, in France, 624 square miles in extent. It is
divided into eight cantons, and these into 90 communes,
containing 69,500 inhabitants. The capital, a city of that
name, is built on two hills, at the bases of which flows the
river Baudial. It contains 450 houses, and 3160 inhabit- ^ . , c
ants; and is celebrated for the excellent tanned and cur- ing of an elegant and massive Gothic tower, upwards o a
ried leather it produces. hundred feet high, surmounted by a spire nearly ol the
MONTROSE, a royal burgh and sea-port town of Scot- same height. This is said to be the highest steeple in co -
land, in the county of Forfar, distant seventy miles north- land. St John s Church, formerly a chapel or ease to je
east from Edinburgh, thirty porth-east from Dundee, and old parish church, but to which a parish was annexe m
about forty south from Aberdeen, in longitude 2. 10. west, 1835, is a handsome edilice, seated for about 1 in i
and latitude 56. 34. north. It is pleasantly situated on the viduals. There are also two congregations be onging o
west side of a narrow sandy peninsula, formed by the Ger- the United Associate Synod, two of Episcopalians, one o
man Ocean on the east, the South Esk river on the south, Independents, one of Methodists, two of Baptists, .0 ^
and on the west by a large basin, into which the tide, flow- of Glassites. St Peter s Chapel, J>elonging to the P1SC0
ing up the South Esk, spreads itself after passing the town.
It is a burgh of high antiquity, and received its first charter
from David I., although, from the tenor of that charter, it
seems to have been a burgh even before that time. The
petty-customs, weigh-house and flesh-market dues, &c. are
levied in virtue of a charter granted by David II. James IV.
also granted a charter, dated 1493, by which the magis¬
trates are still empowered to levy shore-dues, anchorage,
and plankage, at the harbour, for the purpose of uphold¬
ing piers, buoys, and moorings. The magistrates likewise
nation; and here also, in February of the ensuing year, he
and his suite again embarked for France.
The town is in general well built, and has of late years
been considerably enlarged by the erection of several new
streets. The principal street extends, under various de¬
nominations, the whole length of the town ; and the cen¬
tre part of it, named the High Street, is spacious, and con¬
tains many elegant buildings. From the east side of this
main street run several cross streets, which connect it with
the different smaller streets and buildings lying in that
direction. The town-house, which stands in the High
Street, is a handsome edifice of two stories, with an arcade
below, and contains the council-room, guild-hall, court¬
room, news-room, and public library. The old parish
church, which is collegiate, is a large, plain building, mea¬
suring 98 feet in length by 65 in breadth. It has two tiers
of galleries, and is seated for 2500, but_ contains nearly
3000. A new steeple was attached to it in 1835, consist-
palians not connected with the Scottish communion, "as
founded in 1722, and is a neat and commodious place of
worship. The Academy, erected in the year 1814, is a fine
edifice. It is under the patronage of the town-council, and
is conducted by a rector, who teaches mathematics, geo¬
graphy, and modern languages; and it has, besides, two
teachers of English, two for writing and arithmetic, and
two for Latin and Greek. In 1832 a spacious seminary was
erected by the seven incorporated trades, for affording edu¬
cation on cheaper terms than those of the Academy, fhe16
hold a writ of privy seal from James VI. dated 1600, au- is a free school, founded by Mr David White, in wnc ^
thorizing them to hold a weekly grain-market on the High hundred boys are taught; and another supported by
Street. Owing to an informality in the election of its ma- Straiton’s, endowment, in which forty-two boys and t nr y
gistracy in 1816, the burgh was disfranchised by the Court five girls are educated. Besides these, ^ierE, areT numtjc
of Session; and in 1817 a new charter wTas granted by the rous private schools throughout the town. The Lun
crown, by which the old practice of self-election was abo- Asylum, situated in the Links, is a plain and cornmo i
lished, and every year ten of the council were renewed by edifice. It was erected in 1780, but has since t icn
the suffrages of the guildry and trades. But the municipal considerably enlarged, and is now capable of c?n,t3l?1est
reform act improved on this charter, and now the magi- eighty patients. It is considered as being one o tie ^
strates and councillors are elected by the parliamentary institutions of the kind in Scotland. A portion o
MON
«e. building has hitherto been used as an infirmary and dis-
“^pensary; but the managers are now (1837) preparing to
erect a separate building for these purposes. In 1833 a
commodious new jail was erected.
There are in the town two libraries, one of which was es¬
tablished in 1 /85, on a liberal plan, and now contains about
7000 volumes. The other, called the Montrose Reading
Society, possesses about 2200 volumes, and is supported
chiefly by the working classes. The two parish churches
have likewise libraries attached to them. A newspaper
was established in 1811, named the Montrose, Arbroath,
and Brechin Review, which is published every Friday morn¬
ing; and another, in 1837, called the Montrose Standard,
every Thursday. There are here numerous associations
for the encouragement of commerce, literature, and science,
as well as for benevolent and charitable purposes.
It has already been stated that the town is bounded
on the west by the Basin. This is an extensive level,
over which the waters of the ocean, flowing up the South
Esk, spread at flood, but which again becomes dry with
the ebbing of the tide. During high water it presents the
appearance of a vast lake, being about seven miles in cir¬
cumference, and not only adds greatly to the beauty of the
scenery, but is highly advantageous in a commercial point
of view, as it aftords sufficient depth of water in the channel
of the river for allowing small vessels to be navigated to
the distance of three miles above the harbour; whilst the
vast quantity of water by which it is filled, running back to
the ocean with a strong current at the ebbing of die tide,
prevents the formation of a bar at the mouth of the river,
and thereby renders the harbour at all times accessible to
large vessels. The harbour is commodious, and the entrance
to it is easy, except during easterly winds, the average
depth on the bar at low water of spring tides being eighteen
feet. Two light-houses, wdth fixed lights, were erected on
the north side of the river in 1818, by which vessels are
now enabled to take the harbour with safety in the darkest
nights. The lights are seen in clear weather at the dis¬
tance of eight miles. Accommodation for shipping, to the
extent of about 6000 tons, is about to be provided, by means
ofa wet dock on the north side of the river, which will
greatly promote the commercial prosperity of the port.
The great northern turnpike crosses the South Esk by
means of two bridges; one of stone, with a revolving draw-
I b.ndge the centre, to allow vessels to pass up and down
the Basin, on the south side of the small island of Inch-
brayock; the other a magnificent suspension bridge, from
inch bray ock to the north side of the river. The foundation-
stone of this bridge was laid on the 18th of September 1828.
R was designed by Captain Brown, the patentee, and
mis e at a cost of about L.20,000. The distance between
the towers at the two extremities of the bridge, measuring
rom tie centre ot each, is 432 feet. There are four main
chains, supported by two stone towers, seventy-one feet in
height; these form the grand entrance to the bridge on each
f.’ th,Lough an archway sixteen feet wide by eighteen feet
hgh. Ihe four counter-abutments for securing the back-
ay c ains are 115 feet distant from the tower, reckoning
nf°ti! ^ ^ centre the tower to the face of the farthest wall
e c lambers, and consist each of an arched chamber, a
arpT^p01111^!^01^ 0r abutment, a tunnel, and lying spandrel
,. * rom these main chains the platform is suspended;
ms tomis a roadway twenty-six feet in breadth, constructed
ell If0-1 b^ams’t0 which the planking of platform is bolt-
stav ni -S ab°ut t0 he strengthened by an additional back-
trparl Vi0" Prevent the hollow sound arising from the
nositip larses on the wooden platform or roadway, a com-
thp coa ’ bar’ pitch, and broken metal, is laid over
watpr^ rriF’ w^lch’ besides preserving it, is impervious to
jieUS'aboi,tCL.130aOa0yearf k™11 at the bri<tge’ Which
MON
439
x lontrose is a town possessed of considerable commerce. Montser-
lt is a port of the customhouse, and, as such, includes the rat*
havens and creeks from Bervie Brow to the Tay. The gross'
receipts lor the year ending 5th January 1835 amounted
tVqo^ O OJ 9x for th<: Tear ending same date 1836, to
o iQor t receipts, after deducting all expenses,
for 183o, L.2135. 9s. 6d.; for 1836, L.1672. 7s. 8d. The
vessels belonging to the port amounted, in 1837, to 105, re¬
gistering about 11,050 tons. A great proportion of these
are engaged in the importation of flax from the different
ports on the Baltic. A number are also employed in bring¬
ing coals from Newcastle and Sunderland for the use of the
town and neighbourhood; and there are two large vessels
engaged in the whale-fishery. A very large steam-vessel,
and two regular traders, are now employed in the London
trade. The exportation of cured herrings and salmon is
considerable. Ship-building is carried on to a considerable
extent; and there is a commodious patent slip for repair¬
ing ships. The principal business of the town consists in mak¬
ing sail-cloth, sheeting, and linen ; and there are now seve¬
ral extensive flax spinning-mills connected with this trade,
besides two rope and sail manufactories.
There are here very extensive links or downs between
the town and the sea, which afford one of the best golfing
grounds in Scotland, a game practised by ail ranks. The
race-ground on the links is admirably fitted for the pur¬
pose, but for several years it has not been used.
T he inhabitants of Montrose have availed themselves of
the general police act for burghs, passed a few years ago;
and the town is now properly protected by an efficient body
of police. Very great improvemen ts have also been made in
the paving and cleaning of the streets. The town is well
lighted with gas, and abundantly supplied with water con¬
ducted by pipes from a distance of three miles.
^ Montrose unites with Forfar, Brechin, Arbroath, and
Bervie, in sending a member to parliament. The number
of voters in the parliamentary burgh is about 400. In Sep¬
tember 1836, the burgh funds were estimated at L.54,344.
2s. 7d. and the debts and obligations at L.29,609. 11s.,
leaving a balance in favour of the town of L.24,734.11s. 7d.
The revenue of the town, arising from land, feu-duties,
and shore-dues, is nearly L.3000 "a year.
The population of the town in 1811 amounted to 8955 ;
in 1821, to 10,338; and in 1831, to 12,055. The number
of inhabited houses in the latter year was 1190. The popu¬
lation is now (1837) estimated at 15,000.
MONTSERRAT, a celebrated monastery of the Bene¬
dictines, in Spain. It is about nine leagues.to the north¬
west of Barcelona, being situated on the right bank of the
river Llobregat, on an insulated mountain nearly eight
leagues in circumference, and raising its head above the
surrounding hills till it reaches the height of 3300 feet. It
appears, from the road to it, like ahuge pileofmost enormous
bowls, the bitumen which joined the stones having been de¬
composed. As the traveller ascends, he observes vegetation
gradually decreasing, till towards the top, when it entirely
ceases, and nothing is presented to the view but naked
rocks, separated like pillars, forming various pyramids,
varying in height from 20 to 150 feet. The ascent, though
steep and fatiguing, is not dangerous, as far as the church,
which is large and richly ornamented ; but the constant
smoke ol upwards of eighty lamps lighted with oil has sul¬
lied the statues and pictures, and dimmed the brilliancy of
the silver. The number of monks and lay-brothers resid¬
ing here amounts to upwards of one hundred; besides which,
there are twenty-five boys who officiate in the choir, with
a physician, surgeon, and servants. Besides those who
reside in the convent, there are several of the monks who
live in a kind of hermitage or oratory on the pinnacle of
several of the insulated rocks. These hermits are supplied
with food twice in the week, and their gardens yield some
440
MON
Montser. fruits. They are not permitted to eat meat, or to con-
rat. verse with each other, but live a life of perfect solitude,
'possibly of devotion, during the whole day, excepting when
they descend to the general service, which is performed
in the church of the convent. The term of the noviciate
for the ordinary monks is six months; but those who wish
to live in one of the hermitages must pass six years of
very severe probation before they can be allowed to re¬
side in them. Although the romantic situation, the exten¬
sive and varied prospects, and the natural curiosities of
the place, draw to it many travellers who are not infected
with any devotional feeling, yet the number of real votaries
is very great. These come to say prayers, to pass a few days
in devotion and contemplation, to kiss with reverence the
hand of a miraculous image of the holy Virgin ; and, what
is of most importance to the institution, to deposit votive
offerings, which are eagerly accepted by the recluse in¬
habitants. By the rules of the order, they are bounu to
maintain for three days every pilgrim who comes to pay
his devotions to the sacred image. The devotees are
allowed bread in the morning, broth at noon, and bread
again at night. Although this parsimonious kind of hos¬
pitality is not very expensive for each individual who ar¬
rives, yet the number is so great that the annual cost is
considerable ; and although the presents from the rich
far exceed the cost of their maintenance, yet these pre¬
sents are preserved carefully till they are quite spoiled
by age. Their original endowment was only the moun¬
tain ; but by rigid economy they have, in the course of
ages, been enabled to purchase considerable estates in the
vicinity. Some of these, indeed, have been appropriated
by the government to its own use, and probably at no dis¬
tant period the remainder may share the same fate.
It is singular that there should be always a number
of candidates, both for the cells of the monks and for the
hermitages of the recluses. They make a vow never to
quit the mountain, and they are not allowed to enter into
holy orders. This may perhaps account for the continu¬
ance of those who are once admitted; but it is not easy
for Protestants to understand that state of mind which in¬
duces men in the full vigour of their bodily and mental
faculties to withdraw from the world, and abandon every
pursuit but that of inactive devotion and the tiresome re¬
petition of prayers, with no variety to amuse and no ex¬
citement to animate them.
Montserrat, one of the West Indian islands, be¬
longing to Great Britain, is situated in 16. 47. north lati¬
tude, and 92. 13. 25. west longitude. It is about twelve
miles in length by seven and a half in breadth, and con¬
tains a superficies of 30,000 acres. Like the islands in its
vicinity, it runs from south-east to north-west, and presents
an equally broken and mountainous surface; an arrange¬
ment and physical structure which has led to the conclu¬
sion that these islands owe their origin to volcanic eruption.
The extremity of the mountain chain terminates on the
north in a bold headland coast, where there is no landing-
place and little anchorage. The land slopes to the sea in
a supcession of conglomerate eminences, which extend to
the base of the mountain. On the south there is no ap¬
proach for vessels of any size until they get to the west¬
ward, the sea for a mile or two being studded with huge
rocks and shelving banks of coral. The island then sud¬
denly shoots up to the height of 1500 feet, and continues
to rise pile above pile, throwing out lateral branches, un¬
til they attain the altitude of 2500 feet above the level
of the Atlantic. This chain stretches across to the northern
extremity of Montserrat, where it terminates, as we have
mentioned. Many of the mountains are inaccessible, and
are separated from each other by immense perpendicular
chasms several hundred feet in depth. These gullies, how¬
ever, as well as the mountains, are covered to the very
MON
summits with lofty woods, and all the beautiful variety of Monts
vegetation which a mountainous region within the tropics rat
presents. On the south-west side of the chain is a small'wv
sonffriere, situated 1000 feet above the sea, in a dell
formed by the approximation of three conical hills, the
scenery around which has been described by Mr Coleridge
as grand and beautiful in the highest degree. The road
from Plymouth, the capital of Montserrat, to this place,
after stretching along the margin of the sea, winds inwards
by a gentle declivity towards the mountains. Phe path
becomes strewed with the snowy amaryllis (pancratia Ca-
ribbcea), and the scarlet hibiscus; and on either side lime
and orange trees form a verdant hedge. The whole of the
valley in which the souffriere lies is broken into vast and
irregular masses of clay and limestone, which are scattered
about in the utmost confusion. The surface of the ground
is everywhere hot, indeed so much so near the streams of
water which run between the fragments, that it is difficult
for the foot to support it more than half a minute. The
water at its source boils up violently, and a cloud of va¬
pour constantly settles over it. The sides of the mounds
of clay are encrusted with pure alum ; but, notwithstanding
this, the vegetation of bushes and creepers all round is green
and luxuriant, whilst the rampart of mountains in which the
solitary valley is embosomed is clothed with woods whose
feathery grass-like plumage bends devotedly to the set¬
ting sun under the unceasing breath of the trade-wind.
There are no marshes, but there is a small lake on the top
of a hill about two miles west from Plymouth, which re¬
mains constantly full. Plymouth, the capital, is small, but
substantially built, of a fine gray stone, and has a comfort¬
able appearance. The geological features of this island are
similar to those of the islands in the neighbourhood. Many
of the rocks have been termed only vast masses of clay of
divers hues; but in the conical hills carbonate of lime, iron
pyrites, and aluminous earth abound. The soil is in general
dry, light, thin, gravelly, and thickly covered with blocks
of clay and sandstone, excepting in the valleys where the
loamy earth is deposited by rains. The climate of Mont¬
serrat is remarkable for its salubrity, a characteristic which
has obtained for it the name of the Montpellier of the West
Indies. The temperature of course varies according to
the locality and the elevation above the sea. It is sub¬
ject to hurricanes, but these are neither frequent nor se¬
vere. To enumerate the staple products ot Montserrat,
would be merely to recapitulate what is said of them un er
the heads of Jamaica, St Lucia, and other West India
islands. Indigo was formerly-raised in great quantifies,
but this branch of agriculture is now abandoned. Ihe
sugar and rum produced are highly esteemed. Of tne
former there were exported in 1832, 2,322,208 pounds, va¬
lued at L.16,549 ; and of the latter, 74,064 gallons, valued
at L.3307. The total amount of exports for the same
year was L.21,517, and of imports L.11,067. n
the shipping inwards was 5824 tons, and outwar s
tons. By the latest return it appears that, between tn
5th of January 1836 and the 5th of January 1837, tnere
were imported into the united kingdom from this is
12,152 cwts. of sugar, 16,256 gallons of rum, and -
cwts. of molasses.
The executive of this island is embodied in the go'e
ment of Antigua, but the inhabitants enjoy their sepa
council and house of assembly, the former consisting
six members and the latter of eight, two being sen
each of the four districts into which Montserrat is di ^
The gross annual revenue is about L.2500. Iher
five places of public worship, capable of containing
persons, and also a Wesleyan missionary station; an
are six public or free schools, with 298 male and
male scholars. Montserrat was at one time more
peopled with Europeans than it is at present, me p i
M
^ za
.an
MOO
lation, including all classes, is now estimated at about 7400.
This island was discovered by the companions of Colum¬
bus, and called by them Montserrat, a name expressive, in
the Spanish language, ot its broken and mountainous ap¬
pearance. It was first settled in 1632, by Sir Thomas War¬
ner, under the protection of the British government. It was
taken by the French about the year 1664, but restored to
Britain at the peace ol Breda, and it has ever since formed
a part of our empire.
MONZA, a city of Italy, in the delegation of the Aus¬
trian province of Milan. It stands on the river Lambro.
There is here a magnificent imperial palace and park, with
a menagerie ; and it contains six churches, one of them an
abbey. The celebrated iron crown of the ancient kings
of Lombardy was formerly preserved here. Monza con¬
tains 5750 inhabitants, who find employment chiefly in
making silk; but partly also from tanneries and hat making.
Long. 9. 11. 51. E. Lat. 45. 34. 31. N.
MOOGDUL, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Bejapoor, and capital of a district of the same name.
Long. 76. 47. E. Lat. 16. 6. N.
MOOLTAN, or Moultan, a province of Hindustan,
which formerly comprehended the country on both sides
of the Indus, between the 24th and 30th degrees of north
latitude. It is bounded on the north by Lahore and Af¬
ghanistan, on the south by Ajmeer and Sinde, on the
east by Lahore and Ajmeer, and on the west by Beloo-
chistan. Ihe following are the territorial subdivisions of
this province, namely, first, Mooltan Proper; second, Baha-
wulpoor; third, Backar ; fourth, Sinde; fifth, Tatta ; sixth,
Chalchkaun. The greatest length of this territory is 110
miles, by about 70, its greatest breadth ; and it is compre¬
hended between the Sutleje, or the Gurrah, as it is here
named, the Ravey, and the Chinaub. The northern and
eastern districts of this province are watered by the rivers
of the Punjab, and the tract which is within the reach of
the inundation is extremely fertile, but becomes gradually
more sandy and barren as it approaches the desert situated
between Sewee and Backar, over which, during the sum¬
mer months, the hot winds usually blow. To the west of
the Indus the country is still more arid and barren, and
terminates in a long ridge of black rocks. Fine camels are
produced in many parts of this province; and a breed of
excellent horses, said to be descended from those of Na¬
dir Shah, stolen by the natives from him whilst on his re¬
turn to Persia. It is related, in the Mahommedan annals,
that this province was invaded about the year 712, by a
body of Arabs under the command of Mohammed Cossim,
who converted many of the natives to the Mahommedan re-
igion. It was invaded early in the eleventh century by
tie celebrated Mahmoud of Ghizni, and was afterwards
su ject to the monarchs of Delhi. After the overthrow of
this empire by Timour, in the end of the fourteenth cen-
fT’ ^.rema*ne^ an independent kingdom till the middle
p the sixteenth century, and soon afterwards became sub¬
ject to the Mogul dynasty, on the decline of which it fell into
e lands of independent chiefs. It was in the hands of the
ahrattas a short time before the battle of Paniput, after
w ic i it was lost by them, and never subsequently recover-
e • At a later period it was occupied by the Sikhs. The
greater part of it was long held by the nabob of Mooltan,
wno was obliged to pay tribute to the Afghans, Sikhs, and
tnl- rS°* ^ln . ’ by whom he is surrounded. In 1818 it was
" Posfession of by Runjeet Singh, under whose rule it
bm •re.mains' kittle is known of the internal government,
ipr/^18 r,novvn t0 be oppressive and tyrannical, being sub-
> esides the extortions of the government, to those of
icentmus soldiery. The population consists of Afghans,
hv ^ er Lbnciu tribes ; but the cities are occupied
arc Rri? 6 ri°m Parts of the East. Its principal towns
tol r ■^cij°^in> Cutch, Mooltan, and Debalpore.
MOO
441
Mooltan, the capital of the above province, situated
lour miles from the left bank of the Chinaub or Acesines,
belovv the points where it receives the waters of the Ravey
(Hydraotes) and the Jhylum (Hydrastes), and about thirty
miles above its confluence with the Indus. It is enclosed
by a fine wall from forty to fifty feet in height, with towers
a regu ar distances; and has a citadel on a rising ground,
wi i several fine tombs, two of which have very high cu¬
polas, and are ornamented with painted and glazed tiles,
which give them a magnificent appearance. There are
other places of interment scattered round the town; and
Elphinstone, who visited this place in his journey to
Peshawer, in Afghanistan, mentions that the country im¬
mediately around the city is fertile, well cultivated, well
watered from wells, and productive of wheat, millet, cot¬
ton, turnips, carrots, and indigo. Mooltan is noted for the
manufacture of silks, and for a species of carpet, which,
oweyer, is much inferior to those of Persian manufacture,
ns is supposed to have been the city known anciently by
the name of Malli; and in 1582 it is described by Abul Fazel
as one of the most ancient cities of Hindustan. It was
plundered by Mahmoud of Ghizni about the year 1006,
and was again plundered by Timour in 1398. For many
yeais the nabob paid a tribute annually, for protection, to
the sovereign of Cabul. In 1806 it was captured and plun¬
dered by Runjeet Singh. In 1809 the nabob was obliged
to pay tribute to the Ameers of Sinde ; and in 1818 it was
again captured by Runjeet Singh, who still retains pos¬
session of it. Long. 71. 7. E. Lat. 30. 9. N.
MOON {Luna, j) ), in Astronomy, one of the heavenly
bodies, usually ranked amongst the planets ; but with more
propriety accounted a satellite, or secondary planet. See
Astronomy. r
Amongst the ancients, the moon was an object of particu¬
lar homage. By the Hebrews she was more regarded than
the sun, and they were inclined to worship her as a deity.
Ihe new moons, or first days of every month, were kept
as festivals amongst them, and were celebrated with the
sound of trumpets, with entertainments and sacrifices. (See
Numb, xviii. 11, x. 16; 1 Sam. xx. 5-18). People were
not obliged to rest on these days. The feasts of new
moons were a miniature representation of the feast of
trumpets, held on the first of the month of Tisri, which
was the beginning of the civil year. The Jews not being
acquainted with the physical causes of eclipses, looked
upon them as signs of the divine displeasure. The Gre¬
cians looked upon the moon as favourable to marriage ;
and the full moons, or the times of conjunction of sun and
moon, were held the most lucky seasons for celebrating
mairiages, because they imagined that the moon had great
influence over generation. The full moon was held fa¬
vourable for many undertakings by the Spartans; and no
motive could induce them to enter upon an expedition,
march an army, or attack an enemy, until the moon was
lull. Ihe moon was supposed, both by Greeks and Ro¬
mans, to preside over child-birth. The patricians at Rome
wore a crescent on their shoes, to distinguish them from
the other orders of men. This crescent was called lunula.
Some say it was of ivory, others that it was worked upon
the shoe, and others that it was only a particular kind of
fibula or buckle.
Harvest-Moo's. It is remarkable that the moon, during *
the week in which she is full in harvest, rises sooner after
sunset than she does in any other full moon week in the
year; and by doing so, she affords an immediate supply
of light after sunset, which is very beneficial to the far¬
mers for reaping and gathering in the fruits of the earth.
Hence they distinguish this full moon from all the others
in the year, by calling it the harvest-moon.
Infiuence of the Moos on the Human Body. Dr Mead
was a believer in the influence of the sun and the moon on
3 k
Moon.
442
MOO
Moon, the human body, and published a book entitled De Im-
' perio Solis ac Lunce in Corpore humano; but this opi¬
nion has been exploded by most philosophers, as equally
unreasonable in itself, and contrary to fact. As the most
accurate and sensible barometer is not affected by t‘ie va¬
rious positions of the moon, it is not thought likely that
the human body should be influenced by them. Several
learned and ingenious men, however, still consider Ui
Mead’s doctrine as far from being unfounded.
Moon, influence of, on the earth's atmosphere. It has
been the opinion of the vulgar in almost all ages and
countries, that the changes which take place in the state
of our atmosphere, or the changes of the weather, t e-
pend, in a great measure, on certain situations ot the
moon. It can scarcely be doubted that an opinion so
MOO
the determinable circumstances which conspire to increase
or diminish the moon’s influence in her different declina¬
tions, are her apogees and perigees, her conjunctions with
and oppositions to the sun ; and, lastly, the solar solstices
and equinoxes.”
Considering that every lunar month, or every revolution
of the moon in the zodiac, may be divided into two dis¬
tinct portions, each containing about fourteen days, and
each giving occasion to a particular atmospheric constitu¬
tion, vve may assume these as two circumstances of import¬
ance in meteorology, and call the one the boreal or northern
constitution, being that in which the moon passes through
the six northern signs of the zodiac, and the other the
austral or southern constitution, being that in which she
traverses the six southern signs
Me
inuun. ■ii' —• r; on somethW more Lamarck was convinced by observation, that in these cli-
Cfcr pTir • and Tndeed the observations of mates, during a boreal constitution, there chiefly prevail-
than fancy or PreJ“aice ’, materially to favour this ed southerly, south-westerly, and westerly winds, though
meteorologists have conti < . sometimes, in the summer, the winds passed to the south-
°PFrom the observations of Signior Toaldo, made at Pa- east. In general, during this constitution, the barometer
trorn the observations o^o g ^ ^ ^ Wpather which exhibits only moderate elevations of the mercury; most
dua, during fifty yeais, on tl t , found that commonly the season is rainy or moist, and the air is loaded
corresponded to certam changes ofthe moon he found that^ ““mc7olyitshe seA“ d> last|yf k is pa;ticularly during this
weather Tind’he^Uengthbecanm^nabledYo foretell, with constitution that we observe the effects of storms and tem-
some’degree^of^rtaimy, what would be tlte ^ S
atmosphere w Inch should follow any |- , lv j„ds which chiefly predominate blow from the north and
There are Zt-west, and in .Usummer north-east, and even easterly
Toa do, are capab e of produemg a sensible ettect up In al! during this constitution the ba-
eartl. s a‘m0 ^ and rometer exhibits considerable elevations in the co umn of
Tth hLt“Ze;Sthen th^moon is mercury at least if the wind be very strong; the we,
-a.\st to our zenith and at the greatest distance from rt; ^^^n —ualty dgr, -^and dryland m the
311 He’al^cal'cuiated^a'Teries of probabilities tha.t a change ‘^^nstitmmn^™ toned.
That a change
will take
place at
is
of weather will take place on the approach of any one of
ten situations, and these he expressed in a tabular form
as follows:
'New moon
First quarter
Full moon
Last quarter
Perigeum 1
Apogeum ^
Ascending equinox
Northern lunistice
Descending equinox
^Southern lunistice J l
The observations of M. Lamarck, though they confirm
the opinion of the moon s general influence on the atmo¬
sphere, do not agree with those of Toaldo, as to the situa¬
tions of that luminary which correspond to the changes
6:1
5:2
5:2
5:4
7:1
4:1
13 :4
11:4
11:4
3:1
These atmospherical constitutions are not, however, so
permanently characterized as to render it easy to distin¬
guish them at all times by the state of the atmosphere.
The atmospherical air is a moveable fluid, and so easily dis¬
placed, that it is not surprising that in the temperate zones,
where, from various causes, which counteract the regular
influence of the moon, and tend to alter its effects, the in¬
fluence of the heavenly bodies acts less strongly than be¬
tween the tropics.
The perturbations which these variable causes produce
on the regular effects of the influence of the moon on the
atmosphere, occasion many variations in the tw^o atmosp e
rical constitutions which we have been describing; and this
is doubtless the reason why they have been hitherto disre¬
garded. Lamarck positively asserts, that these perturba¬
tions, although frequent, and sometimes very considerab e,
do not prevent the character of each of these constitu¬
tions from being remarked in the greatest number of cases.
i-ii n 3   Kio nhcprva-
of the W6£itli6r. He could, not find tliut Bgreement be* nux-to ***/*** ^‘y**■" ° j. * i * ^Uc^rvn-
tween the syzigies and quadratures of the moon and a The probabihty which he finds, according o i ^
change of weather which has been so much dwelt on by tions, is estimated at five out of eight; that to ),
Toaldo; but he is of opinion, that we are to consider the of forty-eight atmospherical constitutions compre
declination of the moon as the principal cause of her in- in the lunar year, he estimates that there ^dl be found at
fluence on the atmosphere. least thirty agreeing with the P^1^8 causes
Lalande had conceived the idea that when the moon memoir; and he adds, that dlSt“ fmay be
entered the northern hemisphere, or had north declination, which modify the before-mentioned effect , ? _
the weather was most likely to be cold and dry, and that foreseen, and perhaps even appreciated as q
when she passed to the south of the equator, it was likely tity of effect. He considers what is here pointed out as^a
to be rainy. The observations of Lamarck, however, tend fact, that is, as an order of things which any one y P
to establish the contrary opinion. by observation.1 .. nn t1ie subject
Lamarck considers the two following principles as estab- M. Cotte also bestowed much attention o
lished by his observations, viz. “ 1. That it is in the ele- of the moon s influence ; but he appeals to t 1 t0
vation of the moon above, and her depression below, the observations are not sufficiently numerous nor accura ^
equator, that we are to search for those regularly varied deduce any thing like a correct theory, and al
effects which she produces on our atmosphere. 2. That posed to go as far as M. Lamarck. He agre g
1 See Journal de Physique, vol. iii.; and Nicholson’s Journal, 4to, vol. iv.
MOO
with Mr Luke Howard’s observations on the moon’s in-
"^fluence. During the space of thirty-four years and five
months (from the 1st of January 1768 to the 22d of May
1802), he noted the ascending and descending direction
of the barometer in each of the syzigies and quarters of
the moon which occurred during that period of time. He
states the total sum of the elevations and depressions of
the mercury at each of the phases as follows :
For 34^ Years. New Moon. tstQuar. Full Moon. 2dQuar.
Sum of elevations 218 296 199 290 times.
Sum of depressions....281 229 279 106
Differences    63 67 80 84
For some further account of opinions on this subject,
see the article Weather.
MOOR, James, an eminent Grecian, was born at Glas¬
gow on the 22d of June 1712, being the son of James Moor
and of his wife Margaret Park. His father, a teacher of
mathematics in that city, is commemorated as a lover of
learning : when he did not think himself rich enough to
purchase a copy of Newton’s Principia, then sold at a
very high price, he transcribed the entire book with his
own hand. He died before his son attained the age of
manhood. He also left a widow and two daughters. One
of these, named Elizabeth, became the wife of Robert
Foulis, printer to the university, by whom she had five
daughters; but the other, whose name was Jane, died un¬
married, after she had for some time continued to live with
her brother. Dr Moor traced his descent from the family
which produced Elizabeth Moor, the consort of Robert the
Second, and he was duly provided with a genealogical
table of his ancestry, but whether it was constructed by
himself, we are not distinctly informed. It may however
have been as correct as the genealogical tables of some more
illustrious families, which occasionally exhibit a tree with
some very frail and suspicious branches. He was small in
stature, and the measles deprived him of the sight of one
eye. From an early age, he discovered an eager thirst of
knowledge; and his acquaintance with Andrew Stalker
the bookseller, who allowed him the privilege of reading
in his shop, seems to have had its effect in encreasing this
love of books.
In the month of November 1725 he became a student in
the university. The Greek professor of that period was
Alexander Dunlop, who was regarded as a zealous and
successful teacher. According to a contemporary record,
ms thorough knowledge and fine taste in that language,
with his masterly and engaging method of teaching it,
MOO
laised the study thereof, which had been long neglected,
unto general esteem and reputation.” According to an¬
other and apparently a better, authority, Dr Hutcheson,
who became a professor of philosophy in 17*9, “ had re-
mai 'able success in reviving the study of ancient litera¬
ture, particularly the Greek, which had been much ne¬
glected before his time: he spread such an ardour for
knowledge, and such a spirit of enquiry every where around
him that the conversation of the students at their social
walks and visits turned with great keenness upon subjects
of earning and taste, and contributed greatly to animate
and carry them forward in the most valuable pursuits.”1
Dunlop published a Greek grammar, which at one time
was extensively used in this part of the kingdom. The
professor of mathematics was Dr Simson, a man eminently
distinguished in his own department of science.2 Moor
imbibed the same ardent love of the ancient geometry,
and attained to no mean proficiency in this and other
kindred studies. Fo the study of natural philosophy he
applied himself with an equal degree of relish; and, as a
proof of his successful exertions, it has been stated that
the professor, Dr Dick, “ after demonstrating a proposition
once to the students, used to make him go over it the se¬
cond time, instead of doing it himself.” On taking the
degree of A. M. his early proficiency in science was ho¬
nourably marked by the testimonial of his having made,
not, according to the usual terms, “ progressus baud sper-
nendos, but “progressus egregios.” About this period
he betook himself so eagerly to the study of mathematics,
that he left himself no leisure for classical pursuits; and
when he resumed the study of the Greek language, he
found his knowledge of it so much impaired as to require
a laborious renewal. From his own experience he was
accustomed to deduce a practical advice, which well de¬
serves to be inculcated; namely, that those who, being
chiefly occupied with other pursuits, still wish to retain
their classical learning, ought to devote a portion, however
small, of every day to classical reading.
. ^f’ter completing his academical course, he kept a school
i aso0VV» and, among other branches, taught navigation.
When in school, and not actually employed in teaching,
we are informed that he was accustomed to read the clas¬
sics ; and from this circumstance we may reasonably infer
that the scholars were not numerous, or that they did not
sufficiently occupy the master’s attention. It however ap¬
pears, that he speedily relinquished this avocation for that
of a private tutor : he was successively connected with the
families of the earl of Kilmarnock and the earl of Selkirk,3
443
Moor.
fluent of ^utcheso" (P; XXV11/)’ prefixed to his System of Moral Philosophy. Glasgow, 1755, 2 vols. 4to The in
2 Lr Simson 4 H fi Writ'”gS 18 ver^ clear1^ stated ^ ^nina, Discorso sopra le Vicende della Letteratura n 224
letter addressed to F^sIInh38 ^ to11* ^ ,hls PuPils’ and has repeatedly mentioned him in his writings.“in a
‘O modern invenLf 2 °f W1?1".* «!? °f ^ancients
Grreca ex nrrfnt v P' ,V ' n • ? PI ,.fe‘° of his he speaks of Moor in these terms: “ Qute sennuntur
riss. HaUeiSs tm duoZ'w « “v irtl ,h 7'HColl“i "“Of-«"*” AHtartl duobus tie Seetione Kationis libris pratfixil dal
inliteris duobus MSS. m Bibliotheca Regia Pansiensi accurate contulit Dominus Jacobus Moor, turn in mathesi turn
restituti a^Roberto^Shnson ^ if "iultui" f1 fehciter versatus.” (Apollonii Pergaei Locorum Planorum libri ii.
lish edition nf K'. rj f, ’ , ^ Matheseos m Academia Glasguensi Professore. Glasguae, 1749, 4to.) In the notes to his Emr
observed to netalt ^ainN'tS^r^A0"^ ^ 151ar”ed,fr. 1)Ioor’ Professor of Greek in the University of Glasgow,
which EpistShehas restnrL V from Archimedes Epistle to Dositheus prefixed to his books of the Sphere and Cylinder
namely toe twelfth fFllm i Trr iT lna"uscriPts’ that, Eudoxus was the author of the chief propositions in this book,”
tracts, becam^chantintor/Huw110111, V-^Glasgow, 756, 4to.) Dr Williamson, who is mentioned in one of these ex-
matic.; at Edinburgh wts toe Sh dled at an ear1^ Period of life- Stewart, professor of mathe-
the honour to be kfown to ami T S °f 5UgfM Stewart; ‘ fTh6 two greatest mathematicians,” says Dr Smith, “ that I ever had
thew Stewart of Fdinhm- ’i, ^ ieve t^ie two greatest that have lived in my time, Dr Robert Simson of Glasgow, and Dr Mat-
public received some nftvfi’ nev^r seemed to feel even the slightest uneasiness from the neglect with which the ignorance of the
3 Dunbar Ha H most valuable works.” (Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 213.)
earl of Selkirk f0” ofLBas1l1 Hamilton of Baldoon, succeeded to the Selkirk peerage in the year 1744, on the death of John
remain several years at le r(;*umed the family name of Douglas. “ His lordship’s studious disposition induced him to
losophical opinions he retainpHtov87! 0,f,Gla^0W’ wjiere he Caltl7atred lhe friendship of the celebrated Dr Hutcheson, of whose phi-
aud died in 1799. ed trough file a warm admiration. (Wood s Peerage of Scotland, voh ii. p. 489.) He was born in 1722,
and he accompanied his pupils to the continent. Of this
early portion of his history, some notices have been pre¬
served by his son. “ While with the earl of Kilmarnock,
he had already made a collection of books which he valued
much. It happened, while the earl was from home, that
the family-seat was burned. On being informed of it, he
said he was chiefly sorry on account of the grief that Mr
Moor would feel from the loss of his books. The earl’s
son was a good scholar ; which Mr Moor observing, en¬
tered him privately in the Greek without acquainting his
father, wdio for some time knew nothing of his son’s new
acquisition ; until one day that, by his tutor’s desire, he
read before him an ode of Anacreon, to the great surprise
and joy of the earl. While in these noblemen’s families,
he used to study much, and that chiefly at night, after the
others were gone to bed, sitting up late, and keeping hiinself
from being drowsy by drinking strong tea. But by this he
hurt his health greatly, and had at times some severe fevers.
He was diligent and attentive to his pupils. During the
summer, when in the country with one of them at Loch-
lomond, on going out to walk, he would after a while make
him sit down, and taking a classic out of his pocket, make
him read to him.” As an indication of the opinion enter¬
tained of his talents and address, it may be mentioned, that
in the year 1746, when the earl of Kilmarnock was attaint¬
ed of high treason, Moor, who w>as very far from partici¬
pating in his political opinions, was despatched to London
for the purpose of lending his aid in those solicitations of
mercy which were ineffectually addressed to the ministers
of the crown. The unfortunate nobleman was beheaded
on Towerhill, and his hereditary honours were forfeited ;
but his eldest son, a man distinguished by the amiableness
of his character, as well as the elegance of his person and
manners, succeeded to the title and estate of his maternal
grandfather the earl of Errol.
Moor’s first preferment was that of librarian to the uni¬
versity. At that period the office was only tenable for
four years, and the nomination alternately belonged to the
university and the town-council. On the 11th of Novem¬
ber 1742 he was appointed by the university; and in the
ensuing month of May he received from the council a si¬
milar appointment, which was to take effect at the expira¬
tion of his first period of four years. The earliest work in
which he is known to have had any participation appeared
under the following title: “ The Meditations of the Empe¬
ror Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, newly translated from the
Greek; with notes, and an account of his life.” Glasg.
1742, 12mo. A second edition was printed in 1749, and
a third in 1764, each consisting of two volumes. One of
the early projects of Dr Robertson was a version of the
same author ; but finding himself thus anticipated, he did
not persist in his design.1 The first two books were trans¬
lated by Dr Moor, and the other ten by Dr Hutcheson,
but the work was published without their names.2 Gata-
kex-, one of the most learned of modern critics, had illus¬
trated the original text with great depth of erudition. Moo:
“The golden Boke of Marcus Aurelius Emperour and''-v
eloquent Oratour” was “ translated out of Frenche into
Englishe by John Bourchier, Knighte, Lorde Earners,” and
in this form passed through several editions. It was trans¬
lated from the Greek by Meric Casaubon, the learned son
of a more learned father. It was afterwards translated, in
a style singularly quaint and ludicrous, by Jeremy Collier.
A new version was published in 1747 by James Thomson,
and another in 1792 by Richard Graves.
Professor Dunlop, who had filled the Greek chair for
upwards of forty years, was at length induced to resign it;
and on the 27th of June 1746 Moor'was unanimously
elected to the office which he had vacated. He was in¬
ducted on the 9th of July, when, as a probationary exer¬
cise, he read a critical disquisition on the tenth chapter of
Longinus. Dunlop, as emeritus professor, retained his
house and salary ; and he moreover received from his suc¬
cessor the sum of six hundred pounds, which was advan¬
ced by the earl of Selkirk.1 * 3 4 Such a transaction suited
the commercial spirit of the place, nor is this supposed to
have been the most recent bargain of a similar denomina¬
tion. Dunlop did not survive beyond the ensuing month
of April; and in the course of the same year, 1747, the
new professor resigned his office of librarian. The sum¬
mer of 1748 he spent in France, but not for the purpose
of mere relaxation. He still continued to blend the study
of classical literature with the study of the mathematical
sciences ; and at this period he was occupied with prepa¬
rations for an edition of the Greek text of Pappus, whose
Mathematical Collections, as Dr Irail has stated, are the
chief repository of information respecting the geometry
of the ancients, and especially respecting their analysis,
which has been the subject of much discussion among
the moderns. This most interesting work contains some
curious mathematical history of former times, but is more
particularly valuable by the account, contained in the pre¬
face to the seventh book, of the treatises of the analytical
geometry of the ancients, which together obtained the
name of tottoj arotXuo/isros. In this preface theie is, first, a
general exposition of the analysis employed by the an¬
cients, both in the solution of problems and in the demon-
stration of theorems; then follows a particular description
of the nature and contents of a certain number of these
treatises, which we may presume were considered by ap
pus as the most important; and an enumeration of the
whole is added, consisting of thirty-three books. Ihe
seventh book of Pappus itself consists of a numbei o
lemmata, or subsidiary propositions, not containe m
Euclid, but assumed or employed in the several trea¬
tises which are so fully described in the preface. 11
his researches at Paris, Moor appears to have icceive
some assistance from Capperonnier, the royal pro essor o
Greek.5 * It is however to be regretted that he dld
persist in this undertaking ; nor is it improbab eta
1 Stewart’s Life of Robertson, p. 8. ... , Tirmeratoris
* This translation was, after an interval of two years, followed by an edition of the original work. Marci An . j,
eorum quie ad seipsum libri xii. post Gatakerum ceterosque recogniti; et notis illustrati, a doctissimo viroK. A- liauis in
guae, 1744, 8vo. It is inscribed, in the name of R. Foulis, to Dunbar Hamilton, “ ob praeclarum ejus stadium,- mobably
philosophia, et in omnibus bonis artibus, sive ad vitam et mores, sive ad rempublicam spectent, excolendis^ Ihe e Antoninus,
superintended by Dr Moor. The notes are reprinted from the Oxford edition of 1704. At the end of the translation otA^ an_
the following advertisement occurs: “The Printer gives this public notice, that the Translation of Antoninus wil 0 finished;
other, of the Dissertations of Epictetus preserved by Arrian, and not yet in English. A considerable part ot it is ]
and the whole will ere long be published.” We are not aware that this version ever made its appearance. s Moor>
s This statement rests on the authority of some manuscript notices of Dr Moor, written by his son, the laie - QUittedthi»
master of Irvine school. They were procured by the kindness of an amiable and accomplished man, who has hKe 4 Glaggoff#
transitory scene, Lockhart Muirhead, LL. D. Professor of Natural History, and Principal librarian of the Unive y
Dr Muirhead supplied most of the notices relative to Moor’s academical history. „ of Glas-
4 Trail’s Account of the Life and Writings of Robert Simson, M. D. late Professor of Mathematics m the U pappus.
eow, p. 11. Rath, 1812, 4to. In his appendix, Dr Trail has given a detailed account of the Mathematical Collect 174/speak*
4 Capperonnier, in a letter addressed to Professor Stoeber of Strasburg, and dated at Paris on the 8th ot Novem ’
MOOR. 44
|. attention was diverted by his participation in the more which we can procure besides.* The translation will be Moor.
^—'magnificent project of a complete and splendid edition of that of Ficinus; but with several corrections published
the works of Plato. Such a project was first entertained since, and all others which we can procure,
by the university printers about the year 1746. In 1751 “ The Publishers propose to demand no money at sub-
Robert Foulis repaired to the continent, furnished with scription ; only beg leave to reserve it in their own choice,
letters of recommendation from Moor to Capperonnier and to call for, at delivery of the volume first printed, which
Sallier, who both belonged to the establishment of the will contain the Laws and Epinomis, one guinea of the
Royal Library at Paris. He first proceeded to Holland, whole price, upon their note to deliver the rest of the
where he endeavoured to secure the assistance of Hemster- work according to the above terms. N. B. The Laws and
husius and Albertiand before his return home, he had Epinomis make about a fifth part of the whole of Plato’s
seen many manuscripts of Plato, or had ascertained where works—Gentlemen who chuse to favour this undertakino-
they were to be found, and had devised means for obtain- and are at a distance, will very much oblige the Printers
ing collations of those preserved in the Royal Library and if they take the trouble themselves of transmitting their
in the Vatican. Of the proposals issued for this edition, names to Glasgow, and as quickly as possible ; or if, at least,
we subjoin a copy, which cannot fail to excite some degree they give notice to the Printers, of the person with whom
of interest in the classical reader. they have subscribed. By either of these means, but
“ Glasgow, January 7, 1751.—Robert and Andrew especially by the former, the undertakers will both have
Foulis, Printers to the University, propose to print by the satisfaction of knowing their encouragers, and of hav-
subscription the Works of Plato, on a new Type, the ing it in their power to prevent gentlemen from being dis-
largest of the Louvre sizes, just now cut by Alexander appointed of their copies, or in the size or paper they had
Wilson, M. A. Type-founder to the University: in quarto chosen.
and in folio. I. In IX. volumes in quarto, of which the “ As the undertakers are to do their utmost to render
Greek in 6 volumes, and the Latin translation, with the this edition the most extensively useful, they take this oc-
notes, in 3: the price to subscribers, one penny sterling casion of inviting gentlemen of learning every where to
per sheet. The w'hole will be contained in about 500 communicate what helps they can, either for establishing
sheets; so the price will be about 21. Is. 8d. in quires, the text, correcting the version, or illustrating the philo-
on a fair paper. A number will be printed on a fine sophy. Whatever of this kind is received shall be grate-
large paper, at twopence sterling per sheet. II. In VI. fully acknowledged, printed with the author’s name, if not
volumes in folio, with the translation on the same page, forbid, and his labour suitably rewarded.”
below; likewise at one penny per sheet; and in about Dr Moor, after some hesitation, undertook the formi-
740 sheets; which will amount to about 31. Is. 8d. A dable task of editor; and it is certainly to be regretted
number also on the finest writing paper (the same on that the publishers did not persevere in a scheme which
which we printed Cicero), at three half-pence per sheet; presented so fair a promise of honour and emolument,
which will amount to about 41. 12s. 6d. The Greek shall Among those by whom it was zealously encouraged we
be accurately printed from the edition of H. Stephens, find two individuals who at least resembled each other in
The various readings, and his own conjectures, printed on their love of ancient literature, namely, Bishop Berkeley
the margin of his edition, shall be printed at the bottom and John Wilkes.3 This scheme was not finally abandon-
of each page. Any other readings we can procure, or ed till the year 1759, when the printers found themselves
conjectural emendations, shall also be printed at the hot- too deeply involved in an abortive and ruinous project of
i tom of each page, or at the end of the work, with proper an academy or institution for the fine arts. In the mean
distinctions. The notes of H. Stephens, relating to the time, the professor was occupied with a variety of pur-
Greek text, which are printed at the end of his edition, suits closely connected with the duties of his office. Of
shall also be printed at the end of this. Also all other his grammar of the Greek language, the earliest fragment,
notes of any merit, published since his edition, and all consisting of only 72 pages, was published with the fol-
of Moor in very favourable terms. “ Nous avons vu ces jours derniers k Paris un professeur en langue Grecque de Glasgow en
Ecosse, qui travaille sur les mathematiciens Grecs, et, entre autres, qui prepare une edition du Pappus ci’Alexandrie, auteur, comme
vous slaves, qui n’a jamais dte imprime. II lui manque le septieme livre, qui fait seul un grand tiers de I’ouvrage. Je me suis
charge a sa consideration de le lui copier, et je vous assure que cela me donne bien de la peine. Ce professeur s’appelle M. Moor:
il est tres instruit, et me paroit un fort honnete et fort galant homme.” (Classical Journal, vol. v. p. 392.) From M. de Mairan
of the Academy of Sciences, he purchased a beautiful folio MS. of Pappus, containing the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and eighth books!
According to the statement of its former possessor, it had once belonged to Bullialdus ; and in Dr Simson’s papers it is repeatedly
described as Codex Bullialdi. (Trail’s Life of Simson, p. 177-) It is now deposited in the Advocates Library ; but of Capperonnier’s
transcript of the seventh book no trace is to be found.
“ Edenburgensibus novam editionem molientibus ante viginti annos, eumque rogantibus ut operam ipsis suam addiceret, ita re¬
spondent, ut se ab eorum institute non alienum ostenderet.” (Wyttenbachii Vita Ituhnkenii: Opuscuia, tom. i. p. 698, Lugd. Bat.
1821, 2 tom. 8vo.) For Edenburgensibus, we must apparently read Glasguemibus.
* Their collections were at length purchased by the late Mr Laing, an eminent bookseller of Edinburgh, in whose Catalogue of
1792 they are mentioned in detail. It is stated in more general terms that “ they consist of corrections upon the Latin version, cri¬
tical and philological remarks, illustrations of the philosophy, collations of printed editions, scholia not hitherto published, and colla¬
tions of all the ancient MSS. extant of that author, procured from the continent, for establishing the text, with much labour and at
a vei7 great expence.” Of the Basel edition of Plato, 1534, it is said that “ the principal value of this copy arises from the labours
or Dr Moor. For many years his attention was principally directed to this work. The margins have, in his hand-writing, collations
with other printed editions, corrections upon the text, philological and critical remarks, &c. Much labour appears also to have been
bestowed on the commentary of Proclus.” The entire collection was ultimately purchased for the Bodleian Library at Oxford.
u lsk°P Berkeley, writing to his friend Thomas Prior on the 30th of March 1751, mentions their scheme in the following terms :
hey are going to print at Glasgow two editions at once, in quarto and in folio, of all Plato’s works, in most magnificent types,
us work should be encouraged : it would be right to mention it, as you have opportunity.” See Bishop Stock’s Memoirs of George
erkeley, D. D., late Bishop of Cloyne in Ireland, p. 155. 2d. edit. Lond. 1784, 8vo. (in the same subject, a letter from Wilkes to
I oul^> dated at London on the 3d of December 1746, has lately been printed in Mr Duncan’s Notices and Documents illustrative
„ ljlterary History of Glasgow, during the greater part of last Century, p. 54. Glasg. 1831, 4to. “ I have since mentioned
1Sf i 8 re?iar^s’ 141° Mr Professor Ward of Gresham College, and to several other friends, who are very willing to encourage so
use “ a design; and I am desired to write to you, to beg you would send us printed proposals. We may venture to assure you of
ne auildred subscriptions from the circle of our own acquaintance.”
446
MOOR.
Moor.
lowing title : “ De Analogia Contractionum Lingua? Grae-
' cae Regulae generales. Praemissae sunt Nominum Decli-
nationes ; et adjectae Regulae de Temporibus formandis.
In usum Tironum Juniorum Classis Graecae in Academia
Glasguensi.” Glasguae, 1755, 8vo. An edition of his
Grammar was printed in 1766 ; and after an interval ot
four years, the work appeared with its final improve¬
ments : “ Elementa Linguae Graecae; novis plerumque
Regulis tradita, brevitate sua memoriae facilibus. Pars
prima, complectens Partes Orationis declinabiles, et Ana-
logiam duas in imam Syllabas contrahendi, ex ipsa Voca-
lium Natura deductam, et Regulis universalibus tradi-
tam. In usum Tyronum, &c. Editio nova, prioribus
auctior et emendatior. Studio Jacobi Moor, LL.D. in
eadem Acad. Litt. Graec. Prof.” Glasg. 1770, 8vo. Ibis
grammar, as the title indicates, is still incomplete : it not
only omits the particles, or indeclinable parts of speech,
but likewise syntax, prosody, and accentuation ; but, so
far as it extends, it is a work of very uncommon merit.
The author’s familiarity with the Greek geometry was
perhaps of some advantage to him as a grammarian, lo
the discussion of grammatical subjects he has applied no
inconsiderable degree of philosophic acumen ; and here
we sometimes meet with instances of a beautiful analysis,
especially in that portion of his work which relates to the
contraction of nouns. Of Moor’s grammar, the subsequent
editions are very numerous. Some editors have illustrat¬
ed his book with annotations, and some authors have with¬
out much scruple availed themselves of his labours. Du¬
ring his own lifetime, a charge of this kind was preferred
against Lord Monboddo, by an anonymous writer in a pe¬
riodical work edited by Dr Stuart. “ We have formerly
remarked this author’s obligations to ]\lr Harris, and the
charge of having borrowed liberally from Professor Moor,
without a proper acknowledgement, has been urged very
generally against him. The curious reader may see p.
506. 507. 517.1 and may then consult Elem. Ling. Graec.
studio Jac. Moor, p. 121. 160. But it is not only of what
this acute grammarian has published, that he, in all pro¬
bability, has availed himself. It is well known to those
who have heard Dr Moor’s lectures in the university of
Glasgow, that the whole of what is laid down in the book
before us, upon the derivation and composition of the
Greek language, was repeatedly inculcated by him to his
pupils ; and it is to be hoped that some of these, out of
gratitude to their ancient and languishing master, will un¬
dertake the task of doing him compleat justice, and of
wielding, in his defence, that lance which his feeble arm
can no longer sustain.”2
A few years after the first appearance of his grammar,
he published a neat little volume entitled “ Essays, read
to a Literary Society, at their weekly Meetings within the
College of Glasgow. I. On the Influence of Philosophy
upon the Fine Arts. II. On the Composition of the Pic¬
ture described in the Dialogue of Cebes. III. On Histo¬
rical Composition.” Glasg. 1759, 8vo. He has prefixed
a dedication ,of this tenor; “ To the Right Honourable
James Earl of Errol, Lord High-Constable of Scotland,
these Essays, on the taste of some of the chief Greek writers,
whose works his Lordship has the pleasure of admiring in
the original, having at a very early time of life made in
that language a very uncommon progress ; are, with every
sentiment of respect, duty, and gratitude, inscribed by Ja. Al!,
Moor.” The second of his essays, which is perhaps thev
most valuable, exhibits a successful attempt to explain the
propriety and consistency of the pictme delineated by the
Socratic philosopher with so much beauty of moral colour¬
ing. Of this ancient relique he entertained a fervent ad-
mfration ; and in the year 1747 he had published an edi¬
tion of Cebes, with some brief annotations.3 He afterwards
prepared for the press Spartan Lessons , or, the Praise
of Valour, in the Verses of Tyrtaeus, an ancient Athenian
Poet, adopted by the Republic of Lacedaemon, and em¬
ployed to inspire their Youth with Warlike Sentiments.”
Glasg. 1759, 4to. To this publication, which does not
bear his name, he prefixed a characteristic inscription.
“ These Remains of ancient Panegyric on martial Spirit
and personal Valour, of old the daily lessons of the Spar¬
tan youth, are with propriety inscribed to the young Gen¬
tlemen lately bred at the University of Glasgow, at pre¬
sent serving their country as Officers of the Highland Bat¬
talions now in America.” To the same military gentle¬
men he has addressed his account of Tyrtaeus, which ex¬
tends to twenty-four pages. Besides the Greek text, with
the Latin version of Stephanus, he has given eight pages
of “ Observations on the Greek Text, which occurred while
the preface was at the press.” This may be considered as
rather a perfunctory method of performing such a task,
which would have required some degree of research and
deliberation ; and indeed the preliminary account of Tyr¬
taeus is not written with an adequate portion of critical
care and precision. It is observable that he does not even
mention the name of Callinus the Ephesian, to whom Sto-
baeus ascribes the second fragment. Of this very ancient
Greek poet, the history has lately been investigated by
Franck with great erudition and acuteness. He arrives at
the conclusion that Callinus, author of the fragment in ques¬
tion, flourished long before the age of Tyrtaeus, that he
even preceded the age of Hesiod; and that he was the
earliest writer of elegiac verse of whom we can discover any
reliques, or of whom the ancients themselves have pre¬
served any record.4
The next English work published by Dr Moor bears
this title : “ On the End of Tragedy, according to Aris¬
totle ; an Essay, in two parts.” Glasg. 1763, 8vo. The
brief passage in the Poetics to which this essay relates, has
in no small degree puzzled the modern critics/ Accord¬
ing to the common interpretation, we are told that tragedy,
by means of pity and terror, effects the purgation ot the
passions. “ Now,” as Dr Moor has remarked, “ the dif¬
ficulty which they find here is, to explain in what manner
tragedy, by exciting the two passions of terror and pity,
at the same time refines and purifies them; or, in what
sense we are to understand that tragedy proposes to rehne
and purify these two passions by the very means of excit¬
ing them.” Since the days of Castelvetro and Robortelli,
innumerable attempts have been made to explain the pas¬
sage, so as to draw from it some consistent and forcible
meaning. According to some commentators, this purga¬
tion of the passions merely arises from the moral influence
of contemplating the direful effects produced by their ex
cessive or unregulated indulgence. According to ot er,
the process of purgation or purification is accomplished y
that excitement of the passions which attends the repre-
1 See Lord Monboddo’s Origin and Progress of Language, vol. ii.
2 Edinburgh Magazine and Review, vol. i. p. 370. . _ „n 1771 8vo.
3 *0 <r«u Ktlitiros n/»a|. Accedit interpretatio Latina, ex editione Jacobi Gronovii. Glasguce, 1747, 12mo. Hoj, ov . ,
Moor was probably the editor of Aristotle’s Poetics. Gfasg. 1745, 8vo. _ _ . . . «0annt Tyrt*i
4 Jo. Yalentini Franckii, Philos. D. Callinus; sive, Quaestionis de Origine Carminis Elegiaci Tractatio Cntica. Acce
Reliquiae, cum prooemio et critica annotatione. Altonae et Lipsiae, 1816, 8vo. ^ ~ unui **'s“
3 "Eo'tjv 0Z1 rmycudin ■xgccl'iws tr'Tovlu'uc; xa'i TsXs/aj, piyiDo; n'Zuirp.tvu Xoya)^ ruv tiSuv tv QxOD-
2/ a.?rayy&ias' 2i’ sJisau xm) (foiov Kigaivovira ryv ray roiovruy vutlriftKray xuSuDriv. (Aristotelis dePoetica liber, p. 18. edit, ly
1794, 8vo.)
MOOR.
447
jor- sentation of the tragic drama :l pity and terror, on being
■—^frequently excited, gradually become less violent in their
influence upon the mind, as a familiarity with all objects
has a tendency to diminish the intensity of their effect on
the senses. Other explanations, or the different modifica¬
tions of these two, it is here superfluous to mention. That
he was dissatisfied with all of them, cannot perhaps excite
much surprise. He contends that Aristotle nowhere calls
the passions wa^aara; that the word by which he uniform¬
ly describes them is cra^ ; and that the former term always
denotes sufferings or calamities. The signification of the
verb wOcc/gu, and the cognate substantive xaduga/g, he has
carefully illustrated in the second part. “ Thus,” he at
length avers, “ I hope I have pretty fully proved that xa-
fccfge/v signifies to clear away, to remove entirely, and that
this is even its proper and primary signification: conse¬
quently, xdfagtftg must of course signify removal; and there¬
fore q iruOrifidru') xdQocgffig is an expression not liable, at
least, to any imputation of impropriety. But I will ven¬
ture to go farther, and to say that it is introduced here
with a nice and beautiful propriety: for the words xadzlguv
and mduggig, from that first and simplest use which I have
hitherto been mentioning; I mean, to express the removal
or clearing away of whatever is amiss in external things ;
from that they came soon to be applied to the removal of
things amiss within, whether within the body or the mind;
for, as every one knows, they became even voces signatce
in medicine for one method of removing what is amiss in
the body, or the cause of bodily disorder; and, from me¬
dicine, they came to be used for expressing the removal
of what is amiss, or the cause of disorder, in the mind.”
And thus, according to his hypothesis, “ tragedy, by ex¬
hibiting such calamities on the stage, would propose for its
end and intention, xudulgs/v, to remove such calamities out
of human life; and propose to accomplish that end by ex¬
citing the pity and terror of the audience at the represen¬
tation of them.” His explanation is certainly ingenious
and plausible ; whether it is perfectly correct, may admit of
some doubt. What is stated as to Aristotle’s application
of the words -ra^/Aara and vrdOri, is not altogether accurate :
he frequently uses the latter word to denote sufferings, and
sometimes the former to denote the passions. This is one
material objection to the professor’s explanation ; and ano¬
ther is to be found in a parallel passage of the author’s
treatise De Hepublica, lib. viii. cap. vii. For, as Twining
has remarked, “ whatever be the meaning of the term xdD-
or purgation, here, must also be its meaning in the
treatise on poetry; since to that work Aristotle refers for
a fuller explanation of it. The only difference is, that here
the term is applied to the effect of imitative music; there
to that of imitative poetry; of the species of it however
which depended, we know, upon music for a very consider¬
able part of its effect.’’2 In this parallel passage, as he
subjoins, it is evidently the author’s idea that pity is to be
forged by pity, terror by terror. Here it is obvious that
ie hypothesis which we have been considering cannot ap¬
ply with any measure of propriety.
In another tract, printed three years afterwards, Dr
Moor gave a new proof of the acumen with which he was
accustomed to investigate subjects of grammar and philo-
Iogy- “ 0° the Praepositions of the Greek Language; an
Introductory Essay.” Glasg. 1766, 8vo. The general ten¬
dency of his speculations may be understood from the fol¬
lowing quotation. “ Having gone thus far with each prae-
position, not without some satisfaction and encouragement
to proceed, tho’ far from being fully assured that I was
right, I took a careful review of them all, comparing these
radical significations together, from which survey of the
whole, compared also with the flexions of nouns, I imagined
that I did plainly perceive the true use and design, in the
Greek language, of that part of speech called praeposition :
viz. that the three chief circumstances of relation, or con¬
nexion, in human life, are expressed by the flexions of
nouns in the three oblique cases ; and that all other cir¬
cumstances of relation or connexion are expressed by the
praepositions. By the three chief circumstances of rela¬
tion or connexion in human life, I mean possession, inter¬
change, and action. Possession, or the relation between the
possessor and that which he possesses, by the genitive case ;
interchange, or mutual communication, whether of words
or things, by the dative case; action, or the relation be¬
tween the agent and what he acts upon, by the accusative
case. All other relations were, I thought, in Greek, ex¬
pressed by the praepositions. These other relations all re¬
fer to rest or motion, place or time; and are what the school¬
men would call the ‘ accidentia motus et quietis, loci et
temporis.’ According to the mutual connexion between
the ideas of place and time, all praepositions express place
and time equally ; tho’ perhaps place was the primary idea
or signification in all of them. With respect to motion and
rest, some praepositions express only the one of these ; and
then they govern only one case. Others express both ;
and then they govern two cases ; one when they express
motion, the other when they express rest.” From his spe¬
culations on this subject, the praise of acuteness and inge¬
nuity cannot be withheld. The correctness of his theory
of the Greek prepositions has however been called in ques¬
tion by several writers, particularly by Mr Tate, who has
stated several objections that appear to be material.3
Nearly at the same time, he published his “ Vindication
of Virgil from the Charge of a Puerility, imputed to him
by Doctor Pearce, in his Notes on Longinus; an Essay.’’
Glasg. 1766, 8vo. Each of these three tracts bears on the
title-page that it was “ read to a Literary Society in Glas¬
gow, at their weekly Meetings within the College.” This
society was founded in the year 1752, and was originally
constituted by only twelve members, three of whom were
Moor, Smith, and Cullen. Many others were afterwards
added ; and among these we find Simson, Black, Reid, and
Millar. All these names are so conspicuous in the literary
annals of their country, that the university to which they
belonged cannot be mentioned but with respect. Beside
the six essays which have been enumerated, Dr Moor read
several others, which were never printed. November 30,
Moor.
commoS 1 bf Ve lt A™toteles’ saJs Hermann, “ unumquemque, qui tragcedias spectaverit, facile sensus suus docebit. Animo
rei caus-nm 6CtaC . r.edjmus’ sed ea est hsec commotio, quae ab omni humilitate, ab omni inhonesta cupiditate aliena sit. Cujus
enim Dpr “- n+r.ecte indlcavit Aristoteles, qui tragoediam dicat 2,’ Non
gffidise 10nem et terrorem istiusmodi purgatio animi perficitur, sed per sublimitatem, quam quum omnium maxime in tra-
esse sentia 10116 comme“orare Aristoteles deberet, omnium minime tetigit. Hac enim fit, ut et miseratione et metu majores nos
Quod ™us> nec Pfrcelh nos hls animi motibus patiamur. Id vero est animi commotiones purgatas habere, tangi iis, nec vinci.
Ifflandj!’ . pu.at Anstoteles, per ipsas illas commotiones hoc efficeretur, etiam fabulse, quas nunc mulierculis et eviratis scribit
hips® ,802°“ re< < ere de^erent celsiores. ’ (Aristotelis de Poetica liber, cum commentariis Godofredi Hermann!, p. 115.
and ivin!;01!6'? T.rea!;ise on Poetry, translated, with notes on the translation, and on the original, and two Dissertations, on Poetical
“na Musical, Imitation, by Thomas Twining, M. A. p. 23G. Lond. 1789, 4to. ’
Tniver^tS °f h'ases’ Prepositions, and Syntax of the Greek Language. By James Moor, LL. D. Professor of Greek in the
Sidnev pmi° tllasSow’ an(l James Tate, M. A. Master of the Grammar School of Richmond in Yorkshire, and formerly Fellow of
l College, Cambridge. Richmond, 1830, 8vo.
448
MOOR.
Moor.
1764. On the Structure of the Greek Language, and the
'Method of ascertaining the Meaning of the Particles of that
Tongue. November 29, 1765. Remarks on Dr War bur¬
ton’s Critical Notes on Mr Pope, in the last edition of his
Works. December 9, 1769. Some Observations on the
Genius of English Verse. . j u ^
All his original works have now been enumerated, but
he is known to have lent his aid in the preparation of vari¬
ous editions of Greek classics which issued from the uni¬
versity press. The Greek typography of Glasgow was long
pre-eminent for its elegance. His edition of the Arena-
rius of Archimedes, without preface or annotation, has been
considered as valuable for the accuracy of the text. It
is a small folio of thirty-two pages, without a Latin title,
and without a date. Of the elegant and correct edition ot
Herodotus, published in the year 1761 in 9 vols. 8vo, he is
expressly mentioned by his son as having had the inspec¬
tion. He may probably have rendered a similar service to
the edition of Thucydides, published in the year 1 /o9 in 8
vols. 8vo. But of the Glasgow press at that period, the
great boast and ornament is the splendid and accurate edi¬
tion of Homer. The editors were Dr Moor and Mr Muir-
head, professor of humanity ; and the edition consists ot
four volumes in small folio. The two volumes containing
the Iliad appeared in 1756 ; and the remaining two, con¬
taining the Odyssey, Hymns, and other rehques, followed
in 1758. A preface to the Iliad, subscribed by both edi¬
tors, but probably written by the Greek professor, gives a
minute account of the method pursued in the revisal of the
text. Every sheet was read six times before it was sent to
press; twice by the ordinary corrector, James Tweedie,
once by Andrew Foulis, once by each of the editors sepa¬
rately, and finally by both conjunctly.2
As a relaxation from severer studies, Dr Moor occasion¬
ally indulged his fancy in the composition of English, and
even of Scotish verses. A collection, published so early
as the year 1751, contains his “ Verses sacred to the Me¬
mory of the Honourable Alexander Stuart, Master of Gar-
lies : inscribed to the Right Honourable Lord Boyle.”3
This poem, which is written in blank verse, we ascribe to
him on the authority of the late Professor Richardson, who
must have been well acquainted with his personal and lite¬
rary history. The young gentleman here commemorated
was the eldest son of Alexander Lord Garlics, afterwards
the sixth earl of Galloway. He died at Aix-la-Chapelle
in the year 1738, and the verses were probably composed
soon after that event. Another of his poems, entitled the
Linnet, or Happiness at Home, was in 1775 printed in a
periodical work, under the name of the author.4 Several
short poems, ascribed to him, have been published at a more
recent period.5 One of these is a popular song, entitled
the Chelsea Pensioners, and beginning,
When war had broke in on the peace of auld men.
Such were the various accomplishments, and such the
diversified pursuits of Dr Moor ; who, as Mr Stewart has
well remarked, “ combined with a gaiety and a levity
foreign to this climate, the profound attainments of a
scholar and a mathematician.”6 This gaiety of disposition
exposed him to some mischances, and did not leave the
respectability of his character altogether unimpaired. He
lived and died unmarried, but during a great part of his
life was subjected to female influence, not of the most re¬
fined denomination.
*TC>fr 5’ Itfaivu yXwo'tfav tvtprifiov fegw,
Ziyifv CT ottou dsT, mi Xsysiv ru xa/g/a.
Of his personal history, little now remains to be told.
On the 16th of May 1759, he had been nominated vice¬
rector till Dr Leechman’s state of health should permit him
to reside in college. His noble pupil the earl of Errol,
having been elected rector, appointed him vice-rector on
i Professor Rigaud of Oxford read a paper to the Ashmolean Society on the 11th of November 1836, giving “a
of the contents of the Arenarius, of the method invented by Archimedes for the enumera ion o Greek text of this
on the principle of logarithms, for finding the value of their products It then entered on the st^e m which the Gje k tjt of t
treatise is now preserved to us. The first critical edition was that which Dr Wallis published at Oxford n 167b, whicti ^ y
luable, although he had not the advantage of any manuscript to assist him, but prmcipa y epem eH Oxford in 1792, pre¬
fect text of Hervagius. Torelli, in preparing the edition of the works of Archimedes, w^ was not aware
fosses to follow Wallis, and indeed departs only in a very few places from what he had adopted. P... - of his own la-
that a much better text of the Arenarius had been printed in Great Britain many yeaJ P^^JJ d A 0ne acquainted with the
hours. The book, indeed, is very scarce, as it was never published, and only a few copies got abroad. . Any 1 lar
characters of Foulis’s printing, must have immediately recognised the press at which it was executed, \vhkh he has
title-page; and no particulars would probably be now known of it, if Mr Barnwell ha no P^®erJ^ .. at the gjitorwas Dr Moor,
inserted in a copv belonging to the British Museum. From that valuable memorandum, Sallier as it is said, out of the
Professor of Greek at Glasgow ; and that he used a MS. for it, which had been lent by the Abbd Salhe , t
French king’s library. Reappears to have sent it back in 1751; but Mr Barnwell in till a
sive collection at Paris; nor was any further clew discovered to an origmal authority for Dr Moo ^ Pliateiy observed a co-
MS., in 1830, was left by Mr Powell, of Balliol, to the Observatory at Oxford. In this Mr Barn for doubting whether
incidence with the peculiar text of the Glasgow edition ; but reasons were given in ro ehb , 7 jfoP at paris. Anderson,
it was the identical MS. used by Dr Moor; and if it was, whether it had ever belonged to the Royal Library at ^a ^
in his translation of the Arenarius, published in 1782, alludes to Dr Moor s (which be only kne'v as ^ h Herva<uus added
from mistaken caution, rejects the decided improvements which it affords. I here is an old Latm translat editfon was altered,
to his publication, although it essentially differs from his Greek text. Mr Anderson suspected that t * 8 the one became a
and accommodated to this Latin, without considering (what is now indiputably clear), that, by their ag e ,
confirmation of the other.” • . Greek and Latin
3 In the Advocates Library there is a quarto volume of Moor’s Papers, cmefly consisting of brief annota £vw;?r« lege
writers. Among other scraps, it contains the following: “ Erratum duplex in the Glasgow Homer, Iliad w. 7- £ nranksof
N. BgI do firmly believe that this is one of the mad impudences of Ja. Tweedie,
this kind.” The volume contains a letter from Lord Hailes to Dr Moor, dated at Edinburgh on the 2<)t . " emendations
mending the plan of publishing a collective edition of the fragments of the Greek lyric poets, and communic g d(? some
of Alcaeus, Sappho, and Anacreon. “ As I understand by our friend Air Smith,” says this learned judge ‘ which
emendations upon Anacreon, I cannot but testify my desire that you apply your thoughts to the fragments ot -f published
are excellent, as you know, and much corrupted. An edition of such fragments as comprehend a compleat sen >
by you, would be an acceptable present to the learned world.” o
s Poems on Moral and Divine Subjects, by several celebrated English Poets, p. 377- Glasgow, 17ol, 8vo.
4 Edinburgh Magazine and Review, vol. iv. p. 648. nortrait of Moor‘
5 Lives of eminent Scotsmen, part v. p. 114. Lond. 1821-2, 3 vols. 12mo. The fifth part includes a mimatu p ^ of n0 or.
“ From the specimens now given,” says the anonymous author, “ it will be seen that Dr Moor s claims to P°et wbich have
dinary cast. The Chelsea Pensioners and the Mistake are distinguished by a dryness of humour and truth ot t with foe
not often been surpassed. They evince powers which only required to have been cultivated, to place their autno
very best of our minor poets.”
6 Stewart’s Life of Reid, p. 47.
MOO
MOO
449
ore. the 1st of September 1761. In consideration of his talents
^ r-^and learning, the degree of LL.D. was conferred upon him
on the 26th of April 1763. On the 14th of June 1766 he
was elected clerk of the university. His constitution had
never been vigorous, and about this period his health was
much impaired: he therefore obtained the permission of
the senate to employ John Young in teaching his classes
during die ensuing session. Although he afterwards found
his health somewhat improved, he never recovered any
considerable degree of strength. On the 5th of May 1774
he resigned his professorship, on condition of being allowed
to retain his house and salary. He was succeeded by Mr
Young, who was likewise a man of talents and learning, and
who was long conspicuous as a zealous and efficient instruc¬
tor of youth.1 The declining years of Dr Moor were less
comfortable than his friends could have wished, or might
have expected. His early connexion with men of rank
had no tendency to train him in habits of economy, and
his domestic concerns were not placed under the best
management. Such were the embarrassments of his situ¬
ation, that in the month of November 1767 his household
furniture was distrained. Two years afterwards, he sold
to the university his collection of medals for the sum of
thirty-two pounds. It is more to be regretted that his
library, which was of very considerable extent and value,
was likewise sold during his own lifetime;2 a circumstance
which could not but be attended with deep mortification
to an individual of his taste and feelings. He died on the
17th of September 17 79, after having completed the sixty-
seventh year of his age. (x.)
MOORE, Dr John, was the son of one of the clergy¬
men of Stirling, at which place he was born in the year
1730. He received his medical education at the Univer¬
sity of Glasgow, and at the early age of seventeen he serv¬
ed as surgeon’s mate with the army in Flanders. After the
conclusion of peace, he prosecuted his medical studies at
Paris, where he was appointed surgeon to the household
of the English ambassador, Lord Albemarle. On his re¬
turn to Scotland, he settled as a surgeon at Glasgow; and
there he quickly rose to extensive and successful practice.
In every period of his life he delighted in social inter¬
course ; and during his residence in Glasgow, his leisure
ours were, in a great measure, devoted to the enjoyment
o society. His vivacity in conversation, and agreeable
turn of wit and humour, attracted around him a numerous
and respectable circle of acquaintances. Although he did
not at this period come before the public as an author, he
o ten wrote occasional poems on the occurrences of the
day, for the amusement of the society which he frequent¬
ed, and of which he formed the principal charm. His
acute and just discrimination of the various shades in the
manners and dispositions of mankind was even at this time
displayed in a series of verses, characteristic of the mem-
ers of a convivial club to which he belonged.
n the year 1769 he was called, in his medical capacity,
o attend the young Duke of Hamilton, who was labour¬
ing under a pulmonary complaint, to which he ultimately
i6, a victim. His attendance at Hamilton subsequently
e to his accompanying the brother of his patient to the
It T10?!11'’ extensive and long-continued tour through
a yi rrance, and Germany, opened a wider range to his
faculty of investigating the characters of mankind than he
had hitherto enjoyed. After spending five years abroad,
he settled as a physician in London; and about the same
time commenced his literary career, by publishing the
fruits of his travels in his View of Society and Manners in
France, Switzerland, and Germany. This work was so well
received that, in the year 1781, he added to it two vo¬
lumes, entitled A View of Society and Manners in Italy. A
discriminating observer of the customs, passions, and pre¬
judices of mankind, he was admirably qualified to give a
correct and interesting view of society and manners in the
countries through which he had travelled; and, by means
of the epistolary form which he adopted, he has complete¬
ly succeeded in giving sufficient connection and animation
to his Miscellaneous Anecdotes, his Sketches of Distin¬
guished Men, and his Remarks on National Character. In
1785 he published his Medical Sketches, consisting chief¬
ly of observations on the Animal Economy and the treat¬
ment of Fevers. His next performance, which appeared
in the year following, w'as the celebrated novel of Zeluco,
in which he has exhibited a character so atrocious as ra¬
ther to excite horror than to afford amusement or instruc¬
tion. The only prototype of such a personage in fictitious
narrative (for surely none ever existed in real life) is the
Ferdinand Count Fathom of Smollett, which Dr Moore,
doubtless, had in his eye when he undertook this singular
delineation. Both characters are utterly devoid of prin¬
ciple, and are equally profligate, perfidious, and selfish.
Yet there are different shades in the characters of these
fictitious wretches; Zeluco is a more daring and hardy,
Fathom a more pliant and crafty, villain. Fathom, too, in
the commission of all his atrocities, is solely actuated by
self-interest, or the indulgence of the lowest sensual gra¬
tifications ; whereas Zeluco is excited to many of his
blackest crimes by the strongest evil passions of our na¬
ture, by hatred, envy, and revenge. Fathom has per¬
fect command of temper, and never sacrifices his interest
to caprice. Zeluco’s temper, on the other hand, is un¬
governable, and he disregards all consequences in the
gratification of his rage and malice. The moral effect of
all such pictures of depravity may well be doubted. Fa¬
thom, indeed, who is represented as a coward, a thief, and
a sharper, is so utterly degraded, loathsome, and disgust¬
ing, that the contemplation of his character is only for the
time a pollution of the imagination. But the high birth,
personal attractions, gentlemanlike accomplishments, and
courage of Zeluco, may, to an ill-regulated mind, extenuate
his enormities, and even spread the infection of his wick¬
edness. It is true, that the history of Zeluco, who is the
only son of a noble and wealthy family in Sicily, is intend¬
ed to show the fatal consequences of uncontrolled pas¬
sions, and excessive maternal indulgence. It is true, that,
with every advantage of person, birth, and fortune, he is
represented as utterly wretched from the depravity of his
nature ; that an awful punishment is awarded to him in the
catastrophe, and that he closes his life in paroxysms of pe¬
nitence. But though the author’s design may have been
laudable, the moral scope is often as much lost sight of in
the perusal as are the recondite allegories of the Orlando,
or the Jerusalem Delivered. Such a picture, too, of the
darkest tinges of villany, unmitigated by the intermixture
Moore.
lessor in 1yientlons b™ in terms of high commendation : “ Pro nrAtro) legendum monet a-go aov Joannes Young, Gr. Ling. Pro¬
ven do ivr ?1Veifta^e GlasgUEe, vir doctrince eximise, et mihi propter varias ingenii dotes multos per annos dilectissimus.” (Tenta-
2 Bibp f]™8 ab ^sehylo in Choricis Cantibus adhibitis, Sept. c. Theb. p. 84. Cantabrigiae, 1809, 8vo.)
bsiinas(4u° jfj'a.ooriana; sive Catalogus Librorum rarissimorum, praecipue in Graecis ac Latinis Litteris, quorum optimas accurat-
fL. IJ iif \ i 0p?S’ maximo surriPtu Rec minori diligentia collegit vir doctissimus, et in his rebus apprime sagax, Jacobus Moor,
AngliCo Sp Cad . asgueqsi Litt. Graec. Prof. Emeritus. Adjectus est alter Catalogus omnium fere Librorum in Graeco, Latino, vel
functi: etlmone’Jarfl raris.simoru.mi quos excudebant Rob. et And. Foulis, Acad. Glasguensis Typographi celeberrimi, nuper de-
eommondav't'01'o'1 e e^antll!m Librorum summus nitor fautoribus pulchrioris typographic per totam Europam sese tarn egregie
possessorem1 T ,ne®Libri (quorum et titulos et pretia continet uterque Catalogus) venales prostant Edinburgh apud legitimum
Vo, acobum Spotiswood, in vico dicto Niddry's Wynd. Venditione incipiente ab ipsis Id. Feb. A. 1). 1779* 8vo.
450
Moore.
MOO
MOO
, .. , • w;th thp ideas or MOORE, Sir John, a consummate British general, a Me
of one good quality, Garmon improbabi- fearless soldier, and an accomplished gentleman, was born''—
feelings of this fo“ntry» at ^ ^ G]a9gow? on the 13th of November 176L He was a
hty ; or, at least, the crede narrative ?> hardl ever ex_ son of Dr Moore> the author of Zeluco and other works
the success of every fict a ^ ^ ^ wor^ are not jUst mentioned, and received the principal part of his educa-
cited. Besides, the pn p P author’s pecu- tion on the Continent, whilst his father attended the Duke
such as afford toccasbnally re- of Hamilton in his travels. Of his early years the meagre
bar excellencies. The , ’ , picturesque biography of his brother has supplied us with few particu-
lieved by s^estfrphX [raiTs otchaSr 7 C comic lars^ excepting that he was “ really a pretty youth,” and, in
sketches, and interesting * ^ the trao.;c> and in it the true spirit of his country, quarrelled with French boys
^hr’audmr seldom fat! 0Pf Transfer we have, perhaps, of his own age. In 1776, the Duke of Hamilton procured
too much, bTtTuchanan is an admirable sketch. There
is much light humour in the relation of the story of Ko-
solia, and the comic dialogue is invariably spirited and
lively. Though now somewhat sunk in reputation, Zelu¬
co was much admired on its first appearance, and was hail-
him an ensigncy in the 51st regiment, then quartered in
Minorca ; and he afterwards obtained a lieutenancy in the
82d, with which he served in America until 1783, when he
was reduced with his regiment. By the interest of the
Duke of Hamilton, he was subsequently brought into par-
co was much admired on i s PI ’ k ! d of Hamentfor the Lanark district of burghs, which he for a
ed as one of those productions which by its knowled e o reDresented. in 1787 or 1788, he obtained the
human nature, and reach of mind, redeemed the species
of composition to which it belonged from the imputation
of frivolity, and elevated fictitious narratives to a higher
walk in the paths of literature. , , ,
In 1792 Dr Moore accompanied Lord Lauderdale to
Paris where he witnessed some of the principal scenes
of the Revolution, of which he published an interesting
account on his return to England. The same journey
supplied him with materials for his View of the Causes
and Progress of the French Revolution, which was pub¬
lished in 1795. , i , • i ^
The scenes which Dr Moore had hitherto exhibited,
both in his travels and fictitious compositions, were copied
from the manners of other countries. The novel of Ed¬
ward, which he published in 1796, is entirely confined to
the illustration of our domestic usages and national cus¬
toms Edward is a foundling, whom chance places under
the protection of Mrs Barnet. Under her guidance his
mind, which is intended as a contrast to that of Zeluco,
short time represented. In 1787 or 1788, he obtained the
rank of major in the fourth battalion of the 60th regiment,
then quartered at Chatham, but afterwards negociated an
exchange into the 51st. In 1790, he succeeded by purchase
to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the same regiment, which, the
following year, he accompanied to Gibraltar. After some
other movements, he was sent to Corsica, where, owing to
a misunderstanding between the military and naval com¬
manders, General d’Aubant resigned the command to him
under the most critical circumstances; and here, though
still a young officer, and without parliamentary friends, he
was called to fight the battles of the army against a domi¬
neering old admiral, Hood, who possessed great influence
at home, and who had shown himself capable of the most
outrageous violence, not unaccompanied with subtlety. By
dint of firmness, however, he succeeded in controlling
this daring, obstinate, clever, headstrong man ; and was at
length relieved from the difficult and embarrassing situation
in which he had been placed, by the arrival of Sir Charles
p’,Cu„fl1feTerv amiable and every manly virtue’. Stuart, who having assumed the command of the army in
!£ cha^ till at 1794, appointed Moore to command the reserve. At he
1 tb uv a natural series of incidents, he is finally brought siege of Calvi, which followed, the latter particu y
to the discovery of his reputable descent, and is united to tinguished himself, and received his first wound in storming
« beautiful heiress of whom he was enamoured, and of the Mozzello fort. He gave his opinion against besieging
whmn1 the person8he discovers to be his mother is the Bastia, which afterwards surrendered after a very feeble
guardian. The thread, however, by which the hero is defence, though the place was strong and the ga^15
connected with the other characters of the work is very merous; but this, as a mi itary ju <L°r jj
1- v.4 nnd flip incidents are barely such as keep up its was nevertheless sound and just, for Moore ne\ei c
Su "he charac^a regularuoveT It is not distin- have anticipated that General GentiH would neglect .o avad
guished by originality of sentiment, by novelty of charac- himself of the means in his power, ‘ because *e wi ^
ter, by deep involution of events, or by scenes of comph- do his duty and no more, and had pi ope y »
catedydistress or unexpected deliverance. But, without Sir Charles Stuart having been recaUedy in conseq
strongly interesting the feelings, the mind is kept, parti- of a disagreement with the viceroy, CoJone! Moore
cularly through the conversation pieces, in an agreeable ed to England in 1795, an^bei^1!rnmfC ^ ® Y‘t2ied to
state of amusement; and it is wonderful that, in its pern- a brigadier-general in the West Indies, he was a ^
sal, we should experience so little lassitude, when there is a brigade of foreign troops, consisting
so little excitation. sars, and two corps of emigrants. On the 25th of f ebru
Mordaunt possesses something of the same sort of me- ary 1796, he received orders to take charge 0 aa ^ t0
rit as Edward, but in an inferior degree. A series of with Perryn’s brigade, destined to join ie F .
letters from different persons, characteristically supported, the West indies under Sir Ralph Abercrom y, a ^ s
was a species of novel which required great versatility of hurried to Portsmouth, where 1^.habs wC {n(1“s at day-
powers, and one in which the genius of Dr Moore quah- pare a few necessaries, he sailed foi the We 
fied him peculiarly to excel. But it would appear that
the brilliancy of his wit had been tarnished by too fre¬
quent exposure to the world, or that his natural vivacity
had been somewhat diminished by the advance of age.
He survived the publication of Mordaunt only two years,
and died at London in 1802.
The reputation of Dr Moore with posterity will rest on
his travels and novels. As long as they are read, he will
pare a tew necessaries, ne saueu iui me .
light on the 28th, with no other baggage than a small po-
manteau. He arrived at Barbadoes on the 13th of Ap
1796, and there waited on the commander-in-chief, who
preceded him in the Vengeance line-of-battle ship-
calm and sagacious observer soon appreciated his mem,
in the operations against St Lucia, which immediate y.
lowed, employed him in every arduous and difficult se
During the siege of Morne Fortunee, his conduct, as
his travels and novels. As long as they are read, he will During the siege oi .viorne xuriuuec, - whole
be acknowledged as a writer endowed with admirable good pressed in general orders, was the adnurati ^ ^
sense, a rich vein of original humour, an uncommon insight army ; and, after the capitulation, he was aj j .nestly
into human nature, and a capacity of describing its intri- government of the island, notwithstanding in.ci,jef
- - - ’ ’• requested permission to accompany the commanae
cacies with force and discernment.
1
MOORE.
451
i re. and the troops in the reduction of the other islands. In
^ ^ this situation, beset with all manner of difficulties, his con¬
duct was not less admirable than in the field, and, temper¬
ing justice with humanity, the severity of military examples
with a due consideration of the circumstances which pal¬
liated the conduct of the negroes and republicans, he sub¬
dued discontent, restored order, and re-established secu¬
rity. He abhorred the cruelty of punishment, and deplored
the necessity of it; but whilst he inflicted it reluctantly,
he did ample justice to the heroic qualities of the misguid¬
ed people, whom oppression had rendered desperate. He
warred against them, and punished their crimes, but he
admired their courage, and he despised, reproached, and
restrained the whites, whose tyranny had first sown in the
hearts of the unfortunate negroes the seeds of that feroci¬
ty which it was his painful duty to repress. From certain
published extracts of a journal kept by him, it appears that
he had the very worst opinion of the emigrants and pro¬
prietors of slaves, whom he speaks of with contempt and
indignation ; that he deplored the condition of the blacks,
and threatened the emigrants with punishment for casting
reflections on the submissive republicans; that he check¬
ed them for their ill treatment of the negroes, and repeat¬
edly assured the people that royalist or republican would
be neither a merit nor a demerit with him ; and that he
suspected the slave proprietors of wishing for detachments
of troops to enable them to tyrannize over the negroes, a
system he abhorred and never would sanction. “ Why,”
he exclaimed, “ is a man to be treated harshly because he
is not white ? All men are entitled to justice ; and from
me they shall have it, whether they be white, black, roy¬
alist, or republican.” This noble language was not agree¬
able to the emigrants ; but he had no preference for them,
and wished to curb their insolence, because, instead of
profiting by their misfortunes, they had only whetted their
prejudices, and thirsted to gratify their revenge, by oppress¬
ing their fellow-creatures. Nor was he at all surprised
that so many of the blacks should have hailed the oppor¬
tunity of gaining their freedom. With the observant and
humane spirit which so peculiarly distinguished him, he re¬
marked, “ that the West Indies was the only country in the
world where industry and cultivation added nothing to the
happiness of the people; because all was for the benefit of
the few who were white, and nothing went to the comfort
of the many who were black.”
Having reduced the numerous bands of armed negroes
who had taken to the woods, and completely re-establish¬
ed tranquillity in St Lucia, Moore was relieved from the
command of the island, and returned to England in August
1797. In November, Sir Ralph Abercromby having re¬
ceived the command of the forces in Ireland, desired that
General Moore should be placed on his staff, and the lat¬
ter accordingly accompanied him to Dublin in the begin¬
ning of December. During the period immediately pre¬
ceding the rebellion, he held an important command in the
south of Ireland, which, being much disaffected, was con¬
sidered as the quarter where the enemy were, in the event
of an invasion, likely to attempt a landing. His head-quar¬
ters were at Bandon, and the troops under his command,
amounting to 3000 men, formed the advanced guard of the
south. When the insurrection broke out in 1798, he was
at first employed under Major-General Johnstone at New
oss, but was afterwards detached towards Wexford, at
at time in the hands of the insurgents. On this occa¬
sion he had only the 60th sharpshooters, 500 light infantry,
ty of Hompesch’s dragoons, and six pieces of artillery ;
an with these troops he had not proceeded above a mile
mn a large body of insurgents appeared on the road, ad-
60nnln^ t0 attack The rebels, amounting to about
men, headed by one Roche, attacked with great spi-
) and maintained the conflict with much obstinacy, but
were at length defeated, driven from the field, and pur- Moore,
sued with great loss. After the action he was joined by'^—~v-^
two regiments from Duncannon, and took post for the night
upon the ground where the combat had commenced. Next
day, when he had resumed his march, he was met by two
men from Wexford, with proposals on the part of the insur¬
gents to lay down their arms and submit on certain condi¬
tions ; but General Moore, having no power to treat, declin¬
ed entertaining these proposals, and continued his march
to Wexford, which he delivered from the power of the in¬
surgents. He was afterwards employed to suppress a rem¬
nant of the rebellion in Wicklow, where many of the in¬
surgents had taken refuge amongst the mountains and bogs,
whence they issued to wage a sort of desultory warfare.
Speaking of this affair in his journal, he says that “ mode¬
rate treatment by the generals, and the preventing of the
troops from pillaging and molesting the people, would soon
restore tranquillity; that the latter would certainly be quiet
if the gentlemen and yeomen would only behave with to¬
lerable decency, and not seek to gratify their ill humour and
revenge upon the poor and he adds, “ that he judged their
harshness and violence had originally driven the farmers
and peasants to revolt, and that they were as ready as ever
to renew their former ill usage of them.”
These and other similar observations on the insurrection
of 1798, extracted and published from General Moore’s
journal, do equal honour to his head and heart, evincing the
discriminating and unimpassioned sagacity of the statesman,
united with that high and liberal feeling which forms the
greatest ornament in the character of the accomplished sol¬
dier. “ In this country,” says he, “ they quell disturbances
by proclaiming districts, and letting the soldiers loose upon
the people, and the military are encouraged to violence
against all who are called disaffected.” Again, “ the giving
away of militia regiments was managed so as to serve parlia¬
mentary purposes, and they were officered in the same view.
Thus the most profligate of men are empowered to work
any evil that their cupidity or revengeful passions prompt
them to ; and so complete are the ramifications of corrup¬
tion, and so complicated the abuses, that the appointment
of a dictator seems to be the only cure.” When the chan¬
cellor Fitzgibbon asserted in a speech he delivered at the
time, “ that conciliation had already been tried with the
Catholics, but that it had only created discontent, and that
each new concession produced new demands,” General
Moore remarked, that “ nothing could be more natural in
the people, nothing more unreasonable than the chancel¬
lor’s complaint; that the Catholics had a right to be put on
the same footing with their fellow-subjects ; that they were
pleased with each approach to that equality, but unsatis¬
fied till they obtained all; that the government was im¬
politic and unjust to favour one part to the oppression of
nineteen ; and that all to whom equal rights were denied
were oppressed.” He further expressed his indignation at
the treatment of the poor people, and his disapproval of
the system of government, which he describes as “ having
no other object than that of terrifying the poor, ready al¬
ways to grant any power to act against them, but indulg¬
ing the rest of the community in every sort of abuse and
violence.” With a government acting in this spirit, with
an army “ formidable to every body but the enemy,” and
with an exasperated faction in the heart of the country to
take advantage of the one, and encourage the utmost li¬
cense of the other, the wonder is not that the oppressed
people, when arms were in their hands, should have com¬
mitted some excesses, but that they did not rise in mass,
and by one great simultaneous effort bury their oppress¬
ors under the ruins of their own tyranny. The enlight¬
ened views, the calm discernment, and the just and hu¬
mane sentiments of Moore, are honourable to his memory,
and worthy of the chief under whom he served, but stand
452
Moore.
MOORE.
in striking contrast to the short-sighted policy, the feroci¬
ous prejudices, the blind bigotry, and the inhuman violence,
of those by whom he was surrounded, in all departments
of the public service. T „ , .. x  
Immediately after quitting Ireland, General Moore en¬
gaged in the memorable expedition to Holland. rhe/e-
fult of this enterprise is well known. The Dutch, whom
we sought to rescue from the alleged tyranny of the French
o-overnment, made common cause with the enemy; they
received the French as friends and deliverers, because the
house of Orange, aided by Prussia, had destroyed their re¬
public, suppressing their constitution and liberties; an
hence, after a short struggle, the Duke of York was obliged
to capitulate. But the troops displayed their usual gallantry,
particularly those under the command of General Moore,
who, after being wounded in the hand and thigh, received
a musket ball in the face, and was with difficulty brought
from the ground. Being carried back to his qua^e[J a
distance of ten miles, he was taken thence to the HeWer,
as soon as he could be moved, and embarked on board the
Amethyst frigate, which arrived at the Nore on^the 24th ot
August. Soon after his return to England, the king con¬
ferred on him the command of a second battalion whicn
had just been added to the 52d regiment; and his wounds
having closed in the course of five or six weeks, he joined
his brigade at Chelmsford on the 24th of December.
Early in 1800, it had been resolved to send a body ot
troops to the Mediterranean under the command of Sir
Charles Stuart; and General Moore willingly consented to
serve under that officer, whom he greatly esteemed. _ Ihe
first intention was, that the expedition should consist ot
15,000 men ; but it afterwards turned out that the regi¬
ments destined for the service, part of which had lately
been employed in Holland, mustered only 10,000 effective.
About the middle of March, the first division, amounting
to 5000 men, embarked under General Pigott. But at this
time a change took place in the plan, if not in the desti-
nation, of the expedition. Sir Charles Stuart, having some
misunderstanding with ministers, resigned his command;
and Sir Ralph Abercromby being appointed to succeed
him, named, as one of his major-generals, Moore, who, along
with Pigott and Hutchinson, sailed about the end ot April
with the second division of the troops. During this expe¬
dition, which a variety of causes conspired to render abor¬
tive, General Moore had little opportunity of signalizing
his exertions ; nor was it until the following year, when his
troops were ordered to proceed to Egypt under Sir Ralph
Abercromby, that a theatre of action opened for the dis¬
play of his talents. On his arrival at Malta, he was sent
forward to Jaffa to inspect the Turkish army, and judge as
to the amount of co-operation which might be expected
from it; but his report being unfavourable, Sir Ralph de¬
termined to land in the bay of Aboukir, and to march im¬
mediately upon Alexandria. This was what is familiarly
called taking the bull by the horns. In regard to the
operations which followed, it is inconsistent with the ob¬
ject of this article to enter into any details respecting
them. It is sufficient to mention, that, in the affair of the
landing on the 8th of March 1801, in the combat of the
13th, and again in the battle of the 21st, where he re¬
ceived a wound in the leg, General Moore was actively
engaged, and, as usual, greatly distinguished himself. On
recovering from his wound, which occasioned him much
suffering,°he continued to serve with the army in Egypt
until after the surrender of Alexandria, when he returned
to England, where he received the honour of knighthood
and the order of the Bath.
It appears from the portion of his journal which has been
published, that it contains invaluable materials for a his¬
tory of the campaign in Egypt. The account of the bat¬
tle of Alexandria, which his brother, Mr James Moore,
has had the grace to insert in his book, is in every respect Mot
admirable. It is also satisfactory to find him censuring
that act of mingled vandalism and cruelty perpetrated by
General Hutchinson ; we mean the cutting of the dike
which excluded the sea from Lake Mareotis, by which the
lands of the poor Copts were swallowed up to the extent
of about forty miles, without any adequate or compensat¬
ing military advantage. We should have been still more
gratified if his brother had given the fragment which he
is stated to have written in defence of Sir Ralph Aber-
cromby’s military conduct, which Sir John ably vindicates,
in answer to the impudent observations of General Reg-
nier. There seems to be no good reason why this interest¬
ing composition should have been withheld, unless, indeed,
something of the kind may be detected in the declaration
which it contains, that “ English expeditions were seldom
successful, and always difficult to conduct, because they
were conducted by ministers who were ignorant of mili¬
tary affairs, and too arrogant and self-sufficient to consult
military men.”
Soon after his return to England, we find Sir John
Moore actively occupied in the camp at Shorn-Cliff, where
his skill in training troops was proved to be equal to his
daring in leading them. Many persons have been led to
suppose that he was a harsh and odious disciplinarian ; but
this calumny has been refuted by the most irrefragable
proof. “ The officers of the regiments which were formed
by his care,” says an able writer in the Edinburgh Review,
supposed to be Colonel Napier, “ were ever after his warm¬
est admirers ; his discipline it has been their object to main¬
tain ; his maxims have been their guide ; Ins reputation has
been by them considered as a part of their own ; his me¬
mory is cherished in their hearts to this day, and will be as
long as those hearts retain an atom of a soldier’s pride and
honour.” Such is the testimony of one who knew him tho¬
roughly ; and who, besides his pre-eminent qualifications
for judging rightly, had the best opportunities of under¬
standing his views and appreciating his real character.
On the renewal of the war, after the short peace of
Amiens, Sir John Moore’s talents and services pointed
him out as deserving of some important employment. He
was accordingly sent to Sicily, as second in command to
Sir John Stuart; and, when that officer had been super¬
seded by General Fox, he virtually acquired the chief
command in that island. His superior in command was
too infirm to lead an army in the field, but by no means so
debilitated as to be unable to conduct the affairs of Sicily.
If his talents were not of a high order, they were at least
respectable; and he had the merit of not being above
taking the advice of wiser men. He generally agreed with,
and always yielded to, Sir John Moore’s opinion; and
hence the English interests were better supported during
his command than they had ever been before. Associated
with such a nominal superior, Moore had full scope for the
exercise of his ability and sagacity, and, indeed, his whole
proceedings showed that his sense and judgment in civil
matters were in no degree inferior to his talents in war.
But his brother’s account of these transactions is little more
than a garbled and impotent abstract, divested of every
thing interesting or instructive. We look in vain lor
Moore’s graphic account of the Queen of Naples, and
the final character which he draws of her, confirmed as i
has since been by the testimony of Micichi in his Memons.
We want more information respecting his disputes with - r
Drummond, and also some notice of the vagaries ol sir
Sidney Smith. We desire to learn his sentiments upon
the state of Sicily, as to the character and wishes of 1 e
people of that island ; and nothing could have been more
instructive than an exposition of his views respecting a
descent upon Italy, which he was pressed to invade, u
refused until he could offer the Italians something be
MOORE.
453
)re. to fight for than the oppressions and abuses of the Sicilian
'--'court. His military criticism upon General Fraser’s expe¬
dition to Egypt, in the year 1807, might also have found a
place in the life of a general, especially one written by a
brother; but this, and much more, which would have thrown
light on the events of that time, as well as reflected credit
on his character and memory, has been most unaccounta¬
bly withheld.
When Sir John Moore arrived in England from Sicily,
he was immediately sent with an expedition to Gotten-
burg, although for what purpose, except .to get him out of
the way, whilst troops were sent to Portugal under Sir
Arthur Wellesley, it is difficult to conjecture. But how¬
ever this may be, if the troops had been committed to the
charge of a man less able, prompt, and resolute, 10,000 of
the finest soldiers of England would have been sacrificed.
“ The contradictory instructions given by the ministers,”
says the able writer already referred to, “ and the silence
observed by them when Moore represented the real state of
affairs, were proofs of their bad intentions, and bad faith,
as well as absurdity ; and if any doubt could be entertain¬
ed upon this head, the orders which reached Sir James
Saumarez, three days after Moore’s departure from Got-
tenburg (orders prescribing the employment of the army
to bring off the Spaniards under Romana from Holstein),
would have set that doubt aside.’’ This is, no doubt, a
strong opinion ; but when it is considered, that if the king
of Sweden had been only one degree less insane than he
actually was, the English ministers would, at the same time,
have commenced regular military operations by land against
Russia in one extremity of Europe, and Napoleon in the
other, it is difficult to account for their conduct upon any
principle of sense or rational policy. On his return to
England, Sir John Moore was received with something
more than coldness by the ministers, who gave him no
credit whatever for saving the troops, and seem to have
been offended because their designs, whatever these were,
had been baffled by his energy and decision.
We come now to the expedition to Spain, which termi¬
nated Sir John Moore’s earthly career. In 1808, he was
appointed to the chief command of an army to be employ¬
ed in Spain; and Gallicia, or the borders of Leon, were
fixed upon as the place for assembling the troops. He was
ordered to send the cavalry by land, but it was left to his
own discretion to transport the infantry and artillery either
by sea or land ; and being at the same time informed that
15,000 men were ordered to Coruna under General Sir
David Baird, he was directed to give such instructions to
that officer as should facilitate the junction of the whole
force. Before he commenced his advance from Portugal,
he was assured that his entry into Spain would be covered
by from 60,000 or 70,000 men; and Burgos was the place
fixed on for the junction of the different divisions. But he
soon discovered that these assurances were fallacious, that
little or no reliance could be placed upon the Spaniards,
and that the patriotic enthusiasm which he had been taught
to expect in the people had either never existed at all, or
had entirely evaporated. Not only Burgos, but Valladolid,
was in possession of the enemy ; and he found himself with
an advanced corps, in an open town, at the distance of
only three marches from the French army, without even a
Spanish piquet to cover his front. At this time, he had
only three brigades of infantry, without a single gun in
Salamanca; and although the remainder were coming up in
succession, the whole could not be assembled in less than ten
days. At this critical moment, the Spanish armies, instead
of concentrating or uniting in a common effort with the
ntish, were disseminated all over the peninsula; Blake
iad been defeated, and his army totally dispersed; Romana,
equally weak and obstinate, proved incapable of under-
takmg any thing; and Sir David Baird, informed that the
French were advancing upon him in two directions, was Moore,
preparing to retreat upon Coruna, a movement which was v-—
countermanded by Sir John Moore, upon learning that
the report was unfounded. For an account of what fol¬
lowed, we must refer to the first volume of Colonel Na¬
pier’s History of the Peninsular War. Never was a gene¬
ral commanding an army placed in a more critical position
than Sir John Moore ; for, whilst he received information
that there was now no army remaining in the field except
his own, which was thus exposed to be attacked upon all
sides by overwhelming numbers, he was called upon to re¬
pel the most irritating interference, to guard against open
treachery, and to counteract folly, equal in its effects to
treachery. Yet, even in these circumstances, he was
willing to attempt something for the cause, and even to
risk the danger of an advance on the capital. With this
view he commenced a forward movement from Salamanca
on the 12th of December, intending to attack Soult on the
Carrion, draw the mass of the French force towards the
north of Spain, and thus afford the Spanish armies time to
rally and adopt some new plan of operations. This move¬
ment, in a strategical point of view, was ably conceived
and well timed, hardy, and successful; but Sir John Moore,
with 23,000 men, could not maintain himself against the
whole French army; and as Napoleon, having secured the
capital, was now rapidly advancing at the head of from
60,000 to 70,000 men, a retreat became inevitable. In what
manner this retreat was conducted, and how gloriously it
terminated, we shall leave Colonel Napier to describe.
“ Lord Bacon observes, that ‘ honourable retreats are
noways inferior to brave charges, as having less of for¬
tune, more of discipline, and as much of valour.’ That is
an honourable retreat in which the retiring general loses
no trophies in fight, sustains every charge without being
broken, and finally, after a severe action, re-embarks his
army in the face of a superior enemy without being seri¬
ously molested. It w'ould be honourable to effect this be¬
fore a foe only formidable from numbers, but it is infinitely
more creditable, when the commander, while struggling with
bad weather and worse fortune, has to oppose veterans with
inexperienced troops, and to contend against an antagonist
of eminent ability, who scarcely suffers a single advantage
to escape him during his long and vigorous pursuit. All
this Sir John Moore did, and finished his work by a death
as firm and glorious as any that antiquity can boast of.
“ Put to Lord Bacon’s test, in what shall the retreat to
Coruna be found deficient ? Something in discipline, per¬
haps, but that fault does not attach to the general. Those
commanders who have been celebrated for making fine
retreats were in most instances well acquainted with their
armies; and Hannibal, speaking of the elder Scipio, de¬
rided him, although a brave and skilful man, for that,
being unknown to his own soldiers, he should presume to
oppose himself to a general who could call to each man
under his command by name : thus inculcating, that, un¬
less troops be trained in the peculiar method of a com¬
mander, the latter can scarcely achieve any thing great.
Now Sir John Moore had a young army suddenly placed
under his guidance; and it was scarcely united when the
superior numbers of the enemy forced it to a retrograde
movement under very harassing circumstances: he had
not time, therefore, to establish a system of discipline;
and it is in the leading events, not the minor details, that
the just criterion of his merits is to be sought for.
“ Was the retreat uncalled for? Was it unnecessarily
precipitate? Was any opportunity of crippling the enemy
lost? Was any weakness to be discovered in the personal
character of the general ? These are the questions that
sensible men will ask: the first has been already examin¬
ed; the second is a matter of simple calculation. The
rear guard quitted Astorga on the 1st of January; on the
4»
&
454
MOORE.
Moore.
3d it repulsed the enemy in a sharp skirmish at Calcabe-
los; the 6th it rejoined the main body at Lugo, having
three times checked the pursuers during the march. It
was unbroken, and lost no gun, suffered no misfoitune,
the whole army offered battle at Lugo for two successive
days; it was not accepted ; and the retreat recommen¬
cing, the troops reached Betanzos on the morning of the
10th, and Coruna on the 11th: thus, in eleven days, three
of which were days of rest, a small army passed over a
hundred and fifty miles of good road. Now Napoleon,
with fifty thousand men, left Madrid on the 22d of De¬
cember, the 28th he was at Villapando, having performed
a march, on bad roads, of a hundred and sixty-four miles
in seven days. The retreat to Coruna was consequently
not precipitate, unless it can be shown that it was unne¬
cessary to retreat at all beyond Villa Franca; neither can
it be asserted that any opportunity of crippling the enemy
was lost. To fight a battle was the game of the French
marshal; and if any censure will apply to his able cam¬
paign, it is that he delayed to attack at Lugo; victorious
or beaten, the embarrassments of his adversary must have
been increased ; Sir John Moore must have continued his
retreat encumbered with the wounded, or the latter must
have been abandoned without succour in the midst of
winter.
“ At Coruna the absence of the fleet necessarily brought
on a battle. That it was honourable to the British troops
is clear from the fact that they embarked without loss
after the action; and that it was absolutely necessary to
embark notwithstanding the success, is as certain a proof
how little advantage could have been derived from any
battle fought farther inland, and how prudently Sir John
Moore acted in declining an action the moment he had
rallied his army at Lugo, and restored that discipline
which the previous movements had shaken ; but, notwith¬
standing the clamour with which this campaign has been
assailed, as if no army had ever yet suffered such misfor¬
tunes, it is certain that the nominal loss was small, the
real loss smaller, and that it sinks into nothing when com¬
pared with the advantages gained. An army which, after
marching in advance or retreat above five hundred miles
before an enemy of immensely superior force, has only
lost, including those killed in battle, four thousand men,
or a sixth part of its numbers, cannot be said to have suf¬
fered severely ; nor would the loss have been so great, but
for the intervention of the accidental occurrences men¬
tioned in the narrative. Night marches are seldom happy ;
that from Lugo to Betanzos cost the army in stragglers
more than double the number of men lost in all the pre¬
ceding operations; nevertheless, the reserve in that, as in
all the other movements, suffered little ; and it is a fact,
that the light brigades detached by the Vigo road, which
were not pursued, made no forced marches, slept under
cover, and were well supplied, left, in proportion to their
strength, as many men behind as any other part of the
army ; thus accumulating proof upon proof that inexperi¬
ence was the primary and principal cause of the disorders
which attended the retreat. Those disorders were suffi¬
ciently great; but many circumstances contributed to
produce an appearance of suffering and disorganization
which was not real. The intention of Sir John Moore
was to have proceeded to Vigo, in order to restore order
before he sailed for England; instead of which, the fleet
steered home directly from Coruna; a terrible storm scat¬
tered it; many ships were wrecked, and the remainder,
driving up the channel, were glad to put into any port.
The soldiers, thus thrown on shore, were spread from the
Land’s End to Dover. Their haggard appearance, ragged
clothing, and dirty accoutrements, things common enough
in war, struck a people only used to the daintiness of pa- Mt
rade, with surprise; the usual exaggerations of men just"—
escaped from perils and distresses were increased by the
uncertainty in which all were as to the fate of their com¬
rades ; a deadly fever, the result of anxiety, and of the
sudden change from fatigue to the confinement of a ship,
filled the hospitals at every port with officers and soldiers;
and thus the miserable state of Sir John Moore’s army
became the topic of every letter, and a theme for every
country newspaper along the coast. The nation, at that
time unused to great operations, forgot that war is not a
harmless game, and, judging of the loss positively, instead
of comparatively, was thus disposed to believe the calum¬
nies of interested men, who were eager to cast a shade
over one of the brightest characters that ever adorned the
country. Those calumnies triumphed for a moment; but
Moore’s last appeal to his country for justice will be suc¬
cessful. Posterity, revering and cherishing his name, will
visit such of his odious calumniators as are not too con¬
temptible to be remembered, with a just and severe retri¬
bution ; for thus it is that time freshens the beauty of
virtue and withers the efforts of baseness; and if autho¬
rity be sought for in a case where reason speaks so plain¬
ly, future historians will not fail to remark, that the man
whose talents exacted the praises of Soult, of Wellington,
and of Napoleon, could be no ordinary soldier.
“ ‘ Sir John Moore,’ says the first, ‘ took every advan¬
tage that the country afforded to oppose an active and vi¬
gorous resistance, and he finished by dying in a combat
that must do credit to his memory.’
“ Napoleon more than once affirmed, that if he com¬
mitted a few trifling errors, they were to be attributed to
his peculiar situation, for that his talents and firmness
alone had saved the English army from destruction.
“ < In Sir John Moore’s campaign,’ said the Duke of
Wellington, ‘ I can see but one error; when he advanced
to Sahagun he should have considered it as a movement
of retreat, and sent officers to the rear to mark and pre¬
pare the halting-places for every brigade ; but this opinion
I have formed after long experience of war, and especially
of the peculiarities of a Spanish war, which must have
been seen to be understood; finally, it is an opinion form¬
ed after the event.’ ”1
The fall of Sir John Moore is thus described by Captain,
now Sir Henry, Hardinge : “ I had been ordered by the
commander-in-chief to desire a battalion of the guards to
advance; which battalion was at one time intended to
have dislodged a corps of the enemy from a house and
garden on the opposite side of the valley; and I was point¬
ing out to the general the situation of the battalion, and
our horses were touching, at the moment that a cannon-
shot from the enemy’s battery carried away his left shoul¬
der, and part of the collar-bone, leaving the arm hanging
by the flesh. The violence of the stroke threw him off his
horse on his back. Not a muscle of his face altered, nor
did a sigh betray the least sensation of pain. I dismount¬
ed, and, taking his hand, he pressed mine forcibly, casting
his eyes anxiously towards the 42d regiment, w hich was
hotly engaged; and his countenance expressed satisfac¬
tion when I informed him that the regiment was advan¬
cing. Assisted by a soldier of the 42d, he was remove a
few yards behind the shelter of a wall. _ Colonel Grahatn
of Balgowan (Lord Lyndoch) and Captain (now Sir John;
Woodford, about this time came up, and, perceiving the
state of Sir John’s wound, instantly rode off for a surgeon.
The blood flowed fast, but the attempt to stop it with my
sash was useless, from the size of the wound. Sir o n
assented to being removed in a blanket to the rear. n
raising him for that purpose, his sword, hanging on e
Napier’s History of the War in the Peninsula, vol. i. p. 525-530.
MOO
M O R 455
>rghur wounded side, touched his arm, and became entangled be¬
ll tween his legs. I perceived the inconvenience, and was
ha!) in the act of unbuckling it from his waist, when he said,
^ in his usual tone and manner, and in a very distinct voice,
‘ It is as well as it is; I had rather it should go out of the field
with me.’” When the surgeons arrived, he said to them,
“ you can be of no service to me ; go to the soldiers, to
whom you may be useful.” As he was carried slowly along
in the blanket, he made the soldiers by whom he was borne
frequently turn him round to view the field of battle, and
listen to the firing, and he seemed pleased when the sound
grew fainter. On arriving at his lodgings, he suffered
great pain, and could speak but little; at length, however,
he said to Colonel Anderson, who, for more than twenty
years, had been his friend and companion in arms, “ An¬
derson, you know that I always wished to die in this way.”
He frequently asked, “ Are the French beaten ?” and
when he was told that they had been defeated at every
point, he said, “ It is a great satisfaction for me to know
that we have beaten the Frenchadding, “ I hope the
people of England will be satisfied; I hope my country
will do me justice.” To Major Stanhope he said, “ Stan¬
hope, remember me to your sisterand having men¬
tioned the name of his venerable mother, for whom he
seemed anxious to offer up his last prayers, he lost all power
of utterance, and in a few minutes afterwards expired with¬
out a struggle.
Thus fell, on the 16th of January 1809, in the forty-
seventh year of his age, after gaining a victory which
saved the remainder of the army from destruction, and
which, in alT its circumstances, was perhaps unparalleled
in the annals of war, Lieutenant-general Sir John Moore,
a perfect model of a British soldier at a time when such
models were few, and a hero cast in the true classical mould,
being equally a stranger to fear and reproach, yet one
whom the rancorous malignity of faction basely attempted
to deprive of his just fame, whilst venal pens were hired
to depreciate his achievements, and servile poets vainly
sought to exclude his name from the list of the brave who
had fought and fallen in the same struggle. But his
country was well disposed to acknowledge his merits, and
history has already placed his character and actions be¬
yond the reach of ever being affected by contemporary in¬
justice. (A<)
MOORGHUR, a formidable town of Hindustan, in the
province of Bejapoor, enclosed by a wall, and surrounded
by a ditch. It is fifteen miles north-west from Darwar.
MOORING, the act of confining and securing a ship
m a Particular station, by means of chains or cables, which
are fastened either to the adjacent shore or to anchors in
the bottom.
MOORLEY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
hengal, and district of Jessore, sixty-two miles north-east
hom Calcutta. Long. 89. 15. E. Lat. 23. 7. N.
MOORLEYDURSERAY, a town of Hindustan, in the
province of Agra, district of Etaweh, forty-two miles east-
south-east from the city of Agra. Long. 78. 40. E. Lat.
MOORSHEDABAD, a city of Hindustan, in the dis-
nct of Ranjeshy, and province of Bengal, of which it was
3 h0I!f ^me ^ caP^a^ original name was Muksoo-
sa ad; but this was changed to its present denomination.
., extends, including Cossimbazar, eight miles on both
si es of the Bhagiratty or Cossimbazar River, a branch
ot the Ganges, about 120 miles above Calcutta. It is
mo ern city, and was never fortified, excepting by an
ccasienal rampart, in 1742, during the Mahratta inva-
t,0n' , ^ 16 streets are narrow and inconvenient, insomuch
l ey are, impassable for European carriages. The
mgs are in general bad. Most of the houses have
y one story, with tiled roofs; and the palace of the
nabob is„so insignificant as to be passed without observa- Moot
tion. From the market-place runs a long narrow wind- II
ing street, composed of mean houses and huts, which is Mirada-
again intersected by others still more narrow and miser- v a(
able. The sewers originally intended to carry off the wa¬
ter, having been destroyed, the streets become nearly
impassable after a heavy fall of rain, and emit putrid ef¬
fluvia. In the year 1813, a canal was dug between the
Bhagiratty and the great Ganges rivers, which, indepen¬
dently of its commercial benefits, tended to ameliorate the
unhealthiness of the town. But notwithstanding these ex¬
ertions, it was remarkably unhealthy in 1814, and many
Europeans suffered in the general mortality which pre¬
vailed. Various causes are assigned for the unhealthiness
of Moorshedabad, in consequence of which the population
is on the decline. It is still, however, a place of great in¬
land traffic, and the river is constantly covered with boats.
The district of Moorshedabad comprises a portion of ter¬
ritory in the'immediate vicinity of the city, and contains,
according to estimate, 1,020,572 persons. This district
is the chief seat of the manufacture of woven silk and taf¬
feta, both plain and flowered ; and many other sorts for in¬
land commerce and exportation are made more abundantly
than at any other place where silk is woven. In 1757 Moor¬
shedabad was superseded as the capital of Bengal by Cal¬
cutta. Long. 88.15. E. Lat. 27. 1. N.
MOOT, a difficult case argued by the young barristers
and students at the inns of court, by way of exercise, the
better to qualify them for practice, and for defending the
causes of their clients. This is called mooting, and forms
the chief exercise of the inns of court. Particular times are
appointed for the arguing of moot cases. The place where
this exercise is performed was anciently called moot-hall;
and there is a bailiff or surveyor of the moots, annually
chosen by the bench, with power to appoint the moot men
for the Inns of Chancery, and to keep an account of the
performance of exercises. The word is formed either from
the Saxon metan, gemetan, meeting, or from the French
mot, a word.
MOOTAPILLY, a town of Hindustan, in Guntoor cir-
car, on the coast of Coromandel, situated at the mouth of
a river which falls into the Bay of Bengal. Long. 80. 10.
E. Lat. 15. 35. N.
MOPSUS, in fabulous history, a celebrated prophet
during the Trojan war, the son of Manto and Apollo. He
was consulted by Amphimachus, king of Colophon, who
wished to know what success would attend his arms in a
war which he was going to undertake; and he predicted
the greatest calamities; but Calchas, who had been a
soothsayer of the Greeks during the Trojan war, promised
the greatest successes. Amphimachus followed the opi¬
nion of Calchas; but the prediction of Mopsus was fully
verified. This had such an effect upon Calchas, that he
died soon afterwards. His death is attributed by some to
another mortification of the same nature.
MORAD, one of the head streams of the Euphrates,
and the most considerable of the whole, which has its
source under the walls of Bayazed, in about 38. 40. north
latitude, and 43. 30. east longitude. It flows westward,
and joins the northern branch near Kebban, in Mount Tau¬
rus. The valley through which this river runs yields the
finest pasturage in the world. It is now abandoned to the
wandering tribes.
MORADABAD, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Delhi, district of Bareilly. It has considerably declined
from its ancient consequence, having been the seat of a
mint, in which rupees were coined, which are still current
in Hindustan. It is fifty miles north-west from the town
of Bareilly. This is also the name of a town belonging to
Sindia, in the province of Ajmeer, forty miles from the city
of that name.
456
MOEAL PHILOSOPHY.'
Moral Phi- Moral Philosophy is the science of manners or duty,
losophy. which it traces from man’s nature and condition, and shows
^ to terminate in his happiness; in other words, it is the
knowledge of our duty and felicity, or the art of being vir¬
tuous and happy. ' . . c ,
It is denominated an art, as it contains a system ot rules
for becoming virtuous and happy; and whoever p> actises
these rules, attains an habitual power or facility of becomin g
virtuous and happy. It is likewise called a science, as it de¬
duces those rules from the principles and connections ol our
nature, and proves that the observance of them is produc¬
tive of our happiness. It is an art and a science of the hig i-
est dignity, importance, and use. Its object is man s duty,
or his conduct in the several moral capacities and connections
which he sustains. Its office is to direct our conduct; to show
whence our obligations arise, and where they terminate. Its
use, or end, is the attainment of happiness; and the means MoraL
it employs are rules for the right conduct of our moral power-s. losot|.
Moral Philosophy has this in common with Natural Phi-w
losophy, that it appeals to nature or fact; it depends on
observation, and it builds its reasonings on plain uncontro¬
vertible experiments, or upon the fullest induction of parti¬
culars of which the subject will admit. We must observe,
in both these sciences, how nature is affected, and what her
conduct is in such and such circumstances. In other
words, we must collect the appearances of nature in any
given instance ; trace them to some general principles or
laws of operation; and then apply these principles or laws
to the explanation of other phenomena.
The history of this branch of Philosophy having been
largely discussed in the Preliminary Dissertations, we shall
here proceed to consider it in a systematic form.
PART I.
CHAP. r.—OF MAN AND HIS CONNECTIONS.
Man’s in- Man is born a weak, helpless, delicate creature, unpro-
fant state, vided with food, clothing, and whatever else is necessary
for subsistence or defence. And yet, exposed as the in¬
fant is to numberless wants and dangers, he is utterly in¬
capable of supplying the one, or securing himself against
the other. But, though thus feeble and exposed, he finds
immediate and sure resources in the affection and care of
his parents, who refuse no labours, and forego no dangers,
to nurse and rear up the tender babe. By these powerful
instincts, as by some mighty chain, does nature link the
parent to the child, and form the strongest moral connec¬
tion on his part, before the child has the least apprehen¬
sion of its nature. Hunger and thirst, with all the sensations
which accompany or are connected with them, explain them¬
selves by a language strongly expressive, and irresistibly
moving. As the several senses furnish notices and informa¬
tions of surrounding objects, we may perceive in the young
spectator early signs of a growing wonder and admiration.
Bright objects and striking sounds are beheld -and heard
with a sort of commotion and surprise. But, without rest¬
ing on any, he eagerly passes on from object to object, still
pleased with whatever is newest. Thus the love of novel¬
ty is formed, and the passion of wonder kept awake. By
degrees he becomes acquainted with the most familiar ob¬
jects, his parents, his brethren, and those of the family who
are most conversant with him. He contracts a fondness
for them, is uneasy when they are gone, and charmed to
see them again. These feelings become the foundation of
a moral attachment on his side; and by this reciprocal
sympathy he forms the domestic alliance with his parents,
brethren, and other members of the family. Hence he
becomes interested in their concerns, and feels joy or grief,
hope or fear, on their account, as well as his own. As his
affections now point beyond himself to others, he is deno¬
minated a good or ill creature, as he stands well or ill affected
towards them. These, then, are the first links of the moral
chain ; the early rudiments, or outlines, of his character,
and his first rude essays towards agency, freedom, man¬
hood.
When he begins to make excursions from the nursery, His c
and extends his acquaintance abroad, he forms a little circle hood,
of companions, engages with them in play, or in quest ot
adventures ; and leads, or is led by them, as his genius is
more or less aspiring. Although this is properly the season
in which appetite and passion have the ascendant, yet his
imagination and intellectual powers open apace; and as the
various images of things pass before the mental eye, he
forms variety of tastes, relishes some things, and dislikes
others, as his parents and companions, whilst a thousand
other circumstances lead him to combine agreeable or disa¬
greeable sets of ideas, or represent to him objects in allur¬
ing or odious lights.
As his views are enlarged, his active and social powers
expand themselves in proportion; the love of action, ot
imitation, and of praise; emulation, curiosity, docility, a
passion for command, and fondness of change. His pas
sions are quick, variable, and pliant to every impression,
his attachments and disgusts quickly succeed each other.
He compares things, distinguishes actions, judges ot cha¬
racters, and loves or hates them, as they appear we or i
affected to himself, or to those he holds dear. Meanwhile
he soon grows sensible of the consequences of his own ac¬
tions, as they attract applause, or bring contempt; he tri¬
umphs in the former, and is ashamed of the latter, wan
to hide them, and blushes when they are discovered, fly
means of these powers he becomes a fit subject of cu ure,
the moral tie is drawn closer, he feels that he is ac^°|l|n
able for his conduct to others as well as to himself, and tn
is gradually ripening for society and action.
As man advances from childhood to youth, his passi
as well as perceptions take a more extensive range.
senses of pleasure invite him to new pursuits; he grow
sensible to the attractions of beauty, feels a Pe<]ul‘ar sy '
pathy with the sex, and forms a more tender kind of atta -
ment than he has yet experienced. This becomes the
ment of a new moral relation, and gives a softer turn
■ 1 This Treatise seems to have been compiled for the second edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica; and, with the adchtion o ^ ^
preliminary view of the History of Ethics, which it received in the third, it has been reprinted in all the subsequent e * wouM
have republished this historical portion, after the extensive dissertation on the same subject, prefixed to the present e i 10 ’ , a(|.
have been worse than useless; but, though that dissertation touches upon almost all the principal doctrines of Ethics, i s - ^
visable to reprint the rest; because a sample, at least, of Systematic Ethics, was evidently required in a work ot this m ,
present treatise may be useful in that view, though not in afi respects what we could have wished to offer to our readers.
L
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
H lan
bo
j and passions and behaviour. In this turbulent period he enters
ton. more deeply into a relish of friendship, company, exercises,
and diversions; the love of truth, of imitation, and of design,
^grows upon him; and as his connections spread amongst
his neighbours, fellow-citizens, and countrymen, his thirst
of praise, emulation, and social affections grows more intense
and active. Meanwhile, it is impossible for him to have lived
thus long without having become sensible of those more au¬
gust impressions of order, wisdom, and goodness, which are
stamped on the visible creation, and of those strong sugges¬
tions within himself of a parent mind, the source of all in¬
telligence and beauty; an object as well as source of that
activity and those aspirations which sometimes rouse his
inmost frame, and carry him out of himself to an almighty
and all-governing power. Hence arise those sentiments
of reverence, and those affections of gratitude, resignation,
and love, which link the soul with the Author of Nature,
and form that most sublime and godlike of all connections.
Man having now reached his prime, either new passions
succeed, or the former set are wound up to a higher pitch.
For, growing more sensible of his connections with the
public, and that particular community to which he more
immediately belongs, and taking withal a larger prospect
of human life, and its various wants and enjoyments, he
forms more intimate friendships, grasps at power, courts
honour, lays down cooler plans of interest, and becomes
more attentive to the concerns of society ; he enters into
family connections, and indulges those charities which
arise therefrom. The reigning passions of this period
powerfully prompt him to provide for the decays of life;
whilst compassion and gratitude exert their influence in
urging the man, now in full vigour, to requite the affection
and care of his parents, by supplying their wants and al¬
leviating their infirmities.
d At length human life verges downwards, and old age
creeps on apace, with its anxiety, love of ease, interested¬
ness, fearfulness, foresight, and love of offspring. The ex¬
perience of the aged is formed to direct, and their coolness
to temper, the heat of youth; the former teaches them
to look back on past follies, and the latter to look for¬
ward into the consequences of things, and provide against
the worst. Thus every age has its peculiar genius and set
of passions corresponding to that period, and most condu¬
cive to the prosperity of the rest; and thus are the wants
of one period supplied by the capacities of another, and the
weaknesses of one age tally with the passions of another.
0 Besides these, there are other passions and affections of
’ j* yss ambulatory nature, not peculiar to one period, but
belonging to every age, and acting more or less in every
breast throughout life. Such are self-love, benevolence,
love of life, honour, shame, hope, fear, desire, aversion, joy,
sorrow, anger, and the like. The two first are affections
of a cooler strain; one pointing to the good of the indivi-
^the other to that of the species: joy and sorrow, hope
and fear, seem to be only modifications, or different exer-
ions, of the same original affections of love and hatred,
esire and aversion, arising from the different circum-
s ances or position of the object desired or abhorred, as it
18 P^esent; or absent. From these likewise arise other se¬
condary or occasional passions, which, as far as regards
eir existence and several degrees, depend upon the ori-
g'na affections being gratified or disappointed; as anger,
omp acence, confidence, jealousy, love, hatred, dejection,
u ation, contentment, disgust, which do not form lead-
ing passions, but rather hold of them,
ral ^ cleSj s*mP^ But powerful springs, whether periodi-
Dre^ , ^ t*le Bfe of man, weak and indigent as he is, is
const™61 an^ securecB and the creature is prompted to a
„ ]S ant round of action, even to supply his own numerous
on« HVer*return*n£.wants, and to guard against the vari-
angers and evils to which he is obnoxious. By these
vol. xv. J
457
links men are connected with each other, formed into fa- Man and
milies, drawn into particular communities, and all united his 9on*
as if by a common league into one system or body, the nec^ons- ^
members of which feel and sympathise one with another. ^ v ^
By this admirable adjustment of the constitution of man
to his actual state, and the gradual evolution of his powers,
order is maintained, society upheld, and human life filled
with that variety of passion and action which at once en¬
livens and diversifies it.
This is a short sketch of the principal movements of the The di¬
human mind. Yet these movements are not the whole ofrecting
man ; they impel to action, but do not direct it; they need Power*
a regulator to guide their motions, to measure and apply
their forces ; and accordingly they have one which natural¬
ly superintends and directs their action. We are conscious
of a principle within us, which examines, and compares,
and weighs things; notes the differences, observes the
forces, and foresees the consequences, of affections and ac¬
tions. By this power we look back on past times, and for¬
ward into futurity; gather experiences; estimate the real
ai^d comparative value of objects; layout schemes; contrive
means to execute them ; and settle the whole order and
economy of life. This power we commonly distinguish by
the name of reason or reflection, the business of which is
not to suggest any original notices or sensations, but to
canvass, range, and make deductions from them. '
f We are also intimately conscious of a principle within us, Powers of
which approves of certain sentiments, passions, and actions, judging or
and disapproves of their contraries. In consequence of the aPProving.
decisions of this inward judge, we denominate some actions
and principles of conduct right, honest, good ; and others
wrong, dishonest, evil. The former of these excite our es¬
teem, moral complacence, and affection, immediately and
originally of themselves, without regard to their conse¬
quences, and whether they affect our interest or not; and
the latter do as naturally and necessarily call forth our
contempt, scorn, and aversion. That power by which we
perceive this difference in affections and actions, and feel
a consequent relish or dislike, is commonly called con¬
science, or the moral sense.
That there is such a power as this in the mind of every Conscience,
man of sound understanding, is a fact which cannot be
controverted; but whether it be an instinctive power, or
the result of early and deep-rooted associations, ha| been
long and ably debated. The question is of importance in
the science of human nature, as well as in ascertaining the
standard of practical virtue ; but to us it appears that the
contending parties have carried their respective opinions
to dangerous extremes.
When it is affirmed, as it sometimes has been, that rea¬
son has nothing to do in ethical science, but that in every
possible situation our duty is pointed out and the perfor¬
mance of it enforced by mere sentiment, the consequence
seems to be, that virtue and vice are nothing permanent
in themselves, but change their nature according to local
circumstances. Certain it is, that sentiment has in similar
situations approved of very different practices in different
ages and different nations. At present this sentiment in
Europe approves of the universal practice of justice, and
of parents protecting their children, whether well or ill
formed, whether strong or weak ; but in Sparta we know
that theft, if dexterously practised, was approved, and not
unfrequently rewarded; and that the exposition of lame
and deformed children was not only permitted, but abso
lutely enjoined. There is nothing which our conscience
or moral sense condemns with greater severity, or views
as a crime of a deeper dye, than the unkind treatment
by children of their aged parents; yet there are savages,
amongst whom instincts of all kinds ought to prevail in
greater purity than in civilized nations, whose moral sense
permits them to put their aged and decrepid parents to
3 M
458
MORAL PH
death. If this sense be instinctive, and the sole judge of
right and wrong, how comes it to decide so differently on
the same line of conduct in different ages and irl distant
countries ? The instinct of brutes, in similar circumstan¬
ces, prompts uniformly to similar actions in every age and
in every region where the species is found ; and the ex¬
ternal senses of man afford in all nations the same unva¬
ried evidence concerning their respective objects. lo
these observations we may add, that instincts must be cal¬
culated for the state of nature, whatever that state may be,
and therefore cannot be supposed capable of directing our
steps throughout all the labyrinths of polished society, in
which duties are to be performed which in a state of na¬
ture would never have been thought of.
But although for these reasons it is apparent that mere
sentiment, whether called conscience or the moral sense,
would alone be a very unsafe guide to virtue in every in¬
dividual case that may occur, we think that those who re¬
solve all such sentiment into habit and the effect of edu¬
cation, without giving any part of it to nature, advance an
opinion which is equally ill founded and not less dangerous.
There are, indeed, men who affirm that all benevolence is
hypocrisy, friendship a cheat, public spirit a farce, fidelity
a snare to procime trust and confidence ; and that whilst all
of us at bottom pursue only our private interest, we wear
those fair disguises in order to put those off their guard
with whom we have to deal, and to expose them the more
to our wiles and machinations. Others, again, too virtuous
to accuse themselves and the rest of mankind of direct
knavery, yet insist, that whatever affection one may feel, or
imagine he feels, for others, no passion is or can be disin¬
terested ; that the most generous friendship, however sin¬
cere, is only a modification of self-love ; and that, even un¬
known to ourselves, we seek our own gratification, whilst
we appear the most deeply engaged in schemes for the
liberty and the happiness of mankind.
Surely the mildest of these representations is an exag¬
gerated picture of the selfishness of man. Self-love is in¬
deed a very powerful as well as an essential principle in
human nature; but that we have likewise an instinctive
principle of benevolence, which, without any particular re¬
gard to our own interest, makes us feel pleasure in the hap¬
piness of other men, is a fact which we think admits of very
complete proof. For, as Mr Hume well argues, “ when a
man grieves for a friend who could be of no service to him,
but, on the contrary, stood in need of his constant patronage
and protection, how is it possible to suppose that such pas¬
sionate tenderness arises from self-interest, which has no
foundation in nature ? What interest,’’ asks the same pro¬
found thinker, “ can a fond mother have in view, who loses
her health by her assiduous attendance on her sick child,
and afterwards languishes and dies of grief when freed by its
death from the slavery of attendance ? Have we no. satis¬
faction,” continues he, “ in one man’s company above an¬
other’s, and no desire of the welfare of our friend, even
though absence or death should prevent us from all parti¬
cipation in it ? Or what is it commonly that gives us any
participation in it, even while alive and present, but our
affection and regard to him ?” Nor is it to contemporaries
and individuals alone, that, independently of all interest, we
feel a benevolent attachment. We constantly bestow praise
upon actions calculated to promote the good of mankind,
though performed in ages very distant and in countries the
most remote ; and he who was the author of such actions
is the object of our esteem and affection. There is not
perhaps a man alive, however selfish in his disposition, w'ho
does not applaud the sentiment of that emperor who, re¬
collecting at supper that he had done nothing in that day
for any one, exclaimed with regret, that the day had been
lost; yet the utmost subtilty of imagination can discover
no appearance of interest that we can have in the genero-
IL O S O P H Y.
sity of Titus, or find any connection of our present happi-
ness with a character removed so far from us both in time hii'[n.
and in place. But, as Mr Hume justly observes, if we even
feign a character consisting of all the most generous and ~
beneficent qualities, and give instances in which these dis¬
play themselves, after an eminent and most extraordinary
manner, for the good of mankind, we shall instantly engage
the esteem and approbation of all our audience, who will
never so much as inquire in what age or country the ac¬
complished person lived.
These are facts which cannot be controverted; and they
are wholly unaccountable, if there be not in human nature
an instinctive sentiment of benevolence or sympathy which
feels a disinterested pleasure in the happiness of mankind.
But an end in which we feel such pleasure we are naturally
prompted to pursue ; and therefore the same sentiment
impels every man, with greater or less force, to promote
the happiness of other men, which by means of it becomes
in reality his own good, and is afterwards pursued from the
combined motives of benevolence and self-enjoyment. For
in obeying this sentiment we all feel an inward compla¬
cency, self-approbation, or consciousness of worth or merit;
and in disobeying it, which cannot be done but with re¬
luctance, we feel remorse, or a consciousness of unworthi¬
ness or demerit. It appears, however, from history, that
the sentiment, as it is instinctive, points only to the good
of mankind, without informing us how that good is to be
promoted. The means proper for this purpose must be
discovered by reason ; and when they are brought into view,
the sentiment called conscience or moral sense instantly
show's us that it is our duty to pursue them.
Hence we see howr different lines of conduct may in si¬
milar circumstances be approved of as virtuous in different
nations. When the Spartan exposed his sickly and deform¬
ed child, and when the savage put his aged parents to death,
neither the one nor the other erred from want of sentiment,
or from having sentiments originally different from ours.
Their errors resulted from a defect in reasoning. They
both imagined that they were obeying the law of benevo¬
lence by preventing misery; for a weak and deformed per-
son was very ill qualified to exist with any degree of com¬
fort under the military constitution of Sparta, where all
were soldiers, and under the necessity of enduring the
greatest hardships; and in a state where the people have no
fixed habitations, and where the precarious chase supplies
the necessaries of life, an aged and infirm person is in dan¬
ger of perishing through hunger, by one of the most cruel
and lingering of deaths. The theft allowed in Sparta,
if theft it may be called, w'as still less a deviation from the
instinctive law of benevolence. Boys were taught to slip
as cunningly as they could into the gardens and public y
halls, in order to steal away herbs or meat; and it they
were caught in the fact, they were punished for their wan
of dexterity. This kind of theft, since it was authorized
by the law and the consent of the citizens, was no robbery;
and the intention of the legislator in allowing it, was to in¬
spire the Spartan youth, who were all designed for war,
with the greater boldness, subtlety, and address ; to inm
them betimes to the life of a soldier; and to 1
to shift for themselves, and to live upon little, lhat tne
Spartan legislator did wrong in giving his countrymen
constitution, of which successful war was the ultimate o -
iect; and that savages, rather than kill their aged parent,
or suffer them to die of hunger, ought to cultivate
ground, and abandon the chase, is readily granted;
the faults of the one as well as of the other arose not r
any improper decision of the moral sense, but rom a
feet in their reasoning powers, which were not able to e
mate the advantages and disadvantages of different m
of life. In moral decisions, therefore, conscience an
son mutually aid each other. The former principle*
L
moral philosophy.
459
ral separated from the latter, is defective, enjoining only the
iation.good of mankind, but unable to point out the means by
which it can be most effectually promoted ; and the latter
principle, when separated from the former, only directs a
man to do what is most prudent, but cannot give him a
conception of duty.
These two powers of reason and conscience, then, are
evidently principles different in nature and kind from the
passions and affections. For the passions are mere force or
power, blind impulses acting violently and without choice,
and ultimately tending each to their respective objects,
without regard to the interest of the others, or of the whole
system. Whereas the directing and judging powers dis¬
tinguish and ascertain the different forces, mutual propor¬
tions and relations, which the passions bear to each other,
and to the whole, recognise their several degrees of merit,
and judge of the whole temper and conduct, as they re¬
spect either the individual or the species, and are capable
of directing or restraining the blind impulses of passion in
a due consistency one with the other, and a regular subor¬
dination to the whole system.
Di on This is some account of the constituent principles of our
of Pas-nature, which, according to their different mixtures, de-
Slt grees, and proportions, mould our character and sway our
conduct in life. In reviewing that large train of affections
which fills up the different stages of human life, we per¬
ceive this obvious distinction amongst them, that some of
them respect the good of the individual, and others carry
us beyond ourselves to promote the good of the species
or kind. The former have therefore been called private,
and the latter public affections. Of the former sort are
love of life, of pleasure, of power, and the like. Of the
latter are compassion, gratitude, friendship, natural affec¬
tion, and the like. Of the private passions, some respect
merely the security and defence of the creature, such as
resentment and fear; whereas others aim at some positive
advantage or good, as wealth, ease, and fame. The former
sort, therefore, because of this difference of objects, may
be termed defensive passions ; they answer to our dangers,
and prompt us to avoid them if we can, or boldly to en¬
counter them when we cannot.
The other class of private passions, which pursue pri¬
vate and positive good, may be called appetitive ; but we
shall, nevertheless, retain the name of private in contradis¬
tinction to the defensive passions. Man has a great variety
of wants to supply, and is capable of many enjoyments,
according to the several periods of his life, and the differ¬
ent situations in which he is placed. To these, therefore,
correspond a suitable train of private passions, which en¬
gage him in the pursuit of whatever is necessary for his
subsistence or welfare.
Our public or social affections are adapted to the several
social connections and relations which we bear to others,
y making us sensible of their dangers, and interesting us
m their wants, and so prompting us to secure them against
the one and to supply the other.
This is the first step, then, to discover the duty and des-
m^n > the having analysed the principles of
nch he is composed. It is necessary, in the next place,
o consider in what order, proportion, and measure, of those
inward principles, virtue, or a sound moral temper and
Jg t conduct, consists, that we may discover whence mo-
al obligation arises.
CHAP. II.—OF DUTY, OR MORAL OBLIGATION.
Th I
*Ure thft *S ^ ^le or desJgn any Dower or movement
* ^ of f We mus^ d*rec^ its motions, and estimate the degree
r necessary to its just action. If it wmnt the force
4 si e or the obtaining of its end, we reckon it defective ;
if.it has too much, so as to be carried beyond it, we say it Moral
is overcharged ; and in either case it is imperfect and ill Obligation,
contrived. If it has just enough to reach the scope aim- ^ v y
ed at, we esteem it right and as it should be. Let us
apply this reasoning to the passions.
Tlie defence and security of the individual being theMeasureof
great aim of the defensive passions, that security and de-^16 defen-
fence must be the measure of their strength or indulgence. s!ve Pas"
If they are so weak as to prove insufficient for that end, orS^°ns’
if they carry us beyond it, that is, raise unnecessary commo¬
tions, or continue longer than is needful, they are unfit to
answer their original design, and therefore are in an un¬
sound and unnatural state. The exercise of fear or of re¬
sentment has nothing desirable in it, nor can we give way
to either without painful sensations. Without a certain
degree of them, we remain naked and exposed; with too
high a proportion of them, we are miserable, and often in¬
jurious to others. Thus cowardice or timidity, which is
the excess of fear, instead of saving us amidst danger, gives
it too formidable an appearance, makes us incapable of at¬
tending to the best means of preservation, and disarms us
of courage, our natural armour. Foolhardiness, which is
the want of a due measure of fear, leads us heedlessly into
danger, and lulls us into a pernicious security. Revenge,
or excessive resentment, by the violence of its commo¬
tion, robs us of that presence of mind which is often the
best safeguard against injury, and inclines us to pursue the
aggressor with more severity than self-defence requires.
1 usillanimity, or the want of a just indignation against
wrong, leaves us quite unguarded, and tends to sink the
mind into a passive enervated tameness. Therefore, to
keep the defensive passions duly proportioned to our dan¬
gers, is their natural pitch and tenor.
1 he private passions naturally lead us to pursue some po- Measureof
sitive species of private good; that good, therefore, which the private
is the object and end of each, must be the measure of their Passions-
respective force, and direct their operation. If they are too
weak or sluggish to engage us in the pursuit of their seve¬
ral objects, they are evidently deficient; but if they defeat
their end by their impetuosity, then are they strained be¬
yond the just tone of nature. Thus vanity, or an excessive
passion for applause, betrays us into such meannesses and
little arts of popularity, as make us forfeit the honour which
we so anxiously court. On the other hand, a total indif¬
ference about the esteem of mankind removes a strong
guard and spur to virtue, and lays the mind open to the
most abandoned prostitutions. Therefore, to keep our
private passions and desires proportioned to our wants, is
the just measure and pitch of this class of affections.
The defensive and private passions do all agree in gene-Compara-
ral, in their tendency or conduciveness to the interest or the tive force,
good of the individual. Therefore, when there is a colli¬
sion of interest, as may sometimes happen, that aggregate
of good or happiness which is composed of the particular
goods to which they respectively tend, must be the common
standard by which their comparative degrees of strength
are to be measured; that is to say, if any of them, in the
degree in which they prevail, are incompatible with the
greatest aggregate of good or most extensive interest of
the individual, then are they unequal and disproportionate.
For in judging of a particular system or constitution of
powers, we call that the supreme or principal end, in which
the aims of the several parts or powers coincide, and to
which they are subordinate ; and reckon them in due pro¬
portion to each other, and right with regard to the whole,
when they maintain that subordination of subserviency.
Therefore, to proportion our defensive and private pas¬
sions in such measure to our dangers and wants as best to
secure the individual, and obtain the greatest aggregate of
private good or happiness, is their just balance or compa¬
rative standard in case of competition.
460
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Mona In like manner, as the public or social affeetions poin, at faction result
Obligation, the eood of others, that good must be the measure of thetr we do ™mte h ; A st
   {orc-e. When a particular social affection, as gratitude, or gcr^elatmns or^p^ whi(Jh
itne^Z or X friend,Tmo feeble to fixed in S
betg insutcitt ^ S'“ S es the t^d of nature envy the happiness of
sound. If, on the other hand, a particular passion of t is 1S^hg^ergthere js ever a real collision of interests be-ColL,
class counteract or defeat the interest it is de.slS nnJ?;on tween the public and private system of affections, or theofir:
mote, by its violence or disproportion, t e" .P. d d which each class has in view, will be afterwards con-esti
excessive and irregular. Thus natural affection rfit d^ ends w ^ ^ ^ ^ colHsion> there is little or
generate into a passionate fondness, not o y danger of carrying either, but especially the public af-
parentsfromjudgingcoollyof the interest o 1 P §’ p tions to excess, provided both kinds are kept subordi-
but often leads them into a most partial and pernicious in- Pnd cool self.love, and to k calm and
dulgence. tbp cmnd of its parti- universal benevolence, principles which stand as guards at
Collision of As every kind affection points at the good ot its pa nf each svstem.
social af- cular object, it is possible there may sometimes ^ a conduct of the passions, considered as
lections. sion of interests or goods. Thus the regard due m a frmnd Thl*j forceSi \ us 0’ut t0 the!r re.
may interfere with that wh.ch we owe “ f “mmumtju . aPd thU js thbr bJan|e or economy, con-
^irr^rSi^the greatest imerest ^red. compound p=
IS the common standard by which the respective t^ , constitution is formed for directing thetion
Sd ^ P~as ^em^mdofeauug their ownendP-i
Srtf entue coXenf with the
public good; or, in other words, reason or Reflection is such a principle, which points out
portioned to the dangers and wants of others, a tendency of our passions, weighs their influence upon
various relations in which we stand to individuals or t ^ ^ Y^P pinesgj andgshows the best means of
if”:r;lp:uXftbcT„™: mr observ: <»„ r„duid sst
Balance ofVut S'iK^^drfc “theTbiic tufe, *af\ob-e mmual^
sideredapart, that it is either too strong or too weak. Its to the direction and a ^ y therefore |om this in.
sasrs, i
hz.'inv&iz s,- iSX’Sx sxrb-d
feats its own end, but when it impairs the force of other tion of reason. _ . , nrpnnrtinn for-Eccn;
passions, which are equally necessary to form a temper of I hat subordination is regu ar, w p p foeofn ir'
• mind suited to a certain economy or state; and too weak, merly mentioned is maintained ; >“ t0 6^> “
not merely on account of its insufficiency to answer its defensive passions are kept proportioned to our g
end, but because it cannot sustain its VJor office in the when the private pions are proportioned to our wants,
balance of the whole system. Thus the love of life may and when the public “^“3“ *°a daIJers„f
be too strong when it takes from the regard due to one’s connections, and proportioned to the wants and dang
country, and will not allow one bravely to encounter dan- others. • .„ns consti-Hu:P
gers, or even death, on its account. Again, the love of But the natural state, or the sound a S owerS)virt a
fame may be too weak when it throws down the fences tution of any creature, or the just e«m y P peri ><
which render virtue more secure, or weakens the incen- we consider its health and peifection, the health
lives which make it more active and public spirited. ably to these, its virtue or goodness. remacy
Limits of If it be asked, how far may the affections towards pri- and perfection of man musthe in t e P of the
private af- Vate good or happiness be indulged ? One limit was be- of conscience and reason, and in the s vjrtue
fections. fore dxed for the particular indulgence of each, namely, passions to their authority and direction ; a f
their subordination to the common aggregate of good to or goodness mmst consist in acting agreea y ^
the private system. In these, therefore, a due regard is or economy. That such an ornament o the
always supposed to be had to health, reputation, fortune, such a conduct of its powefs and passion , a
the freedom of action, the unimpaired exercise of reason, test of reason, cannot admit ot any dispute. > r ^
and the calm enjoyment of one’s self, which are all private fair examination into the consequences o g ’ ident.
goods. Another limit now results from the balance of relations and aptitudes of means to ends, ^
affection just named, namely, the security and happiness ly demonstrates, and experience confirms i , \ erS)
of others; or, to express it more generally, a private af- our defensive passions duly proportioned t
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
461
is the surest way to avoid or get clear of them, and obtain
tion-the security we seek after. To proportion our private
passions to our wants is the best means to supply them ;
and to adapt our public affections to our social relations
and the good of others, is the most effectual method of
fulfilling the one and procuring the other. In this sense,
therefore, virtue may be said to be a conduct conform¬
able to reason, as reason discovers an apparent aptitude,
in such an order and economy of powers and passions, to
answer the end for which they are naturally formed.
Cc ec- If the idea of moral obligation is to be deduced merely
ticfrom this aptitude or connection between certain passions,
tw ) af- or a certain order and balance of passions, and certain ends
pleasure, ease, and the like, as these aim at private good, Moral
and are necessary to the perfection and the happiness of the Obligation,
individual, we should reckon any creature defective, and "
even blameable, that was destitute of them. Thus, we nvate
passions.
obtained or to be obtained by them, then is reason or re¬
flection, which perceives that aptitude or connection, the
proper judge of moral obligation; and on this supposition
it may be defined, as has been done by some, the connec¬
tion between the affection and the end, or, which is the
same thing, between the action and the motive ; for the
end is the motive or the final cause, and the affection is
the action, or its immediate natural cause. A man, from
mere self-love, may be induced to fulfil that obligation
which is founded on the connection between the defensive
passions and their ends, or that of the private passions and
their ends; because in that case his own interest will prompt
him to indulge them in the due proportion required. But
if he has no affections which point beyond himself, no
principle but self-love, or some subtile modification of it,
what shall interest him in the happiness of others, where
there is no connection between it and his own ? or what
sense can he have of moral obligation to promote it ? Upon
this scheme, therefore, without public or social affection,
there could be no motive, and consequently no moral ob¬
ligation, to a beneficent disinterested conduct.
But if the mere connection between certain passions or
a certain order of passions, and certain ends, is what con¬
stitutes or gives us the idea of moral obligation, then why
may not the appositeness of any temper or conduct, nay,
of any piece of machinery, to obtain its end, form an equal¬
ly strict moral obligation ? for the connection and aptitude
are as strong and invariable in the latter instances as in
the former. But as this is confounding the most obvious
differences of things, we must trace the idea of moral ob¬
ligation to another and a more natural source,
it Let us appeal, therefore, to our inmost sense and ex-
xPe-perience, how we stand affected to those different sets of
passions, in the just measure and balance of which we found
a right temper to consist. For this is entirely a matter of
experience, in which we must examine, as in any other na¬
tural inquiry, what are the genuine feelings and operations
of nature, and what affections or symptoms of them appear
m the given instance.
The defensive passions, as anger and fear, give us pain
rather than pleasure, yet we cannot help feeling them when
provoked by injury, or exposed to harm. We account the
creature imperfect that wants them, because they are ne¬
cessary to his defence. Nay, we should in some measure
condemn ourselves, did we want the necessary degree of
resentment and caution. But if our resentment exceeds
, e wr°ng received, or our caution the evil dreaded, we
en blame ourselves for having overacted our part,
erefore, whilst we are in danger, to be totally destitute
° hem we reckon a blameable defect, and to feel them in
a just, that is, necessary measure, we approve, as suited to
e nature and the condition of such a creature as man.
u our security obtained, to continue to indulge them,
e not only disapprove as hurtful, but condemn as unman-
dn ^n^j:co™ng> and mean spirited. Nor will such a con-
upon U™ Self-aPProvinS w^en we coolly reflect
With regard to the private passions, such as love of life,
Del iv
Pass) s.
condemn the man who imprudently ruins his fortune, im¬
pairs his health, or exposes his life ; we not only pity him
as an unfortunate creature, but feel a kind of moral indig¬
nation and contempt of him, for having made himself such.
On the other hand, though a discreet self-regard does not
attract our esteem and veneration, yet we approve of it in
some degree, in a higher and different degree from what
we would regard a well-contrived machine, as necessary to
constitute a finished creature, nay, to complete the virtu¬
ous character, as exactly suited to our present indigent
state. There are some passions respecting private good,
towards which we feel higher degrees of approbation, as
the love of knowledge, of action, of honour, and the like.
We esteem them as marks of an ingenuous mind ; and can¬
not help thinking the character in which they are wanting
remarkably stupid, and in some degree immoral.
With regard to the social affections, as compassion, na- Public pas-
tural affection, friendship, benevolence, and the like, wesions-
approve, admire, and love them in ourselves, and, in all in
whom we discover them, with an esteem and approbation,
if not different in kind, yet surely far superior in degree,
to that which we feel towards the other passions. These we
reckon necessary, just, and excellently fitted to our struc¬
ture and state; and the creature which wants them we
consider defective and ill constituted, a kind of abortion.
But the public affections we esteem self-worthy, as origi¬
nally and eternally amiable.
But amongst the social affections we make an obvious and Distinc-
constant distinction, viz. between those particular passionstion be-
which urge us with a sudden violence, and uneasy kind of,tween ve‘
sensation, to pursue the good of their respective objects,henient
as pity, natural affection, and the like, and those calm dis- affections
passionate affections and desires which prompt us more
steadily and uniformly to promote the happiness of others.
The former we generally call passions, to distinguish them
from the other sort, which go more commonly by the name
of affections or calm desires. The one kind we approve,
indeed, and delight in; but we feel still higher degrees of
approbation and moral complacence towards the other, and
towards all limitation of the particular instincts, by the
principle of universal benevolence. The more objects the
calm affections take in, and the worthier these objects are,
their dignity rises in proportion, and with this our approba¬
tion keeps an exact pace. A character, on the other hand,
which is quite divested of these public affections, and which
feels no love for the species, but instead of it entertains
malice, rancour, and ill will, we reckon totally immoral
and unnatural.
Such, then, are the sentiments and dispositions which we
feel when these several orders of affections pass before the
mental eye. Therefore, that state in which we feel our¬
selves moved, in the manner above described, towards
those affections and passions, as they come under the
mind’s review, and in which we are, instantaneously and
independently of our choice or volition, prompted to a cor¬
respondent conduct, we call a state of moral obligation.
Let us suppose, for instance, a parent, a friend, a benefac¬
tor, reduced to a condition of the utmost indigence and
distress, and that it is in our power to give them imme¬
diate relief. To what conduct are we obliged ? what duty
does nature dictate and require in such a case ? Attend
to nature, and nature will tell, with a voice irresistibly au¬
dible and commanding to the human heart, with an autho¬
rity which no man can silence without being self-condemn¬
ed, and which no man can elude except at his peril, that
immediate relief ought to be given. Again, let a friend,
a neighbour, or even a stranger, have lodged a deposit in
462
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Moral our hands, and after some time reclaim it; no sooner do
Obligation, these ideas of the confidence reposed in us, and ot pro¬
perty not transferred, but deposited, occur, than we im¬
mediately and unavoidably feel and recognise the obliga¬
tion to restore it. In both these cases we should condemn
and even loathe ourselves if we acted otherwise, as having
done, or omitted doing, what we ought not, as ceive the correlatives; our memory recalls the favours or de-
beneath the dignity of our nature, and con rary which we received; the various circumstances of the
intimate sense of right and wrong; we should accuse our- fact 'or experience; but some delicate
selves as gudty of ingratitude, injustice, an i ^ j organ or power, or call it what we please, does, by
and be conscious of deserving the censure, and theretoie inwaru organ u y ,  , .v, 1 j/
right, and the like. But none of these ideas constitute Percept
the perception of obligation. This is an idea quite dis- and
tinct from, and something supperadded to, the ideas 0f^ctk
the correlatives, or the relation subsisting between them.^^';
These, indeed, by a law of our nature, are the occasion of
suggesting it; but they are as totally different from it as
cofours are from sounds. By sense of reflection we per-
AI oral ob¬
ligation.
AI oral
agent and
moral ac¬
tion.
dread the resentment, of all rational beings. But in com¬
plying with the obligation, we feel joy and self-approba¬
tion, are conscious of an inviolable harmony between our
nature and duty, and think ourselves entitled to the ap¬
plause of every impartial spectator of our conduct.
To describe, therefore, what we cannot perhaps dehne,
a state of moral obligation is that state in which a crea¬
ture, endued with such senses, powers, and affections as
man, would condemn himself, and think he deserved the
condemnation of all others, should he refuse to fulhl it;
but would approve himself, and expect the approbation ot
all others, upon complying with it.
And we call him a moral agent who is in such a state,
or who is subject to moral obligation. Therefore, as man s
structure and connections often subject him to such a state
of moral obligation, we conclude that he is a moral agent.
But as man may sometimes act without knowing what he
does, as in cases of frenzy or disease, or in many natural
functions; or, knowing what he does, he may act without
choice or affection, as in cases of necessity or compulsion ;
therefore, to denominate an action moral, namely, approve-
able or blameable, it must be done knowingly and willing¬
ly, or from affection and choice. A morally good action,
then, consists in fulfilling a moral obligation knowing y
and willingly; and a morally bad action, or an immoral
action, is to violate a moral obligation knowingly and wil¬
lingly. . .
At oral cha- As not an action, but a series of actions, constitute a
racter and character; as not an affection, but a series of affections,
temper. constitute a temper; and as we denominate things by tlie
gross, a fortiori, or by the qualities which chiefly prevail
in them; therefore we call that a morally good charac¬
ter in which a series of morally good actions prevail, and
that a morally good temper in which a series of moially
good affections have the ascendant. A bad character and
bad temper are the reverse. But where the above-men¬
tioned order or proportion of passions is maintained, there
a series of morally good affections and actions will prevail.
Therefore, to maintain that order and proportion, is to
have a morally good temper and character. But a morally
good temper and character is moral rectitude, integrity,
virtue, or the completion of duty.
How we If ^ be asked’ after all> ll0W we come by the ldea °f
come by moral obligation or duty, we may answer, that we come
the idea of by it in the same way as by our other original and primary
moral obli-perceptions. We receive them all from nature, or the
gation. great Author of nature. For this idea of moral obligation
is not a creature of the mind, nor dependent on any previ¬
ous act of volition, but arises on certain occasions, or when
certain other ideas are presented to the mind, as neces¬
sarily, instantaneously, and unavoidably, as pain does upon
too near approach to the fire, or pleasure from the fruition
of any good. It does not, for instance, depend upon our
choice whether we shall feel the obligation to succour a
distressed parent, or to restore a deposit intrusted to us
when it is recalled. We cannot denominate this a compound
idea, made up of one or more simple iueas. We may, indeed,
nay we must, have some ideas antecedent to it, as, for
instance, that of a parent in distress, of a child able to re¬
lieve, of the relation of the one to the other, of a trust, of
certain instantaneous sympathy, antecedent to the cool de¬
ductions of reason, and independently of previous instruc¬
tion or volition, perceive the moral harmony, the living,
irresistible charms, of moral obligation, which immediately
interests the correspondent passions, and prompts us to
fulfil its lawful dictates.
We need not apprehend any danger from the quickness The us;!
of its decisions, nor be frightened because it looks like in-reason
stinct, and has been called so. Would we approve one moralci.
for deliberating long, or reasoning the matter much at
leisure, whether he should relieve a distressed parent, feed
a starving neighbour, or restore the trust committed to
him ? should we not suspect the reasoner of knavery, or of
very weak affections towards virtue ? We employ reason,
and worthily employ it, in examining the condition, rela¬
tions, and other circumstances of the agent or patient, or
of those with whom either of them is connected, that is,
in other words, the state of the case; and in complicated
cases, where the circumstances are many, it may require
no small attention to find the true state of the case; but
when the relations of the agent or patient, and the cir¬
cumstances of the action, are obvious, or come out such
after a fair trial, we should scarcely approve him who de¬
murs on the obligation to that conduct which the case
suggests. < ... in,
From what has been said, it is evident that it is not the Plrasu
pleasure or agreeable sensations which accompany the ex‘”pt !j[ a
ercise of the several affections, nor those consequent on ^
the actions, that constitute moral obligation, or excite in
us the idea of it. That pleasure is posterior to the idea
of obligation ; and we are frequently obliged, and acknow¬
ledge ourselves under an obligation, to such affections and
actions as. are attended with pain ; as in the trials o vir
tue, where we are obliged to sacrifice private to public
good, or a present pleasure to a future interest. We have
pleasure in serving an aged parent, but it is neither t e
perception nor prospect of that pleasure which gives us
the idea of obligation to that conduct.
CHAP. III. THE FINAL CAUSES OF OUR MORAL FACULTIES
OF PERCEPTION AND AFFECTION.
We have now taken a general prospect of man, and ofTheSI
his moral powers and connections, and on these erecte aveyp]
scheme of duty or moral obligation, which seems to be c°n- ei
firmed by experience, consonant to reason, and approv
by his most inward and most sacred senses. It may
proper, in the next place, to take a more particular vie
of the final causes of those delicate springs by which b
impelled to action, and of those clogs by which he
strained from it. By this detail we shall be able 0 J =>
of their aptitude to answer their end, in a creature end
with his capacities, subject to his wants, exPose , frnm
dangers, and susceptible of his enjoyments, an
thence we shall be in a condition to pronounce concer
ing the end of his whole structure, its harmony wi
state, and consequently its subserviency to answ
great and benevolent intentions of its Author.
The Supreme Being has seen fit to blend in the
M
O
HAL
PHILOSOPHY.
463
Per tionof things a prodigious variety of discordant and contrary
1 principles, light and darkness, pleasure and pain, good and
lon' evil. There are multifarious natures, higher and lower,
andmany intermediate ones between the widely-distant ex-
jUJ jly 0ftremes. These are differently situated, variously adjusted,
stem and subjected to each other, and all of them subordinate
J 4-4-11 /-»*«/~i n ^„  _ ITT
Inv i
the:
of i id-
to the order and perfection of the whole. We may sup¬
pose man placed as in a centre amidst those innumerable
orders of beings, by his outward frame drawing to the ma¬
terial system, and by his inward connected with the intel¬
lectual or moral, and of course affected by the laws which
govern both, or affected by that good and that ill which
result from those laws. In this infinite variety of relations
with which he is surrounded, and of contingencies to
which he is liable, he feels strong attractions to the good,
and violent repulsions or aversions to the ill. But as good
and ill are often blended, and wonderfully complicated one
with the other; as they sometimes immediately produce
and run up into each other, and at other times lie at great
distances, yet by means of intervening links introduce one
another; and as these effects are often brought about in
consequence of hidden relations and general laws, of the
energy of which he is an incompetent judge ; it is easy for
him to mistake good for evil, and evil for good, and con¬
sequently he may be frequently attracted by such things
as are destructive, or repel such as are salutary. Thus, by
the tender and complicated frame of his body, he is sub¬
jected to a great variety of ills, to sickness, cold, heat, fa¬
tigue, and innumerable wants. Yet his knowledge is so
narrow withal, and his reason so weak, that in many cases
he cannot judge, in the way of investigation or reasoning,
of the connections of those effects with their respective
causes, or of the various latent energies of natural things.
He is therefore informed of this connection by the expe¬
rience of certain senses or organs of perception, which, by
a mechanical instantaneous motion, feel the good and the
ill, receiving pleasure from the one and pain from the other.
By these, without any reasoning, he is taught to attract or
choose what tends to his welfare, and to repel and avoid
what tends to his ruin. ’Ihus, by his senses of taste and
smell, or by the pleasure he receives from certain kinds of
food, he is admonished which kind agrees with his consti-
tution; and by an opposite sense of pain he is informed
which sort disagrees, or is destructive of it; but he is not
by means of this instructed in the inward nature and con¬
stitution of things.
ap. Some of those senses are armed with strong degrees of
an uneasiness or pain, in order to urge him to seek after such
o ijects as are suited to them ; and these respect his more
immediate and pressing wants, as the sense of hunger,
irst, cold, and the like; which, by their painful impor-
umties, compel him to provide food, drink, raiment, shel-
er. hose instincts by which we are thus prompted with
ome kind of commotion or violence to attract and pursue
goo , or to repel and avoid evil, we call appetites and pas-
wns. By our senses, then, we are informed of what is
gooa or ill to the private system, or the individual; and
y our private appetites and passions we are impelled to
T one> and restrained from the other.
^2!ofwantsnfnqUhnT0fthiSmachin?ry’ and the great train
in n £ . whlch our nature subjects us, we are engaged
murk011 la!Ied.series occupations, which often require
both aPPllcatlon of thought, or great bodily labour, or
the iiir 6 necessaides °f food, clothes, shelter, and
musIt ^ provided; conveniences must be ac-
order i ° rfn<?er more easy and comfortable. In
tradp o° ° tain arts> industry, manufactures, and
eniovmpnf116^68!8^ 1 a"d t0. ®ecure t0 us tIie peaceable
laws miKt K° their- fraltS5 Clvil government, policy, and
life carriori 6 coniTlved> a”d the various business of public
d on. Thus, whilst man is concerned and hnaied
peti
pass
in making provision or obtaining security for himself, he Perception
is by degrees engaged in connections with a family, friends, an4
neighbours, a community, or a commonwealth. Hence Affection.^
arise new wants, new interests, new cares, and new em-
ployments. The passions of one man interfere with those
ot another; interests are opposed ; competitions arise, con¬
trary courses are taken; disappointments happen, distinc¬
tions are made, and parties formed. This opens a vast
scene of distraction and embarrassment, and introduces a
mighty train of good and ill, both public and private. Yet,
amidst all this confusion and hurry, plans of action must
be laid, consequences foreseen or guarded against, incon¬
veniences provided for; and frequently particular resolu¬
tions must be taken, and schemes executed, without rea¬
soning or delay. Now what provision has the Author of
our nature made for this necessitous condition ? how has
he fitted the actor, man, for playing his part in this per¬
plexed and busy scene ? Our Supreme Parent, watchful
of the whole, has not left himself without a witness here
neither, and has made nothing imperfect, but all things
are double one against the other. He has not left man to
be informed only by the cold notices of reason, of the
good or evil, the happiness or misery, of his fellow-crea¬
tures. He has made him sensible of their good and hap¬
piness, but especially of their ill and misery, by an imme¬
diate sympathy, or quick feeling of pleasure and of pain.
The latter we denominate pity or compassion. For the Pity,
former, though every one who is not quite divested of hu¬
manity feels it in some degree, we have not got a name,
unless we call it congratulation or joyful sympathy, or
that good humour which arises on seeing others pleased
or happy. Both these feelings have been called in gene¬
ral the public or common sense, jco/vtj by which
we feel for others, and are interested in their concerns as
really as, though perhaps less sensibly than, in our own.
When we see our fellow-creatures unhappy through theResent-
fault or injury of others, we feel resentment or indignation menu
against those who have unjustly caused that misery. If
we are conscious that it has happened through our fault
or injurious conduct, we feel shame; and both these class¬
es ot senses and passions, regarding misery and wrong,
are armed with such sharp sensations of pain, as not only
prove a powerful guard and security to the species, or pub¬
lic system, against those evils it may, but serve also to
lessen or remove those evils it does, suffer. Compassion
draws us out of ourselves to bear a part of the misfortunes
of others, powerfully solicits us in their favour, melts us
at the sight of their distress, and makes us in some de¬
gree unhappy till they are relieved from it. It is pecu¬
liarly well adapted to the condition of human life, because
it is much more and oftener in our power to do mischief
than good, and to prevent or lessen misery than to com¬
municate positive happiness ; and therefore it is an admi¬
rable restraint upon the more selfish passions, or those vio¬
lent impulses which carry us to the hurt of others.
There are other particular instincts or passions which Public af-
interest us in the concerns of others, even whilst we arefections.
most busy about our own, and which are strongly attrac¬
tive of good, and repulsive of evil to them. Such are na¬
tural affection, friendship, love, gratitude, desire of fame,
love of society, of one’s country, and others that might be
named. Now as the private appetites and passions were
found to be armed with strong sensations of desire and
uneasiness, to prompt man the more effectually to sustain
labours, and to encounter dangers in pursuit of those goods
which are necessary to the preservation and welfare of the
individual, and to avoid those evils which tend to his de¬
struction ; in like manner, it was necessary that this other
class of desires and affections should be prompted with as
quick sensations of pain, not only to counteract the strength
of their antagonists, but to engage us in a virtuous activi-
464
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Perception ty for our relations, families, friends, neighbovirs, coimtry.
and Indeed our sense of right and wrong will admonish us that
Affection. jt is our duty, and reason and experience further assure us
   that it is both our interest and best security, to promote
the happiness of others; but that sense, that reason, and
that experience, would frequently prove very weak and in¬
effectual prompters to such a conduct, especially in cases
of danger and hardship, and amidst all the importunities
of nature, and that constant hurry in which the private
passions involve us, without the aid of those particular
kind affections which mark out to us particular spheres ot
duty, and engage and fix us down to them as it were with
an agreeable violence. „ ^
Contrast or it js evident, therefore, that those two classes ot attec-
balance of t; the private and public, are set one against the other,
passions. and desi ned t0 COntrol and limit each other s influence,
and thereby to produce a just balance in the whole. In
general, the violent sensations of pain and uneasiness which
accompany hunger, thirst, and the other private appetites,
ortoopelt fatigue of mind as well as of body, prevent
the individual from running to great excesses in the exer¬
cise of the higher functions of the mind, as too intense
thought in the search of truth, violent application to busi¬
ness of any kind, and different degrees of romantic hero¬
ism. On the other hand, the finer senses of perception,
and those generous desires and affections which are con¬
nected with them, the love of action, of imitation, of truth,
honour, public virtue, and the like, are wisely placed m the
opposite scale, in order to prevent us from sinking into the
dregs of the animal life, and debasing the dignity of man
below the condition of brutes. So that, by riie mutual re¬
action of those opposite powers, the bad effects are pre¬
vented that would naturally result from their acting singly
and apart, and the good effects are produced which each
are severally formed to produce. . . ,
Contrast or The same wholesome opposition appears likewise m the
balance of particular counter-workings of the private and pub ic a -
public and fections 0ne against the other. Thus compassion is adapt-
private ed to counterpoise the love of ease, of pleasure, and of life,
and to disarm or to set bounds to resentment; and resent¬
ment of injury done to ourselves, or to our friends who
are dearer than ourselves, prevents an effeminate compas¬
sion or consternation, and gives us a noble contempt of la¬
bour, pain, and death. Natural affection, friendship, love
of one’s country, nay zeal for any particular virtue, are
frequently more than a match for the whole tram of selfish
passions. On the other hand, without that intimate over¬
ruling passion of self-love, and those private desires which
are connected with it, the social and the tender instincts
of the human heart would degenerate into the wildest
dotage, the most torturing anxiety, and downright frenzy.
But not only are the different orders or classes of attec-
tion checks upon one another, but passions of the same
classes are mutual clogs. Thus, how many are withheld
from the violent outrages of resentment by fear; and how
easily is fear controlled in its turn, whilst mighty wrongs
awaken a mighty resentment. The private passions often
interfere, and therefore moderate the violence of each
other ; and a calm self-love is placed at their head, to di¬
rect to influence, and to control their particular attractions
and’repulsions. The public affections likewise restrain
one another; and all of them are put under the control
of a calm dispassionate benevolence, which ought ^“ke
manner to direct and limit their particular motions. Thus
most part, if not all the passions, have a twofold aspect,
and serve a twofold end. In one view they may be con¬
sidered as powers, impelling mankind to a certain course,
with a force proportioned to the apprehended amount ot
passions.
Contrasts
amongst
those of
the same
classes.
the good they aim at. In another view they appear asPercepfe
weights, balancing the action of the powers, and control- and
lin/the violence of their impulses. By means of these
powers and weights a natural equipoise is settled in the hu¬
man breast by its all-wise Author, by which the creature
is kept tolerably steady and regular in his course, amidst
that variety of stages through which he must pass.
But this is not all the provision which God has madePercep.
for the hurry and perplexity of the scene in which man is lions or i
destined to act. Amidst those infinite attract,ons and re-tat^
pulsions towards private and public good and evil, mankind^™
either cannot often foresee the consequences or tenden¬
cies of all their actions towards one or. other of these, es¬
pecially where those tendencies are intricate and point
different ways, or those consequences remote and compli¬
cated ; or, though, by careful and cool inquiry, and a due
improvement of their rational powers, they might find
them out, yet, distracted as they are with business, amused
with trifles, dissipated by pleasure, and disturbed by pas¬
sion, they neither have found nor can find any leisure to at¬
tend to those consequences, or to examine how far this or
that conduct is productive of private or public good on the
whole. Therefore, were it left entirely to the slow and
sober deductions of reason to trace those tendencies, and
make out those consequences, it is evident, that in many
particular instances the business of life must stand still,
and many important occasions of action be lost, or perhaps
the grossest blunders be committed. On this account, the
Deity, besides that general approbation which we bestow
on every degree of kind affection, has moreover implanted
in man many particular perceptions or determinations to
approve of certain qualities or actions, which, in effect,
tend to the advantage of society, and are connected witi
private good, though he does not always see that tendency,
nor mind that connection. And these perceptions or de¬
terminations do, without reasoning, point out’ a"d, ante¬
cedent to views of interest, prompt to a conduct beneficial
to the public, and useful to the private system. Such is
that sense of candour and veracity, that abhorrence of
fraud and falsehood, that sense of fidelity, justice, gratitu j
greatness of mind, fortitude, clemency, decorum, and th
disapprobation of knavery, injustice, ingratitude meanne^
of spirit, cowardice, cruelty, and indecorum, which are na
tural to the human mind. The former of those dispo«
tions, and the actions flowing from tbem, are approved,
and those of the latter kind disapproved, bY ^ even a
stracted from the view of their tendency or conduciveness
the happiness or misery of others or of our^lves. »
one we discern a beauty, a superior excellency, a
to the dignity of man ; in the other a deformity, a
ness, a debasement, of human nature. ,
There are other principles also connected with th eg^
of society, or the happiness and perfection of 1
dual, though that connection is not immediately „
which we behold with real complacency and approb t
though perhaps inferior in degree, if not in
gravity, modesty, simplicity of deportment, temperan ,
prudent economy; and we feel some de§ree h posi?e
and dislike where they are wanting, or where PP ^
qualities prevail. These and the like Pf^^se,
ings are either different modifications pf ^ “°im ortant
or subordinate to it, and plainly serve the.®f“ef^^ious
purpose, being, in the several emergen . ,
^ T ,- i;rQ t mis monitors ot wnat is .
\ in the several euieigci«.»'.° . ,,
and* distracted life, expeditious n,on‘lors f "haf a.oided
what is wrong, what is to be “dwha c ^
and, by the pleasant or painful conselue"?* "" ters to a
them, exerting their influence as powerful promp
suitable conduct.
» Vide Hutcheson’s Conduct of the Passions, treat, i. sect. 2.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
465
])i or
Vi se.
Pas: jas
Ittt i:o a
stat ,f
tria.
Get
divi
dut’
From a slight inspection of the above-named principles,
it is evident that they all carry a friendly aspect to society
and the individual, and have a more immediate or a more
remote tendency to promote the perfection or good of both.
This tendency cannot be always foreseen, and would be
often mistaken or seldom attended to by a weak, busy,
short-sighted creature like man, both rash and variable in
his opinions, a dupe to his own passions or to the designs of
others, and liable to sickness, to want, and to error. Prin¬
ciples, therefore, which are so nearly linked with private
security and public good, by directing him, without ope-
rose reasoning, where to find the one, and how to promote
the other, and by prompting him to a conduct conducive
to both, are admirably adapted to the exigencies of his
present state, and wisely calculated to obtain the ends of
universal benevolence.
It were easy, by considering the subject in another
light, to show, in a curious detail of particulars, how won¬
derfully the inner part of man, or that astonishing train of
moral powers and affections with which he is endowed, is
fitted to the several stages of that progressive and proba¬
tionary state through which he is destined to pass. As
our faculties are narrow and limited, and rise from very
small and imperfect beginnings, they must be improved
by exercise, by attention, and by repeated trials. And this
holds true, not only of our intellectual, but also of our moral
and active powers. The former are liable to errors in spe¬
culation, the latter to blunders in practice, and both often
terminate in misfortunes and pains; and those errors and
blunders are generally owing to our passions, or to our too
forward and warm admiration of those partial goods they
naturally pursue, or to our fear of those partial evils they
naturally repel. Those misfortunes, therefore, lead us
back to consider where our misconduct lay, and whence our
errors flowed ; and consequently they are salutary pieces
of trial, which tend to enlarge our views, to correct and
refine our passions, and consequently to improve both our
intellectual and moral powers. Our passions, then, are the
rude materials of our virtue, which Heaven has given us
to work up, and to refine and polish into a harmonious and
divine piece of workmanship. They furnish out the whole
machinery, the calms and storms, the lights and shadows, of Duty or
human life. They show mankind in every attitude and Virtue,
variety of character, and give to virtue both its struggles
and its triumphs. To conduct them well in every state,
is merit; to abuse or misapply them, is demerit.
The different sets of senses, powers, and passions, which
unfold themselves in these successive stages, are both ne¬
cessary and adapted to that rising and progressive state.
Enlarging views and growing connections require new
passions and new habits ; and thus the mind, by these
continually expanding and finding a progressive exercise,
rises to higher improvements, and pushes forward towards
maturity and perfection.
In this beautiful economy and harmony of our struc- Harmony
ture, both outward and inward, with that state, we may of our
at once discern the great lines of our duty traced out in structure
the fairest and brightest characters, and contemplate withand state-
admiration a more august and marvellous scene of divine
wisdom and goodness laid in the human breast, than we
shall perhaps find in the whole compass of nature.
From this detail, then, it appears that man, by his original
frame, is made for a temperate, compassionate, benevo¬
lent, active, and progressive state. Fie is strongly attrac¬
tive of the good and repulsive of the evils which befall
others as well as himself. He feels the highest appro¬
bation and moral complacence in those affections, and
in those actions, which immediately and directly respect
the good of others, and the highest disapprobation and ab¬
horrence of the contrary. Besides these, he has many
particular perceptions or instincts of approbation, which,
though perhaps not of the same kind with the others,
yet are accompanied with correspondent degrees of affec¬
tion, proportioned to their respective tendencies to the
public good. Therefore, by acting agreeably to these
principles, man acts agreeably to his structure, and fulfils
the benevolent intentions of its Author. But we call a
thing good when it answers its end, and a creature good
when he acts in a conformity to his constitution ; con¬
sequently man must be denominated good or virtuous when
he acts suitably to the principles and destination of his
nature.
PART II.
CHAP. I.—THE PRINCIPAL DISTINCTIONS OF DUTY OR
VIRTUE.
We have now considered the constitution and the con-
of nections of man, and upon these erected a general system of
duty or moral obligation, consonant to reason, approved by
his most sacred and intimate sense, suitable to his mixed
condition, and confirmed by the experience of mankind.
W’e have also traced the final causes of his moral faculties
and affections to those noble purposes they serve, with
regard both to the private and the public system. From
this induction it is evident, that there is one order or class
of duties which man owes to himself; another to society ;
and a third to God.
° v. ^le ^utjes owes t0 himself are founded chiefly upon
If. the defensive and private passions, which prompt him to
pursue whatever tends to private good or happiness, and
to avoid or ward off whatever tends to private evil or misery.
mongst the various goods which allure and solicit him,
and the various evils which attack or threaten him, to be
intelligent and accurate in selecting the one and rejecting the
other, or in preferring the most excellent goods, and avoid-
mg the most terrible evils, when there is a competition
amongst either, and to be discreet in using the best means
o attain the goods and to avoid the evils, is what we call
^ ence‘ This, in our inward frame, corresponds to sa¬
gacity, or quickness of sense, in our outward. To propor¬
tion our defensive passions to our dangers, we call forti¬
tude; which always implies a just mixture of calm re¬
sentment or animosity, and well-governed caution ; and
this firmness of mind answers to the strength and muscu¬
lar energy of the body. And duly to adjust our private
passions to our wants, or to the respective importance of the
good we affect or pursue, we call temjjerance; which does
therefore always imply, in this large sense of the word, a
just balance or command of the passions.
The second class of duties arises from the public or Duties to
social affections, the just harmony or proportion of which society,
to the dangers and wants of others, and to the several re¬
lations we bear, commonly goes by the name of justice.
This includes the whole of our duty to society, to our
parents, and to the general polity of nature, particularly
gratitude, friendship, sincerity, natural affection, benevo¬
lence, and the other social virtues; which being the noblest
temper and fairest complexion of the soul, corresponds
to the beauty and fine proportion of the person. The vir¬
tues comprehended under the former class, especially pru¬
dence and fortitude, may likewise be transferred to this ;
and, according to the various circumstances in which the
are placed, and the more confined or more extensive sphere
in which they operate, may be denominated private, eco¬
nomical, or civil prudence, fortitude, &c. These direct our
3 N
466
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duty or
Virtue.
Duty to
God.
conduct with regard to the wants and dangers of those lesser
or greater circles with which they are connected.
The third class of duties respects the Deity, and arises
from the public affections, and the several glorious rela¬
tions which he sustains to us as our Creator, Benefactor,
cumstances of the action, or the surplusage of private or Maw
public good which results, or is likely to result, from the huty
action, or from the omission of it. If those circumstances U™8* ,
are fairly and fully stated, the conscience will be just and^ ^
impartial in its decision ; for, by a necessary law of our na-
Lawgiver, Judge, &c.
to us as our Creator, Benefactor, impanuu m its   VW 7
We choose to consider this set of
duties in the last place; because, though prior in dignity
and excellency, they seem to be last in order of time, it
bein'1- the most simple and easy method to follow the gra-
dual progress of nature, as it takes its rise from individuals,
and spreads through the social system, and still ascends
upwards, until at length it stretches to its almighty Parent
and Head, and so terminates in those duties which are
highest and best.
The duties resulting from these relations are, reverence,
gratitude, love, resignation, dependence, obedience, wor¬
ship, praise; which, according to the model of our tine
capacities, must maintain some sort of proportion to the
o-randeur and perfection of the object whom we venerate,
love, and obey. This proportion or harmony is express¬
ed by the general name of piety or devotioti, which is a -
ways stronger or weaker, according to the greater or less
apprehended excellency of its object. This sublime prin¬
ciple of virtue is the enlivening soul which animates the
moral system, and that cement which binds and sustains
the other duties which man owes to himself or to society.
Conscience. This, then, is the general temper and constitution of vir
and if it seems to approve of vice or immorality, it is al¬
ways under the notion or mask of some virtue, bo that,
strictly speaking, it is not conscience which errs j for its
sentence is always conformable to the view of the case
which lies before it, and is just, upon the supposition that
the case is truly such as it is represented to be. All the
fault is to be imputed to the agent, who neglects to be
better informed, or who, through weakness or wickedness,
hastens to pass sentence from imperfect evidence.
CHAP. II. OF MAN>S DUTY TO HIMSELF, AND OF THE NA¬
TURE OF GOOD, AND THE CHIEF GOOD.
Every creature, by the constitution of his nature, isde-hivisi
termined to love himself; to pursue whatever tends tohisofg^
preservation and happiness, and to avoid whatever tends to
his hurt and misery. Being endowed with sense and per¬
ception, he must necessarily receive pleasure from some
objects, and pain from others. Those objects which give
pleasure are called good; and those which give pain, evil.
fr-. i n i - d _inr mnfirm whirn WP
sion; and such objects are called indifferent. 1 hose objects
which do not of themselves produce pleasure or pain, but
are the means of procuring either, we call useful or noxious.
Towards them we are affected in a subordinate manner, or
with an indirect and reflective rather than a direct and
immediate affection. All the original and particular affec¬
tions of our nature lead us out to and ultimately rest in
This, then, is the general temper ana consmuuuo oi vu- feBels that attraction or motion which we
tue, and these are the principal lines or dmsi 7* call desire or iove . t0 the latter, that impulse which we call
flow from such
” tl,e0ne “ ^ off*heo.her,.wefeel«itherde«|renorave,
the goodness of actions or dispositions, moralists call con¬
science. When it judges of an action which is to be per¬
formed, it is called an antecedent conscience ; and when it
passes sentence on an action which is performed, it is ca
ed a subsequent conscience. The tendency of an action
to produce happiness, or its external conformity to a law,
is termed its material goodness; but the good dispositions uuns ui “TnhWtT Hz Those which give immediate
from which an action proceeds, or its conformity to aw in J^rs^ me t’here'fore consider as directly good.
every respect, constitutes its formal goodness. 1 ’ n nf selfJ0ve alone is conversant about
When the mind is ignorant or uncertain about the cha- The calm affection of Sf C"od> or merely
racter of an action, or its tendency to private or public good; such objects as are o y q Y g
or when there are several circumstances in the case, some
of which, being doubtful, render the mind dubious concern¬
ing the morality of the action, that is called a doubtful or
scrupulous conscience; if it mistakes concerning these, it
is called an erroneous conscience. If the error or igno- towaraswmc^ therefore
ranee be involuntary or invincible, the action proceeding probation or moral ^ ’ affections, and the
from that error, or from that ignorance, is reckoned inno- denominate is, as
cent, or not imputable. If the error or ignorance be su- actions c°7e^ in Hnd from the
pine or affected, that is, the effect of negligence, or of affec- has been aheady observed quite hstinct in ^ ^
tation and wilful inadvertence, the conduct flowing from perception of other species , an bereVolent con-
such error, or such ignorance, is criminal and imputable, nected with pleasure or advantage y b ^ endent
Not to follow one’s conscience, though erroneous and ill stitution of nature, yet it const g ^
informed, is criminal, as it is the guide of life; and to of that pleasure and that The other, viz. the
counteract it, shows a depraved and incorrigible spirit, only in degree, but in dignity, to bo . T1 gures which
Yet to follow an erroneous conscience is likewise criminal, natural good, consists in obtaini g j s SUScep-
if that error which miS,ed the conscience was the effect of -1^1 “ eiaPr : iouT a? a^tiZ senses and
useful to ourselves.
But, besides those sorts of objects which ^ cal1
merely and solely as they give pleasure, or are the means oi&
procuring it, there is a higher and nobler species of gooct,
towards which we feel that peculiar movement we call ^‘
inattention, or any criminal passion.1
If it be asked, how an erroneous conscience shall be
rectified, since it is supposed to be the only guide of life,
and judge of morals; we answer, in the very same way that
we would rectify reason if at anv time it should judge wiong,
as it often does, viz. by giving it proper and sufficient mate¬
rials for judging right, that is, by inquiring into the whole
state of the case, the relations, connections, and several
obligations of the actor, the consequences and other cir-
cut avAci^c^v* i/vr £   * oncP<;
tible of them, and is as various as are those sense
passions. This moral good consists in the rlg ^nnrtion
passions, mis uhh<u ° f:on
of the several senses and passions, or their just prop
and accommodation to their respective objects an
tions, and is of a more simple and invariable kind.
Bv our several senses we are capable of a grea Y H
of pleasing sensations. These constitute dlf nct'7e°ehaPP
objects ultimately pursuable for their own sake. ^
ends, or ultimate objects, correspond peculiar appe
1 Hutcheson’s Moral Inst., lib. ii. c. 3.
r
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
467
H i: elf-
Gr ition
ofi ds.
affections, which prompt the mind to pursue them. When
these ends are attained, there it rests, and looks no far¬
ther. Whatever therefore is pursuable, not on its own ac¬
count, but as subservient or necessary to the attainment
of something else which is intrinsically valuable for its own
sake, be that value ever so great or ever so small, we call
a mean, and not an end ; so that ends and means consti¬
tute the materials or the very essence of our happiness.
Consequently happiness, that is, human happiness, cannot
be one simple uniform thing in creatures constituted as we
are, with such various senses of pleasure, and such differ¬
ent capacities of enjoyment. Now the same principle or
law of our nature which determines us to pursue any one
end or species of good, prompts us to pursue every other
end or species of good of which we are susceptible, or to
which our Maker has adapted an original propensity. But,
amidst the great multiplicity of ends or goods which form
the various ingredients of our happiness, we perceive an
evident gradation, or subordination suited to that gradation,
of senses, powers, and passions, which prevails in our mix¬
ed and various constitution, and to that ascending series of
connections which open upon us in the different stages of
our progressive state.
Thus the goods of the body, or of the external senses,
seem to hold the lowest rank in this gradation or scale of
goods. These we have in common with the brutes ; and
though many men are grovelling enough to pursue the goods
of the body with a more than brutal fury, yet, when at any
time they come in competition with goods of an higher or¬
der, the unanimous verdict of mankind, by giving the last
the preference, condemns the first to the meanest place.
Goods consisting in exterior social connections, as fame,
fortune, power, civil authority, seem to succeed next, and
are chiefly valuable as the means of procuring natural or
moral good, but principally the latter. Goods of the intel¬
lect are still superior, as taste, knowledge, memory, judg¬
ment, and so forth. The highest are moral goods of the
mind, directly and ultimately regarding ourselves, as com¬
mand of the appetites and passions, prudence, fortitude,
benevolence, and the like. These are the great objects of
our pursuit, and the principal ingredients of our happiness.
Let us consider each of them as they rise one above the
other in this natural series or scale, and then touch briefly
upon our obligations to pursue them.
Those of the body are health, strength, agility, hardi¬
ness, and patience of change, neatness, and decency.
Good health, and a regular easy flow of spirits, are in
themselves sweet natural enjoyments, a great fund of plea¬
sure, and indeed the proper seasoning which gives a fla¬
vour and poignancy to every other pleasure. The want of
health unfits us for most duties of life, and is especially an
enemy to the social and humane affections, as it generally
renders the unhappy sufferer peevish and sullen, disgusted
with the allotments of Providence, and consequently apt to
entertain suspicious and gloomy sentiments of its author.
It obstructs the free exercise and full improvement of our
reason, and makes us a burden to our friends, and useless
to society j whereas the uninterrupted enjoyment of good
health is a constant source of good humour, and good hu¬
mour is a great friend to openness and benignity of heart;
enabling us to encounter the various evils and disappoint¬
ments of life with more courage, or to sustain them with
more patience, and conducing much, if we are other¬
wise duly qualified, to our acting our part in every exi¬
gency oi life with more firmness, consistency, and digni¬
ty- It therefore imports us much to preserve and im¬
prove a habit or enjoyment, without which every other
external entertainment is tasteless, and most other advan-
ages of little avail; and this is best done by a strict tem¬
perance in diet and regimen, by regular exercise, and by
eeping the mind serene and unruffled by violent passions,
and unsubdued by intense and constant labours, which Man’s
greatly impair and gradually destroy the strongest consti- Duty to
tutions. Himself.
Strength, agility, hardiness, and patience of change, sup- ^ Y-"~J
pose health, and are unattainable without it; but they im¬
ply something more, and are necessary to guard it, to give
us the perfect use of our lives and limbs, and to secure us
against many otherwise unavoidable evils. The exercise of
the necessary manual, and of most of the elegant arts of
life, depends on strength and agility of body; personal
dangers, private and public dangers, the demands of our
friends, our families, and country, require them ; they are
necessary in war, and ornamental in peace ; fit for the em¬
ployment of a country and a town life, and they exalt the
entertainments and diversions of both. They are chiefly
obtained by moderate and regular exercise.
Few are so much raised above want and dependence, or
so exempted from business and care, as not to be often ex¬
posed to inequalities and changes of diet, exercise, air, cli¬
mate, and other irregularities. Now, what can be so ef¬
fectual to secure one against the mischiefs arising from
such unavoidable alterations, as hardiness, and a certain
versatility of constitution which can bear extraordinary la¬
bours, and submit to great changes, without any sensible
uneasiness or bad consequences. This is best attained, not
by an over great delicacy and minute attention to forms,
or by an invariable regularity in diet, hours, and w ay of
living, but rather by a bold and discreet latitude of regi¬
men. Besides, deviations from established rules and forms
of living, if kept within the bounds of sobriety and reason,
are friendly to thought and original sentiments, animate the
dull scene of ordinary life and business, and agreeably stir
the passions, which stagnate or breed ill humour in the
calms of life.
Neatness, cleanliness, and decency, to which we may
add dignity of countenance and demeanour, seetn to have
something refined and moral in them, at least we gene¬
rally esteem them indications of an orderly, genteel, and
well-governed mind, conscious of an inward wrorth, and the
respect due to one’s nature ; whereas nastiness, sloven¬
liness, awkwardness, and indecency, are shrewd symptoms
of something mean, careless, and deficient, and betray a
mind untaught, illiberal, and unconscious of what is due to
one’s self or to others. Flow much cleanliness conduces
to health needs hardly to be mentioned ; and how neces¬
sary it is to maintain one’s character and rank in life, and
to render us agreeable to others as well as to ourselves, is
as evident. There are certain motions, airs, and gestures,
which become the human countenance and form, in which
we perceive a comeliness, openness, simplicity, and grace¬
fulness ; and there are others which, to our sense of deco¬
rum, appear uncomely, affected, disingenuous, and awk¬
ward, quite unsuitable to the native dignity of our face and
form. The first are in themselves the most easy, natural,
and commodious, give one boldness and presence of mind,
a modest assurance, an address both dignified and alluring ;
they bespeak candour and greatness of mind, raise the
most agreeable prejudices in one’s favour, render society
engaging, command respect and often love, and give weight
and authority both in conversation and business; in fine,
they are the colouring of virtue, which show it to the
greatest advantage in whomsoever it exists, and not only
imitate, but in some measure supply it where it is wanting.
Whereas the last, viz. rudeness, affectation, indecorum, and
the like, have all the contrary effects; they are burden¬
some to one’s self, a dishonour to our nature, and a nui¬
sance in society. The former qualities or goods are best
attained by a liberal education, by preserving a just sense
of the dignity of our nature, by keeping the best and po¬
litest company, and, above all, by acquiring those virtuous
and ennobling habits of mind which are decency in per-
468
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Man’s fection, which give an air of unaffected grandeur, and
r>uty to Spread a lustre truly engaging over the whole form and de-
Himself. p0r^men^
^^ We are next to consider those goods which consist m
exterior exterior social connections, as fame, fortune, civ if autho-
social con- rity, and power. . .
nections. The first has a twofold aspect, as a good pleasant in it¬
self, or gratifying to an original passion, and then as expe¬
dient or useful towards a further end. Honour from the
wise and good, on account of virtuous conduct, is regal¬
ing to a good man, for then his heart re-echoes to the grate¬
ful sound. There are few persons quite indifferent even to
the commendation of the vulgar. Though we cannot ap¬
prove that conduct which proceeds from this principle, and
not from good affection or love of the conduct itself, yet, as
it is often a guard and additional motive to virtue in crea¬
tures imperfect as we are, and often distracted by inteifer-
ing passions, it might be dangerous to suppress it altoge¬
ther, however wise it may be to restrain it within due
bounds, and however laudable to use it only as a scaffold¬
ing to our virtue, which may be taken down when that
glorious structure is finished, but hardly till then, lo pur¬
sue fame for itself, is innocent; to regard it only as an
auxiliary to virtue, is noble; to seek it chiefly as an en¬
gine of public usefulness, is still more noble, and highly
praiseworthy. For though the opinion and breath of men
are transient and fading things, often obtained without me¬
rit, and lost without cause, yet as our business is with
men, and as our capacity of serving them is generally in¬
creased in proportion to their esteem of us, therefore sound
and well-established moral applause may and will be mo¬
destly, not ostentatiously, sought after by the good ; not
indeed as a solitary refined sort of luxury, but as a public
and proper instrument to serve and bless mankind. At the
same time they will learn to despise that reputation which
is founded on rank, fortune, and any other circumstances
or accomplishments which are foreign to real merit, or to
useful services done to others, and think that praise of lit¬
tle avail which is purchased without desert, and bestowed
without judgment.
Fortune, power, and civil authority, or whatever is call¬
ed influence and weight amongst mankind, are goods of the
second division, that is, valuable and pursuable only as
they are useful, or as means to a further end, namely, pro¬
curing or preserving the immediate objects of enjoyment or
happiness to ourselves or others. Therefore to love such
goods on their own account, and to pursue them as the ends,
not the means, of enjoyment, must be highly preposterous
and absurd. There can be no measure, no limit, to such
pursuit; all must be whim, caprice, extravagance. Ac¬
cordingly, such appetites, unlike all the natural ones, are
increased by possession, and whetted by enjoyment. Ihey
are always precarious, and never without fears, because the
objects lie without one’s self; they are seldom without
sorrow and vexation, because no accession of wealth or of
power can satisfy them. But if those goods are consider¬
ed only as the materials or means of private or public hap¬
piness, then the same obligations which bind us to pursue
the latter, bind us likewise to pursue the former. We
may, and no doubt we ought to, seek such a measure of
wealth as is necessary to supply all our real wants, to raise
us above servile dependence, and to provide us with such
conveniences as are suited to our rank and condition in
life. To be regardless of this measure of wealth, is to ex¬
pose ourselves to all the temptations of poverty and cor¬
ruption, to forfeit our natural independence and freedom,
to degrade, and consequently to render the rank we hold,
and the character we sustain, in society, useless, if not con¬
temptible. When these important ends are secured, we
ought not to murmur or repine that we possess not more;
yet we are not secluded by any obligation, moral or divine,
from seeking more, in order to give us that happiest and Man’s
most godlike of all powers, the power of doing good. A JJutyt
supine indolence in this respect is both absurd and cri- Hlmsel-
minal; absurd, as it robs us of an inexhaustible fund of the
most refined and durable enjoyments; and criminal, as it
renders us so far useless to the society to which we be¬
long. That pursuit of wealth which goes beyond the for¬
mer end, viz. the obtaining the necessaries, or such con¬
veniences, of life, as, in the estimation of reason, not of
vanity or passion, are suited to our rank and condition,
and yet is not directed to the latter, namely, the doing
good, is what we call avarice. And that pursuit of power
which, after securing one’s self, that is, haying attained the
proper independence and liberty of a rational social crea¬
ture, is not directed to the good of others, is what we call
ambition, or the lust of ‘power.- To what extent the strict
measures of virtue will allow us to pursue either wealth or
power, and civil authority, it is not perhaps possible pre¬
cisely to determine. That must be left to prudence, and the
peculiar character, condition, and other circumstances, of
each man. Only thus far a limit may be set, that the pur¬
suit of either must not encroach upon any other duty or
obligation which we owe to ourselves, to society, or to its
parent and head. The same reasoning is to be applied to
power as to wealth. It is only valuable as an instrument
of our own security, and of the free enjoyment of those
original goods it may, and often does, administer to us,
and as an engine of more extensive happiness to our
friends, our country, and mankind.
Now the best, and indeed the only way to obtain a so¬
lid and lasting fame, is an uniform inflexible course of vir¬
tue ; the employing one’s ability and wealth in supplying
the wants, and using one’s power in promoting or securing
the happiness, the rights and liberties, of mankind, joined
to an universal affability and politeness of manners. And
surely one will not mistake the matter much, who thinks
the same course conducive to the acquiring greater acces¬
sions both of wealth and power; especially if he add to
those qualifications a vigorous industry, a constant atten¬
tion to the characters and wants of men, to the conjunc¬
tures of times, and continually varying genius of affairs;
and a steady, intrepid honesty, that will neither yield to
the allurements, nor be overawed with the terrors, of that
corrupt and corrupting scene in which we live. We have
sometimes heard indeed of other ways and means, as
fraud, dissimulation, servility, and prostitution, and the like
ignoble arts, by which the men of the world (as they are
called), shrewd politicians, and persons of address, amass
wealth and procure power; but as we want rather to
form a man of virtue, an honest, contented, happy man, we
leave to the men of the world their own ways, and permit
them, unenvied and unimitated by us, to reap the fruit o
their doings.
The next species of objects in the scale of good, are the Go
goods of the intellect, as knowledge, memory, juagment’lecU
taste, sagacity, docility, and whatever else we call mtei ac¬
tual virtues. Let us consider them a little, and the mean
as well as obligations to improve them. . ,
As man is a rational creature, capable of knowing
differences of things and actions ; as he not only sees ana
feels what is present, but remembers what is past, a
often foresees what is future; as he advances nom s
beginnings by slow degrees, and with rnuch labour an
Acuity, towards knowledge and experience ; as his op
sway his passions, as his passions influence his con >
and as his conduct draws consequences after it wine
tend not only to the present, but to the future time,
is therefore the principal source of hls.haPPinfeSS]0;mnrove^
it is evident that he is formed for intellectual i p ^
ments, and that it must be of the utmost con*ecP\ on
him to imnrove and cultivate his intellectual po >
1
Di
i.
moral philosophy.
s which these opinions, those passions, and that conduct, en-
0 tirely depend.1
^ But besides the future consequences and importance of
improving our intellectual powers, their immediate exer¬
cise on their proper objects yields the most rational and
refined pleasures. Knowledge, and a right taste in the
arts of imitation and design, as poetry, painting, sculpture,
music, architecture, afford not only an innocent, but a
most sensible and sublime entertainment. By these the
understanding is instructed in ancient and modern life,
the history of men and things, the energies and effects of
the passions, the consequences of virtue and vice; by
these the imagination is at once entertained and nourished
with the beauties of nature and art, lighted up and spread
out with the novelty, grandeur, and harmony of the uni¬
verse ; and, in fine, the passions are agreeably roused, and
suitably engaged, by the greatest and most interesting ob¬
jects which can fill the human mind. He who has a taste
formed for those ingenious delights, and plenty of mate¬
rials to gratify it, can never want the most agreeable ex¬
ercise and entertainment, nor once have reason to make
that fashionable complaint of the tediousness of time. Nor
can he want a proper subject for the discipline and im¬
provement of his heart. For, being daily conversant with
. beauty, order, and design, in inferior subjects, he bids fair
for growing in due time an admirer of that which is fair and
well-proportioned in the conduct of life and the order of
society, the latter being only order and design exerted in
their highest subject. He will learn to transfer the numbers
of poetry to the harmony of the mind and of well-governed
passions; and, from admiring the virtues of others in mo¬
ral paintings, come to approve and imitate them himself.
To cultivate a true and correct taste, therefore, must be
both our interest and our duty, when the circumstances
of our station give leisure and opportunity for it, and
when the doing of it is not inconsistent with our higher ob¬
ligations or engagements to society and mankind.
It is best attained by reading the best books, where
good sense has more the ascendant than learning, and
which pertain more to practice than to speculation; by
studying the best models, or those which profess to imi¬
tate nature most, and approach the nearest to it; and by
conversing with men of the most refined taste, and the
greatest experience in life.
As to the other intellectual goods, what a fund of en¬
tertainment must it be to investigate the truth and va¬
rious relations of things, to trace the operations of nature
to general laws, to explain by these its manifold pheno¬
mena, to understand that order by which the universe is
upheld, and that economy by which it is governed ; to be
acquainted with the human mind, the connections, subor-
• ln^*ons> and uses of its powers, and to mark their energy
in life: how agreeable to the ingenious inquirer, to ob¬
serve the manifold relations and combinations of individual
minds in society, to discern the causes w hy they flourish or
decay, and thence to ascend, through the vast scale of be¬
ings, to that general Mind which presides over all, and ope¬
rates unseen in every system and in every age, throughout
ie whole compass and progression of nature. Devoted to
^ /ntertainn^nts as these, the contemplative have
a andoned every other pleasure, retired from the body, so
° speak, and sequestered themselves from social inter¬
course ; for these, the busy have often preferred to the
urry and the din of life the calm retreats of contemplation ;
or ese, when once they came to taste them, even the
g y an voluptuous have thrown up the lawless pursuits
invm1186 an^ aPPe*lte> an(I acknowledged these mental en-
; ents to be the most refined, and indeed the only
469
luxury. Besides, by a just and enlarged knowledge of na- Man’s
ture, we recognise the perfections of its Author; and thus Buty to
piety, and all those pious affections which depend on just Himself,
sentiments of his character, are awakened and confirmed ; ''-’“'y'"-
wmlst a thousand superstitious fears, which arise from par¬
tial views of his nature and works, will of course be ex¬
cluded. An extensive prospect of human life, and of the
periods and revolutions of human things, will conduce much
to impart a certain greatness of mind, and a noble con¬
tempt of those little competitions about power, honour,
and wealth, which disturb and divide the bulk of man¬
kind ; and promote a calm endurance of those inconve¬
niences and evils which are the common appendages of
humanity. Add to all this, that a just knowledge of human
nature, and of those hinges upon which the business and
rortunes of men turn, will prevent our thinking either too
highly or too meanly of our fellow'-creatures; give no small
scope to the exercise of friendship, confidence, and good
will; and at the same time brace the mind with a proper
caution and distrust (those nerves of prudence), and give
a greater mastery in the conduct of private as well as pub¬
lic life. By cultivating our intellectual abilities, therefore,
we shall best promote and secure our interest, and be qua¬
lified for acting our part in society with more honour to
ourselves, as well as advantage to mankind. It is conse¬
quently our duty to improve them to the utmost of our
power; they are talents committed to us by the Almightv
Head of society, and we are accountable to him for the
use of them.
The intellectual virtues are best improved by accurate
and impartial observation, extensive reading, and uncon¬
fined converse with men of all characters, especially with
those who to private study have joined the widest ac¬
quaintance with the world, and the greatest practice in af¬
fairs ; but, above all, by being much in the world, and hav¬
ing large dealings with mankind. Such opportunities con¬
tribute much to divest one of prejudices and a servile at¬
tachment to crude systems, to open one’s views, and to
give that experience upon which the most useful because
the most practical knowledge is built, and from which the
surest maxims for the conduct of life are deduced.
The highest goods which enter into the composition of Moral
human happiness are moral goods of the mind, directly
and ultimately regarding ourselves; such as command of
the appetites and passions, prudence and caution, magna¬
nimity, fortitude, humility', love of virtue, love of God, re¬
signation, and the like. These sublime goods are goods by
way of eminence, goods recommended and enforced bv
the most intimate and awful sense and consciousness of
our nature; goods which constitute the quintessence, the
very temper, of happiness, and form that complexion of
soul which renders us approveable and lovely in the sight
of God ; goods, in fine, which are the elements of all our
future perfection and felicity.
Most of the other goods which we have considered de¬
pend partly upon ourselves, and partly on accidents which
we can neither foresee nor prevent, and result from causes
which we cannot influence or alter. They are such goods
as we may possess to-day and lose to-morrow, and which
require a felicity of constitution and talents to attain them
in lull vigour and perfection, and a felicity of conjunctures
to secure the possession of them. Therefore, did our hap¬
piness depend altogether or chiefly7 on such transitory and
precarious possessions, it were itself most precarious, and
the highest folly, to be anxious about it. But although crea¬
tures constituted as we are cannot be indifferent about
such goods, and must even suffer in some degree, and conse¬
quently have our happiness incomplete, without them, yet
1 Philos. Sink. Confuc. lib. i. sect. 3, 4, &c.
470
Man’s
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Man’s they weigh but little in the scale when compared w!th
Duty to m Jal goods. By the benevolent constitution of our na-
Himself. ture th&e iatter are placed within the sphere of our activity,
 * ' so that no man can be destitute of them unless he is first
wanting to himself. Some of the wisest and best of man¬
kind have wanted most of the former goods, and all tie
external kind, and felt most of the opposite evils, such at
least as arise from without; yet, by possessing the latter,
viz. the moral goods, have declared they were happy, and
to the conviction of the most impartial observers have ap¬
peared to be happy. The worst of men have been surround¬
ed with every outward good and advantage of fortune, and
have possessed great parts; yet, from lyant of moral recti¬
tude, have been, and have confessed themselves to be, no
toriously and exquisitely miserable. The exercise of vn-
tue has^supported its votaries, and made them exult in the
mfdst of tortures almost intolerable; nay, how often has
some false form or shadow of it sustained even greatest
villains and bigots under the same exigencies, but no ex¬
ternal goods, no goods of fortune, have been able to alleviate
the agonies or expel the fears of a guilty mind, conscious
of the deserved hatred and reproach of mankind, and the
just displeasure of Almighty God. , , ,,
J As the present condition of human life is wonderfully
rh^.1fe cheuuered with good and evil, and as no height of station,
ofhuman no affluence of fortune, can absolutely insure the good, or
life re- secure against the evil, it is evident that a great pait of the
quires par- comfort and serenity of life must he in having our minds
titular vir- dul affected with regard to both, that is, rightly attempered
tUeS' to the loss of one and the sufferance of the other, tor it
is certain that outward calamities derive their chief malig¬
nity and pressure from the inward dispositions with which
we receive them. By managing these rightly, we may great¬
ly abate that malignity and pressure, and consequently
diminish the number and weaken the force of the evils o
life, if we should not have it in our power to obtain a large
share of its goods. There are particularly three virtues
which go to the forming of this right temper towards evil, and
which are of singular efficacy, if not totally to remove yet
wonderfully to alleviate, the calamities of life. These ai e
fortitude or patience, humility, and resignation.
Fortitude is that calm and steady habit of mind which
either moderates our fears, and enables us bravely to en¬
counter the prospect of evil, or renders the mind serene and
invincible under its immediate pressure. It lies equally
distant from rashness and cowardice ; and, though it does
not hinder us from feeling, yet it prevents our complaining
or shrinking under the stroke. It always includes a gene¬
rous contempt of, or at least a noble superiority to those
precarious goods of which we can insure neither the pos¬
session nor the continuance. The man, therefore, who pos¬
sesses this virtue in this ample sense of it, stands upon an
eminence, and sees human things below him; the tem¬
pest 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. „ ,. , , j j-
Humility is another virtue of high rank and dignity,
although often mistaken by proud mortals for meanness and
pusillanimity. It is opposed to pride, which commonly
includes in it a false or exaggerated estimation of our own
merit, an ascription of it to ourselves as its only and ori¬
ginal cause, an undue comparison of ourselves with others,
and, in consequence of that supposed superiority, an arro¬
gant preference of ourselves, and a supercilious contempt
of them. Humility, on the other hand, seems to denote
that modest and ingenuous temper of mind, which arises
from a just and equal estimate of our own advantages com¬
pared with those of others, and from a sense of our deriv- Man'
ing all originally from, the Author of our oemg. Its ord,- Bu y
nary attendants are mildness, a gentle forbearance, ande¬
an easy unassuming humanity with regard to the iniper- ^ |
fections and faults of others ; virtues rare, indeed, but of
the fairest complexion, the proper offspring of so lovely a
parent, the best ornaments of such imperfect creatures as
we are, precious in the sight of God, and all-powerful over
the hearts of men. r . , ,. ,
Resignation is that mild and heroic temper of mind which
arises from a sense of an infinitely wise and good provi-
dence, and enables us to acquiesce with cordial affection
in its just appointments. This virtue has something very
particular in its nature, as well as sublime in its efficacy,
for it teaches us to bear evil, not only with patience, and as
being unavoidable, but it transforms, as it were, evil into
good, by leading us to consider it, and every event which
has the least appearance of evil, as a divine dispensation, a
wise and benevolent temperament of things, subservient
to universal good, and of course including that of every in¬
dividual, especially of such as calmly stoop to it. In this
light, the administration itself, nay every act of it, becomes .
an object of affection, and the evil disappears or is convert¬
ed into a balm which both heals and nourishes the mind.
For although the first unexpected access of evil may sur¬
prise the soul into grief, yet that grief, when the mind calm-
ly reviews its object, changes into contentment, and is by
degrees exalted into veneration and a divineconiposure.
Our private will is lost in that of the Almighty, and our
security against every real evil rests on the same bottom as
the throne of him who lives and reigns for ever.
Before we finish this section, it may be fit to observe,
that as the Deity is the supreme and mexhaustffile source
of good, on whom the happiness of the whole creation d
pends ; as he is the highest object in nature, and Ae only
object who is fully proportioned to the intellectual and
moral powers of the mind, in whom they ^matdy resh
and find their most perfect exercise and compk on , he is
therefore termed the chief good of man, objectivffiy con
sidered. And virtue, or the proportioned and vigorous
exercise of the several powers and affections towards
respective objects, as above described, is, in the s™j0.j
termed the chief good, formally considered, or iK foraa
idea, being the inward temper and native constitution
human happiness. the Coroll *•
From the detail which we have thus gone thro g ,
following important corollaries may be deduced : •
evident that tile happiness of such a progressive creature
as man can never be at a stand, or con .inu 1,1,1,.
variable thing. His finite nature, let it rise ever j g
admits still higher degrees of .mprovement and pe
tion; and his progression in improvement or virtue J
makes way for a progression in happiness .so that "P
sible point can be assigned in any period of his eMten
in which he is perfectly happy, that 13’“ c“‘perfection is
elude higher degrees ol happiness. All his pe ^
.LTEeSVsnarioufa «a-
  ^ . nrpa-
conspire to complex the happi^of »f
ture as man, subject to so many ~ , * ]easure
such different pleasures. 3 As h,s ^^often
cannot be all gratified at the same time, and m ^
interfere with each other in such a precarious a
ing state as human life, or be frequently disappoi t 1, P
feet happiness, that is the ^disturbed euj ymen ^^^
several pleasures of winch we are caPable’ S.Xs0Uglit
in our present state. 4. That state is 8 0fot.
after, in which the fewest competlt^ sense of
meets can happen, which least of all impairs any
As Ravaillac, who assassinated Henry IV. of France ; and Balthasar Gerard, who murdered William I. prince of Orange
moral philosophy.
But of pleasure, and which opens an inexhaustible source of the
WtT- most refined and lasting enjoyments. 5. That state which
"'is attended with all these advantages, is a state or course
of virtue ; and therefore, a state of virtue, in which the
moral goods of the mind are attained, is the happiest
state.
•471
CHAP. III. DUTIES OF SOCIETY.
Sect. I.—Filial and Fraternal Duty.
Duti to
pare
As we have followed the order of nature in tracing the
history of man, and those duties which he owes to himself,
it seems reasonable to observe the same method respecting
those he owes to society, which constitute the second class
of his obligations.
Conction His Parents are amongst the earliest objects of his atten-
oi'pi nts, tion; he becomes soonest acquainted with them, reposes
a peculiar confidence in them, and seems to regard them
with a fond affection, the early prognostics of his future
piety and gratitude. Thus does nature dictate the first
lines of filial duty, even before a just sense of the connec¬
tion is formed. But when the child is grown up, and has
attained to such a degree of understanding as to compre¬
hend the moral tie, and be sensible of the obligations he
is under to his parents ; when he looks back on their ten¬
der and disinterested affection, their incessant cares and
labours in nursing, educating, and providing for him, dur¬
ing that state in which he had neither prudence nor strength
to care and provide for himself; he must be conscious that
he owes to them these peculiar duties.
To reverence and honour them, as the instruments of
nature in introducing him to life, and to that state of com¬
fort and happiness which he enjoys ; and therefore to es¬
teem and imitate their good qualities, to alleviate and bear
with, and spread, as much as possible, a decent veil over
their faults and weaknesses. To be highly grateful to them
for those favours which it can hardly ever be in his power
fully to repay : to show this gratitude by a strict attention
to their \vants, and a solicitous care to supply them ; by a
submissive deference to their authority and advice, espe¬
cially by paying great regard to it in the choice of a wife,
and of an occupation ; by yielding to, rather than peevishly
contending with, their humours, as remembering how often
they have been persecuted by his ; and, in fine, by soothing
their cares, lightening their sorrows, supporting the infir¬
mities of age, and making the remainder of their life as
comfortable and joyful as possible.
As his brethren and sisters are the next with whom the
, creature forms a social and moral connection, to them he
si rs. owes a fraternal regard ; and with them ought he to enter
mto a strict league of friendship, mutual sympathy, advice,
assistance, and a generous intercourse of kind offices, re-
j^kCring their relation to common parents, and that
orotherhoodof nature which unites them into a closer com¬
munity of interest and affection.
Duti<
breth
Coime
with
other
Sect. II.— Concerning Marriage.
" en ^ian arrives at a certain age, he becomes sensible
a peculiar sympathy and tenderness towards the other
fvftu t"e c^arms t>eauty engage his attention, and call
ortti new and softer dispositions than he has yet felt. The
f^aiiti68 exhibited by a fair outside, or by
iuH-1111! a urement °f female manners, or which the pre-
, •Ice. sPecfator without much reasoning supposes those
anH*10 several other circumstances both natural
ohi ^CC1 cntaij point his view and affection to a particular
whirl an, course contract that general rambling regard,
was lost and useless amongst the undistinguished
crowd, into a peculiar and permanent attachment to one Duties of
woman, which ordinarily terminates in the most important, Society,
venerable, and delightful connection in life. ~v
I he state of the brute creation is very different from
that of human creatures. The former are clothed and ge¬
nerally armed by their structure, easily find what is neces¬
sary to their subsistence, and soon attain their vigour and
maturity; so that they need the care and aid of their
pai ents but for a short while, and therefore we see that
nature has assigned to them vagrant and transient amours.
The connection being purely natural, and merely for pro¬
pagating and rearing their offspring, no sooner is that end
answered, than the connection dissolves of course. But
the human race are of a more tender and defenceless con¬
stitution ; their infancy and nonage continue longer; they
advance slowly to strength of body and maturity of rea¬
son ; they need constant attention, and a long series of cares
and labours, in order to train them up to decency, virtue,
and the various arts of life. Nature has, therefore, pro¬
vided them with the most affectionate and anxious tutors,
to aid their weakness, to supply their wants, and to ac¬
complish them in those necessary arts, even their own
parents, upon whom she has devolved this mighty charge,
rendered agreeable by the most alluring and powerful of
all ties, parental affection. But unless both concur in this
grateful task, and continue their joint labours until they
have reared up and planted out their young colony, it
must become a prey to every rude invader, and the purpose
of nature in the original union of the human pair must be
defeated. Therefore our structure as well as condition is
an evident indication that the human sexes are destined
for a more intimate, that is, for a moral and lasting union.
It appears, likewise, that the principal end of marriage is
not to propagate and nurse up an offspring, but to edu¬
cate and form minds for the great duties and extensive
destinations of life. Society must be supplied from this
original nursery with useful members, and its fairest orna¬
ments and supports.
I he mind is apt to be dissipated in its views' and acts Moral ends
of friendship and humanity, unless the former be directed of mar-
to a particular object, and the latter employed in a parti-riagv.
cular province. When men once indulge in this dissipa¬
tion, there is no stopping their career; they grow insensi¬
ble to moral attractions ; and, by obstructing or impairing
the decent and regular exercise of the tender and gene”
rous feelings of the human heart, they in time become un¬
qualified for, or averse to, the forming a moral union of
souls, which is the cement of society, and the source of
the purest domestic joys. But a rational and undepraved
love, and its fair companion, marriage, collect a man’s
views, guide his heart to its proper object, and, by con
fining his affection to that object, do really enlarge its in¬
fluence and use. Besides, it is but too evident, from the
conduct of mankind, that the common ties of humanity
are too feeble to engage and interest the passions of the
generality in the affairs of society. The connections of
neighbourhood, acquaintance, and general intercourse, arc
too wide a field of action for many, and those of a public
or community are so for more ; a field in which they either
care not or know not how to exert themselves. There¬
fore nature, ever wise and benevolent, by implanting that
strong sympathy which reigns between the individuals of
each sex, and by urging them to form a particular moral
connection, the spring of many domestic endearments, has
measured out to each pair a particular sphere of action,
proportioned to their views, and adapted to their respec¬
tive capacities. Besides, by interesting them deeply in
the concerns of their own little circle, she has connected
them more closely with society, which is composed of par¬
ticular families, and bound them down to their good beha¬
viour in that particular community to which they belong.
472
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of This moral connection is marriage, and this sphere of ac-
Society. tion is a family. „ „ . , t i
  / ' Of the conjugal alliance the following are the natural
laws. First, mutual fidelity to the marriage-bed. Dis¬
loyalty defeats the very end of marriage; dissolves the
natural cement of the relation; weakens the moral tie,
the chief strength of which consists in the reciprocation ot
affection; and, by making the offspring uncertain, diminishes
the care and attachment necessary to their education. Se¬
condly, a conspiration of counsels and endeavours to pro¬
mote the common interest of the family, and to educate
their common offspring. In order to observe these laws
it is necessary to cultivate, both before and during the
married state, the strictest decency and chastity of man¬
ners, and a just sense of what becomes their respective
characters. Thirdly, the union must be ;nviolable, and
for life. The nature of friendship, and particularly of this
species of it, the education of their offspring, and the or¬
der of society and of successions, which would otherwise
be extremely perplexed, all equally require this. To pre¬
serve the union in question, aqd render the matnmonia
state more harmonious and comfortable, a mutual esteem
and tenderness, a mutual deference and forbearance, a
communication of advice, and assistance, and authority
of the authority and power having ceased, they cease of Duties 0f
course. Whatever power or authority, then, it may be Society,
necessary or lawful for parents to exercise during the non-
age of their children, to assume or usurp the same when
they have attained the maturity or full exercise of their
strength and reason would be tyrannical and unjust. Hence
it is evident, that parents have no right to punish the per¬
sons of their children more severely than the nature of
their wardship requires, much less to invade their lives, to
encroach upon their liberty, or to transfer them as their
property to any master whatsoever.
The first class of duties which parents owe to their chil-Duties of
dren respect their natural life; and these comprehend pro-parents,
tection, nurture, provision, introducing them into the world
in a manner suitable to their rank and fortune, and the
like. The second order of duties regards the intellectual
and"moral life of their children, or their education in such
arts and accomplishments as are necessary to qualify them
for performing the duties they owe to themselves and to
others. As this was found to be the principal design of
the matrimonial alliance, so the fulfilling that design is the
most important and dignified of all the parental duties.. In
order, therefore, to fit the child for acting his part wisely
and worthily as a man, as a citizen, and as a creature of God,
communication of advlce’p1?d. JSS1St.a.^ upcpn witll:n their both parents ought to combine their joint wisdom, autho
are absolutely necessary. If both parties keep wtUmthetr both 8 each apart should employ those talent
Polygamy
proper departments, there need be no disputes about power
or superiority, and there will be none. They have no op¬
posite, no separate interests, and therefore there can be
no iust ground for opposition of conduct.
From this detail, and the present state of things, in
which there is pretty nearly a parity of numbers ot both
sexes, it is evident that polygamy is an unnatural state;
and though it should be granted to be more fruitful ot chil¬
dren, which, however, it is not found to be, yet it is by no
means so fit for rearing minds; which seems to be as much,
if not more, the intention of nature than the propagation
of bodies.
Sect. III.—Of Parental Duty.
dren.
rnnrprtion The connection of parents with their children is a natu-
ofparents ral consequence of the matrimonial connection; and the
and chil- duties which the parents owe them result as naturally from
that connection. The feeble state of children, subject to
so many wants and dangers, requires their incessant care
and attention ; their ignorant and uncultivated minds de¬
mand continual instruction and culture. Had human crea¬
tures come into the world with the full strength of men,
but the weakness of reason and the vehemence of pas¬
sions which prevail in children, they would have been too
strong or too stubborn to submit to the government and
instruction of their parents. But as they were designed
for a progression in knowledge and virtue, it was proper
that the growth of their bodies should keep pace with
that of their minds, lest the purposes of this progression
should have been defeated. Amongst other admirable pur¬
poses which this gradual expansion of their outward as
well as inward structure serves, this is one : that it affords
ample scope for the exercise of many tender and generous
affections, which fill up the domestic life with a beauti¬
ful variety of duties and enjoyments, and are of course a
noble discipline for the heart, and a hardy kind of educa¬
tion for the more honourable and important duties of pub¬
lic life
x itv, and power, and each apart should employ those talents
which are the peculiar excellency and ornament of their
respective sex. The father ought to lay out and superin¬
tend their education, the mother should execute and manage
the detail of which she is capable. The former should di¬
rect the manly exertion of the intellectual and the moral
powers of his child. His imagination, and the manner of
those exertions, are the peculiar province of the latter.
The former should advise, protect, command, and, by his
experience, masculine vigour, and that superior authority
which is commonly ascribed to his sex, brace and strength¬
en his pupil for active life, for gravity, integrity, and firm¬
ness in suffering. The business of the latter is to bend
and soften her male pupil, by the charms of her conversa¬
tion, and the softness and decency of her manners, tor so¬
cial life, for politeness of taste, and the elegant decorums
and enjoyments of humanity ; and to improve and refine
the tenderness and modesty of her female pupil, and form
her for all those mild domestic virtues which are the pecu¬
liar characteristics and ornaments of her sex. 1 o conduc
the opening minds of their sweet charge through the se¬
veral periods of their progress ; to assist them in each pe¬
riod, in throwing out the latent seeds of reason and inge¬
nuity, and in gaining fresh accessions of light and virtuf ’
and at length, with all these advantages, to produce t
young adventurers upon the great theatre of human i e,
play their several parts in the sight of their friends, of
ciety, and mankind ; are equally incumbent on both
Sect. IV.—Herile and Servile Duty.
In the natural course of human affairs, it
rily happen that some of mankind will live in i5. ncenection.
opulence, and others be reduced to a state of
and poverty. The former need the labours of the lat ,
and the latter provision and support from the forme -
mutual necessity is the foundation of that co
whether we call it moral or civil, winch subsists b.t o
masters and servants. He who feeds another a » .
The au¬
thority
founded
on that
The" above-mentioned weak and ignorant state of chil- some equivalent, viz. the labour of him whom he r _ w
. . . . i •  u   ^^4-Vw-v ■fV»nifo nr li. !
tne mnour oi imu ““ . uas
p?™* wTth-such™- and the fruits of U; and Jaboursfor another
thority and power as is necessary to their support, protec- a right toexpectthat he sho PP° ^ certainly of
tinr> nnd ^rWatinn : but such authority and power cannot labours of a man of ordi a y . wause they
tion, and education: but such authority and power cannot fnnd"and clothing, because
connection. be(;onstrued to extend farther than is necessary to an- greater value than mere food an“nX Sntenance of a
swer those ends, nor to last longer than that weakness and would LP^f® ”1.°rte’ _lov them in his own be-
a rig
labours
dinary sirengm — -
food and clothing, because they
more even the maintenance
swer those ends, nor to last longer man ixiar wcukucss «uu vy^u-     ‘ VT-" ’1™ them in his own be-
ignorance continue ; wherefore, the foundation or reason family, were the labourer to emp y
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
473
Dutit f half, therefore he has an undoubted right to rate and dis-
Socie pose of his service for certain wages above mere mainte-
nance; and if he have incautiously disposed of it for the
latter only, yet the contract being of the onerous kind, he
may equitably claim a supply of that deficiency. If the
service be specified, the servant is bound to that only; if
not, then he is to be construed as bound only to such servi¬
ces as are consistent with the laws of justice and humani¬
ty. By the voluntary servitude to which he subjects him¬
self, he forfeits no rights but such as are necessarily in¬
cluded in that servitude, and is obnoxious to no punish¬
ment but such as a voluntary failure in the service may
he supposed reasonably to require. The offspring of such
servants have a right to that liberty which neither they
nor their parents have forfeited.
As to those who, by reason of some heinous offence, or
for some notorious damage, which they cannot otherwise
compensate, are condemned to perpetual service, they do
not, on that account, forfeit all the rights of men, but only
those the loss of which is necessary to secure society
against the like offences for the future, or to repair the
damage which they have done.
With regard to captives taken in war, it is barbarous
and inhuman to reduce them to perpetual slavery, unless
some peculiar and aggravated circumstances of guilt have
attended their hostility. The bulk of the subjects of any
government engaged in war may be fairly esteemed inno¬
cent enemies, and therefore they have a right to that cle¬
mency which is consistent with the common safety of man¬
kind, and the particular security of that society against
which they are engaged. Though ordinary captives have
a grant of their lives, yet to pay their liberty as an equiva¬
lent is much too high a price. There are other ways of ac¬
knowledging or returning the favour than by surrendering
that which is far dearer than life itself.1 To those who, un¬
der pretext of the necessities of commerce, drive the un¬
natural trade of bargaining for human flesh, and consign¬
ing their innocent but unfortunate fellow-creatures to eter¬
nal servitude and misery, we may address the words of a
fine writer: “ Let avarice defend it as it will, there is an
honest reluctance in humanity against buying and selling,
and regarding those of our own species as our wealth and
possessions.”
Sect. V.—Social Duties of the Private Kind.
Hitherto we have considered only the domestic econo¬
mical duties, because these are first in the progress of na¬
ture. But as man passes beyond the little circle of a
family, he forms connections with relations, friends, neigh¬
bours, and others; whence results a new train of duties
of the more private social kind, as friendship, chastity,
courtesy, good neighbourhood, charity, forgiveness, hospi¬
tality.
Man is admirably formed for particular social attach¬
ments and duties. There is a peculiar and strong propen¬
sity in his nature to be affected with the sentiments and
dispositions of others. Men, like certain musical instru¬
ments, are set to each other, so that the vibrations or
notes excited in one raise correspondent notes and vibra¬
tions in the others. The impulses of pleasure or pain, joy
or sorrow, made upon one mind, are by an instantaneous
sympathy of nature communicated in some degree to all,
especially when hearts are, as a humane writer expresses
!t, in unison of kindness; the joy that vibrates in one com¬
municates to the other also. We may add, that although
joy thus imparted swells the harmony, yet grief vibrated
to the heart of a friend, and rebounding from thence in
Man1!
titude
society
sympathetic notes, melts, as it were, and almost dies away. Duties of
All the passions, but especially those of the social kind, Society,
are contagious ; and when the passions of one man mingle ^ v-'—''
with those of another, they increase and multiply prodi¬
giously. There is a most moving eloquence in the human
countenance, air, voice, and gesture, wonderfully expres¬
sive of the most latent feelings and passions of the soul,
which darts them like a subtile flame into the hearts of
others, and there raises correspondent feelings. Friend¬
ship, love, good humour, joy, spread through every fea¬
ture, and particularly shoot from the eyes their softer and
fiercer fires with an irresistible energy; and, in like man¬
ner, the opposite passions of hatred, enmity, ill humour,
melancholy, diffuse a sullen and saddening air over the
face, and, flashing from eye to eye, kindle a train of simi¬
lar passions. By these, and other admirable pieces of ma¬
chinery, men are formed for society and the delightful in¬
terchange of friendly sentiments and duties, to increase
the happiness of others by participation, and their own
by rebound; and to diminish, by dividing, the common
stock of their misery.
The first emanations of the social principle beyond the Duties
bounds of a family lead us to form a nearer conjunction ofaris‘nS
friendship or good will with those who are anywise con-from pri-
nected with us by blood or domestic alliance. To them ^t1]e ie a’
our affection does commonly exert itself in a greater or
less degree, according to the nearness or distance of the
relation. And this proportion is admirably suited to the
extent of our powers and the indigence of our state; for
it is only within those lesser circles of consanguinity or
alliance that the generality of mankind are able to display
their abilities or benevolence, and consequently to uphold
their connection with society, and subserviency to a pub¬
lic interest. Therefore it is our duty to regard these
closer connections as the next department to that of a
family, in which nature has marked out for us a sphere of
activity and usefulness; and to cultivate the kind affec¬
tions which are the cement of these endearing alliances.
Frequently the view of distinguishing moral qualities in Ingre-
some of our acquaintance may give birth to that more no-151.61118 °f
ble connection which we callwhich is far superior ^rien^s^T’
to the alliances of consanguinity. For these are of a su¬
perficial, and often of a transitory nature, of which, as they
hold more of instinct than of reason, we cannot give such a
rational account. But friendship derives all its strength and
beauty, and the only existence which is durable, from the
qualities of the heart, or from virtuous and lovely disposi¬
tions ; or should these be wanting, they or some shadow
of them must be supposed present. Therefore friend¬
ship may be described to be the union of two souls by
means of virtue, the common object and cement of their
mutual affection. Without virtue, or the supposition of
it, friendship is only a mercenary league, an alliance of in¬
terest, which must dissolve of course when that interest
decays or subsists no longer. It is not so much any par¬
ticular passion, as a composition of some of the noblest
feelings and passions of the mind. Good sense, a just
taste and love of virtue, a thorough candour and benignity
of heart, or what we usually call a good temper, and a ge¬
nerous sympathy of sentiments and affections, are the ne¬
cessary ingredients of this virtuous connection. When it
is grafted on esteem, strengthened by habit, and mellowed
by time, it yields infinite pleasure, ever new and ever grow¬
ing; is a noble support amidst the various trials and vicis¬
situdes of life; and constitutes a high seasoning to most of
our other enjoyments. To form and cultivate virtuous
friendship, must be very improving to the temper, as its
principal object is virtue, set otf with all the allurement of
vol. xv.
1 Hutcheson, Mor. Inst. Phil. lib. hi. c. 3.
3 o
474
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of countenance, air, and manners, shining forth in the native
Society. graces of manly honest sentiments and affections, and ren-
v v dered visible as it were to the friendly spectator in a con¬
duct unaffectedly great and good ; and as its principal ex¬
ercises are the very energies of virtue, or its effect and
emanations, so, wherever this amiable attachment prevails,
it will exalt our admiration and attachment to virtue, and,
unless impeded in its course by unnatural prejudices, will
run out into a friendship to the human race. For as no
one can merit, and no one ought to usurp, the sacred name
of friend, who hates mankind ; so, whoever truly loves them,
possesses the most essential quality of a true friend.
The duties of friendship are a mutual esteem of each
other, unbribed by interest, and independent of it; a ge¬
nerous confidence, as far distant from suspicion as from
reserve ; an inviolable harmony of sentiments and disposi¬
tions, of designs and interests ; a fidelity unshaken by the
changes of fortune ; a constancy unalterable by distance
of time or place; a resignation of one’s personal interest
to those of one’s friend; and a reciprocal, unenvious, unre¬
served exchange of kind offices. But, amidst all the exer¬
tions of this moral connection, humane and generous as it
is, we must remember that it operates within a narrow
sphere, and its immediate operations respect only the in¬
dividual ; and therefore its particular impulses must still
be subordinate to a more public interest, or be always di¬
rected and controlled by the more extensive connections of
our nature.
When our friendship terminates on any of the other sex,
in whom beauty or agreeableness of person and external
gracefulness of manners conspire to express and heighten
the moral charm of a tender honest heart, and sweet, in¬
genuous, modest temper, lighted up by good sense, it ge¬
nerally grows into a more soft and endearing attachment.
When this attachment is improved by a growing acquaint¬
ance with the worth of its object, is conducted by discre-
Love and
chastity.
and that of others, and of the reverence due to mankind, Duties 0f
especially to those who hold the higher links of the social Society,
chain ; in a discreet and manly accommodation of ourselves
to the foibles and humours of others ; in a strict observance
of the rules of decorum and civility; but, above all, in a
frank obliging carriage, and a generous interchange of good
deeds rather than words. Such a conduct is of great use and
advantage, as it is an excellent security against injury, and
the best claim and recommendation to the esteem, civili¬
ty, and universal respect of mankind. This inferior order
of virtues unites the particular members of society more
closely, and forms the lesser pillars of the civil fabric;
which, in many instances, supply the unavoidable defects
of laws, and maintain the harmony and decorum of social
intercourse, where the more important and essential lines
of virtue are wanting.
Charity and forgiveness are truly amiable and useful du-Charity,
ties of the social kind. There is a twofold distinction offorg>ve-
rights commonly taken notice of by moral writers, namely,ness-
perfect and imperfect. To fulfil the former is necessary
to the being and support of society; to fulfil the latter is
a duty equally sacred and obligatory, and tends to the im¬
provement and prosperity of society ; but as the violation
of them is not equally prejudicial to the public good, the
fulfilling of them is not subjected to the cognizance of law,
but left to the candour, humanity, and gratitude of indivi¬
duals. By this means ample scope is afforded to exer¬
cise all the generosity, and display the genuine merit and
lustre, of virtue. Thus the wants and misfortunes of others
call for our charitable assistance and seasonable supplies.
And the good man, unconstrained by law, and uncontrol¬
led by human authority, will cheerfully acknowledge and
generously satisfy this mournful and moving claim ; a claim
supported by the sanction of heaven, of whose bounties he
is honoured to be the grateful trustee. If his own perfect
rights are invaded by the injustice of others, he will not
therefore reject their imperfect right to pity and forgive-
tion, and issues at length, as it ought to do, in the moral - .-j—-   ~--r- ° , , *. ' . “ -.l
connection formerly mentioned, it becomes the source of ness, unless his grant of these should be inconsistent with
many amiable duties, of a communication of passions and the more extensive rights of society, or the public good,
interests, of the most refined decencies, and of a thousand In that case he will have recourse to public justice and tne
nameless, deep-felt joys of reciprocal tenderness and love, laws ; and even then he will prosecute ^ mo
flowing from every look, word, and action. Here friend¬
ship acts with double energy, and the natural conspire
with the moral charms to strengthen and secure the love
of virtue. As the delicate nature of female honour and
decorum, and the inexpressible grace of a chaste and mo¬
dest behaviour, are the surest and indeed the only means
of kindling at first, and ever afterwards keeping alive, this
tender and elegant flame, and accomplishing the excel¬
lent ends designed by it; to attempt by fraud to violate
the one, or, under pretence of passion, to sully and cor¬
rupt the other, and, by so doing, to expose the too often
Lit TV All J-/1 w J ’ -
unnecessary severity, but rather with mildness and huma¬
nity. When the injury is merely personal, and of such a
nature as to admit of alleviations, and the forgiveness o
which would be attended with no worse consequences, es¬
pecially of a public kind, the good man will generously for¬
give his offending brother; and it is his duty to do so, ra¬
ther than to take private revenge, or to retaliate evil tor
evil. For though resentment of injury is a natural passion,
and implanted, as was observed above,1 for wise and good
ends, yet, considering the manifold partialities which most
men have for themselves, were every one to act as judge m
credulous and unguarded object, with a wanton cruelty, his own cause, and to execute the sentence lc^.e ^
to the hatred of her own sex and the scorn of ours, and own resentment, it is but too evident t at man in ,
to the lowest infamy of both, is a conduct not only base pass all bounds in their fury, and the last su erer lf -j
and criminal, but inconsistent with that truly rational and provoked in his turn to make full reprisa s, so 1 . j
refined enjoyment, the spirit and quintessence of which thus encountering with evil, would produce one co
are derived from the bashful and sacred charms of virtue series of violence and misery, and render socie y 1
kept untainted, and therefore ever alluring to the lover’s able, if not impracticable. Therefore, where e s .
heart. of the individual, or the good of the public, does not require
Courtesy, Courtesy, good neighbourhood, affability, and the like a proportional retaliation, it is agreeable to the genera^^
good nefgh-duties, which are founded upon our private social connec- of benevolence, and to the particular end o .ie
bourhood, tions, are no less necessary and obligatory on creatures which is to prevent injury and the misery occasion
&c- united to society, and supporting and supported by each to forgive personal injuries, or not to return evi . ,
other in a chain of mutual want and dependence. They This duty is indeed one of the noble rennemen
do not consist in a smooth address, an artificial or obse- Christianity has made upon the general maxims P .
ouious air. fawnine adulations, or a polite servility of man- tice of mankind, and enforced, with a peculiar s rei g
beauty, by sanctions no less alluring than awful. Ana
quious air, fawning adulations, or a polite servility of man¬
ners, but in a just and modest sense of our own dignity
1 See part i. chap. 2 and 4.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
475
Duti
Socj
Hosp
lity.
j of deed the practice of it is generally its own reward ; by ex-
iTr- pelling from the mind the most dreadful intruders upon its
“''repose, those rancorous passions which are begotten and
nursed by resentment; and by disarming and even subdu¬
ing every enemy one has, except such as have nothing left
of men but the outward form.
The most enlarged and humane connection of the pri¬
vate kind seems to be the hospitable alliance, from which
flow the amiable and disinterested duties we owe to stran¬
gers. If th'e exercise of passions of the most private and
instinctive kind is beheld with moral approbation and de¬
light, how lovely and venerable must those appear which
result from a calm philanthropy, are founded in the com¬
mon rights and connections of society, and embrace men,
not of a particular sect, party, or nation, but all in general,
without distinction, and without any of the little partiali¬
ties of self-love.
Sect. VI.—Social Duties of the Commercial Kind.
Coim t- The next order or class of connections are those which
ciald es. arise from the wants and weakness of mankind, and from the
various circumstances in which their different situations
place them. These we may call commercial connections,
and the duties which result from them commercial duties;
as justice, fair-dealing, sincerity, fidelity to compacts, and
the like.
Although nature is perfect in all her works, yet she has
observed a manifest and eminent distinction amongst them.
To all such as lie beyond the reach of human skill and
power, and are properly of her own department, she has
given the finishing hand. These man may afterwards design
and imitate ; but he can never rival them, nor add to their
beauty or perfection. Such are the forms and structure
of vegetables, animals, and many of their productions, as
the honey-comb, the spider’s web, and the like. There are
others of her works which she has intentionally left unfinish¬
ed, as it were, in order to exercise the ingenuity and power
of man. She has presented to him a rich profusion of ma¬
terials of every kind for his convenience and use ; but they
are rude and unpolished, or not to be come at without art
and labour. These therefore he must needs apply, in order
to adapt them to his use, and to enjoy them in perfection.
Thus nature has given him an infinite variety of herbs,
i grains, fossils, minerals, woods, water, earth, air, and a
thousand other crude materials, to supply his numerous
wants; but he must sow, plant, dig, refine, polish, build,
and, in short, manufacture the various produce of nature,
in order to obtain even the necessaries, and much more
theconvenienciesand elegancies, of life. These, then, are
the price of his labour and industry, and without that na¬
ture will sell him nothing. But as the wants of mankind
are many, and the single strength of individuals small, they
could hardly find the necessaries, and much less the con-
veniencies, of life, without uniting their ingenuity and their
strength in acquiring these, and without a mutual inter¬
course of good offices. Some men are better formed for
some kinds of ingenuity and labour, and others for other
kinds; and different soils and climates are enriched with
different productions; so that men, by exchanging the
produce of their respective labours, and supplying the
wants of one country with the superfluities of another, do
in effect diminish the labours of each, and increase the
abundance of all. This is the foundation of all commerce,
or exchange of commodities and goods, one with another ;
in order to facilitate which, men have contrived different
species of coin, or money, as a common standard by which
to estimate the comparative values of their respective
goods. But to render commerce sure and effectual, jus¬
tice, fair-dealing, sincerity, and fidelity to compacts, are
absolutely necessary.
Justice, or fair-dealing, or, in other words, a disposition Duties of
to treat others as we would be treated by them, is a vir- Society,
tue of the first importance, and inseparable from the vir-
tuous character. It is the cement of society, or that per-^ust!c^'
vading spirit which connects its members, inspires its va¬
rious relations, and maintains the order and subordination
of each part of the whole. Without it society would be¬
come a den of thieves and banditti, hating and hated, de¬
vouring and devoured, by one another.
And here it may be proper to take a view of Mr Hume’s
supposed case of the sensible knave and the worthless mi¬
ser, and consider what would be the duty of the former ac¬
cording to the theory of those moralists who hold the will
of God to be the criterion or rule, and everlasting happi¬
ness the motive, of human virtue.
It has already been observed, and the truth of the ob¬
servation cannot be controverted, that, by secretly purloin¬
ing from the coffers of a miser, part of that gold which
there lies useless, a man might in particular circumstances
promote the good of society, without doing any injury to
a single individual; and it was hence inferred, that, in
such circumstances, it would be no duty to abstain from
theft, were local utility, arising from particular conse¬
quences, the real criterion or standard of justice. Very
different, however, is the conclusion which must be drawn
by those who consider the natural tendency of actions, if
universally performed, as the criterion of their merit or de¬
merit in the sight of God. Such philosophers attend, not
to the particular consequences of a single action in any
given case, but to the general consequences of the princi¬
ple from which it flows, if that principle were universally
adopted. You cannot, say they, permit one action and
prohibit another, without showing a difference between
them. The same sort of actions, therefore, must be gene¬
rally permitted or generally forbidden. But were every
man allowed to ascertain for himself the circumstances in
which the good of society would be promoted, by secretly
abstracting the superfluous wealth of a worthless miser, it
is plain that no property could be secure; that all incite¬
ments to industry wmuld be at once removed; and that,
whatever might be the immediate consequences of any
particular theft, the general and necessary consequences of
the principle by which it was authorized must soon prove
fatal. Were one man to purloin part of the riches of areal
miser, and to consider his conduct as vindicated by his in¬
tention to employ those riches in acts of generosity, ano¬
ther might, by the same sort of casuistry, think himself
authorized to appropriate to himself part of his wealth;
and thus theft would spread through all orders of men, till
society were resolved into separate, hostile, and savage fa¬
milies, mutually dreading and shunning each other. The
general consequences, therefore, of encroaching upon pri¬
vate property tend evidently and violently to universal mi¬
sery.
On the other hand, indeed, the particular and imme¬
diate consequences of that principle which considers every
man’s property as sacred, may in some cases, such as that
supposed, be in a small degree injurious to a few families
in the neighbourhood of the miser and the knave. But
that injury can never be of long duration; and it is infi¬
nitely more than counterbalanced by the general good con¬
sequences of the principle from which it accidentally re¬
sults, since these consequences extend to all nations and to
all ages. Without a sacred regard to property, there could
neither be arts nor industry nor confidence amongst men,
and happiness would be for ever banished from this world.
But the communication of happiness being the end which
God had in view when he created the world, and all men
standing in the same relation to him, it is impossible to
suppose that he does not approve, and will not ultimately
reward, those voluntary actions of which the natural ten-
’1'
476
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of dency is to increase the sum of human happiness, or that
Society. he Joes not disapprove, and will not ultimately punish,
' v—' those which naturally tend to aggravate human misery.
The conclusion is, that a strict adherence to the princi¬
ple of justice is universally, and in all possible circumstan¬
ces, a duty from which we cannot deviate without onend-
ing’our Creator, and ultimately bringing misery upon our¬
selves. _ . .
Sincerity Sincerity, or veracity, in our words and actions, is ano¬
ther virtue or duty of great importance to society, being
one of the great bands of mutual intercourse, and the foun¬
dation of mutual trust. Without it society would be the
dominion of mistrust, jealousy, and fraud, and conver¬
sation a traffic of lies and dissimulation. It includes in it
a conformity of our words with our sentiments, a corre¬
spondence between our actions and dispositions, a strict
regard to truth, and an irreconcilable abhorrence of false¬
hood. It does not indeed require that we should expose
our sentiments indiscreetly, or tell all the truth in every
case; but certainly it does not and cannot admit the least
violation of truth, or contradiction to our sentiments, for
if these bounds are once passed, no possible limit can be
assigned where the violation shall stop, and no pretence
of private or public good can possibly counterbalance the
ill consequences of such a violation.
-p-j v t0 Fidelity to promises, and compacts, and engagements, is
promises ^likewise a duty of such importance to the security of com-
mid com- merce and interchange of benevolence amongst mankind.
est part of our conduct would proceed upon chance. But Duties 0f 5
there could be no confidence in promises, if men were not Society,
obliged to perform them. Those, therefore, who allow not'—
to the perceptions of the moral sense all that authority
which we attribute to them, must still admit the obliga¬
tion to perform promises, because such performance may
be shown to be agreeable to the will of God, in the very
same manner in which, upon their principles, we have
shown the uniform practice of justice to be so.
Fair-dealing and fidelity to compacts require that we
should take no advantage of the ignorance, passion, or in¬
capacity of others, from whatever cause these defects may
arise ; that we should be explicit and candid in making bar¬
gains, just and faithful in fulfilling our part of them. And
if the other party violates his engagements, redress is to
be sought from the laws, or from those who are intrusted
with the execution of them. In fine, the commercial vir¬
tues and duties require that we not only do not invade,
but maintain the rights of others ; that we be fair and im¬
partial in transferring, bartering, or exchanging property,
whether in goods or service; and be inviolably faithful
to our word and our engagements, where the matter of
them is not criminal, and where they are not extorted by
force.
pacts.
that society would soon grow intolerable without the strict
observance of it. Hobbes, and others who follow the same
track, have taken a wonderful deal of pains to puzzle this
subject, and to make all the virtues of this sort merely ar¬
tificial, and not at all obligatory, antecedent to human con¬
ventions. No doubt compacts suppose people who make
them, and promises persons to whom they are made ; and
therefore both suppose some society, more or less, be¬
tween those who enter into such mutual engagements.
But is not a compact or promise binding, till men have
agreed that they shall be binding ? or are they only bind¬
ing because it is our interest to be bound by them, or to
fulfil them ? Do not we highly approve the man who ful¬
fils them, even though they should prove to be against his
interest ? and do not we condemn him as a knave who vio¬
lates them on that account ? A promise is a voluntary de¬
claration by words, or by an action equally significant, of
our resolution to do something in behalf of another, or for
his service. When it is made, the person who makes it is
by all supposed under an obligation to perform it; and be
to whom it is made may demand the performance as his
right. That perception of obligation is a simple idea, and
is on the same footing as our other moral perceptions, which
may be described by instances, but cannot be defined.
Whether we have a perception of such obligation quite dis¬
tinct from the interest, either public or private, that may
accompany the fulfilment of it, must be referred to the
conscience of every individual; and whether the mere
sense of that obligation, apart from its concomitants, is not
a sufficient inducement or motive to keep one’s promise,
without having recourse to any selfish principle of our na¬
ture, must likewise be appealed to the conscience of every
honest man. .
It may, however, be not improper to remark, that in this,
as in all other instances, our chief good is combined with
our duty. Men act from expectation. Expectation is in
most cases determined by the assurances and engagements
which we receive from others. If no dependence could
be placed upon these assurances, it would be altogether im¬
possible to know what judgment to form of many future
events, or how to regulate our conduct with respect to
them. Confidence, therefore, in promises is essential to
the intercourse of human life, because without it the great-
Sect. VII.—Social Duties of the Political Kind.
We have now arrived at the last and highest order of du¬
ties respecting society, which result from the exercise of
the most generous and heroic affections, and are founded
on our most enlarged connections.
The social principle in man is of such an expansive ^'political
ture, that it cannot be confined within the circuit of a fa-connec.
rnilv, of friends, or of a neighbourhood; it spreads into wider tions.
systems, and draws men into larger confederacies, com¬
munities, and commonwealths. It is in those only that the
higher powers of our nature attain the greatest improve¬
ment and perfection of which they are capable, ihese
principles hardly find objects in the solitary state of na¬
ture. There the principle of action rises no higher than
natural affection towards one’s offspring. There personal
or family wants entirely engross the creature s attention
and labour, and allow no leisure, or, if they d»’
cise, for views and affections of a more enlarged kind, m
solitude all are employed in the same way, m providing
for the animal life. And even after their utmost labour
and care, single and unaided by the industry of other,
they find but a sorry supply of their wants, and a feeble,
precarious security against dangers from wild bea ,
inclement skies and seasons ; from the mistakes or petu¬
lant passions of their fellow-creatures ; from their p e
ence of themselves to their neighbours ; and from all tne
little exorbitancies of self-love. But in society, 1
tual aids which men give and receive shorten thelabo
of each, and the combined strength and reason of mdi
viduals give security and protection to the whole y
There is both a variety and subordination of genius a g
mankind. Some are formed to lead and direct others^to
contrive plans of happiness for individuals, and ° S e
mentfor communities ; to take in a public interest, invent
laws and arts, and superintend their e^c“tl0n ’, e
short, to refine and civilize human life. Others,
not such good heads, may have as honest hearts, a t y
public spirit, love of liberty, hatred of co^P11^ ^
ranny, a generous submission to laws, order, an P
institutions, and an extensive philanthropy; and other^
who have none of those capacities either of heart
may be well formed for manual exercise and bod Htude>
The former of these principles have no scope e
where a man’s thoughts and concerns do al eitne ^
in himself or extend no farther than a fam y,
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties! little circle all the duty and virtue of the solitary mortal
Societ is crowded. But society finds proper objects and exer-
^rises for every genius, and the noblest objects and exer¬
cises for the noblest geniuses, and for the highest princi¬
ples in the human constitution; particularly for that warm¬
est and most divine passion which God has kindled in our
bosoms, the inclination of doing good, and reverencing our
nature, which may find here both employment and the
most exquisite satisfaction. In society, a man has not
only more leisure, but better opportunities of applying his
talents with much greater perfection and success, espe¬
cially as he is furnished with the joint advice and assist¬
ance of his fellow-creatures, who are now more closely
united one with the other, and sustain a common relation
to the same moral system or community. This, then, is
an object proportioned to his most enlarged social affec¬
tions; and in serving it he finds scope for the exercise and
refinement of his highest intellectual and moral powers.
Therefore society, or a state of civil government, rests on
these two principal pillars, that in it we find security
against those evils which are unavoidable in solitude ;
and obtain those goods, some of which cannot be obtained
at all, and others not so well, in that state where men de¬
pend solely on their individual sagacity and industry.
From this short detail it appears, that man is a social
creature, and formed for a social state; and that society,
being adapted to the higher principles and destinations
of his nature, must of necessity be his natural state.
Politic. The duties suited to that state, and resulting from those
duties, principles and destinations, or, in other words, from our
social passions and social connections, or relation to a pub¬
lic system, are, love of our country, resignation and obe¬
dience to the laws, public spirit, love of liberty, sacrifice
of life and all to the public, and the like.
Loreo Love of our country is one of the noblest passions that
one’scc .can warm and animate the human breast. It includes all
tr'V' the limited and particular affections to our parents, friends,
neighbours, fellow-citizens, countrymen. It ought to di¬
rect and limit our more confined and partial actions within
their proper and natural bounds, and never let them en¬
croach upon those sacred and first regards we owe to the
great public to which we belong. Were we solitary crea¬
tures, detached from the rest of mankind, and without any
capacity of comprehending a public interest, or without
affections leading us to desire and pursue it, it would not
be our duty to mind it, nor criminal to neglect it. But as
we are parts of the public system, and are not only capable
of taking in large views of its interests, but by the strongest
affections connected with it, and prompted to take a share
of its concerns, we are under the most sacred ties to pro¬
secute its security and welfare with the utmost ardour,
especially in times of public trial. This love of our coun¬
try does not import an attachment to any particular soil,
climate, or spot of earth, where perhaps we first drew our
breath, though those natural ideas are often associated with
the moral ones, and, like external signs or symbols, help
to ascertain and bind them ; but it imports an affection to
that moral system or community, which is governed by the
same laws and magistrates, and whose several parts are
variously connected one with the other, and all united upon
the foundation of a common interest. Perhaps indeed every
member of the community cannot comprehend so large an
object, especially if it extends through large provinces, and
over vast tracts of land; and still less can he form such an
Jdea, if there is no public, that is, if all are subject to the
caprice and unlimited will of one man ; but the preference
t ie generality show to their native country, the concern
mid longing after it which they express when they have
ten long absent from it; the labours they undertake and the
e?n&s they endure to save or serve it, and the peculiar
a achment they have to their countrymen; evidently de¬
monstrate that the passion is natural, and never fails to Duties of
exert itself when it is fairly disengaged from foreign clogs, Society,
and is directed to its proper object. Wherever it prevails
in its genuine vigour and extent, it swallows up all sordid
and selfish regards; it conquers the love of ease, power,
pleasure, and wealth ; nay, when the amiable partialities of
friendship, gratitude, private affection, or regards to a fa¬
mily, come in competition with it, it will teach us bravely
to sacrifice all, in order to maintain the rights, and promote
or defend the honour and happiness, of our country.
Resignation and obedience to the laws and orders of the Resigna-
society to which we belong are political duties necessary tion and
to its very being and security, without which it must soon obe(hence
degenerate into a state of licentiousness and anarchy, rphetotllela'vs•
welfare, nay, the nature of civil society, requires that there
should be a subordination of orders, or diversity of ranks and
conditions in it; that certain men, or orders of men, should
be appointed to superintend and manage such affairs as con¬
cern the public safety and happiness; that all have their par¬
ticular provinces assigned them ; that such a subordination
be settled among them as that none of them may interfere
with another; and finally, that certain rules or common
measures of action be agreed on, by which each is bound
to discharge his respective duty to govern or be governed,
and all may concur in securing the order, and promoting
the felicity, of the whole political body. Those rules of
action are the laws of the community; and those different
orders are the several officers or magistrates appointed by
the public to explain them, and superintend or assist in
their execution. In consequence of this settlement of
things, it is the duty of each individual to obey the laws
enacted; to submit to the executors of them with all due
deference and homage, according to their respective ranks
and dignity, as to the keepers of the public peace, and the
guardians of public liberty ; to maintain his own rank, and
perform the functions of his own station, with diligence,
fidelity, and incorruption. The superiority of the higher
orders, or the authority with which the state has invested
them, entitle them, especially if they employ their autho¬
rity well, to the obedience and submission of the lower,
and to a proportional honour and respect from all. The
subordination of the lower ranks claims protection, defence,
and security from the higher ; and the laws, being supe¬
rior to all, require the obedience and submission of all,
being the last resort, beyond which there is no decision or
appeal.
Public spirit, heroic zeal, love of liberty, and the other Founda-
political duties, do, above all others, recommend those who tion of pub
practise them to the admiration and homage of mankind ;hc spirit,
because, as they are the offspring of the noblest minds, so,1.0/6 °f
are they the parents of the greatest blessing to society. Yet, beity* c‘
exalted as they are, it is only in equal and free govern¬
ments where they can be exercised and have their due
effect; for there only does a true public spirit prevail, and
there only is the public good made the standard of the
civil constitution. As the end of society is the common
interest and welfare of the people associated, this end must
of necessity be the supreme law or common standard by
which the particular rules of action of the several members
of the society towards each other are to be regulated. But
a common interest can be no other than that which is the
result of the common reason or common feelings of all.
Private men, or a particular order of men, have interests
and feelings peculiar to themselves, and of which they may
be good judges ; but these may be separate from, and often
contrary to, the interests and feelings of the rest of the
society, and therefore they can have no right to make,
and much less to impose, laws on their fellow-citizens, in¬
consistent with, and opposite to, those interests and those
feelings. Therefore, a society, a government, or real pub¬
lic, truly worthy the name, and not a confederacy of ban-
478
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of ditti, a clan of lawless savages, or a band of slaves under
Society. tiie whip of a master, must be such a one as consists ot
  « 'freemen, choosing or consenting to laws themselves; or,
since it often happens that they cannot assemble and act
in a collective body, delegating a sufficient number ot re¬
presentatives, that is, such a number as shall most fully com¬
prehend, and most equally represent, tjieirfC°1mme7nrf the
ings and common interests, to digest and vote laws for the
conduct and control of the whole body, the most agree¬
able to those common feelings and common interests.
Political A society which is thus constituted by common reason,
duties of and formed on the plan of a common interest, becomes im-
every citi- mediately an object of public attention, public veneratio ,
mobile obedience, a public and inviolable attachment, which
ought neither to be seduced by bribes, nor awed by ter
rors; an object, in fine, of all those extensive and impor¬
tant duties which arise from so glorio"s a Xhfcan to
To watch over such a system ; to contribute all he can to
promote its good, by bis reason, his ingenuity, his strength,
and every other ability, whether natural or acquired, t
resist, and, to the utmost of his power, to defeat every en-
croachment upon it, whether earned on by a secre co -
runtion or open violence ; and to sacrifice his ease, his
wealth, his power, nay, life itself, and, what is dearer still,
his family and friends, to defend or save it, is the duty, the
honour, the interest, and the happiness of every citizen.
It will make him venerable and beloved whilst he lives, be
lamented and honoured if he falls in so glorious a cause,
and transmit his name with immortal renown to the latest
‘"Tslhe are the fountain of all power and authority,
the original seat of majesty, the authors of laws and the
creators of officers to execute them ; if they shall find the
power they have conferred abused by their trustees, their
majesty violated by tyranny or by usurpation, their autho¬
rity prostituted to support violence or screen corruption,
the laws grown pernicious through accidents unforeseen or
unavoidable, or rendered ineffectual through the infidelity
and corruption of the executors of them ; then it is thei
right, and what is their right is their duty, to resume that
delegated power, and call their trustees to an account; to
resist the usurpation, and extirpate the tyranny , to res ore
their sullied majesty and prostituted authority ; to suspend,
alter, or abrogate those laws, and to punish their unfaith¬
ful and corrupt officers. Nor is this the duty only of t e
united body; but every member of it ought, according to
his respective rank, power, and weight in the community,
to concur in advancing and supporting these glorious de-
^Resistance, therefore, being undoubtedly lawful in ex¬
traordinary emergencies, the question, amongst good rea-
soners, can only be with regard to the degree ot necessity
which can justify resistance, and render it expedient or
commendable. And here we must acknowledge, that, with
Mr Hume, we shall always incline to their side who draw
the bond of allegiance very close, and who consider an
infringement of it as the last refuge in desperate cases,
when the public is in the highest danger from violence and
tyranny “ For, besides the mischiefs of a civil war, which
commonly attends insurrection, it is certain, that where a
disposition to rebellion appears among any people, it is
one chief cause of tyranny in the rulers, and forces them
into many violent measures, which, had every one been in¬
clined to submission and obedience, they would never have
embraced. Thus the tyrannicide, or assassination approved
of by ancient maxims, instead of keeping tyrants and usur¬
pers in awe, made them ten times more herce and unre¬
lenting ; and is now justly abolished on that account by
the laws of nations, and universally condemned, as a base
and treacherous method of bringing to justice those dis¬
turbers of society.”
CHAP. IV.—DUTY TO GOD.
Of all the relations which the human mind sustains, tliat^. . ■
which subsists between the Creator and his creatures, the ,
Supreme Lawgiver and his subjects, is the highest and thetions.
best. This relation arises from the nature of a creature
in general, and the constitution of the human mind in par¬
ticular ; the noblest powers and affections of which point
to an universal mind, and would be imperfect and abortive
without such a direction. How lame, then, must that sys¬
tem of morals be, which leaves a Deity out of the ques¬
tion ; how disconsolate, and how destitute of its firmest
SUIt°dc)es not appear, from the history or experience ofExisteiu
the mind’s progress, that any man, by any formal deduc-of God,
tion of his discursive power, ever reasoned himself in-"';
to the belief of a God. Whether such a belief is onlyt
to me uchcj ui a   —- . , r the hum
some natural anticipation of soul, or is derived frotn father,
• c    in or.r>iVior in tfip wav nr traiii-
mind.
some imtuiai ^  . c
to son, and from one man to another, in the way ot Uadi
tion, or is suggested to us in consequence of an immutable
law of nature, on beholding the august aspect and beauti¬
ful order of the universe, we shall not pretend to determine.
What seems most agreeable to experience is, that a sense
of its beauty and grandeur, and the admirable fitness of
one thing to another in its vast apparatus, leads the mind
necessarily and unavoidably to a perception of a design,
or of a designing cause, the origin of all, by a progress as
simple and natural as that by which a beautiful picture or
a fine building suggests to us the idea of an excellent art¬
ist. For it seems to hold universally true, that wherever
we discern a tendency or co-operation of things towards a
certain end, or producing a common effect, there, by a ne¬
cessary law of association, we apprehend design, and a de¬
signing energy or cause. No matter whether the objects
are natural or artificial, still that suggestion is unavoidable,
and the connection between the effect and its adequate
cause obtrudes itself on the mind, and it requires no nice
search or elaborate deduction of reason to trace or prove
that connection. We are particularly satisfied of its truth
in the subject before us by a kind of direct intuition; and
we do not seem to attend to the maxim we learn in schools,
that there cannot be an infinite series of causes and e -
fects, producing and produced by one ai?ot ei[j ,
maxim is familiar only to metaphysicians ; but all men o
sound understanding are led to believe the existence o
God. We are conscious of our existence, ot thougnt, sen
timent, and passion, and sensible withal that these came
not of ourselves; therefore we immediately recognise a
parent mind, an original intelligence, from whom we bo -
rowed those little portions of thought and activity,
whilst we not only feel kind affections in ourselves, and
discover them in others, but likewise behold around us
a number and variety of creatures, endowed with natures
nicely adjusted to their several stations and economies,
supporting and supported by each other, and all sustained
by a common order of things, and sharing different degree^
of happiness according to their respective capacities,
are naturally and necessarily led up to the hath
a numerous offspring, the fountain of such wide-sprea
happiness. As we conceive this Being before a 1, above
all, and greater than all, we naturally, and without reason
ing, ascribe to him every kind of perfection, wlsdam,]1P°i e’
and goodness without bounds, existing through al t
and pervading all space. We apply to him those gfonous
epithets of our Creator, Preserver, Benefactor, the S F
Lord and Lawgiver of the whole society of ration* an^
intelligent creatures. Not only the imPe5th' noblest
wants of our being and condition, but some of thig
instincts and affections of our minds, connect u
great and universal nature. The mind, lts P gct 0f
from object to object, from one character and p P
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
479
Immo
lity of
piety.
Right
oions
God.
beauty to another, finds some blemish or deficiency in
each, and soon exhausts or grows weary and dissatisfied
v with its subject; it sees no character of excellence amongst
men equal to that pitch of esteem which it is capable of
exerting; no object within the compass of human things
adequate to the strength of its affection; nor can it stay
anywhere in this self-expansive progress, or find repose
after its highest flights, till it arrives at a Being of un¬
bounded greatness and worth, on whom it may employ its
most sublime powers without exhausting the subject, and
give scope to the utmost force and fulness of its love with¬
out satiety or disgust. It follows that the nature of this
Being corresponds to the nature of man ; nor can his intel¬
ligent and moral powers obtain their entire end, but on
the supposition of such a Being, and without a real sym¬
pathy and communication with him. The native propen¬
sity of the mind to reverence whatever is great and won¬
derful in nature, finds a proper object of homage in him
who spread out the heavens and the earth, and who sus¬
tains and governs the whole. The admiration of beauty,
the love of order, and the complacency we feel in good¬
ness, must rise to the highest pitch, and attain the full vi¬
gour and joy of their operations, when they unite in him
who is the sum and source of all perfection.
It is evident, from the slightest survey of morals, that
i- how punctual soever one may be in performing the duties
which result from our relations to mankind, yet to be
quite deficient in performing those which arise from our
relation to the Almighty, must argue a strange perversion
of reason or depravity of heart. If imperfect degrees of
worth attract our veneration, and if the want of it would
imply an insensibility, or, which is worse, an aversion to
merit, what lameness of affection or immorality of charac¬
ter must it be to be unaffected wdth, and, much more, to
be ill affected to, a Being of superlative worth. To love
society, or particular members of it, and yet to have no
sense of our connection wuth its Head, no affection to our
common Parent and Benefactor; to be concerned about
the approbation or censure of our fellow-creatures, and yet
to feel nothing of this kind towards him who sees and
weighs our actions with unerring wisdom and justice, and
can fully reward or punish them, betrays equal madness
and partiality of mind. It is plain, therefore, beyond all
doubt, that some regards are due to the great Father of
all, in whom every lovely and adorable quality combines
to inspire veneration and homage.
As it has been observed already that our affections de¬
pend on our opinions of their objects, and generally keep
pace with them, it must be of the highest importance, and
seems to be amongst the first duties we owe to the Author
of our being, to form the least imperfect, since we can¬
not form perfect, conceptions of his character and admi¬
nistration. For such conceptions, thoroughly imbibed,
will render our religion rational, and our dispositions re¬
fined. If our opinions are diminutive and distorted, our
religion will be superstitious, and our temper abject. Thus,
if we ascribe to the Deity that false majesty which consists
in the unbenevolent and sullen exercise of mere will or
power, or suppose him to delight in the prostrations of
servile fear, or as servile praise, he will be worshipped
with mean adulation and a profusion of compliments.
Again, if he be looked upon as a stern and implacable Be¬
ing, delighting in vengeance, he will be adored with pomp¬
ous offerings, sacrifices, or whatever else may be thought
proper to soothe and mollify him. But if we believe per¬
fect goodness to be the character of the Supreme Being,
and that he loves those most who resemble him most, the
worship paid him will be rational and sublime, and his
worshippers will seek to please him by imitating that good¬
ness which they adore. The foundation, then, of all true
religion is a rational faith, and of a rational faith these
seem to be the chief articles : to believe that an infinite, Duty to
all-perfect Mind exists, who has no opposite nor any sepa- Gy¬
rate interest from that of his creatures ; that he superin- ^
tends and governs all creatures and things ; that his good¬
ness extends to all his creatures, in different degrees, in¬
deed, according to their respective natures, but without
any partiality or envy; that he does every thing for the
best, or in a subserviency to the perfection and happiness
of the whole, particularly that he directs and governs the
affairs of men, inspects their actions, distinguishes the
good from the bad, loves and befriends the former, is dis¬
pleased with and pities the latter in this world, and will,
according to their respective deserts, reward one and pu¬
nish the other in the next; that, in fine, he is always car¬
rying on a scheme of virtue and happiness through an
unlimited duration, and is ever guiding the universe,
through its Successive stages and periods, to higher de¬
grees of perfection and felicity. This is true Theism, the
glorious scheme of divine faith ; a scheme exhibited in all
the works of God, and executed throughout his whole ad¬
ministration.
This faith, well founded and deeply felt, is nearly con-Morality
nected with a true moral taste, and has a powerful effi- °f theism,
cacy on the temper and manners of the theist. He
admires goodness in others, and delights in the practice athebm.
of it, must be conscious of a reigning order within, a rec¬
titude and candour of heart, which disposes him to enter¬
tain favourable apprehensions of men, and, from an im¬
partial survey of things, to presume that good order and
good meaning prevail in the universe ; and if good mean¬
ing and good order, then an ordering, an intending mind,
who is no enemy, no tyrant to his creatures, but a friend,
a benefactor, an indulgent sovereign. On the other hand,
a bad man, having nothing goodly or generous to contem¬
plate within, no right intentions nor honesty of heart, sus¬
pects every person and every thing; and, beholding na¬
ture through the gloom of a selfish and guilty mind, is ei¬
ther averse to the belief of a reigning order, or, if he can¬
not suppress the unconquerable anticipations of a govern¬
ing mind, he is prone to tarnish the beauty of nature, and
to impute malevolence, or blindness and impotence at least,
to the Sovereign Ruler. He turns the universe into a for¬
lorn and horrid waste, and transfers his own character to
the Deity, by ascribing to him that uncommunicative
grandeur, that arbitrary or revengeful spirit, which he af¬
fects or admires in himself. As such a temper of mind
naturally leads to atheism, or to a superstition fully as bad,
therefore, as far as that temper depends on the unhappy
creature on whom it prevails, the propensity to atheism, or
superstition consequent thereto, must be immoral. Further,
if it be true that the belief or sense of a Deity is natural
to the mind, and the evidence of his existence reflected
from his works so full as to strike even the most superficial
observer with conviction, then the supplanting or corrupt¬
ing that sense, or the want of due attention to that evi¬
dence, and, in consequence of both, a supine ignorance or
affected unbelief of a Deity, must argue a bad temper or
an immoral turn of mind. In the case of invincible igno¬
rance, or a very bad education, although nothing can be
concluded directly against the character, yet whenever ill
passions and habits pervert the judgment, and by pervert¬
ing thejudgment terminate in atheism, then the case be¬
comes plainly criminal.
But let casuists determine this as they will, a true faith The con-
in the divine character and administration is generally the ^ctlon of
consequence of a virtuous state of mind. Ihe man whov^^an
is truly and habitually good, feels the love of order, of
beauty, and goodness, in the strongest degree; and there¬
fore cannot be insensible to those emanations of them
which appear in all the works of God, nor help loving
their supreme source and model. He cannot but think,
480
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties of
gratitude,
love, &c.
Cither af¬
fections.
Duty to that he who has poured such beauty and goodness over
God. an his works, must himself delight in beauty and goodness,
 v"—" and what he delights in must be both amiable and happy.
Some indeed there are, and it is pity there should be any
such, who, through the unhappy influence of a wrong edu¬
cation, have entertained dark and unfriendly thoughts
of the Deity and his administration, though otherwise of a
virtuous temper themselves. However, it must be acknow¬
ledged that such sentiments have, for the most part, a bad
effect on the temper; and when they have not, it is be¬
cause the undepraved affections of an honest heart are
more powerful in their operation than the speculative opi¬
nions of an ill-informed head.
But wherever right conceptions of the Deity and his
providence prevail, when he is considered as the inex¬
haustible source of light, and love, and joy, as acting in the
joint character of a Father and Governor, imparting an
endless variety of capacities to his creatures, and supply¬
ing them with every thing necessary to their full comple¬
tion and happiness, what veneration and gratitude must
such conceptions, thoroughly believed, excite in the mind.
How natural and delightful must it be to one whose heart
is open to the perception of truth, and of every thing
fair, great, and wonderful in nature, to contemplate and to
adore him who is the first fair, the first great, and first
wonderful; in whom wisdom, power, and goodness dwell
vitally, essentially, originally, and act in perfect concert.
What grandeur is here to fill the most enlarged capacity,
what beauty to engage the most ardent love, what a mass
of wonders in such exuberance of perfection to astonish
and delight the human mind through an unfailing duration.
If the Deity be considered as our Supreme Guardian
and Benefactor, as the Father of Mercies, who loves his
creatures with infinite tenderness, and in a particular man¬
ner all good men, nay all who delight in goodness, even in
its most imperfect degrees; what resignation, what de¬
pendence, what generous confidence, what hope in God
and his all-wise providence, must arise in the soul that is
possessed of such amiable views of Him. All those exer¬
cises of piety, and, above all, a superlative esteem and love,
are directed to God as to their natural, their ultimate, and
indeed their only adequate object; and though the im¬
mense obligations we have received from him may excite
in us more lively feelings of divine goodness than a gene¬
ral and abstracted contemplation of it, yet the affections
of gratitude and love are of themselves of the generous,
disinterested kind, not the result of self-interest, or views
of reward. A perfect character, in which we always sup¬
pose infinite goodness, guided by unerring wisdom, and
supported by almighty power, is the proper object of per¬
fect love ; which, as such, we are forcibly drawn to pur¬
sue and to aspire after. In the contemplation of the di¬
vine nature and attributes, we find at last what the an¬
cient philosophers sought in vain, the supreme and sove¬
reign good, from which all other goods arise, and in which
they are all contained. The Deity, therefore, challenges
our supreme and sovereign love, a sentiment which, whoso¬
ever indulges, must be confirmed in the love of virtue, in
a desire to imitate its all-perfect pattern, and in a cheerful
security that all his great concerns, those of his friends
and of the universe, shall be absolutely safe under the con¬
duct of unerring wisdom and unbounded goodness. It is
in his care and providence alone that the good man, who
is anxious for the happiness of all, finds perfect serenity ;
a serenity neither ruffled by partial ill, nor soured by pri¬
vate disappointment.
When we consider the unstained purity and the absolute
perfection of the divine nature, and reflect withal on the
imperfection and various blemishes of our own, we must
sink, or be convinced we ought to sink, into the deepest
humility and prostration of soul before him who is so won¬
derfully great and holy. When, further, we call to mind Duty to
what low and languid feelings we have of the divine pre- God.
sence and majesty, what insensibility of his fatherly and^v".'
universal goodness, nay, what ungrateful returns we have^P6111; ?
made to it, how far we come short of the perfection of hisance’&c' !
law, and the dignity of our own nature, how much we
have indulged in selfish passions, and how little we have
cherished the benevolent ones, we must be conscious that
it is our duty to repent of a temper and conduct so unwor¬
thy our nature, and unbecoming our obligations to its Au¬
thor, and to resolve and endeavour to act a wiser and bet¬
ter part for the future.
Nevertheless, from the character which his works exhi-Hopes o
bit of him, from those delays or alleviations of punishment pardon,
which offenders often experience, and from the merciful
tenor of his administration in many other instances, the
sincere penitent may entertain good hopes that his Parent
and Judge will not be strict to mark iniquity, but will be
propitious and favourable to him, if he honestly endea¬
vour to avoid his former practices, and subdue his former
habits, and to live in a greater conformity to the divine
will for the future. If any doubts or fears should still re¬
main, how far it may be consistent with the rectitude and
equity of the divine government to let his iniquities pass
unpunished, yet he cannot think it unsuitable to his pater-
nal clemency and wisdom to contrive a method of retriev¬
ing the penitent offender, which shall unite and reconcile
the majesty and mercy of his government. If reason can¬
not of itself suggest such a scheme, it gives at least some
ground to expect it. But although natural religion cannot
let in moral light and assurance on so interesting a sub¬
ject, yet it will teach the humble theist to wait with
great submission for any further intimations it may please
the Supreme Governor to give of his will; to examine with
candour and impartiality whatever evidence shall be pro¬
posed to him of a divine revelation, whether that evidence
is natural or supernatural; to embrace it with veneration
and cheerfulness, if the evidence be clear and convincing;
and, finally, if it bring to light any nevv relations or con¬
nections, natural religion will persuade its sincere votary
faithfully to comply with the obligations and perform the
duties which result from those relations and connections.
This is theism, piety, the completion of morality.
We must further observe, that all those affections which Worship!
we supposed to regard the Deity as their immediate andpraise,
• r ®  *1,0 cmil nnd COnSC-tliaDks-
primary object, are vital energies of the soul, and conse¬
quently exert themselves in action, and, like all other ener¬
gies, gain strength or greater activity by that exertion.
It is therefore our duty, as well as highest interest, often,
at stated times, and by decent and solemn acts, to con¬
template and adore the great Original of our existence,
the Parent of all beauty and of all good; to express our
veneration and love by an awful and devout recognition o
his perfections; and to evidence our gratitude by celebrat¬
ing his goodness, and thankfully acknowledging all his bene¬
fits. It is likewise our duty, by proper exercises of sor¬
row and humiliation, to confess our ingratitude and tolly,
to signify our dependence on God, and our confidence i
his goodness, by imploring his blessing and gracious con
currence in assisting the weakness and curing the coiyT
tions of our nature ; and, finally, to testify our sense o
authority, and our faith in his government, by de^01
ourselves to do his will, and resigning ourselves to
disposal. These duties are not therefore 0bhgat0jT
cause the Deity needs or can be profited by them; b
they are apparently decent and moral, suitable o
lations he sustains of our Creator, Benefactor,
and Judge; expressive of our state and obligations;
improving to our tempers, by making us more ration ,
cial, god-like, and consequently more happy. .
We have now considered internal piety, or the
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
481
Exte
worst
Culti of of the mind, that which is in spirit and in truth; we shall
the 5 d. conclude the section with a short account of that which
is external. External worship is founded on the same
principles as internal, and is of as strict moral obligation.
It is either private or public. Devotion that is inward, or
purely intellectual, is too spiritual and abstracted an ope¬
ration for the bulk of mankind. The operations of their
minds, such especially as are employed on the most sub¬
lime, immaterial objects, must be assisted by their out¬
ward organs, or by some help from the imagination; other¬
wise they will soon be dissipated by sensible impressions,
or grow tiresome if too long continued. Ideas are such
fleeting things, that they must be fixed; and so subtile,
that they must be expressed and delineated, as it were, by
sensible marks and images; otherwise we cannot attend to
them, nor be much affected by them. Therefore, verbal
adoration, prayer, praise, thanksgiving, and confession, are
admirable aids to inward devotion ; they fix our attention,
compose and enliven our thoughts, impress us more deeply
with a sense of the awful presence in which we are, and,
by a natural and mechanical sort of influence, tend to Culture of
heighten those devout feelings and affections which we the Mind,
ought to- entertain, and after this manner reduce into for-
mal and explicit acts.
This holds true in a higher degree in the case of public Public
worship, where the presence of our fellow-creatures, andworshT*
the powerful contagion of the social affections, conspire to
kindle and spread the devout flame with greater warmth
and energy. In fine, as God is the parent and head of
the social system, as he has formed us for a social state,
as by the one we find the best security against the ills of
life, and in the other enjoy its greatest comforts, and as,
by means of both, our nature attains its highest improve¬
ment and perfection ; and, moreover, as there are public
blessings and crimes in which we all in some degree share,
and public wants and dangers to which all are exposed ;
it is therefore evident, that the various and solemn offices
of public religion are duties of indispensable moral obliga¬
tion, amongst the best cements of society, the firmest prop
of government, and the fairest ornament of both.
PART III.
CHAP. I.-
-OF PRACTICAL ETHICS, OR THE CULTURE OF
THE MIND.
Digni
and ir
portai
of the
ject.
Sensib
ideas
sensib
taste
We have now gone through a particular detail of the seve¬
ral duties which we owe to ourselves, to society, and to God.
In considering the first order of duties, we just touched on
b‘the methods of acquiring the different kinds of goods which
we are led by nature to pursue ; only we left the consider¬
ation of the methods of acquiring the moral goods of the
mind to a chapter by itself, because of its singular impor¬
tance. This chapter, then, will contain a brief enumera¬
tion of the arts of acquiring virtuous habits, and of eradi¬
cating vicious ones, as far as is consistent with the brevity
of such a work; a subject of the utmost difficulty as w ell
as importance in morals, to which, nevertheless, the least
attention has been generally given by moral writers. This
will properly follow a detail of duty, as it will direct us to
such means or helps as are most necessary and conducive
to the practice of it.
In the first part of this inquiry we traced the order in
which the passions shoot up in the different periods of hu¬
man life. That order is not accidental or dependent upon
the caprice of men, or the influence of custom and educa¬
tion, but arises from the original constitution and laws of
our nature; of which this is one, viz. that sensible ob¬
jects make the first and strongest impressions on the mind.
Ihese, by means of our outward organs, being conveyed
to the mind, become objects of its attention, on which it
reflects when the outward objects are no longer present,
or, in other words, when the impressions upon the outward
organs cease. These objects of the mind’s reflection are
called ideas or notions. Towards these, by another law of
our nature, we are not altogether indifferent; but corre¬
spondent movements of desire or aversion, love or hatred,
anse, according as the objects which they denote made an
agreeable or disagreeable impression on our organs. Those
1 eas and affections which we experience in the first period
a ife, we refer to the body, or to sense; the, taste which
is oimed towards them, we call a sensible, or a merely
na ural taste, and the objects corresponding to them we in
general call good or pleasant.
teaut ir ^ 38 t^le m*n<^ jTloves forward in its course, it extends
jfiiuj, LS Vle)vs» and receives a new and more complex set of
” eas*in which it observes uniformity, variety, similitude,
ymmetry of parts, reference to an end, novelty, grandeur,
tli ese.c®InPose a vast train and diversity of imagery, which
e nunc compounds, divides, and moulds into a thousand
vol. xv.
Ideas
beaut
forms, in the absence of those objects which first intro¬
duced it. And this more complicated imagery suggests a
new train of desires and affections, fully as sprightly and
engaging as any which have yet appeared. This whole
class of perceptions or impressions is referred to the ima¬
gination, and forms a higher taste than the sensible, and
which has an immediate and mighty influence on the finer
passions of our nature, and is commonly termed a fine
taste. The objects which correspond to this taste we usual¬
ly call beautiful, great, harmonious, or wonderful, or in ge¬
neral by the name of beauty.
The mind, still pushing onwards and increasing its stock Moral
of ideas, ascends from these to a higher species of objects,ideas and
viz. the order and mutual relations of minds to each other,a moraI
their reciprocal affections, characters, actions, and varioustaS,;e,
aspects. In these it discovers a beauty, a grandeur, a de¬
corum, more interesting and alluring than in any of the
former kinds. These objects, or the notions of them, pass¬
ing in review before the mind, do, by a necessary law of
our nature, call forth another and nobler set of affections,
as admiration, esteem, love, honour, gratitude, benevo¬
lence, and others of the like tribe. This class of perfec¬
tions, and their correspondent affections, we refer, because
of their objects (manners), to a moral sense, and call the
taste or temper they excite moral; and the objects which
are agreeable to this taste or temper we denominate by
the general name of moral beauty, in order to distinguish
it from the other, which is termed natural.
These different sets of ideas or notions are the materials Sources of
about which the mind employs itself, which it blends, a8800^011,
ranges, and diversifies in ten thousand different ways. It
feels a strong propension to connect and associate those
ideas amongst which it observes any similitude or any ap¬
titude, whether original and natural, or customary and ar¬
tificial, to suggest each other. (See Metaphysics.)
But whatever the reasons are, whether similitude, co-Laws of
existence, causality, or any other aptitude or relation, why association
any two or more ideas are connected by the mind at first,
it is an established law of our nature, that when two or
more ideas have often started in company, they form so
strong an union, that it is very difficult ever after to sepa¬
rate them. Thus the lover cannot separate the idea of
merit from his mistress ; the courtier that of dignity from
his title or ribbon; the miser that of happiness from his
bags. It is these associations of worth or happiness with
any of the different sets of objects or images before speci¬
fied that form our taste or complex idea of good. By an-
3 p
482
Culture of
the Mind
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
.Leading
passions
follow
taste.
other law of our nature, our affections follow and are go¬
verned by this taste. And to these affections our charac¬
ter and conduct are similar and proportioned, on the gene¬
ral tenor of which our happiness principally depends.
As all our leading passions, then, depend on the direc¬
tion which our taste takes, and as it is always of the same
association is, that the objects to which these are annexed Culture of
must rise in their value, and be pursued with proportion-the Mind,
able ardour; the enjoyment of them is often attended'—
with pleasure ; and the mere possession of them, where
that is wanting, frequently draws respect fiom ones fel¬
low-creatures. This respect is, by many, thought equi-
Impor-
tance of
the imagi¬
nation.
tion which our taste takes, ancl as it is always m me t tjie pleasure of enjoyment. Hence it happens
strain with our leading associations, it is worn w 11 P h • ess -IS connected with the mere pos-
inquire a little more particularly how these are formed, ^ Xch° j.Xrefore eagerly sought after, without
in order to detect the secret sources whence our Passion re^.ar(i t0 the generous use or honourable enjoyment,
derive their principal strength, their various rises ant • Y ^ passion, resting on the means, not the end, that
For this will give us the true key to their managemen Thus the j ass on e g ^ ^ ^
and let us into the right method of correcting the bad and 0t ltS ^ J ’
improving the good. „ , . .    Tnfinp'anv obiect, or external denomination, a staff, a
No kind of objects make so powerful an impressmn p r a ’ a crown> a title, may become a moral badge
us as those which are immediately impresse UP or emblem of merit, magnificence, or honour, according as
senses, or strongly painted upon our imagination • distinctions have been found or thought, by the pos-
ever is purely intellectual, as abstracted or sc entitle Qr admirers of them, t0 accompany them ; yet, by
truths, the subtile relations and differences °f * g ’ ^ d ption formerly mentioned, the merit or the conduct
fainter sort of existence in the mind, and, though it may the deceptio y raarks 0f distinc
exercise and whet the memory, the judgment or the re^ or neglected, and the badges them-
• soning power, gives hardly any impulse at all tot > ^ passionately affected or pursued, as including
powers, the passions, which are the mamspnngs of mo- e j/these are attained by any means, all
tion. On the other hand were th<; ^"0^ Ihe concon,‘itant; which nature, custom, or accidents have
the direction of sense, and impressible only by foined to them will be supposed to follow of course. Thus,
jects as are present, and strike some of the outwar g , J al ends which the unhappy admirer is apt to
we should then be precisely in the state of the brute - over’his passion and views, will, in his opinion, jus-
tion, and be governed solely by instinct or appetite, a immoral means; as prostitution, adulation,
r Klr^r^S^wmr:^!: eve, specif of knavery, whether
faculty, * wonderfully adapted to our mixed state, which -"^Jn'me” aTo'nceSgaged in active life, and find that
holds partly of sense and partly of reason ; being strong y ^ ^ generally called interest, are the great
allied to the former, and the common receptacle nvenues to every kind of enjoyment, they are apt to throw
all the notices that come from that quarter are treasured ^oral t0 the object of their pur-
up, and yet greatly subservient and ministerial fo^rder to justify their passion, and varnish over the
latter, by giving a body, a coherence, and a beauty > , .1 t p-ratifv it as independence on the
conceptions, f his middle faculty is called the nna^na- ^J^ofSeC^Uion »dTecurity to them-
tion, one of the most busy and fruitful poweis of the mi . - P , nrudent economy or well-placed cha-
Into this common storehouse are likewise carried all those selves and P^dent economy ^ ^ enemieS)
moral forms which are derived from our moral facu ies n y, ^ vil]ains honourable service, and many other
of perception ; and there they often undergo new c iang fop-redients of merit To attain such capacities of useful-
and appearances, by being mixed and wrought up wHh inS
the ideas and forms of sensible or natural things. y hlameable by those cool pursuers of their own in*
this coalition of imagery, natural beauty is dignified and thought^ Wabl ^ by World are pleased to
heightened by moral qualities and perfection^ and t ^ the title^f men of pleasure, their imaginations
qualities are at once exhibited and set oft bynatuial beau mu g images with which they never
ty. The sensible beauty, or good, is refined from its dross le?s .f. th can^ot’do that, to palliate their
by partaking of the moral; and the moral receives a stamp, “ “pursuits.’ Thus admiration of wit, of sentiments and
a visible character and currency, from the sensible. ^ rit ^friendship iove, generous sympathy, mutual confi-
first of all accustomed to sensible impressions ^^^^d ^ "he ordinary m-
and SseWnsMe e^n^ni wVcontract early a sensual re- deX’„frXhThilhXe7se^“nThlii gVlantry and plea-
lid. or love of pleasure in the lower sense of the word, gredients w‘*.»h>ch.XL8af.““i'" ,l,?vimnoseonthem.
In order, however, to justify this relish, the mind, as it be¬
comes open to higher perceptions of beauty and good, bor¬
rows from thence a noble set of images, as fine taste, ge¬
nerosity, social affections, friendship, good fellowship, and inese private passions
the like ; and, by dressing out the old pursuits with these ed by the •vagina , generality; as the love of
new ornaments, gives them an additiona dignity and which they m*
greuients wun wnivu uic_y - thpm.
surable entertainments, and by which they impose on them
selves, and endeavour to impose on others, tha
amours are the joint issue of good sense and virtue.
These associations, variously combined and F0P
lustre. By these ways the desire of a table, love of finery, action, of pleasure, power, weaitn^ pass[onS) and
intrigue, and pleasure, are vastly increased beyond their fluence the defens , ^ratified or disappointed;
natural pitch, having an impulse combined of the force of ra.se joy ^7 these assocMou? of good and evil, beau-
the natural appetites, and of the superadded strength of 80 ^ Lssions they raise, are the main
those passions which tend to .the moral rpecics. When t^nd sourcesofour
  r   iral species. When ty and deform ty ““ ““rand the great sources of oor
the mind becomes more sensible to those objects or ap- hinges of life ^“Xisve^v evident, therefore, that the
pearances in which it perceives beauty, uniformity, gran- hapmness or li very evident, a right d,.
deur, and harmony, as fine clothes, elegant furniture, plate, whole of morrf culture mu p £ pr0p0ruomiig
pictures, gardens, houses, equipage, the beauty of animals, rectum . d/ ursued, under
•md narticularlv the attractions of the sex ; to these objects them to the value ot tne objec g
the mind is led by nature or taught by custom, the opinion what name ^ht direction and due
and example of others, to annex certain ideas of moral Now, in § from the foregoing detail, that thos
character, dignity, decorum, honour, liberality, tenderness, proportion, it appears, th j j h°tht;Opassi0ns depend,
and active or social enjoyment. The consequence of this associations of ideas, upon w P
MORAL PH
Sultui tfmust be duly regulated: that is to say, as an exm'bitant
h? MP- passion for wealth, pleasure, or power, flows from an asso-
ciation or opinion, that more beauty and good, whether
natural or moral, enters into the enjoyment or possession
of them, than really belongs to either, therefore, in re¬
storing those passions to their just proportion, we must be¬
gin with correcting the opinion, or breaking the false as¬
sociation ; or, in other words, we must decompound the
complex phantom of happiness or good, which we fondly
admire; disunite those ideas which have no natural alliance;
and separate the original idea of wealth, power, or pleasure,
from the foreign mixtures incorporated with it, which en¬
hance its value, or give it its chief power to enchant and
seduce the mind. For instance, let it be considered how
poor and inconsiderable a thing wealth is, if it be disjoin¬
ed from real use, or from ideas of capacity in the possessor
to do good, from independence, generosity, provision for
a family or friends, and social communication with others.
By this standard let its true value be fixed, let its misap¬
plication or unbenevolent enjoyment be accounted sordid
and infamous, and nothing worthy or estimable be ascribed
to the mere possession of it which is not borrowed from
its generous use.
If that complex form of good which is called pleasure
engage us, let It be analysed into its constituent principles,
or those allurements it draws from the heart and imagina¬
tion, in order to heighten the low part of the indulgence;
let the separate and comparative import of each be dis¬
tinctly ascertained and deduced from that gross part, and
this remainder of the accumulated enjoyment will dwindle
down into a poor, insipid, transitory thing. In proportion
as the opinion of the good pursued abates, the admiration
must decay, and the passions lose strength of course. One
effectual way to lower the opinion, and consequently to
weaken the habit founded upon it, is to practise lesser
pieces of self-denial, or to abstain, to a certain pitch, from
the pursuit or enjoyment of the favourite object; and, that
this may be the more easily accomplished, one must avoid
those occasions, that company, those places, and the other
circumstances, that inflamed the one and endeared the
other. And, as a counter-process, let higher or even dif¬
ferent enjoyments be brought in view, other passions play¬
ed upon the former, different places frequented, other ex¬
ercises tried, company kept with persons of a different or
more correct way of thinking both in natural and moral
subjects.
As much depends on our setting out well in life, let the
youthful fancy, which is apt to be very florid and luxuri¬
ant, be early accustomed, by instruction, example, and sig¬
nificant moral exercises, nay, by looks, gestures, and every
other testimony of just approbation or blame, to annex
ideas of merit, honour, and happiness, not to birth, dress,
rank, beauty, fortune, power, popularity, and the like out¬
ward things, but to moral and truly virtuous qualities, and
to those enjoyments which spring from a well-informed
judgment and a regular conduct of the affections, espe¬
cially those of the social and disinterested kind. Such
dignified forms of beauty and good, often suggested, and
by moving pictures and examples warmly recommended
to the imagination, enforced by the authority of conscience,
and demonstrated by reason to be the surest means of en¬
joyment, and the only independent, undeprivable, and du¬
rable goods, will be the best counterbalance to meaner
passions, and the firmest foundation and security of virtue.
It is of great importance to the forming a just taste, or
pure and large conceptions of happiness, to study and un-
erstand human nature well, to remember what a compli¬
cated system it is, particularly to have deeply imprinted
on our mind that gradation of senses, faculties, and powers
0 enjoyment formerly mentioned, and the subordination
goods resulting from thence, which nature points out,
IL O S O P H Y. 483
and the experience of mankind confirms. Who, when they Culture of
think seriously, and are not under the immediate influence the Mind,
of some violent prejudice or passion, prefer not the plea-'^—^Y~*^
sures of action, contemplation, society, and most exercises
and joys of the moral kind, as friendship, natural affection,
and the like, to all sensual gratifications whatsoever?
Where the different species of pleasure are blended into
one complex form, let them be accurately distinguished,
and be referred each to its proper faculty and sense, and
examined apart what they have peculiar, what common with
others, and what foreign and adventitious. Let wealth,
grandeur, luxury, love, fame, and the like, be tried by this
test, and their true alloy will be found out. Let it be fur¬
ther considered, whether the mind may not be easy and
enjoy itself greatly, though it want many of those elegan¬
cies and superfluities of life which some possess, or that
load of wealth and power which others eagerly pursue, and
under which they groan. Let the difficulty of attaining, the
precariousness of possessing, and the many abatements in
enjoying, overgrown wealth and envied greatness, of which
the weary possessors so frequently complain, as the hurry
of business, the burden of company, of paying attendance
to the few, and giving it to many, the cares of keeping, the
fears of losing, and the desires of increasing what they
have, and the other troubles which accompany this pitiful
drudgery and pompous servitude; let these and the like
circumstances be often considered, that are conducive to
the removing or lessening the opinion of such goods, and
the attendant passion or set of passions will decay of course.
Let the peculiar bent of our nature and character be ob¬
served, whether we are most inclined to form associations
and relish objects of the sensible, intellectual, or moral
kind. Let that which has the ascendant be particularly
watched ; let it be directed to right objects, be improved
by proportioned exercises, and guarded by proper checks
from an opposite quarter. Thus the sensible turn may be
exalted by the intellectual, and a taste for the beauty of
the fine arts, and both may be made subservient to convey
and rivet sentiments highly moral and public-spirited. This
inward survey must extend to the strength and weaknesses
of one’s nature, conditions, connections, habitudes, fortunes,
studies, acquaintance, and the other circumstances of life,
from which every man will form the justest estimate of
his own dispositions and character, and the best rules for
correcting and improving them. And in order to do this
with more advantage, let those times or critical seasons be
watched when the mind is best disposed towards a change ;
and let them be improved by rigorous resolutions, pro¬
mises, or whatever else will engage the mind to persevere
in virtue. Let the conduct, in fine, be often reviewed, and
the causes of its corruption or improvement be carefully
observed.
It will greatly conduce to refine the moral taste and
strengthen the virtuous temper, to accustom the mind to
the frequent exercise of moral sentiments and determina¬
tions, by reading history, poetry, particularly of the pic¬
turesque and dramatic kind, the study of the fine arts; by
conversing with the most eminent for good sense and vir¬
tue; and, above all, by frequent and repeated acts of hu¬
manity, compassion, friendship, politeness, and hospitality.
It is exercise that gives health and strength. He who
reasons most frequently becomes the wisest, and most en¬
joys the pleasures of wisdom. He who is most often affect¬
ed by objects of compassion in poetry, history, or real life,
will have his soul most open to pity, and its delightful pains
and duties. So he also who practises most diligently the
offices of kindness and charity, will by it cultivate that dis¬
position whence must arise all his pretensions to personal
merit, his present and his future happiness.
An useful and honourable employment in life will ad¬
minister a thousand opportunities of this kind, and greatiy
484
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Motives to strengthen a sense of virtue and good affections, which.
Virtue. as well as our understandings, must be nourished by ,
' training. For such an employment, by en arging one s
experience, giving a habit of attention and caution, or
obliging one, from necessity or interest, to keep a guard
over the passions, and to study the outward decencies and
appearances of virtue, will by degrees produce a good habit,
and at length insinuate the love of virtue and honesty for
^^nsrgrtat inducement to the exercise of benevolence
to view human nature in a favourable light, to observe
the characters and circumstances of mankind on the ta *
est sides, to put the best constructions they wlll bear or
their actions, and to consider them as the result of par¬
tial and mistaken rather than ill affections, or, at worst,
die excesses of a pardonable self-love, seldom or never the
effect of pure malice. ,
Above all, the nature and consequences of virtue and
vice, such consequences being the law of our nature an
will of Heaven, the light in which they appear to our bu
preme Parent and Lawgiver, and the reception they wdl
meet with from him, must be often attended to. The ex
ercises of piety, as adoration and praise of the divine e
cellence, invocation of and dependence on his aid, confes¬
sion, thanksgiving, and resignation, are habitually to be
indulged, and frequently performed, not only as medicina ,
but highly improving to the temper.
In fine! it will be of admirable efficacy towards eradi¬
cating bad habits, and implanting good ones, frequently
to contemplate human life as the great nursery of our fu¬
ture and immortal existence, as that state of probation in
which we are to be educated for a divine life; to re¬
member that our virtues or vices will be as immortal as
ourselves, and influence our future as well as our present
happiness, and therefore, that every disposition and action
is to be regarded as pointing beyond the present to an im¬
mortal duration. An habitual attention to this wide and
important connection will give a vast compass and digm y
to our sentiments and actions, a noble superiority to the
pleasures and pains of life, and a generous ambition to
render our virtue as immortal as our being.
CHAP. II. MOTIVES TO VIRTUE FROM PERSONAL
HAPPINESS.
Aintivps We have already considered our obligations to the prac-
frurn per- tice of virtue, arising from the constitution of our nature,
sonal hap- by which we are led to approve a certain order and econo-
piness. my 0f affections, and a certain course of action correspond¬
ent to it. But, besides this, there are several motives
which strengthen and secure virtue, though not themselves
of a moral kind. These are, its tendency to personal hap¬
piness, and the contrary tendency of vice. Personal hap¬
piness arises either from the state of a man’s own mind, or
from the state and disposition of external causes towards
him. ,
Hanniness We shall first examine the tendency of virtue to hap-
of virtue piness with respect to the state of a man s own mind,
from with-/phis is a point of the utmost consequence in morals, be-
in* cause, unless we can convince ourselves, or show to others,
that, by doing our duty, or fulfilling our moral obligations,
wre consult the greatest satisfaction of our own mind, or
our highest interest on the whole, it will raise strong and
often unsurmountable prejudices against the practice of
virtue, especially whenever there arise any appearances of
opposition between our duty and our satisfaction or inte¬
rest. To creatures so desirous of happiness, and so averse
to misery, as we are, and often so oddly situated amidst
contending passions and interests, it is necessary that vir¬
tue should appear not only in an honourable, but a pleasing
and beneficent form ; and in order to justify our choice toMotivesto ^
ourselves as well as to others, we must ourselves feel and Virtue. 'f,
be able to avow in the face of the whole world, that her^^ ^
ways are ways of pleasantness, and her paths the paths of
peace. This will show, beyond all contradiction, that we
not only approve what is good, but can give a sufficient
reason for our own conduct. , . r
Let any man in a cool hour, when he is disengaged from Influence
business, and undisturbed by passion (such cool hcurs^on |
will sometimes occur), sit down, and seriously reflec with
himself what state or temper of mind he would choose
to feel and indulge, in order to be easy and to enjoy him¬
self. Would he choose, for that purpose, to be in a con¬
stant dissipation and hurry of thought; to be disturbed in
the exercise of his reason; to have various and often in¬
terfering phantoms of good playing before his imagination,
soliciting and distracting him by turns, now soothing him
with amusing hopes, then torturing him with anxious fears,
and to approve this minute what he shall condemn the
next? Would he choose to have a strong and painful
sense of every petty injury ; quick apprehensions of every
impending evil; incessant and insatiable desires of power,
wealth, honour, pleasure ; an irreconcilable antipathy
against all competitors and rivals; insolent and tyrannical
dispositions to all below him ; fawning, and at the same
time envious, dispositions to all above him, with dark sus-
picions and jealousies of every mortal ? Would he choose
neither to love nor be beloved of any ; to have no friend
in whom to confide, or with whom to interchange his sen¬
timents or designs; no favourite, on whom to bestow his
kindness, or vent his passions; and to be conscious of no
merit with mankind, no esteem from any creature, no good
affection to his Maker, no concern for, nor hopes of, his
approbation ; but instead of all these, to hate, and know
that he is hated, to condemn, and know that he is con¬
demned, by all, by the good because he is so unlike, and
by the bad because he is so like, themselves; to hate or
to dread the very Being that made him; and, in s oj| ,
make his breast the seat of pride and passion, petulanc
and revenge, deep melancholy, cool mahgni y» an . , -
other furies that ever possessed and tortured mankind
Would our calm inquirer after happiness pitch on such a
state, and such a temper of mind, as the most ^ “e.
to put him in possession of his desired ease and self-enjoy
m Or‘would he rather choose a serene and easy flov^of influerice
thought; a reason clear and composed; a Jad§ ber0nthe
biassed by prejudice, and undistracted by passio ,
and well-governed fancy, which presents the images
things true and unmixed with delusive and unnatu
charms, and therefore administers no ^PraP^r ortodcaJ0Sose
ous fuel to the passions, but leaves the mind i ^
or reject, as becomes a reasonable creature ; a ^
sedai temper, not easily ruffled by hopes or fea ’ P
either .sLpicionnorreveog.apt^^"^
neither to suspicion nui iCvCugt, ^   humours
in the fairest lights, and to bend gently to theh
of others rather than obstinately to contend
Would he choose such moderation andecntmenc ^
as neither to be ambitious of power, on 0 ^ f rse
vetous of wealth, nor a slave to pleasure ; a int.
neither elated with success, nor dejected pP wer
ment; such a modest and noble wealth
without insolence, wears honour without F dg usemore in
without profusion or parsimony, and ^ ‘ ^ and equa-
giving than in receiving pleasure; such fortitud ^ J^
nimity as rises above misfortunes, or tur neither flat-
ings ; such integrity and greatness ^ mind as a3
ters the vices nor triumphs over the folhe ^ en.
equally spurns- servitude and tyranny, and \ he
gage in low designs, nor abet them mothers v ^ ^
choose, in fine, such mildness and benign y
*
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
485
"he all I
iations
virtue
nan’s il.
takes part in all the joys, and refuses none of the sorrows,
of others; stands well affected to all mankind ; is consci¬
ous of meriting the esteem of all, and of being beloved by
the best; a mind which delights in doing good without
any show, and yet arrogates nothing on that account; re¬
joices in loving and being beloved by its Maker, acts ever
under his eye, resigns itself to his providence, and triumphs
in his approbation ? Which of these dispositions would be
his choice in order to become contented, serene, and happy ?
The former temper is vice, the latter virtue. Where one
prevails, there misery prevails, and by the generality is ac¬
knowledged to prevail. Where the other reigns, there
happiness reigns, and by the confession of mankind is ac¬
knowledged to reign. The perfection of either temper is
misery or happiness in perfection. Therefore, every ap¬
proach to either extreme is an approach to misery or to hap¬
piness, that is, every degree of vice or virtue is accompanied
with a proportional degree of misery or happiness.
The principal alleviations of a virtuous man’s calamities
'are these: That though some of them may have been the
effect of his imprudence or weakness, yet few of them are
sharpened by a sense of guilt, and none of them by a con¬
sciousness of wickedness, which surely is their keenest
sting; that they are common to him with the best of men ;
that they seldom or never attack him quite unprepared,
but rather guarded with a consciousness of his own since¬
rity and virtue, with a faith and trust in Providence, and a
firm resignation to its perfect orders; that they may be
improved as means of correction, or materials to give scope
and stability to his virtues ; and, to say no more, that they
are considerably lessened, and often sweetened to him, by
the general sympathy of the wise and good.
His enjoyments are more numerous, or, if less numerous,
yet more intense, than those of the bad man ; for he shares
in the joys of others by rebound, and every increase of
general or particular happiness is a real addition to his own.
It is true, his friendly sympathy with others subjects him
to some pains which the hard-hearted wretch does not feel;
yet to give a loose rein to it, is a kind of agreeable discharge.
It is such a sorrow as he loves to indulge ; a sort of pleas¬
ing anguish, which sweetly melts the mind, and terminates
in a self-approving joy. Though the good man may want
means to execute, or be disappointed in the success of his
benevolent purposes, yet, as was formerly observed, he is
still conscious of good affection, and that consciousness is
an enjoyment of a more delightful savour than the greatest
triumphs of successful vice. If the ambitious, covetous,
or voluptuous, are disappointed, their passions recoil upon
them with a fury proportioned to their opinion of the value
of what they pursue, and their hope of success ; whilst they
have nothing within to balance the disappointment, unless
it be an useless fund of pride, which, however, frequently
turns mere accidents into mortifying affronts, and exalts
;rief into rage and frenzy. But the meek, humble, and
>enevolent temper is its own reward, and is satisfied from
■vithin ; as it magnifies greatly the pleasure of success, so it
svonderfully alleviates, and in a manner annihilates, all pain
For the want of it.
As the good man is conscious of loving and wishing well
to all mankind, he must be sensible of his deserving the
esteem and good will of all; and this supposed reciproca¬
tion of social feelings is, by the very frame of our nature,
made a source of very intense and enlivening joys. By
this sympathy of affections and interests, he feels himself
intimately united with the human race ; and, being sen¬
sibly alive over the whole system, his heart receives and
becomes responsive to every touch given to any part.
Thus, as an eminent philosopher1 finely expresses it, he
gathers contentment and delight from the pleased and
happy states of those around him ; from accounts and rela- Motives to
tions of such happiness ; from the very countenances, ges- Virtue. ^
tures, voices, and sounds, even of creatures foreign to our Y ^
kind, whose signs of joy and contentment he can any way
discern. Nor do those generous affections stop any other
natural source of joy whatever, or deaden his sense of any in¬
nocent gratification. They rather keep the several senses
and powers of enjoyment open and disengaged, intense and
uncorrupted by riot or abuse; as is evident to anyone who
considers the dissipated, unfeeling state of men of pleasure,
ambition, or interest, and compares it with the serene and
gentle state of a mind at peace with itself, and friendly to
all mankind, unruffled by any violent emotion, and sensible
to every good-natured and alluring joy.
It were easy, by going through the different sets of af- Misery of
fections formerly mentioned, to show, that it is only by excess in
maintaining the proportion settled there, that the mind the private
arrives at true repose and satisfaction. If fear exceeds l)assions'
that proportion, it sinks into melancholy and dejection.
If anger passes just bounds, it ferments into rage and re¬
venge, or subsides into a sullen corroding gloom, which
embitters every good, and renders one exquisitely sensible
to every ill. The private passions, the love of honour espe¬
cially, the impulses of which are more generous, as itseffects
are more diffusive, are instruments of private pleasure ; but
if they are disproportioned to our wants, or to the value of
their several objects, or to the balance of other passions
equally necessary and more amiable, they become instru¬
ments of intense pain and misery. For, being now desti¬
tute of that counterpoise which held them at a due pitch,
they grow turbulent, peevish, and revengeful, the cause of
constant restlessness and torment, sometimes flying out into
a wild delirious joy, at other times settling in a deep sple¬
netic grief. The concert between reason and passion is
then broken ; all is dissonance and distraction within. The
mind is out of frame, and feels an agony proportioned to
the violence of the reigning passion.
The case is much the same, or rather worse, when any
of the particular kind affections are out of their natural
order and proportion ; as happens in the case of effeminate
pity, exorbitant love, parental dotage, or any party pas¬
sion, where the just regards to society are supplanted.
The more social and disinterested the passion is, it breaks
out into the wilder excesses, and makes the more dreadful
havoc both within and abroad ; as is but too apparent in
those cases where a false species of religion, honour, zeal,
or party rage, has seized on the natural enthusiasm of the
mind, and worked it up to madness. It breaks through all
ties natural and civil, disregards the most sacred and so¬
lemn obligations, silences every other affection whether
public or private, and transforms the most gentle natures
into the most savage and inhuman.
But the man who keeps the balance of affection even, Happiness
is easy and serene in his motions, mild and yet affection- ofwell-pro-
ate, uniform and consistent with himself; he is not liable Port|onetl
to disagreeable collisions of interests and passions ; gives Passions*
always place to the most friendly and humane affections,
and never to dispositions or acts of resentment, but on high
occasions, when the security of the private, or welfare of
the public system, or the great interests of mankind, neces¬
sarily require a noble indignation, and even then he observes
a just measure in wrath ; and, last of all, he proportions
every passion to the value of the object he affects, or to the
importance of the end he pursues.
To sum up this part of the argument, the honest and Sum of the
good man has eminently the advantage of the knavish and argument,
selfish wretch in every respect. The pleasures which the
last enjoys flow chiefly from external advantages and grati¬
fications ; they are superficial and transitory, dashed with
1 Shaftesbury, Inquiry into Virtue, book ii.
486
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Motives to
Virtue.
External
effects of
virtue.
Ion? intervals of satiety, and frequent returns of remorse and
fear, dependent on favourable accidents and conjunctures,
and subjected to the humours of men. But the good man
is satisfied with himself; his principal possessions he with¬
in, and therefore beyond the reach of the caprice of men
or fortune ; his enjoyments are exquisite and permanent,
accompanied with no inward checks to damp them, and al¬
ways with ideas of dignity and self-approbation, and they
may be tasted at any time, and in any place. 1 he gratifica¬
tions of vice are turbulent and unnatural, generally arising
from the relief of passions in themselves intolerable, and is¬
suing in tormenting reflection; often irritated by disappoint¬
ment, always inflamed by enjoyment, and yet ever cloyed
with repetition. The pleasures of virtue are calm and natural,
flowing from the exercise of kind affections, or delightful
reflections in consequence of them ; not only agreeable in
the prospect, but in the present feeling, they never satiate
nor lose their relish, nay, rather the admiration of virtue
grows stronger every day; not only is the desire, but the
enjoyment, heightened by every new gratification, and,
unlike to most others, it is increased, not diminished, by
sympathy and communication. In fine, the satisfactions
of virtue may be purchased without a bribe, and possessed
in the humblest as well as in the most triumphant fortune ,
they can bear the strictest review, and do not change with
circumstances, nor grow old with time. Force cannot rob,
nor fraud cheat us of them ; and, to crown all, instead ot
abating, they enhance every other pleasure.
But the happy consequences of virtue are seen not onjy
in the internal enjoyments it affords a man, but in the
favourable disposition of external causes tow ards him, to
which it contributes. As virtue gives the sober possession
of one’s self, and the command of one’s passions, the con¬
sequence must be heart’s ease, and a fine natural flow o
spirits, which conduce more than any thing else to health
and long life. Violent passions, and the excesses they oc-
casion, gradually impair and wear down the machine. But
the calm, placid state of a temperate mind, and the health¬
ful exercises in which virtue engages her faithful votaries,
preserve the natural functions in full vigour and harmony,
and exhilarate the spirits, which are the chief instruments
of action.
It may be thought odd by some to assert that virtue is
no enemy to a man’s fortune in the present state of things.
But if by fortune be meant a moderate or competent share
of wealth, power, or credit, not overgrown degrees of them,
what should hinder the virtuous man from obtaining that ?
He cannot cringe nor fawn, it is true, but he can be civil
and obliging as well as the knave; and surely his civility
is more alluring, because it has more manliness and grace
in it than the mean adulation of the other. He cannot
cheat nor undermine, but he may be cautious, provident,
watchful of occasions, and equally prompt with the rogue
in improving them. He scorns to prostitute himself as a
pander to the passions or as a tool to the vices of man¬
kind, but he may have as sound an understanding and as
good capacities for promoting their real interests as the
veriest court slave ; and then he is more faithful and true
to those who employ him. In the common course of busi¬
ness, he has the same chances with the knave of acquir¬
ing a fortune, and rising in the world. He may have equal
abilities, equal industry, equal attention to business, and
in other respects he has greatly the advantage of him.
People love better to deal with him; they can trust him
more ; they know he will not impose upon them, nor take
advantage of them, and they can depend more on his word
than on the oath or strongest securities of others. But what
is commonly called cunning, which is the offspring of igno¬
rance, and the constant companion of knavery, is not only a
mean-spirited, but a very short-sighted talent, and a funda¬
mental obstacle in the road of business. It may, indeed,
procure immediate and petty gains; but it is attended Motives
with dreadful abatements, which do more than overbalance Virtue
them, both as it sinks a man’s credit when discovered, and's-“~r'*'
cramps that largeness of mind which extends to the re¬
motest as well as the nearest interest, and takes in the
most durable equally with the most transient gains. It is
therefore easy to see how much a man’s credit and reputa¬
tion, and consequently his success, depend upon his ho¬
nesty and virtue.
With regard to security and peace with his neighbours,
it may be thought perhaps that the man of a quiet forgiv¬
ing temper, and an overflowing benevolence and courtesy,
is much exposed to injury and affronts from every proud or
peevish mortal who has the power or will to do mischief.
If we suppose, indeed, this quietness and gentleness of
nature accompanied with cowardice and pusillanimity,
this may often be the case; but in reality the good man
is as bold as a lion, and so much the bolder for being the
calmer. Such a person will hardly become a butt to man¬
kind. The ill natured will be afraid to provoke him, and
the good natured will not incline to do it. Besides, true vir¬
tue, which is conducted by reason, and exerted gracefully
and without parade, is a most insinuating and command¬
ing thing; if it cannot disarm malice and resentment at
once, it will wear them out by degrees, and subdue them
at length. How many have, by favours and by prudently
yielding, triumphed over an enemy, who would have been
inflamed into tenfold rage by the fiercest opposition. In
fine, goodness is the most universally popular thing that
can be imagined.
In a word, the good man may have some enemies, but
he will have more friends ; and, having given so many
marks of private friendship and public virtue, he can hard¬
ly be destitute of a patron to protect, or a sanctuary to
entertain him, or to protect or entertain his children when
he is gone. Though he should have little else to leave
them, he bequeaths them the fairest, and generally the
most unenvied inheritance of a good name, vvhich, like
good seed sown in the field of futurity, will often raise up
unsolicited friends, and yield a benevolent harvest of un¬
expected charities. But should the fragrance of the pa¬
rent’s virtue prove offensive to a perverse or envious age,
or even draw persecution on the friendless orphans, there
is One in heaven who will be more than a father to them,
and recompense their parent’s virtues by showering down
blessings on them.
CHAP. III.—MOTIVES TO VIRTUE FROM THE BEING AND
PROVIDENCE OF GOD.
Besides the interesting incentive mentioned in the last Eternal
tuc   . motive!
chapter, there are two great motives to virtue strictly^
connected with human life, and resulting from the very
constitution of the human mind. The first is the being
and providence of God ; the second is the immortality oj
the soul, with future rewards and punishments.
It appears (from chap. iv. of part ii.) that man, y
constitution of his nature, is designed to be ^ j
creature. He is intimately connected with t e ei y>
necessarily dependent on him. From that ?°nnect,r?"
necessary dependence result various obligations and dut ,
without fulfilling which some of his most sublime po
and affections would be incomplete and abortive,
be likewise an immortal creature, and if his prese
duct shall affect his future happiness in another sta
well as in the present, it is evident that ta“ Jnt
partial view of the creature if we leave out ^ P f hu.
property of his nature, and make a partia es im
man life if we strike out of the account, or overlook,
part of his duration which runs out into eternity.
487
moral philosophy.
ifotive u It is evident, from the above-mentioned chapter, that
Virtu to have a respect to the Deity in our temper and con-
-"Y'"''duct, to venerate and love his character, to adore his
goodness, to depend upon and resign ourselves to his pro¬
vidence, to seek his approbation, and act under a sense of
his authority, is a fundamental part of moral virtue, and
the completion of the highest destination of our nature.
But as piety is an essential part of virtue, so likewise it
is a great support and enforcement to the practice of it.
To contemplate and admire a being of such transcendent
dignity and perfection as God, must naturally and neces¬
sarily open and enlarge the mind, give a freedom and am¬
pleness to its powers, and a grandeur and elevation to its
aims. For, as an excellent divine observes, the greatness
of an object, and the excellency of the act of any agent
about a transcendent object, doth mightily tend to the en¬
largement and improvement of his faculties. Little ob¬
jects, mean company, mean cares, and mean business, cramp
the mind, contract its views, and give it a creeping air and
deportment. But when it soars above mortal cares and
mortal pursuits, into the regions of divinity, and converses
with the greatest and best of beings, it spreads itself into
a wider compass, takes higher flights in reason and good¬
ness, and becomes godlike in its air and manners. Vir¬
tue is, if one may say so, both the effect and the cause of
enlargement of mind. It requires that one should think
freely, and act nobly. Now what can conduce more to
freedom of thought and dignity of action than to conceive
worthily of God, to reverence and adore his unrivalled ex¬
cellence, to imitate and transcribe that excellence into our
own nature, to remember our relation to him, and that we
are the images and representatives of his glory to the rest
of the creation ? Such feelings and exercises must and
will make us scorn all actions which are base, unhandsome,
or unworthy our state; and the relation we stand in to
God will irradiate the mind with the light of wisdom, and
ennoble it with the liberty and dominion of virtue.
The influence and efficacy of religion may be consider¬
ed in another light. We all know that the presence of a
friend, a neighbour, or any number of spectators, but espe¬
cially an august assembly of them, operates as a considera¬
ble check upon the conduct of one who is not lost to all
sense of honour and shame, and contributes to restrain
many irregular sallies of passion. In the same manner, we
j may imagine, that the awe of some superior mind, who is
supposed to be privy to our secret conduct, and armed with
full power to reward or punish it, will impose a restraint on
us in such actions as fall not under the control or animad-
; version of others. If we go still higher, and suppose our
inmost thoughts and darkest designs, as well as our most
secret actions, to lie open to the notice of the Supreme
^n^versa^ Mind, who is both the spectator and judge
o human actions, it is evident that the belief of so august
n presence, and such awful inspection, must carry a re¬
straint and weight with it proportioned to the strength of
t at belief, and be an additional motive to the practice of
many duties which would not have been performed with¬
out it.
It may be observed further, that to live under an ha-
itual sense of the Deity and his great administration, is
o be conversant with wisdom, order, and beauty, in the
subjects, and to receive the delightful reflections
an benign feelings which these excite whilst they radiate
upon him from every scene of nature and providence.
ow improving must such views be to the mind, in dilat-
mg and exalting it above those puny interests and com¬
petitions which agitate and inflame the bulk of mankind
against each other.
MOTIVE TO VIRTUE FROM THE IMMORTALITY Motives to
of THE SOUL. Virtue.
The other motive mentioned was the immortality of theMetaphy-
soul, with future rewards and punishments. The meta-sical argu-
physical proofs of the soul’s immortality are commonly r?en.ts *or
drawn from its simple, uncompounded, and indivisibletthgfinnft°hr'
nature, whence it is concluded that it cannot be cor-g^i.
rupted or extinguished by a dissolution or destruction
of its parts ; from its having a beginning of motion with¬
in itself, whence it is inferred that it cannot discontinue
and lose its motion; from the different properties of mat¬
ter and mind, the sluggishness and inactivity of the one,
and the immense activity of the other, its prodigious flight
of thought and imagination, its penetration, memory, fore¬
sight, and anticipations of futurity, whence it is conclud¬
ed that a being of so divine a nature cannot be extinguish¬
ed. But as these metaphysical proofs depend upon in¬
tricate reasonings concerning the nature, properties, and
distinctions of body and mind, with which we are not very
well acquainted, they are not obvious to ordinary under¬
standings, and are seldom so convincing even to those of
higher reach, as not to leave some doubts behind them.
Therefore perhaps it is not so safe to rest the proof of such
an important article upon what many may call the subtilties
of school learning. Those proofs which are brought from
analogy, from the moral constitution and phenomena of
the human mind, the moral attributes of God, and the pre¬
sent course of things, and which therefore are called the
moral arguments, are the plainest and generally the most
satisfying. We shall select only one or two from the rest.
In tracing the nature and destination of any being, we Moral
form the surest judgment from his powers of action, and proof from
the scope and limits of these, compared with his state, oranal°KT-
wdth that field in which they are exercised. If this being
passes through different states, or fields of action, and we
find a succession of powers adapted to the different periods
of his progress, we conclude that he was destined for those
successive states, and reckon his nature progressive. If,
besides the immediate set of powers which fit him for ac¬
tion in his present state, we observe another set which ap¬
pear superfluous if he were to be confined to it, and which
point to another or higher one, we naturally conclude, that
he is not designed to remain in his present state, but to
advance to that for which those supernumerary powers are
adapted. Thus we argue, that the insect, which has wings
forming or formed, and all the apparatus proper for flight,
is not destined always to creep upon the ground, or to con¬
tinue in the torpid state of adhering to a wall, but is de¬
signed in its season to take its flight in air. Without this
further destination, the admirable mechanism of wings and
the other apparatus would be useless and absurd. The
same kind of reasoning may be applied to man, whilst he
lives only a sort of vegetative life in the womb. He is fur¬
nished even there with a beautiful apparatus of organs,
eyes, ears, and other delicate senses, which receive nou¬
rishment, indeed, but are in a manner folded up, and have
no proper exercise or use in their present confinement.1
Let us suppose some intelligent spectator, who never had
any connection with man, nor the least acquaintance with
human affairs, to see this odd phenomenon, a creature
formed after such a manner, and placed in a situation ap¬
parently unsuitable to such various machinery: must he
not be strangely puzzled about the use of his complicated
structure, and reckon such a profusion of art and admirable
workmanship lost on the subject; or reason byway of an¬
ticipation, that a creature endowed with such various yet
unexerted capacities, was destined for a more enlarged
CHAP. IV..
1 Ludov. Viv. de Religiont Chjisti, Lib. ii.
488
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
gans aie iu mu    . i o
genius have added all the assistances of art, leisure, and
the most liberal education, what narrow prospects can
even they take of this unbounded scene of things from
that little eminence on which they stand ? and how eager¬
ly do they still grasp at new discoveries, without any sa¬
tisfaction or limit to their ambition ?
But should it be said that man is made for action, and Moral
not for speculation, or fruitless searches after knowledge,power
we ask, for what kind of action ? Is it only for bodily
exercises, or for moral, political, and religious ones ? Of
all these he is capable ; yet, by the unavoidable circum¬
stances of his lot, he is tied down to the former, and has
hardly any leisure to think of the latter, or, if he has,
wants the proper instruments of exerting them. The
love of virtue, of one’s friends and country, the generous
sympathy with mankind, and heroic zeal of doing good,
which are all so natural to great and good minds, and
some traces of which are found in the lowest, are seldom
united with proportional means or opportunities of exer¬
cising them ; so that the moral spring, the noble energies
and Impulses of the mind, can hardly find proper scope
even in the most fortunate condition, but are much de-
Motives to sphere of action, in which those latent capacities shall have
Virtue, foil play ? The vast variety and yet beautiful svmrae ry ecludea rom p op the bodil or_ w,,
'and proportions of the several parts and organs with which little t0 1 > those who t0 an a8piin
the creature is endowed, and their apt cohesion with, and gans are in tne womo. i ay, . . r “■« m,
dependence on, the curious receptacle of their hte and
nourishment, would forbid his concluding the whole to be
the birth of chance, or the bungling effort of an unskilful
artist; at-least w'ould make him demur a while at so harsn
a sentence. But if, whilst he is in this state of uncertainty,
we suppose him to see the babe, after a few successful
struggles, throwing off his fetters, breaking loose from his
little dark prison, and emerging into open day, then un¬
folding his recluse and dormant powers, breathing an,
crazing at light, admiring colours, sounds, and all the tair
variety of nature, immediately his doubts clear up, the
propriety and excellency of the workmanship dawn upon
him with full lustre, and the whole mystery of the first
period is unravelled by the opening of this new scene.
Though in this second period the creature lives chiefly a
kind of animal life, that is, a life of sense and appetite, yet
by various trials and observations he gains experience, and
by the gradual evolution of the powers of imagination he
ripens apace for a higher life, for exercising the arts of de¬
sign and imitation, and of those in which strength or dex¬
terity are more requisite than acuteness or reach ot judg¬
ment. In the succeedmg rationa! or inteliectua Pe^°t’ ^ ^“gome^ and almost entirely restrained in the ge-
his understanding, which formerly crept ’ f , Lraiitv by the numerous clogs of an indigent, sickly, or
into a higher sphere, canvasses the nature and judges of the nuI^ J ■ h % such J d.
relations of things, forms schemes, deduces consequences cmtarrassed de were s c g y £ to ^ ^
from what is past, and from present as well as past cdlect f of our ent existe„ce, never,o
r„r„rcnireBVeh gr^ up” ^t- ^ ’ife’ ^ "
social, and a political creature. This is the last Iie"“l* at 1 'Ltt'iViTconsidei'ed"!!! the same time, that no posses-Oist:
^^“SngTnf; Sion, no enjoyment, within the round of mortal t^-
each life is a field of exercise and improvement lor the
next higher one ; the life of the foetus for that of the in¬
fant, the life of the infant for that of the child, and all the
lower for the highest and best.1 But is this the last pe¬
riod of nature’s progression? Is this the utmost extent ot
her plot, where she winds up the drama, and dismisses the
actor into eternal oblivion ? Or does he appear to be in¬
vested with supernumerary powers, which have not lull
exercise and scope even in the last scene, and reach not
that maturity and perfection of which they are capable ,
and therefore point to some higher scene, where he 18
sustain another and more important character than he has
yet sustained ? If any such there are, may we not con¬
clude by analogy, or in the same way of anticipation as
before, that he is destined for that after part, and is to be
produced upon a more august and solemn stage, where
his sublimer powers shall have proportioned action, and
his nature attain its completion ?
Powers in If we attend to that curiosity, or prodigious thirst of
man which knowledge, which is natural to the mind in every period
point to an 0f jts progress, and consider withal the endless round of
after life, business and care, and the various hardships, to which the
bulk of mankind are chained down, it is evident, that in we must uieiciu.^ TV womb 0f man’s
this present state it is impossible to expect the gratified- present state, even at ’ jJ of hig nature are in
tion of an appetite at once so insatiable and so noble, being, in which the P P espondent sphere
Our senses, the ordinary organs by which knowledge is a manner fettered, or for a futurePand unbound-
let into the mind, are always imperfect, and often lalla- of action, and therefore destined t  Qnd ex-
cious ; the advantages of assisting or coirecting them are
possessed by few ; the difficulties of finding out truth
amidst the various and contradictory opinions, interests,
and passions of mankind, are many ; and the wants ot the
creature, and of those with whom he is connected, nume¬
rous and urgent; so that it may be said of most men,
sion, no enjoyment, witnin me ruunu ui muitm .
commensurate to the desires or adequate to the capacities^
of the mind. The most exalted condition has its abate-^
ments ; the happiest conjuncture of fortune leaves many
wishes behind; and, after the highest gratifications, the
mind is carried forward in the pursuit of new ones without
end. Add to all, the fond desire of immortality, the secret
dread of non-existence, and the high unremitting pulse ot
the soul beating for perfection, joined to the improbability
or the impossibility of attaining it here; and then judge
whether this elaborate structure, this magnificent appara¬
tus of inward powers and organs, does not plainly point ou
an hereafter, and intimate eternity to man. Does natuie
give the finishing touches to the lesser and ignoble instances
of her skill, and raise every other creature to the maturity
and perfection of his being; and shall she leave er pri
cipal workmanship unfinished ? Does she carry ^'
tative and animal life in man to their full vigour and highesi
destination ; and shall she suffer the intellectual, moral, ana
divine life of man to fade away, and be for ever extinguisn-
ed ? Would such abortions in the moral world be congruo
to that perfection of wisdom and goodness which up
and adorns the natural ? ,. , ti,e
We must therefore conclude from this detail, that
aereioie   ,
ed state, where they shall emancipate themseW^, a u d
of their strength. The most accomp
ert the fulness of their strength.
mortal in this Tow and dark"apartment of nature 18 ^
 a:   hp shall bn when he takes his eu.
the rudiments of what he shall be when he takes his^^
real flight, and puts on immortality. Wlthou^linLshed
to that state, man were a mere abortion, a rude
Butler’s Analogy, part i.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
489
MotiY to embryo, a monster in nature. But this being once sup- established by God at the creation of the world. This Motives to
Virt posed, he still maintains his rank as the masterpiece of being the case, we must either conclude, that there will v Virtue- ^
be a future state, in which all the moral obliquities of the ^ Y
present shall be made straight; or else admit, that the de¬
signs of infinite wisdom, goodness, and power, can be finally
defeated by the perverse conduct of human weakness. But
this last supposition is so extravagantly absurd, that the
reality of a future state, the only other possible alternative,
may be pronounced to have the evidence of perfect demon¬
stration.
Virtue has present rewards, and vice present punish-Belief of
ments, annexed to them—such rewards and punishments as^mmort'ah“
make virtue, in most cases that occur, far more eligible ^ a Sr^at
than vice ; but, in the infinite variety of human contingen- amidst
cies, it may sometimes happen, that the inflexible practice trials,
of virtue shall deprive a man of considerable advantages to
himself, his family, or friends, which he might gain by a
well-timed piece of roguery; suppose by betraying his
trust, voting against his conscience, selling his country, or
any other crime where the security against discovery shall
heighten the temptation. Or, it may happen, that a strict
adherence to his honour, to his religion, to the cause of
liberty and virtue," shall expose him or his family to the
loss of every thing, nay, to poverty, slavery, death itself,
or to torments far more intolerable. Now, what shall se¬
cure a man’s virtue in circumstances of such trial ? What
shall enforce the obligations of conscience against the al¬
lurements of so many interests, the dread of so many and
so terrible evils, and the almost unsurmountable aversion
of human nature to excessive pain ? The conflict is the
greater when the circumstances of the crime are such
as easily admit a variety of alleviations from necessity,
natural affection, love to one’s family or friends, perhaps
in. indigence ; these will give it even the air of virtue.
Add to all, that the crime may be thought to have few
^V-'the creation; his latent powers are all suitable to the har¬
mony and progression of nature ; his noble aspirations, and
the pains of his dissolution, are his efforts towards a se¬
cond birth, the pangs of his delivery into light, liberty, and
perfection ; and death, his discharge from gaol, his sepa¬
ration from his fellow-prisoners, and introduction into the
assembly of those heroic spirits who are gone before him,
and the presence of their great eternal Parent. The fetters
of his mortal coil being loosened, and his prison walls broken
down, he will be bare and open on every side to the ad¬
mission of truth and virtue, and their fair attendant, hap¬
piness; every vital and intellectual spring will evolve itself
with a divine elasticity in the free air of heaven. He will
not then peep at the universe and its glorious Author
through a dark grating or a gross medium, nor receive the
reflections of his glory through the strait openings of sen¬
sible organs, but will be all eye, all ear, all ethereal and
divine feeling.1 Let one part, however, of the analogy
be attended to. As in the womb we receive our original
constitution, form, and the essential stamina of our being,
which we carry along with us into the light, and which
greatly affect the succeeding periods of our life ; so our tem¬
per and condition in the future life will depend on the con¬
duct we have observed, and the character we have formed,
in the present state. We are here in miniature what we shall
be at full length hereafter. The first rude sketch or out¬
line of reason and virtue must be drawn at present, to be
afterwards enlarged to the stature and beauty of angels.
Immo li- This, if duly attended to, must prove not only a guard,
tyzp 1 but an admirable incentive, to virtue. For he who faith-
j™1^ ' fully and ardently follows the light of knowledge, and pants
^after higher improvements in virtue, will be wonderfully
animated and inflamed in that pursuit by a full conviction
tue.
Prooff
the inei
lity of
sent db
that the scene does not close with life ; that his struggles, bad consequences, may be easily concealed, or imagined
arising from the weakness of nature and the strength of possible to be retrieved in a good measure by future good
habit, will be turned into triumphs; that his career in the conduct. It is obvious to which side most men will lean
track of wisdom and goodness will be both swifter and in such a case; and how much need there is of a balance
smoother; and those generous ardours with which he in the opposite scale, from the consideration of a God, of
glows towards heaven, or the perfection and immortality a Providence, and of an immortal state of retribution, to
of virtue, will find their adequate object and exercise in keep the mind firm and uncorrupted in those or similar
a sphere proportionally enlarged, incorruptible, immortal, instances of singular trial or distress.
On the other hand, what an inexpressible damp must it be But without supposing such peculiar instances, a sense
to the good man to dread the total extinction of that light of a governing Mind, and a persuasion that virtue is not
and virtue, without which life, nay, immortality itself, were only befriended by him here, but will be crowned by him
not worth a single wish ? hereafter with rewards suitable to its nature, vast in them-
i Many writers draw their proofs of the immortality of selves, and immortal in their duration, must be not only a
-the soul, and of a future state of rewards and punishments, mighty support and incentive to the practice of virtue, but
• from the unequal distribution of these here. It cannot be dis¬
sembled that wicked men often escape the outward punish¬
ment due to their crimes, and do not feel the inward in
that measure which their demerit seems to require, partly
from the callousness induced upon their nature by the habits
of vice, and partly from the dissipation of their minds
abroad by pleasure or business; and sometimes good men
do not reap all the natural and genuine fruits of their vir¬
tue, through the many unforeseen or unavoidable calamities
in which they are involved. To the smallest reflection,
however, it is obvious that the natural tendency of virtue
is to produce happiness ; that if it were universally prac¬
tised, it would, in fact, produce the greatest sum of hap¬
piness of which human nature is capable; and that this
tendency is defeated only by numerous individuals, who,
orsaking the laws of virtue, injure and oppress those who
steadily adhere to them. But the natural tendency of vir-
Ue 18 ^le result of that constitution of things which was
a strong barrier against vice. The thoughts of an Al¬
mighty Judge, and of an impartial future reckoning, are
often alarming, indeed inexpressibly so, even to the stoutest
offenders. On the other hand, how supporting must it be
to the good man, to think that he acts under the eye of his
friend, as well as judge. How improving, to consider the
present state as connected with a future one, and every
relation in which he stands as a school of discipline for his
affections; every trial as the exercise of some virtue ; and
the virtuous deeds which result from both, as introductory
to higher scenes of action and enjoyment. Finally, how
transporting is it to view death as his discharge from the
warfare of mortality, and a triumphant entry into a state
of freedom, and security, and perfection, in which know¬
ledge and wisdom shall break in upon him from every
quarter ; where each faculty shall have its proper object;
and where his virtue, which was often damped or defeated
here, shall be enthroned in undisturbed and eternal empire.
Religion of Nature Delineated, sect. 9.
vol. xv.
3 Q
490
M O R
M O R
Moral
Sense
Moravia.
MORAL Sense, that by which we perceive what is
good, and virtuous, and beautiful, in actions, manneis, and
characters. See Moral PniLOSopiiy.
MORASS, a marsh, fen, or low moist ground, which re¬
ceives the waters from above without having any outlet
to carry them off again. Somner derives the word from
the Saxon werse, lake ; Salmasius from MaTe, a collection
of waters ; others from the German marast, a muddy place ;
and others again from maresc, an abbreviation of marice-
turn, a mariscis, rushes. In Scotland, Ireland, and the
north of England, there is a particular kind of morasses
called mosses, or peat-mosses, whence the country people
dig their peat or turf for fuel.
• MORAVIA, one of those larger divisions ol the Aus¬
trian empire which has been formed out of the ancient
margravate of that name, to which has been joined that
whole of the province yields more than is required for Moray K*
consumption. Both hemp and flax are produced in great v^r, M
quantities, and the quality is reported to be excellent.
From want of good water conveyance, the woods are made
valuable by furnishing much pot and pearl ashes. Ihe
northern part is best adapted for the dairy; the breed of
cows is good, and yields much butter and cheese. The
number of them is nearly equal to that of the sheep, which
animals have not yet had so much attention paid to the
improvement of their wool as in the adjoining districts of
Prussia, or as has been devoted to it in some other parts of
^ ustna
The horses, excepting in those parts where they have
been improved by a mixture with the Bohemian breed,
are small in size and not strong; but pains are taking to
improve the race by the introduction of stallions of more
the Great of Prussia. This provmce .s bounded on the Ihe e . b„t the’se were injure(1
which point to the four quarters of the compass. It is situ- ^ear® ^‘‘T "TTon’oo "tnns of iron are procured. There are
ated between 15° 6' and 19° P east longitude, an |),reS j mines yielding about 800 tons of that sub-
Afto AP nnd 50° 25' north latitude. It extends over 10,593 also some alum mines, yieiumg uuuui. , ,
country. The Carpathian Mountains, winch separate it *a“ 5®fn^
from Hungary, send into it many of their projections; and cloth 0"" c‘ 'ie employs more than 10,000 work-
rss =41 r—Sits sx
retch0towardsPthe CX” In'themme Mly parts the The linen trade is a ^SeTtaTpTnri ng •'tdTaTa!
comfort and abundance. The greater part of Morava rs siste;“ “"’^^"““f’Xiryearly, 11 ?he coarsest
between 400 and 950 feet above the level of the sea t'and lawns. With this
by the sloping of the land, the waters are discharged into canvass to the "J®1 da™“ , . f twjne an[1 of cordage.
rivers, which finally terminate in the German Ocean, in branch is joined the .™a , A , f • d strv yielding
tire Baltic, and the5 Black Sea. The Elbe performs the of- Hosiery is also * branch
fice of conveying the streams to the first, the Oder and the stockings, caps, and e , y hatg cutleryj hard-
Vistula to the second, and the Danube to the last of those ting. ?e*e a^® a ^ ^ snuff-mills, and very exten-
seas. The greatest body of water, however, passes by t ie ware, china, and eBrthe , well supplied
Danube, which receives the river Morawa, from which the sive tanneries, ew allcthat ^ requir Jd by the state
province takes its name. The Vistula rises on the con- icra ieir owi ‘l chiefly with the surrounding
fines of the province and quits it before it becomes a con- “[*f'‘ "f thTsame empire, from which, in exchange for
siderable stream, unless at the season when the melting of districts o obtains silk aoods, tobacco, sugar,
the snow on the Carpathian Mountains fills a broad chan- its native productions, it obtamS sllk gooas>
nel, and at other times nearly dry. There are no lakes in coffee, salt, and foreign
Moravia, but many stagnant pools and dikes, especially in
the circle of Znaym, which yield vast quantities of fresh¬
water fish.
The climate of Moravia is peculiarly mild and salubri¬
ous and the cold less severe than in any other part of the
Continent in the same degree of latitude. This is at.ri- These a‘‘X0f Z^pulafionr^d c^sRf both
buted to the protection from the easterly and northerly are about one fourth of t { P . . atois. The
winds which the lofty Carpathian Mountains afford. The high and low’ a^,^StjRo|an Catholic church,
vine is cultivated, and wine produced as high as latitude prevailing religion » t Wished. The Hussite Pro-
490 15'; and the harvest in Moravia is generally five or but the other sects are also e tion 0f the in-
six weeks earlier than in the Prussian province of Sties,a at preseni A* boPdy of that per®-.
W ThUprovince is, with the exeeption of the Italian do- sion under Count Zinxendorf were fo™bdmto a co^S ^
minionsf the best cultivated, the most densely peopled, and Saxony, whence, under thena^ e f H ^ whilst some coffl-
offee, salt, and foreign luxuries. iuvthpir
The inhabitants consist of two races, distmgmshed by tne
difference of language. About three fourths of them a
of the great Sclavonian family, divided into four branche ,
but all with different dialects, using a language ongmat
ing, like the Polish and Bohemian, from that of the 8ia •
These occupy all the most fertile districts. The G
. r* ..I. _ 1* 4-U^ ofrmr
leu, and saxony, wnenoc, unuci mv- ~ e com-
"the mosVprqductiye, of any Pat4 of the Austrian empire.
About two fifths of the land is under the plough, one tutu is munmes nave yM'rravlanT but by themselves are dis-
woodland, and the rest is either meadows, upland pasture, are commonly called Morav a , t hy^ n(m_catl)olic por-
or gardens and vineyards. Although the northern part, tinguished as vtnrpsent consists of 54,000 Lutlie*
formerly Silesia, is naturally a poor soil for corn, yet the tion ot the population at present consists ot ,
M O R
Mor a rans, 14,000 Calvinists, and 28,000 Jews. The institutions
II for education are on a low scale. There is a Lyceum at
Mo. ’ Olmutz, and many inferior schools, to the support of which
shl| ^ the estates of the abolished society of the Jesuits have been
appropriated.
Moravia, from the end of the fourteenth century, was
an independent principality, sometimes under the protec¬
tion of Hungary, at other times under that of Bohemia,
and had its own states and margraves. In 1526 it came
under the government of the sovereigns of Austria, and
has continued so till this time. The states no longer as¬
semble, nor have they done so since 1627. The chief
board of government is held at Brunn, where are the su¬
preme courts, both of civil and criminal law. As nearly as
can be ascertained, the revenue drawn from the present
Moravian province does not exceed L.750,000 sterling an¬
nually ; but besides this, it furnishes recruits for five re¬
giments of infantry, two of cavalry, and three of artillery.
Moravia, a river of Turkey in Europe, which rises in
Bulgaria, runs north through Servia by Nissa, and falls
into the Danube at Semendria, to the eastward of Bel¬
grade.
MORAYSHIRE, or Murrayshire, a county in Scot¬
land. The province of Moray formerly included part of
the shires of Inverness and Banff, and that of Nairn, be¬
sides the present county; but the name is now confined
to this district, which is also known by the appellation of
Elginshire. It is situated between 57° 12' and 57° 43'
north latitude, and between 3° 2' and 3° 58' west longi¬
tude, extending about forty miles from north-east to south¬
west, and in breadth from eight to fourteen miles in the
interior, but upon the coast from seventeen to twenty-
three miles; and it contains, including its lakes, 480 square
miles, or 307,200 English acres, of which only about one
third is productive land. The county of Moray has the
frith of that name on the north, Banffshire on the east, In¬
verness-shire on the south, and Nairnshire on the west.
The river Spey, which, with a few exceptions, separates it
^ from Banffshire, is commonly considered as its eastern
! boundary. On the south, it is intersected by a small part
of Inverness-shire, by which two parishes, Abernethy and
Duthil, partly in this county, are detached from the body
of it. It is divided into fifteen entire parishes, and con¬
tains part of nine more parishes, the rest of which are
situated in the counties adjacent. The presbyteries to
which these parishes belong are, Aberlour, Abernethy,
Elgin, and Forres, all under the jurisdiction of the synod
of Moray.
The natural divisions are the low grounds which stretch
along the coast, varying in breadth, southward, from five
to twelve miles, and the mountains which occupy the inte¬
rior ; yet the former is not without ridges of hills, though of
no great height, which generally rise in a line parallel to the
shore; nor the latter without considerable tracts of low
land, particularly on the branches of the Spey and Find-
iorn, and the other streams which flow from the south.
ie climate, soil, and productiveness of these two divisions
are very different. The climate on the coast is supposed
o be as good as that of any part of Scotland, both in re¬
spect to heat and to dryness ; whilst the prevailing soil is a
sandy loam, in many parts affording plentiful crops, which
ripen early, and are seldom injured by bad weather in the
arvest season. I he wind blows from westerly points for
a most three fourths of the year. The strong gales are from
e north-west, and the most frequent rains are from this
poin and the north. Easterly winds, however, prevail in
e spring months, to the great injury of vegetation. The
nnua fall of rain upon the north-east quarter, near Spey-
ariT+R518 Sai^ t0 roore than twenty-five inches ;
to 6 !jnec”un:1 temperature of the year varies from 45°
• In the mountain district, the winters are long and
M OR 491
severe ; more rain falls than on the coast; and the labours Moray-
of the harvest are sometimes not brought to a close until is^^re-
the crops are covered with snow. Limestone, sandstone,
and slate, with marl, abound in various parts. Iron was
almost a century ago wrought in Strathspey by the York
Buildings Company, and lead at Stotfield by an English
company. Lime is quarried and burned at six different
places. 1 he rivers are the Spey, the Lossie, and the Find-
horn, which receive the waters of a great many mountain
streams. I he Spey, the most considerable, has a course
of thirty miles before it enters Morayshire, at Aviemore,
from which it flows in a deep channel, and with a consi¬
derable fall, till it empties itself, after describing a line of
about ninety-six miles in all, into the sea at Speymouth
Bay. It is not navigable, except near its mouth, and there
only for small vessels; but it affords the means of bring¬
ing down to the sea the forests on its banks ; and the rents
of its salmon fisheries, some years ago, exceeded L.8000
per annum. The Lossie flows almost parallel to the Spey,
about ten miles distant, and, after a course of twenty-four
miles, during which it turns a number of corn mills, falls
into the sea at Lossiemouth, about six miles to the north
of Elgin. The Findhorn, like the two former, flows from
south to north, and enters the Frith of Moray at the vil¬
lage that bears its name, having traversed Inverness-shire,
where it has its source, Nairnshire, and this county, for a
distance of sixty miles. There is also a valuable salmon
fishery on this river. The principal lakes, beginning on
the east, are Loughnaboe, which covers about sixty acres ;
Loch Spynie, which formerly spread over more than 2000
acres, but has since been laid almost dry by drainage;
Inchstellie, Lochloy, and Loughnadurb, containing an
island on which there are the remains of an ancient for¬
tress, and where it is said turnips have been found grow¬
ing naturally. Chalybeate springs are found in every quar¬
ter of the county, but none of them are in much repute.
The valued rent of Morayshire, in Scotch money, is
L.65,603. 0s. 5d., and the real rent, in 1811, of the lands,
was L.62,312. 9s. 6d. sterling, and of the houses, L.2753.
14s. 6d. In the same year, the number of proprietors was
forty-one, five of whom held more than half the valuation
and rental; and that of the freeholders thirty-six. Only
about .a fortieth part is held in feu, the whole, with this
exception, and small portions belonging to the burghs,
being freehold; but nearly a third is under entail. Many
of the proprietors have elegant mansions, of which the
most considerable, beginning on the eastern quarter, are
Innes House, the Earl of Fife ; Findrassie, Tod ; Gordon-
stown and Altyre, Gumming Gordon, Bart.; Duffus, Dun¬
bar, Bart.; Darnway Castle, the Earl of Moray; Brodie
House, Brodie; Grange, Grant Peterkin; Burgie Castle,
Tulloh ; and Elchies House, Grant.
The size of farms on the coast does not often exceed
400 acres, and the greater number are below 150 acres.
The larger farms are generally held on leases of nineteen
years, as in other parts of Scotland, but many of the smaller
tenants have no leases. This division of the countv pro¬
duces all the species of corn grown in Scotland, with tur¬
nips, potatoes, and clovers. In the higher district, barley
and oats, along with potatoes, are almost the only crops, with
small portions of turnips and cultivated herbage, and in
some places a little flax. The native cattle have been im¬
proved by crossing them with the West Highland race;
and of late years, through the exertions of a local Tanning
Society, crosses from the short-horned Teeswater and
Aberdeenshire breeds have been introduced, which have
much increased the size of stock and aptitude to fatten,
thereby insuring to the agriculturists a fertile source of
profit and advantage, from the ready communication with
the London markets, afforded by steam-vessels, which now
regularly navigate the Moray FTith. The sheep, which
492
M. O R
M O R
Morbihan were „rigi„ally similar to those of Zetland, have given sified and sheltered by thriving clumps, belts, and hedge-M*.
ii . .i ™  nn thp hills, and Lei- rows. _ . , .
way to the Cheviot and black-faced on the hills, and Lei-
iyj orb us . -w-^. ^ _ i ^. i <-* v* /-i +v> %*wi o i h p
M way io uie ^ucviut au^     ^
nMo$u,s cester and South Downs on the lowland farms. Upon the
Cormtiahs. er farms on the coast tiie horses are of the very best
description, and even in the higher districts they are not
inferior to those of other parts of Scotland.
The great stimulus given to the agricultural interest in
the production of stock, corn, and smaller commodities, tor
the London market, has incited corresponding exertions
in the owners of harbours along the coast to facilitate ex¬
port. Those of Findhorn and Burghead have of late
been much improved by the construction of additional
quays; and a new harbour is at present (1837) erecting
at Stotfield Point, within six miles of Elgin, which is ex¬
pected to be of very great advantage to the surrounding
d This county contains within its bounds two of the no¬
blest forests in Scotland, viz. Abernethy Forest, of Scotch
fir, and Darnaway Forest, chiefly oak of ™cient8™wt^
There are also extensive recent plantations along banks
of the rivers Spey and Findhorn at Fochabers, Quarry
Wood, &c.; and the district generally is beautifully divei-
Morayshire employs few of its people in manufactures
for sale. A woollen factory has been established at New-
mill, in the parish of St Andrews Lhanbryd; and in the
same quarter another for the weaving of cottons. There
are tanneries at Forres and Elgin; and, at the latter place,
a tawing work of some consideration, which sends most of
its produce to London. The exports are cattle, sheep,
wool, corn, and salmon, with a variety of smaller articles.
The value of the salmon has been stated at about L.25,000,
and that of the other exports at L.80,000 yearly. A consi-
derable quantity of timber is floated down the Spey, and
shipped at Garmouth. The towns and villages’are, Elgin
the county town, Forres, Garmouth, Urquhart, Lossie¬
mouth, Bishopmill, Findhorn, Rothes, and Balnatom. The
first two are burghs; Elgin is joined with Cullen, Bann,
Peterhead, Inverury, and Kintore, and Forres with In¬
verness, Nairn, and Fortrose, in the election of members
for the Scottish burghs. Both these places are of great
antiquity. The population in 1811,1821, and 1831 is ex¬
hibited in the following abstract.
YEAR.
HOUSES.
By how
many Fa¬
milies oc¬
cupied.
1811 6268
1821 ! 6668
1831 | 6919
OCCUPATIONS.
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Agricul¬
ture.
6854
7327
7768
197
162
226
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Trade, Ma¬
nufactures,
or Handi¬
craft.
All other
Families
not com¬
prised in
the two
preceding
classes.
2635
2676
2605
1886
2330
2340
2333
2321
2823
PERSONS.
Males.
12,401
14,292
15,779
Females.
Total of
Persons.
15,707
16,870
18,452
28,108
31,162
34,231
Constituencies in 1836 t-County, 611 voters; burgh of Elgin, 232; burgh of Forres, H7.
MORBIHAN, a department of the north-west of France,
formed out of a portion of Lower Bretagne, and deriving
its name from a shallow bay to the south of Vannes. It
extends in west longitude from 2. 11. to 3. 55., and m north
latitude from 47.17. to 48. 14. It is bounded on the north
by the department of the North Coasts, on the east by that
of Ule-Yilaine, on the south by that of the Lower Lone
and the ocean, and on the west by Fimsterre. It contains
2816 square miles, or 681,704 hectares, and is divided into
four arrondissements, thirty-seven cantons, and 231 com¬
munes, and is peopled by 403,830 inhabitants who for the
most part speak a language nearly resembling that of
Wales, but who are backward in all improvements, and live
mostly in scattered villages or insulated small farms. The
soil on the whole is fertile, and, in spite of a very negligent
state of agriculture, produces a small surplus of the com¬
mon grains, as well as butter, cheese, honey, and cattle, for
exportation. The cultivation of hemp and flax is exten¬
sive, and the conversion of these plants into cloth forms
the chief employment of the inhabitants. The fishery on
the coast affords occupation to numerous persons, and some
are engaged in producing both cast and hammered iron.
The department, from the scarcity of wood, has much to
suffer from the want of fuel. It sends four deputies to the
legislature. The capital is the city of Vannes, containing
10,000 inhabitants. . .,
MORBUS Comitialls, a name given to the epilepsy,
because, if on any day when the Roman people were assem¬
bled in comitia upon public business, any person fell dow
suddenly seized with this disorder, the assembly was dis¬
solved, and the business of the comitia, however important,
suspended.
MORDAUNT, Charles, Earl of Peterborough, a ce¬
lebrated commander both by sea and land, was the son o
John Lord Mordaunt Viscount Avalon, and was born about
the year 1658. In 1675 he succeeded his father in his ho¬
nours and estate. Whilst yet a young man, he served under
Admirals Torrington and Narborough in the Mediterranean
against the Algerines; and in the year 1680 embarked
for Africa with the Earl of Plymouth, and distinguished
himself at Tangier when it was besieged by the Moors, in
the reign of James II. he voted against the repeal of the
test act, and, disliking the measures of the court, obtaine
leave to repair to Holland in order to accept the command
of a Dutch squadron in the West Indies. He afterward,
accompanied the Prince of Orange into this kmgdon., ?na
upon his advancement to the throne was sworn a membe
the privy council, made one of the lords of the bedc
to his majesty, and first commissioner of the treasury,
advanced to the dignity of the Earl of Monmouth. But
in November 1690 he was dismissed from his post in
treasury. On the death of his uncle Henry Earl o W
borough, in 1697, he succeeded to that title , and, P°
accession of Queen Anne, he was invested with the ^
mission of captain-general and governor of Jamaica, i
he was sworn a member of the privy council, and the
year declared general and commander-in-chief of t ^
in Spain, and joint admiral with Sir Cloudcsley Sh ^
the fleet, of which the year following he ^ of
divided command. His taking Barcelona with a ssed
men, and afterwards relieving ^wh.en.^e^e0f Anjou
by the enemy; his driving out of Spain the u efi thJoU.
and the French army, which consisted of tvv^a thou¬
sand men, though his own troops never amounted to
M O R
M O R
493
sand ; his gaining possession of Catalonia, of the kingdoms
of Valencia and Aragon, and of the island of Majorca, with
part of Murcia and Castille, and thereby giving theEarl of
Galway an opportunity of advancing to Madrid without a
blow; are astonishing instances of his bravery and con¬
duct. For these important services his lordship was de¬
clared general in Spain by Charles III. afterwards emperor
of Germany ; and on his return to England he received
the thanks of the House of Lords. His lordship was after¬
wards employed in several embassies to foreign courts,
installed knight of the Garter,' and made governor of the
island of Minorca. In the reign of George I. he was
general of the marine forces of Great Britain, and he
was continued in this post by King George II. He died
in his passage to Lisbon, whither he was proceeding for
the recovery of his health, in 1735. His lordship was dis¬
tinguished by various shining qualities. To the greatest
personal courage and resolution he added all the arts and
address of a general; a lively and penetrating genius, and
a great extent of knowledge upon almost every subject
of importance within the compass of ancient and modern
literature.
MORE, Sir Thomas, Lord High Chancellor of Eng¬
land, was the son of Sir John More, knight, one of the
judges of the King’s Bench, and born in the year 1480, in
Milk Street, London. He was first sent to a school at St
Anthony’s, in Threadneedle Street, and afterwards intro¬
duced into the family of Cardinal Moreton, who in 1497 sent
him to Canterbury College, Oxford. During his residence
at the university he constantly attended the prelections of
Linacre and Grocinus, upon the Greek and Latin languages.
Having in about two years made considerable proficiency
in academical learning, he came to New Inn, in London,
to study the law ; and, after some time, he removed thence
to Lincoln’s Inn, of which his father was a member. Not¬
withstanding his application to the law, however, being
now about the age of twenty, he was so attached to monkish
discipline, that he wore a hair shirt next his skin, practised
frequent fastings, and often slept on a bare plank. In the
! year 1503, being then a burgess in parliament, he distin¬
guished himself in the house, in opposition to the motion
for granting a subsidy and three fifteenths for the mar¬
riage of Henry VII.’s eldest daughter, Margaret, to the
king of Scotland. The motion was rejected, and the king
was so highly offended at this opposition from a beardless
boy, that he revenged himself on More’s father, by send¬
ing him, on a frivolous pretence, to the Tower, and oblig¬
ing him to pay L.100 for his liberty. Being now called to
the bar, More was appointed law-reader at Furnival’s Inn,
which place he held during three years; but about this
time he also delivered, with great applause, a public lecture
in the Church of St Lawrence, Old Jewry, upon St Augus¬
tin’s treatise De Civitate Dei. He had, indeed, formed a de¬
sign of becoming a Franciscan friar, but he was dissuaded
from carrying it into effect; and, by the advice of Dr Colet,
he married Jane, the eldest daughter of Mr John Colt of
Newhall, in the county of Essex. In 1508 he was appoint-
ed judge of the Sheriff’s Court in the citjr of London, was
made a justice of the peace, and became eminent at the
bar. In 1516 he went to Flanders in the retinue of Bi¬
shop Tonstal and Dr Knight, who were sent by Henry
VIII. to renew the alliance with the archduke of Austria,
afterwards Charles V. On his return, Cardinal Wolsey
wished to engage More in the service of the crown, and
offered him a pension, which he refused. Nevertheless,
it was not long before he accepted the place of master of
the requests, was created a knight, admitted of the privy
council, and in 1520 made .treasurer of the exchequer.
About this time he built a house on the banks of the Thames,
at Chelsea, and married a second wife. This lady, by name
Middleton, and a widow, was old, ill tempered, and covet¬
ous ; nevertheless, Erasmus says, he was as fond of her as More,
if she had been a young maid. y—.
In the fourteenth year of Henry VIII. Sir Thomas More
was made speaker of the House of Commons, and in this
capacity he had the resolution to oppose the then power¬
ful minister, Wolsey, in his demand of an oppressive sub¬
sidy ; but notwithstanding this, it was not long before he
became chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, and was
treated by the king with singular familiarity. The king
having once dined with Sir Thomas at Chelsea, walked
with him nearly an hour in the garden, with his arm round
his neck. After he was gone, Mr Roper, Sir Thomas’s
son-in-law, observed how happy he was to be so familiarly
treated by the king. To this Sir Thomas replied, “ I
thank our lord, son Roper, I find his grace my very good
lord indeed, and believe he doth as singularly favour me
as any subject within this realm; howbeit, I must tell
thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof, for if my head
would win him a castle in France, it would not fail to go
off.” From this anecdote it appears that Sir Thomas fully
appreciated the king’s real character.
In 1526 he was sent with Cardinal Wolsey and others
on a joint embassy to France, and in 1529 accompanied
Bishop Tonstal to Cambray. The king, it seems, was so
well satisfied with his services on these occasions, that in
the following year, when Wolsey fell into disgrace, he made
him chancellor ; a circumstance which seems the more ex¬
traordinary, as we are informed that Sir Thomas had repeat¬
edly declared his disapprobation of that divorce, upon which
the great Defender of the Faith was then so earnestly bent.
Having executed the office of chancellor for about three
years, with equal wisdom and integrity, he resigned the
seals in 1533, probably to avoid the danger of a refusal to
confirm the king’s divorce. He now retired to his house
at Chelsea, dismissed many of his servants, sent his chil¬
dren with their respective families to their own houses
(for hitherto he had, it seems, maintained all his children,
with their families, in his own house, in the true style of
an ancient patriarch), and spent his time in study and de¬
votion. But the capricious tyrant would not permit him to
enjoy tranquillity. Though now reduced to a private sta¬
tion, and even to indigence, his opinion of the legality of
the king’s marriage with Anne Boleyn was deemed of so
much importance, that various means were tried to procure
his approbation ; but all persuasion having proved ineffec¬
tual, he was, with some others, attainted of misprision of
treason, for encouraging Elizabeth Barton, the nun of Kent,
in her treasonable practices. His innocence in this affair ap¬
peared so clearly, however, that they were obliged to strike
his name out of the bill. He was then accused of other
crimes, but with the same effect; until, refusing to take the
oath enjoined by the act of supremacy, he was committed to
the Tower, and, after fifteen months’ imprisonment, brought
to trial at the bar of the King’s Bench for high treason, in
denying the king’s supremacy. The proof rested solely
on the evidence of Rich the solicitor-general, whom Sir
Thomas, in his defence, sufficiently discredited; neverthe¬
less the jury brought him in guilty, and he was condemned
to suffer death as a traitor. The merciful Henry, however,
indulged him with simple decollation ; and he was accord¬
ingly beheaded on Tower Hill, on the 5th of July 1535.
His body, which was first interred in the Tower, was beg¬
ged by his daughter Margaret, and deposited in the chan¬
cel of the church at Chelsea, wThere a monument, with an
inscription written by himself, had been erected some time
before. This monument, with the inscription, is still to
be seen in that church. The same daughter, Margaret,
also procured his head after it had remained fourteen days
upon London Bridge, and placed it in a vault belonging to
the Roper family, under a chapel adjoining to St Dun-
stan’s Church, in Canterbury. Sir Thomas More was a
494
M O R
M O R
More.
man of great learning, arid an upright judge; austere in re¬
ligion, yet cheerful, and even affectedly witty.1 Piety was
a principal ingredient in his character, and he was equally
devout and exemplary in all his conduct. In his hours of
relaxation he had recourse to music, and had always a per¬
son to read to him whilst he sat at table, in order to prevent
improper conversation before his children and servants.
He lived in habits of intimacy with the most learned men
of his time, particularly Erasmus, who held the first place
in his affections, and deserved his esteem; nor was he
less respected and admired abroad. When the Emperor
Charles V. heard of his death, he said to the English am¬
bassador, Sir Thomas Elliot, “ I understand that the king,
your master, has put to death his faithful servant and wise
counsellor Sir Thomas More.” The ambassador answered
that he had heard nothing of the matter. “ It is too true,
replied the emperor; “ and this I will say, that if 1 had
been master of such a servant, of whose abilities I have,
these many years, had no little experience, I would rather
have lost the best city in my dominions than so worthy a
counsellor.” It is even said that the ruthless tyrant, who
had pursued him with inflexible perseverance to the scaf¬
fold, felt some compunctious visitings of remorse when
the thirst of vengeance had ceased to operate ; and, upon
receiving the news of his execution, observed to^ Anne
Boleyn, “ Thou art the cause of this man’s death; after
which he hastily withdrew, and shut himself up in an ad¬
joining chamber.
Sir Thomas More was the author of various works, both
in English and in Latin, of which the best known and most
generally esteemed is his Utopia. His English works were
collected and published by order of Queen Mary in lo57 ;
his Latin works appeared at Basil in 1563, and at Louvain
in 1566 ; and both show that he was thoroughly conver¬
sant with every branch of polite learning, bor a minute
account of his works, the reader is referred to Oklys s
Librarian, and preface to Dibdin’s edition of the Utopia.
The best, because the most discriminating and judicious
character of More, is that drawn by Sir James Mackin¬
tosh in his History of England (vol. ii. p. H t, et seq.),
to which the reader is referred. “ He was the first Eng¬
lishman who signalised himself as an orator, the fiist wri¬
ter of prose which is still intelligible, and probably the
first layman since the beginning of authentic history who
was chancellor of England, a magistracy which has been
filled by as many memorable men as any office of a civi¬
lized community.”
This excellent person left one son and three daughters ,
of whom Margaret, the eldest, was remarkable for her
knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages. She mar¬
ried Mr Roper of Wellhall, in Kent, whose life of Sir Tho¬
mas More was published by Mr Hearne at Oxford in
1716. Mrs Roper died in 1544, and was buried in the
vault of St Dunstan’s in Canterbury, with her father’s
head in her arms.
More, Hannah, a distinguished writer of religious and
moral works, was born at Stapleton, in Gloucestershire, in
the year 1745. Her father held the humble situation of
village schoolmaster ; but his sobriety and diligence were
such as to secure for him an appointment to the parochial
school of St Mary Redcliff, at Bristol. Here his daughter
gained the intimacy and patronage of Dr Stonehouse, and
opened an establishment for boarders, having previously,
through the same interest, been enabled to set on foot a
flourishing and respectable day-school. Her first literaly
efforts were some poetical pieces, written for the edifica- Afore
tion of her pupils, and amongst them was a pastoral drama.''—v*
Manuscript copies of these pieces were seen and admired
by several persons of literary taste and discrimination at
Bristol, who strongly recommended their publication. They
accordingly appeared, and the drama, which was entitled
the Search after Happiness, soon became very popular.
This flattering reception having induced the author to try
her strength in the highest walk of dramatic poetry, she
successively brought upon the stage her tragedies of the
Inflexible Captive, Percy, and the Fatal Falsehood, which
closed her dramatic career. Mr Garrick was warmly at¬
tached to her, and, by the exertion of his wonderful his¬
trionic powers in the second of these compositions, it was
enacted at Drury Lane during fourteen successive nights;
but none of her dramas now retain any hold of the stage.
Soon after the production of her first tragedy, she publish¬
ed two legendary poems, entitled Sir Eldred of the Bower,
and the Bleeding Rock, founded upon popular traditions
current in Somersetshire. These pieces had very great
success, as had also her volume of Essays for Young La¬
dies, which she afterwards expunged from the edition of
her works published inTSOl, on the ground that the book
was superseded by her .Treatise on Female Education.
In 1782, Hannah More greatly added to her reputation
by the publication of a volume of Sacred Dramas, to which
was annexed a poem called Sensibility, which was much
commended by Dr Johnson, then the autocrat of litera¬
ture. Being asked his opinion of the author on one oc¬
casion, he replied, “ I know and esteem her well, Sir; and
I think her the best of all our female versifiers.” In 1786,
this indefatigable writer gave to the world two poems,
Florio, a tale, and Bas Bleu, or the Conversation. The
first is a respectable and not ill-natured satire on the fri¬
volous manners of the young gentlemen of the period.
The second is also a satire on the Blue Stocking Club,
which met at Mrs Montagu’s, in Portman Square, and
was so called from one of the members always wearing
that article of dress. Other works successively proceeded
from her pen. Of these the principal are, a Poem on the
Slave Trade, printed in 1788; a tract entitled Thoughts
on the Manners of the Great, which appeared the same
year; an Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable
World, published in the year 1791, and esteemed one ot her
best productions ; Remarks on the Speech of M. Dupont,
in the National Convention, on Religion and Education
(the speaker had openly avowed atheism m that assem¬
bly) ; and further, with the view of opposing the propaga¬
tion of sedition and infidelity, she, in 1795, commenced
at Bath, the Cheap Repository, which was published m
monthly numbers, and contained several very,pleasingly
written tales. This periodical obtained a very wide cir¬
culation, and was said to have had considerable e ec
calming the public mind, then agitated by the oc nne
F MrSor" ntnv removed from Bristol to Cheddar, where
ivirs more now iemuvcu   .
objects of misery having deeply alfected her sympa
and religious feelings, she opened a number of s?
educating the poor children, and alle\iating t ien
Her benevolent designs were at first strenuously 0PP°^u ’
but she ultimately succeeded in establishing a num^
of schools, not only at Cheddar, but all round the 1
dip Hills ; and the good effects which they P^uce ^
became apparent. In 1799 appeared her Stnctur
the Modern System of Female Education, three editions
4 This last disposition, we are told, he could not restrain even at his execution. The day being come 1 d let me shift
seemed so weak that it was ready to fall to pieces ; whereupon he said, I pray, see me safe up^ and tor y u pfuck up thy spirits,
for myself.” His prayers being ended, he turned to the executioner and with f ^erful countenance , honesty.>- Then
man, and be not afraid to do thy office ; my neck is very short, take heed therefore f never committed any treason,
laving his head upon the block, he bade him stay until he had put aside his beard, saying that it had never
M O R
jj0 of which issued from the press in the same year. This
II work was censured by some of the critics as too austere ;
Mor< • but notwithstanding this circumstance, she was called up-
by the highest personages in the realm to put her
sentiments in writing on the proper course of instruc¬
tion to be adopted for the infant heiress to the British
throne. She set diligently to work to obey the royal com¬
mands, and produced, in 1805, a work in two volumes, un¬
der the unassuming title of Hints towards forming the
Character of a Young Princess. It gave high satisfaction
generally; but offence was taken in one quarter, and much
abuse was in consequence poured upon it. In the year 1809
was published Ccelebs in Search of a Wife; two years af¬
terwards appeared Practical Piety, and Christian Morals ;
in 1815 came out an Essay on the Character and Writings
of St Paul; and, soon after her sister Martha’s death in
1819, the literary career of Mrs More terminated with the
publication of Modern Sketches. She was now aged and
infirm, but still continued to take a great interest in the
welfare of charity schools, bible and missionary societies,
and other benevolent and religious institutions. Her piety
supported her in her later afflictions, and she expired with
the composure, and full of the hope and faith, of a Chris¬
tian, on the 7th of September 1833. She is said to have
realised L.30,000 by her works, a very considerable propor¬
tion of which she bequeathed to religious and benevolent
societies.
The works of Hannah More have always been highly
esteemed by the religious world, and she is generally con¬
sidered as one of the most distinguished of that class of
writers who unite great piety with considerable literary ta¬
lent, and dedicate the creations of fancy as well as the de¬
ductions of reason to the service of religion. Her poetry
is not much prized, except by a select few, for the piety
and sound judgment which it displays. In this respect
it bears a general resemblance to the verse of Cowper ;
but it is not very copiously embued with that fine ethe¬
real spirit, which alone can give vitality and soul to the in¬
spirations of the muse. Her prose is justly admired for
its sententious wisdom, its practical good sense, its mascu¬
line vigour, and the dignified religious and moral fervour
which pervades it. Ccelebs passed through six editions in
one year; and since its first appearance it has frequently
been reprinted, besides being translated into several foreign
I languages. fa. r. r.)
MOREA, late a province of the Turkish empire, now
a part of the state of Greece. It extends in north latitude
from 36. 23. 20. to 38. 26. 4. and in east longitude from
21. 5. to 23. 29., being 7920 square miles.
MOREAU, John Victor, one of the greatest generals
of the French revolution, was born at Morlaix, in the year
1763. He was the son of a respectable advocate, who had
destined him for the same profession; but having early
conceived a decided predilection for the army, he enlisted
in a regiment, in which he served for a short time, until
his father purchased his discharge, and sent him to re¬
sume his studies. He did so with considerable success,
and at length becamede droit at Rennes, where he
exercised a sort of supremacy over the students, by whom
he was greatly beloved. In 1787, when the ministry wish¬
ed to effect a revolution in the magistracy, he joined in
jesisting the attempt, and having figured in the early trou¬
bles, as chief of the youth of Rennes, was called “ the ge¬
neral of the parliament.” At the commencement of the
ievolution, he raised a company of volunteer gunners, of
Much he became captain, and having organized and in¬
structed it, he continued to serve in the same capacity until
e year 1792. Far from foreseeing the part which he was
estined one day to perform, he became tired of a situa-
ion which seemed to lead to nothing, and took measures
0 get admitted into the gendarmerie, where he aspired
M O R 495
only to a subaltern rank. But, happily, his wishes were Moreau,
not complied with, and he enrolled himself in a battalion
of volunteers which was then setting out to join the army
of the North.
He made his first campaign under Dumouriez, as com¬
mandant of a battalion ; in 1793, he became general of bri¬
gade, and the following year he was promoted to the rank
of general of division, on the recommendation of Pichegru,
who immediately confided to him a corps destined to act
in maritime Flanders. Moreau took possession first of Me-
nin, then of Bruges, Ostend, Nieuport, the island of Cas-
sandria, and, lastly, of Sluys, which capitulated on the
26th of August. At the moment when he made this con¬
quest for the republic, the revolutionists of Brest were send¬
ing his aged father to the scaffold as an aristocrat. This
venerable old man, whom the people of Morlaix called the
father of the poor, had undertaken to manage the proper¬
ty of some emigrants ; and this was employed as a pretext
to destroy him. Moreau had already become disgusted
with the revolutionary system, and such an event naturally
increased his detestation. He conceived that he had no
longer any country but the camp, nor any home but his
tent in the field.
From this time, however, he began to lay the founda¬
tion of his military reputation, and commanded, with great
distinction, the right wing of the army of Pichegru, which,
during the celebrated winter campaign of 1794, subjugated
Holland to France. Supported by the suffrages and friend¬
ship of his general-in-chief, and esteemed by all for his ta¬
lents and bravery, he was appointed to the command of
the army of the North, when Pichegru went to assume that
of the army of the Rhine and Moselle ; and immediately
devised a plan of operations worthy of a consummate ge¬
neral, which he communicated to the revolutionary govern¬
ment established in Holland, and peremptorily required
them to sanction. After the retreat of Pichegru, he assumed
the chief command of the army of the Rhine and Moselle,
and, in the year 1796, opened that campaign which became
the foundation of his military fame. Flaving driven back
Wurmser towards Manheim, he effected the passage of
the Rhine near Strasburg, attacked the Archduke Charles
at Rastadt, forced him to abandon the course of the Neck-
er, and, on the 11th of August, fought a battle near Hey-
denheim, which lasted seventeen hours. The Austrians
having retired on the Danube, Moreau advanced, and soon
found himself opposed by General Latour, who was daily
receiving reinforcements ; but believing himself supported
by the diversion, or rather the parallel invasion, of Jourdan
towards Ratisbon, he continued his forward movement.
The discomfiture and retreat of Jourdan, however, discon¬
certed all his combinations, and, leaving his flank complete¬
ly uncovered, obliged him to retire. This retreat com¬
menced on the 11th of September, and, though severely
criticised by Napoleon, is unquestionably one of the finest
operations of the kind recorded in the history of war. At
first he appeared desirous to occupy both banks of the
Danube; then suddenly repassing the Lech, he defeated,
one after another, in his retrograde march, all the enemy’s
corps which sought to intercept his retreat. In spite of
the greatest obstacles, he succeeded in debouching into
the Brisgau, passed the Rhine at Brisach, and preserved
on the right bank two bridge-heads, one at Brisach, and
the other at the fort of Kehl. This fine retreat from the
frontiers of Austria and Bavaria to the banks of the Rhine
was generally and justly admired. Though pressed by
superior forces, with both his flanks uncovered, he showed
a religious respect for the neutrality of Switzerland, and
preferred forcing a passage through the defiles of the
Black Forest, already occupied by the imperialists, to the
violation of a neutral and friendly territory; an example
but rarely imitated. Nor was this all. With a noble su-
496
MOREAU.
Moreau, periority to all feelings of rivalry, Moreau, having learned
'that Bonaparte found himself hard pressed by the Aus¬
trian forces in Italy, detached a corps sufficient to rein¬
force him, and received, in return for this seasonable aid,
the warmest acknowledgments from Carnot, then at the
head of the war department.
At the opening of the next campaign, 1197, Moreau, re¬
suming the offensive, effected the passage of the Rhine, in
open day, by main force, and in the face of the enemy ran ged
in order of battle upon the opposite bank. 1 his brilliant
operation took place on the same day that the preliminaries
of Leoben were signed by Bonaparte, and the immedmte
consequences were the surrender of the fort of Kehl, and
the capture of nearly forty thousand prisoners, besides se¬
veral standards. The army passed the rest of the summer
in its positions. . . ,  , .
The republic was then on the verge of a crisis, brought
on by the struggle which had taken place between the ex¬
ecutive directory and the councils, that is, between the re¬
volutionary principle and the commencement of monarchi¬
cal ideas. But it was not until after the 18th of Fructidor
(4th of September 1797) that Moreau, challenged by the
directors, whom force had rendered triumphant, gave up
to them the correspondence of the Prince of Conde with
Pichegru, which had been seized at the commencement
of the campaign, in the baggage-waggons of an Austrian
general, and which he had hitherto kept back, partly from
regard to bis old friend and benefactor, partly from, a de¬
sire to await the issue of the struggle between the govern¬
ment and the councils. Being almost at the same momen
ordered to Paris, by that portion of the directory which had
proved victorious, and to which he had been denounced,
Moreau, on the 7th of September, transmitted to that body
a copy of one of his proclamations, the effect of which, he
said, had been to convert many persons favourable to Piche¬
gru, “ for whom he had long lost all esteem and respect.
This letter, which was then strongly condemned by the
public, as an act of excessive weakness, did not, however,
appear in the same light to Pichegru himself, by whom it
was regarded with indifference ; and it is certain, that his
friendship for Moreau suffered no diminution in conse¬
quence. But, however this may be, it did not conciliate
in favour of the writer the good will of a suspicious go¬
vernment, and Moreau was even obliged to resign, and to
shelter himself in retirement. „ .
He remained unemployed until towards the end or the
year 1798, when he received the title of inspector-genera ,
which was a mere nominal appointment; but in the month
of April 1799, the misfortunes which had attended the re¬
commencement of war rendered his talents necessary. Of
all the French conquests, that of Italy appeared to be in the
greatest danger. Moreau was therefore sent to the army com¬
manded by Scherer, on the Adige, where he remained seve¬
ral months without command, and witnessed defeats which
his counsels could neither prevent nor repair. Scherer,
however, finding all his resources exhausted, devolved on
him the task of saving the army. Moreau had already, m
a council of war, signified his opinion, that the army should
retire on Piedmont, avoiding any serious engagementwith
the Austro-Russian army, which had already acquired a
decided superiority, and was now rapidly advancing under
Marshal Suwarof. At length, after long resisting the en¬
treaties of the other generals, he accepted the command
of the army, when it had retired behind the Adda. Be¬
ing soon forced from his position at Casano, he retired
in good order on the Tesino; and having carried his right
towards the Apennines, he formed a sort of intrenched
camp behind the Po and the Tanaro, between Alessandria
and Valentia. On the 11th of May he repulsed the Rus¬
sians near Bassignano, and then passed the Bormida; but
being assailed by the greater part of the forces undei ou-
warof, he was obliged to evacuate Valentia and Alessan* Morea,
dria. The war had now assumed a counter-revolutionary
character, and every advance of the allies was favoured by
insurrections of the peasants, who joined them on all sides.
In this critical situation Moreau retired upon Coni, and took
up a position on the Col di Tende, causing the division of
General Victor to defile by his right, in order to maintain
his communications with General Macdonald, who was then
rapidly advancing from the kingdom of Naples in order to
join him. In the view of seconding this operation, Moreau
penetrated into the country of Genoa by the Apennines,
the passages and heights of which he occupied; and he
hoped immediately to resume the offensive. But in vain
did he quit Genoa with fifteen thousand men, and beat the
corps with which the Austrian general Bellegarde attempt¬
ed to oppose him ; in vain did he relieve Tortona, and drive
the enemy as far as the Voghera: the victory which Su¬
warof gained over the army of Naples at the Trebbia ren¬
dered all his efforts unavailing, and forced him to regain
the shelter of the Apennines.
Moreau had just been appointed to the chief command of
the army of the Rhine, when Joubert arrived to replace
him in that of Italy. Being on the point of fighting a
battle, which, by the fall of Mantua, and the junction of
Kray with Suwarof, had become inevitable,—Joubert wish¬
ed to leave the direction of it to him ; but he refused, and
begged permission to combat under the orders of the new
chief of the army. At this battle, which was fought at
Novi, and in which Joubert fell, Moreau run the greatest
risks, having had three horses killed under him, and his
uniform pierced by balls. After a fierce conflict, the French
army was defeated; but Moreau operated his retieat with
so much superiority, that he almost nullified the victory
which the allies had gained.
In proceeding to assume the command of the army of the
Rhine, Moreau reached Paris at the moment when the Di¬
rectory was sinking under the weight of contempt, hatred,
and its own imbecility. The faction which had formed the
design of overturning it, persuaded that nothing but the
adhesion of a general of great reputation could restore
consideration to the government, sounded Moreau, who,dis¬
trusting his ability to direct the affairs of his country amidst
the conflict of parties, refused to attempt such a task. It
is known that he afterwards regretted bitterly this distrust
in himself.
On the arrival of Bonaparte, who had escaped from
Egypt, Moreau consented to serve under the orders of that
general, and, by his influence and means, to promote the
revolution which was then preparing. But scarcely had
it been effected at Saint-Cloud, on the 18th of Brumaire
(9th of November 1799), when he saw reason to apprehend
that he had concurred in giving a tyrant to his country.
Being almost immediately called to assume the command
on the Rhine and the Danube, he introduced several im¬
portant changes into the constitution of the army. He be¬
gan by placing the corps of the wings and centre un er
the orders of three lieutenants upon whom he could impli¬
citly depend. He then formed a corps of reserve, amount¬
ing to nearly one third of his whole force, and destined o
act only under his own orders. His plan, which consisted in
penetrating into Suabia, and even into the heart o 1 ® .
reditary states, was not approved by Bonaparte, who, t n -
ing only of reconquering Italy, wished to make the army
the Rhine merely an army of observation. But More
stuck firmly to his plan, and resisted. Napoleon felt g J
offended; and this dispute as to the co-operation ot the
armies proved the germ of that mutual hatred which spru 8
up between these celebrated rivals, and which was p Y
one of the causes of their common ruin. Never theles,
prompt success of the operations on the Rhine co
open to Bonaparte a passage into Italy, by drawing
MOREAU.
497
More
'--JX
Austrians from those positions where they might have in¬
tercepted his communications with France, it became ne¬
cessary to yield, and to leave to Moreau all the honour of
the conception of the plan of campaign, and all the means
for carrying it into execution. Accordingly a sort of ar¬
rangement took place at Paris, where General Dessoles,
head of the staff of the army of the Rhine, discussed the
subject with Napoleon, and ultimately succeeded in in¬
ducing him to give way to the opinion of Moreau.
The success of the campaign which ensued was through¬
out decisive. At its commencement Moreau, having led
Field-marshal Kray, who was opposed to him, to entangle
himself in the valleys descending from the Brisgau, effected
the passage of the Rhine at Stein. He encountered the
enemy, first at Stockach, where he defeated him, and then
fought successively the battles of Engen and Moeskirch, in
both of which he was victorious. Kray, forced to abandon
his line of operations, had retired in good order beyond the
Danube. Moreau immediately marched into Suabia, upon
which the imperial army repassed the river; but being over¬
taken by the French, it was once more defeated at Bibe-
rach. The Austrians then retired into their intrenched
camp at Uhn, and being thus separated from the Tyrol,
could undertake nothing calculated to change the course
of events, or obstruct Napoleon in effecting the passage of
the Great St Bernard. In this way the victories gained by
Moreau facilitated the conquest of Italy; and he even de¬
tached a corps of twelve thousand men to reinforce the
army of the First Consul. Finding, however, that neither
his demonstrations, nor his rapid incursions into Bavaria,
could induce Marshal Kray to quit his unexpugnable po¬
sition at Ulm, Moreau conceived the design of crossing
the Danube below that place, and throwing himself be¬
tween the Austrian army and its magazines, that is, upon its
line of communications. To pass the river above Dona-
werth, to force the enemy’s army to quit its intrenched
camp by detaching it from its base of operations, and to
oblige it to retreat, leaving Bavaria uncovered ; such was
the bold plan, the complete execution of which crowned
the talents of the general by whom it had been devised.
Having advanced beyond the Lech, Moreau attacked the
Austrians along their whole line, crossed the Danube at
Blenheim by main force, and, on the left bank of the river,
in the plains of Hochstiidt, obtained, by similar manoeuvres,
on the 19th of June, an advantage similar to that which
Bonaparte had gained at Marengo only three days before.
Kray having at length abandoned his position at Ulm,
Moreau marched in pursuit of the marshal, whom he once
more vanquished at Neuburg; he then entered Bavaria,
again defeated the Austrians at Landshut, and only sus¬
pended his operations after having caused them to sign, on
the 15th of July, the armistice of Parsdorf, in imitation of
the convention entered into at Alessandria.
This suspension of arms continued until the end of No¬
vember, when Moreau, having returned to his army, an¬
nounced to it the resumption of hostilities. His adver¬
sary was now the Archduke John, and the army opposed
to him amounted to an hundred and twenty thousand men.
This numerical superiority of force inspired the Austrians
with such confidence that they assumed the offensive. The
ovo armies were then separated by the course of the Inn.
Ihe archduke passed the river, and the left wing of the
french, being opposed to the mass of his army, Moreau
retreated, and continuing his movement on Hohenlinden,
succeeded in drawing the enemy into the defiles near that
P ace- The moment for striking a blow had now arrived.
At this place, on the 3d of December 1800, he delivered
the Austrian army that bloody and decisive battle, in
'Jiich there was not a French corps that did not come into
action and cover itself with glory. The contest began in
■Ae centre, and soon became general; but all the efforts
vol. xv. ‘
of the Austrians to debouch from the forest into the plain Moreau,
proved unavailing. The corps ofGeneralRichepanse, march- s'*’~v—"
ing across the forest, turned the Austrian centre, which it
soon put to flight; and this was followed by that of the re¬
mainder of their army. Thus terminated this memorable
battle, which was completely gained by the literal and pre¬
cise execution of the plan prescribed by the general-in¬
chief, particularly in regard to the flank movement of
Richepanse on the enemy’s line of retreat, which decided
the fortune of the day. At four o’clock, eleven thousand
prisoners and a hundred pieces of cannon were in the
hands of the victors ; and these trophies would have been
still more considerable had not the long winter night and
the bad state of the roads favoured the retreat of so many
broken and disunited corps. More than six thousand Aus¬
trians remained on the field of battle, whilst the loss of the
French did not exceed two thousand five hundred men
killed and wounded. To the congratulations of his gene¬
rals, Moreau replied by attributing to them the principal
share in the glory of the day; and the only indication of
joy which escaped him was betrayed by the observation he
made to them : “ My friends, you have conquered peace.”
The archduke having taken refuge behind the Inn, Mo¬
reau pursued him without intermission, gained another vic¬
tory at Lauffen, and having passed the Salza, occupied
Saltzburg, penetrated into the hereditary states, and, con¬
tinuing his advance, carried terror to the gates of Vienna.
Nor did he suspend his march until the Archduke Charles,
who had been again placed at the head of the imperial army,
announced to him that the emperor had resolved to make
peace, whatever might be the determination of his allies ;
and this declaration served as the basis of the armistice of
Steyer, signed on the 25th of December. This campaign
of twenty-five days placed Moreau in the rank of the
greatest captains, and entitled him to the homage of pub¬
lic admiration, which was paid to him on his return to Paris.
Bonaparte presented him with a pair of pistols magnifi¬
cently mounted, observing that he had wished to have had
his victories engraved on them, but found that there would
not be room; a forced eulogium, which betrayed the ill-
dissembled jealousy excited by so many triumphs. Napo¬
leon knew that Moreau had been indebted for his victories
to the rare devotion of the secondary generals, and the
good spirit of the army, which he had captivated by his
natural benevolence ; he was not ignorant that Moreau
commanded with firmness, but never with harshness, pre¬
serving always towards his principal officers the affection¬
ate tone of a comrade; and that his head-quarters resem¬
bled a family circle, where all objects of public interest
connected with war and administration were discussed with
the most perfect freedom.
This last consideration had given great umbrage to Bo¬
naparte ; and Moreau, who was deficient in civil prudence,
acted in such a manner as to increase the suspicion with
which he was regarded. His house became the rendez¬
vous of persons avowedly inimical to the consular govern¬
ment ; and he was by imperceptible degrees drawn into
that fatal connection with Pichegru and his associates
which eventually proved the cause of his ruin. The par¬
ticulars of this affair, with the arrest, imprisonment, trial,
and sentence of Moreau, will be found narrated in the his¬
torical portion of the article France, to which the reader
is accordingly referred. On the 10th of June 1804, he was
sentenced to two years’ detention, which, by the influence
of Fouche, was commuted into permission to travel, on con¬
dition that he should retire to the United States, and not
return to France without the leave of Bonaparte. He ac¬
cordingly set out for Spain, escorted by gendarmes, and in
1805 embarked at Cadiz for the United States, where he
resided for about eight years, beloved and respected by all
who knew him.
3 R
498
M O R
Morebat After the disasters which befel the French grand army
f] in the retreat from Moscow, and when Napoleon, with m-
Morel. credible energy, was repairing his losses, and about to re-
' new the contest in Germany, the Emperor Alexander, aware
that he had no general capable of contending with that
wonderful man, made secret overtures to Moreau ; and the
latter having decided to embrace the offers of the Czar,
and join him in the approaching contest, embarked on the
21st of June 1813 with M. de Svinine, counsellor of the
Russian embassy, and on the 24th of July entered the port
of Gottenburg. At Stralsund he passed three days with
his old companion in arms Bernadette, then Crown Prince
of Sweden, and having concerted with him the plan of the
ensuing campaign, proceeded to join the allied sovereigns
at Prague, where, as might have been expected, he was
received in the most flattering manner.
The plan of the allies consisted in debouching from
Bohemia with their grand army, in order to turn and at¬
tack Dresden, which formed the pivot of Napoleon s ope¬
rations. The attack commenced on the 26th of August,
and was resumed the following day, when Moreau, having
advanced to observe a movement of the French, was struck
by a cannon ball, which fractured the knee of the right leg,
and, passing through, carried away the calf of the left.
He fell into the arms of Colonel Rapatel, exclaiming, i
am done for, but it is pleasant to die in so good a cause.
Being removed to an adjoining house, he there underwent
amputation of the right leg, and the same operation was
performed on the left, which had been too much shattered
to admit the possibility of its being saved. In this h°™'
bly mutilated condition, the allied army being now in full
retreat, he was transported to a considerable distance on a
blanket covered with curtains, and the following day car¬
ried as far as Laun, where he lingered in agony till the
morning of the 2d of September, when he expired. At
the time of his death he had prepared for publication a
proclamation to the French, which the Emperor Alexander
had approved, and in which he explained the object of his
return to Europe, the most questionable act of his life ;
namely, to assist the French in emancipating themselves
from the despotism of Bonaparte, and to sacrifice his life,
if necessary, to restore prosperity to his country, all the
true sons of which he invited to rally round the stan¬
dards of independence. It is unfortunate for his memoiy,
however, that he died in arms against his country; that his
personal wrongs obliterated all sense of the duty which he
owed her as a son, whoever might be at the head of her
government; and that, having joined the enemies of her
glory, he fell in the moment when the arms of France
were victorious. As a warrior, however, Moreau was supe¬
rior to all the generals of the Revolution, Napoleon ex¬
cepted ; he combined the caution of Fabius with the cool
determination of Turenne ; in every succeeding campaign
his genius shone forth with increased splendour; and his
last achievement at Hohenlinden exhibited an union of
scientific combination with precise and vigorous execution
which has seldom been equalled and never surpassed, (a.)
MOREBAT, a sea-port of Arabia, situated on the
southern coast, on a bay bounded by a cape of the same
name. It is a poor place; and the inhabitants carry on lit¬
tle trade either by sea or land with the interior. The
town is about two miles south of the Cape. Long. 55. 4. E.
Lat. 17. N.
MOREL, William, a learned printer, was born in the
year 1505, at Tilled, a town of the county of Mortain, in
Normandy. Though the son of poor parents, he neverthe¬
less found means to procure education; made rapid progress
in the study of the ancient languages; and having gone to
Paris, gave lessons in Greek to some young persons, and
then became corrector of the press to Jean Loys, better
known under the name of Tibetan. In 1544, he publish-
M o R
ed a commentary on Cicero’s treatise De Finibus, which M0
he dedicated to Spifame, chancellor of the university; in^-^*
1548, he assisted Bogard in an edition of Quintilian’s In-
stitutions, to which he added notes ; the following year he
was admitted into the corporation of printers at Paris, and
established, near the college of Reims, a printing-house,
whence issued several editions of Greek works, esteemed
for their correctness ; and, in 1552, he was associated with
Turnebus as printer of Greek to the king, and appointed
his successor in the direction of the royal printing estab¬
lishment. After this he published several good editions, en¬
riched with notes and various readings derived from the
best manuscripts ; but he was ill recompensed for his zeal,
and died on the 19th of February 1564, leaving his family
in absolute want. Besides the commentaries on Ciceros
treatise, already mentioned, he published, 1. Notes on the
works of Dionysius the Areopagite, Cyprian, Demosthe¬
nes, &c. an explanation of the most difficult passages in
the oratorical works of Cicero, and a supplement to the
Chronicle of Carion; 2. Latin translations of the Opinions
of the Fathers on the respect due to Images, the Epistles
of Ignatius, and other works ; 3. De Graecorum Yerborum
Anomaliis Commentarius, Paris, 1549, and Lyons, 1560, in
8vo ; 4. Commentarius Yerborum Latinorum cum Graecis,
Gallicisque conjunctorum, Paris, 1558, in 8vo, reprinted
under the title of Thesaurus Vocum Omnium Latina/rum,
ordine alphabetico digestarum ; 5. 1 abula Compendiosa de
Origine, Successione, &c. Veterum Philosophorum, Paris,
1578, in 4to. (A-)
Morel, Frederick, the elder, was descended of a family
of distinction in Champagne, where he was born in the year
1523. He went to Paris to study the ancient languages,
in which he made remarkable progress. In 1552, he un¬
dertook to revise the manuscript of Toussain’s Greek
Lexicon, the first edition of which was published the same
year; and in 1559, he established a printing-house in the
Rue Saint-Jean de Beauvais. His erudition was already
so considerable, that the most distinguished writers eager-
ly intrusted him with the publication of their works. In
1571, he was appointed first printer in ordinary to the
king. This title, however, he but rarely assumed, and only at
the end of books which had issued from his own press. In
1581, he obtained the reversion of the office for his son,
and died on the 17th of July 1583. Besides some small
pieces in Greek and Latin inserted by Mattaire in the
Life of this printer, he wrote, 1. Three Treatises of ht
Chrysostom, translated in French, 1557, in 16to; 2. Dis-
cours du Yray Amour de Dieu, 1557; 3. De la guerre
continuelle, et perpetuel combat des Chretiens contr^
leurs plus grands et principaux ennemis, 1564, in 8vo; 4.
Douze Manieres d’Abus, extracted from the works of ht
Cyprian. ''
Morel, Frederick, the younger, one of the most learn¬
ed Hellenists of his age, was born at Paris in lo58, and,
after completing his classical studies, sent to Bourges o
attend the prelections of the celebrated Cujas. Bavmg
compared with the text the version which Amyot fia(J
published of part of the works of Plutarch, he found tha
the translator had not always rendered faithfully the se
of the original, and ventured to intimate this to urn* ,
Amyot, far from taking amiss the boldness of the yo >
received his communication kindly, and ever a tei
took a deep interest in his success. Young Morel
ceeded his father as printer to the king in the year >
but it was not until 1583 that his name appeared in tn
print of the works which issued from this press.
tions he published were remarkable for their befuty "d.in
tions ne published wcic   ' rpsfjng
rectness ; and he commonly enriched them wlth ^ J
prefaces and notes. Having married the daughter
Duchesne, professor of eloquence in the Royal C° ^
obtained, through the influence of Amyot, the ch
M O R
jlor, father-in-law, which the advanced age of the latter obliged
-'him to resign in the year 1585. But the duties of this of¬
fice did not abridge his typographical labours; for he suf¬
fered not a year to elapse without publishing some new
editions of Greek authors, with learned commentaries or
translations, the merit of which is still recognised. In
1600, he took into partnership with him his brother, Claude
Morel, to whom he committed the direction of the print¬
ing establishment; and applied with more ardour than ever
to the collation of manuscripts, and the verbal criticism of
the ancient authors. Nor did the zeal which he evinced
for the advancement of letters remain without recompense.
Henry IV. augmented his salary as professor, and made
him several grants to facilitate the impression of works, the
sale of which was not likely to be proportional to their uti¬
lity. In 1617, Morel renounced the exercise of his art, at
least no work of a posterior date with his name affixed to
it has yet been discovered; in 1619, he published a new
edition of the Plutarch of Amyot, with numerous correc¬
tions, and a curious advertisement which Mattaire has in¬
serted in his Vitce Typographorum Parisiensium (p. 135) ;
and he died on the 27th of June 1630, being at the time of
his decease deacon of the royal printers and professors.
Besides the numerous editions which he published with
prefaces, advertisements, and corrections, he was the author
of, 1. Notes on Strabo, Catullus, Tibullus, Pi’opertius, the
Sylvce of Statius, Dion-Chrysostom, Gicumenius, &c.; 2.
Translations into Greek verse of several Hymns and Epi¬
grams selected from Martial; 3. Various translations into
Latin prose and verse; 4. Alexander Severus, Tragcedia
togata, 1600, in 8vo. (a.)
MORELL, Andrew, an eminent antiquary, was born at
Berne, in Switzerland, on the 9th of June 1646. He had a
strong passion for medals, in the knowledge of which he
equalled, if not surpassed, all his contemporaries ; and in the
course of his travels, which were extensive, he made large
collections of them. His rapid progress in history developed
his taste for numismatics, which he regarded as one of the
principal foundations of historical knowledge; and this taste
' was improved by his acquaintance with Charles Patin, au¬
thor of a work on the subject, whom he had accidentally
met at Bale, and whose friendship he ever afterwards re¬
tained. In 1680, Morell went to Paris, where his reputa¬
tion procured him admission into the society of the learned,
and where, in 1683, he published Specimen Universce Pei
Nummarice AntiqucE, a second edition of which, corrected
and enlarged, appeared at Leipzig in 1695. Soon after the
publication of this essay, which was intended as a speci¬
men of a greater work, embracing a complete collection
and description of ancient medals, he was associated with
Rainssant in the keepership of the royal cabinet of medals,
and applied with indefatigable ardour to the classification
and arrangement of the rich materials it contained. When
he had completed this laborious task, the promised recom¬
pense was from some cause deferred; and having com¬
plained ot the delay in a manner which displeased Louvois,
he was by order of that minister committed to the Bastille,
where he was confined for more than three years. By the
mtercession of the government of Berne, he was liberated
I on the 16th of November 1691, and returned to his native
city, where he resumed the prosecution of his great work,
at made little progress, being unable to defray the heavy
IfiQi1186 necessary f°r th® execution of his design. In
94 he went to Germany, upon an invitation from the
| ount de Schwartzenburg-Arnstadt, who had a fine collec-
ion of medals, with the charge of which he intrusted Mo-
re > at the same time furnishing him with the means of
oariymg on his great work. But he did not long enjoy the
com on and tranquillity which he found in the castle of
rnstadt. A fall from a carriage, in which he dislocated
18 Moulder, and a consequent attack of paralysis, obliged
M O R 499
him to suspend his labours, and he died on the 11th of April Morell
1703, lamenting that he had not been able to complete the II
work upon which he had so long been engaged. Haver- v Corelli.
camp having collected and arranged his scattered materials, ^ v ^
published, in 1734, Thesaurus Morellianus, siveFamiliarum
Romanarum Numismata Omnia, in two vols. folio, of which
one consisted of plates and the other of text. Morell hav¬
ing also left in manuscript the numismatical history of the
first twelve Roman emperors, Havercamp, Schlegel, and
Gori, undertook to publish it with ample commentaries;
and the work appeared in 1752, under the title of Thesauri
Morelliani Numismata Aurea, Argentea, JErea, cujusque
moduli xii. priorumlmperatorum, Amsterdam, in three vols.
folio, with figures. Morell also published several letters,
particularly one in Latin addressed to Perezonius De Num-
mis Consularihus, which appeared in 1701, in 4to. (a.)
Morell, Thomas, well known as a classical scholar and
editor, was born at Eton, in Buckinghamshire, on the 18th
of March 1703. At the age of twelve, he was admitted
on the foundation at Eton School, and thence elected in
1722 to King’s College, Cambridge, where he successively
took his degrees in arts and theology. In 1731, he was ap¬
pointed curate of Kew, and for some time officiated in the
same capacity at Twickenham ; in 1737, he was, on the
presentation of his college, instituted rector of Buckland ;
and in 17/o, we find him acting as chaplain to the garrison
at Portsmouth. He died on the 19th of February 1784,
after having devoted his long life to the discharge of his
ecclesiastical duties, and the cultivation of the ancient
languages, diffusing at once the love of religion, and a taste
for classical literature. His principal works are, 1. A Col¬
lection of Theological Poems, original, and translated from
the Latin of Vida, with notes, London, 1732-36, in 8vo; .
2. An edition ot Chaucer s Canterbury Tales, with modern
imitations, London, 1x37; 3. An edition of the works of
Spencer, 174x; 4. I he Hecuba, Orestes, Phcenissae, and
Alcestes of Euripides, with ancient scholia and notes, Lon¬
don, 1748; 5. An English translation of the Hecuba, with
annotations; 6. The Prometheus of Aeschylus, with scholia,
notes, and an English translation in blank verse, 1767; 7.
Two Letters on Greek inscriptions found upon an altar at
Corbridge in Northumberland; 8. Editions of the Greek
Lexicon ot Hederick, and of the Latin Dictionary of Ains¬
worth ; 9. Thesaurus Graecse Poeseos, sive Lexicon Grmco-
Prosodiacum, Eton, 1762, in 4to, an imitation of the Gra-
dus ad Parnassum, since considerably augmented and en¬
larged by Dr Maltby, Cambridge, 1815 ; 10. Various other
works, particularly a catalogue of Mr Child’s library, in 4to,
and Annotations on Locke’s Essay, 1793, 8vo. (a.)
MORELLI, James, the celebrated librarian of St Mark,
at Venice, was born in that city on the 14th of April 1745.
His father, a native of Lugano, exercised the employment
ot proto-muratore. Morelli received the rudiments of his
education under a priest named Testa, but it was in a con¬
vent of Dominicans that he acquired a taste for solid stu¬
dies, and laid the foundation of his future eminence. Hav¬
ing assumed the clerical habit, he was in due time admitted
into the priesthood, the duties of which, however, did not
prevent him from devoting a considerable portion of his
time to literary pursuits; and at length he became an able
critic, a learned antiquary, and rendered himself familiar
with the history of nations as well as that of the sciences
and arts. But the subject which chiefly interested him
was that of bibliography, in which he was destined to attain
to great eminence and distinction. In 1774, he printed
his Dissertazione Storica dellapublica Libreria di S. Marco.
In 1785, he published his Latin version of the oration of
Aristides against Leptines, the Declamation of Libanius
for Socrates, and fragments of the second book of the
Harmonic Elements of Aristoxenes, all from Greek manu¬
scripts. But one of his most important publications is
500
M O R
Moreri. that of the Fragments of Dion Cassius on Roman History,
■ y ' with new readings, which appeared in 1798, and was fol¬
lowed by a great variety of other publications and editions.
In 1802. the Emperor Francis conferred on him the title
of aulic counsellor ; in 1816, he received the decoration of
a knight of the iron crown ; and in the beginning of May
1819, he died, at the advanced age of seventy-four. A
complete list of Morelli’s numerous publications, sixty-two
in all, is annexed to the account of his life in the Biographic
Universelle, to which the reader is referred, as, from their
peculiar nature, any selection would not serve to give an
idea of their general character. They are chiefly biblio¬
graphical, intermixed with editions of various works, some
of which have already been noticed. (A*)
MORERI, Louis, author of the Historical Dictionary
which bears his name, was born at Bargemont, in Provence,
on the 25th of March 1643. Being destined for holy orders,
he received the elements of his education at Draguignan
and at Aix, and afterwards went to study theology at Lyons,
where he acquired a knowledge of the Italian and Spams
languages, which afterwards proved of great use to him in
his biographical labours. His early productions gave but
faint indications of his future eminence. At the age of eigh¬
teen he composed the Paysd'Amour, a frigid allegory, and,
under the title of the Doux Plaisir de la Poesie, made a col¬
lection of pieces in verse ; but the former evinced no pecu¬
liar aptitude for the ecclesiastical state, and the latter gave
little promise of such a work as the Historical Dictionaiy.
Durino- his residence at Lyons he took priests orders, and
preached controversy. But the idea which had long occu¬
pied his mind, and to the development of which he devoted
bis life, was the composition of his Dictionary, which ap¬
peared at Lyons in 1673, in one volume folio, when he was
only thirty years of age. The immense erudition displayed
in this work excited general admiration ; but, as might have
been expected, it was nevertheless found to be very incom¬
plete. The author, however, applied himself with great vi¬
gour to enlarge it; and the second edition, in two vols. folio,
was printed at Paris in 1681, the year after the author’s death.
The third edition, which appeared in 1683, is merely a re¬
print of the second; but, in 1689, a third or supplemental
volume was published ; and the whole, revised, corrected,
and enlarged by Leclerc, was afterwards printed at Am¬
sterdam, 1691, in four volumes folio. To the imperfections
of this Dictionary we are indebted for that of Bayle, who at
first proposed only to correct the errors or supply the omis¬
sions of Moreri. Speaking of the faults of his predecessor,
Bayle anxiously guards himself against being misundei-
stood: “ I do not wish that the unfavourable idea which this
may give of his1 work,” says he, “ should lessen the gra¬
titude which is due to him. I enter into the sentiments of
Horace respecting those who primarily show us the right
road. The first authors of dictionaries have doubtless com¬
mitted many faults ; but they have earned a glory of which
their successors can never deprive them.” To the gratitude
of posterity, which Bayle claims in favour of Moreri, the
latter has an additional claim, arising from the circumstance
of his having fallen a victim to the zeal with which he pro¬
secuted his laboYious undertaking; for excessive labour bav¬
ins exhausted his strength, he died at Paris on the 10th of
July 1680, in the thirty-eighth year of his age, when only
the"first volume of the second edition of the Dictionary had
passed through the press. The principal defect of Moreri’s
work consists in the inaccuracy of the geographical portion,
in the awkward jumble of mythology and history, in his pei-
plexed nomenclature, aifd the number and prolixity of his
genealogies ; but he has nevertheless the merit of being the
author of the first work in which are found the names of
all those personages who have any title to celebrity. Mo¬
reri was also the editor of the Vies des Saints, in three vols.,
the style of which he corrected, adding chronological tables;
M O E
and of a Relation Nouvelle du Levant, or treatise on the re- Mores-
lio-ion, government, and customs of the Persians, Armenians, ||
and other eastern nations, by Father Gabriel de Chinon. He
had likewise collected materials for an historical and bib-^ ^
liographical dictionary of celebrated Provencals, and com¬
menced a history of the Councils; and he further left in
manuscript a treatise on new year’s gifts. (a.)
MORESQUE, Moresk, or Morisco, a kind of paint¬
ing, carving, or other similar work executed after the man-
nerof the Moors, and consisting of several grotesque pieces
with compartments promiscuously intermingled, containing
not any perfect figure of a man, or other animal, but only
a wild resemblance of birds, beasts, trees, and the like.
These are also called arabesques, and are particularly used
in embroideries, damask, and other work of a similar kind.
Moresque Dances, vulgarly called morrice dances, are
those arranged in imitation of the M^oors, as sarabands,
chacons, &c. and usually performed with castanets, tambours,
and other instruments. There are few country places in
England where the morrice dance is not known. It was
probably introduced about the reign of Henry VIII.; and is
a dance executed by young men in their shiits, with bells
at their feet, and ribands of various colours tied round their
arms, or flung across their shoulders.
MORETON-EN-MARSH, a township of the parish of
Bourton-on-the-Hill, in the hundred of Westminster, and
county of Gloucester, eighty-two miles from London, on the
great road to Birmingham by Oxford. The ancientfoss-
way from the west to the north of England runs through
this town. The population amounted in 1801 to 829, in
1811 to 928, in 1821 to 1015, and in 1831 to 1331.
MORGAGNI, John Baptist, one of the greatest phy¬
sicians of the eighteenth century, was born at Forli,in Italy,
on the 25th February 1682. After having made rapid pro¬
gress in the learned languages and belles lettres, he studied
medicine at Bologna, where he remained several years, and
then proceeded to Venice and Padua, in which places he
made numerous experiments both in physics and in compa¬
rative anatomy. At the age of twenty-four he published his
Adversaria Anatomica prima, and, in 1712, was appointed
professor of the theory of physic at Padua. He then occu¬
pied himself with the continuation of his Anatomical Me¬
moirs, in which he describes the intimate structure o a
number of organs which had been ill observed before his
time ; refutes the criticisms of Bianchi, who had disputed
some of his views; and exposes the errors which had been
committed by Manget in his Theatre Anatomique. ihis
work was applauded by the greatest anatomists of the time,
amongst whom maybe mentionedRuysch, Boerhaave,Heis-
ter, Winslow, Hoffmann, Mead, Senac, and Meckel. Mor¬
gagni was now promoted to the first chair at Padua, and
successively admitted a member of the Royal Society
London, the Academy of Sciences at Pans, and the acade¬
mies of Petersburg and Berlin, besides several earned ita
ban institutions. Morgagni continued to labour til the c
of his long and honourable career, which terminated on me
6th of December 1771, at the age of nearJymnety-11
knowledge of Morgagni was not confined to the medical a •
His vast erudition embraced philology, cr‘ticis™’ h}’
and antiquities, as we gather from his works, of wDch^a
following is an enumeration, viz. 1. Adversana^Anatom ^
following is an enumeration, viz.. ±.
prima, Bologna, 1706, in 4to, altera et tertja, ^ ^
in 4to, quarta, fluinta, et sexta, Padua, 1719, m .
versaria Omnia, Padua, 1719, m 4to; 2. Nova I"
Medicarum Idea, Padua, 1712, m 4to; 3. n _ Enistol*
Hum Celsum et Quintum Serenum Samonicum Ep ^
quatuor, Hague, 1724, in 4to; 4. Epistolae Anatom c d
novas Observationes et Animadversiones cout nente^ y
den, 1728, in 4to ; 5. Epistol® Anatomies du d ^g^
Venice, 1749, in two vols. 4tO ; 6. De Sedibus e^C
Morborum per Anatomen indagatis, hbn v. Ven >
M O R M O R 501
entwo vols. fol.; 7. Miscellanea Opuscula, Venice, 1763, in fol.
The works of Morgagni were collected and published in
an uniform manner by his disciple Antony Larber, under
*^the title of Opera Omnia, Bassano, 1765, in two large
volumes folio ; and his life was written, first by Fabroni
in the Vitce Italorum, and next separately by Mossea,
Naples, 1768, in 8vo. (a.)
MORGARTEN, a small village on a hill in Switzerland,
on the frontier of the two cantons of Zug and Schwitz. It
is of small extent and population, and only remarkable
from its historical recollections. It was the field of the
first battle fought by the Swiss for their independence in
1315, when they defeated the Austrians under Duke Leo¬
pold. It is situated on a small lake, which must formerly
have been higher than it is at present, as the local circum¬
stances of that battle do not exactly suit the present situa¬
tion. It was also the battle-field in 1798, where the pea¬
santry of Switzerland defeated the French invaders ; and,
finally, it was the spot where a division of the French army
was defeated by the Austrians in 1799.
MORGHEN, Raphael, one of the most distinguished
engravers that ever lived, was born at Naples in 1758. His
father followed the profession of engraver, and from him
young Morghen received his earliest instructions ; but, in
order more profoundly to initiate him in the art, he was
afterwards placed as a pupil under the celebrated Volpato.
He assisted this great master in engraving the famous pic¬
tures of Raffaelle in the Vatican, and the print which re¬
presents the miracle of Bolsena is inscribed with his name.
He married the daughter of his master, and being invited
to Florence to engrave the masterpieces of the Florentine
gallery, he removed thither with his wife in 1782. All
the works which he produced on this occasion were admi¬
rable ; one in particular, the copy of Raffaelle’s Madonna
della Seggiola, is considered not only as the most excellent
in the collection, but as a chef~d'ceuvre of art. His reputa¬
tion now became so great as to induce the artists of Flo¬
rence to recommend him to the grand duke as a fit per¬
son to engrave Leonardo da Vinci’s noble composition of the
Last Supper, which adorns the wall of the refectory in the
Dominican Convent at Milan. This picture is not only
itself dilapidated, but the drawing which was made for
Morghen being unworthy of the great original, the print
of our artist, although an admirable production, fails to
convey a correct idea of the style and merit of Leonardo.
His fame, however, soon extended over Europe ; and the
Institute of France, as a mark of their admiration of his
talents, chose him as an associate in 1803. In 1812, Napo¬
leon invited Morghen to Paris, and paid him the most flatter¬
ing attentions. A list of this great artist’s works was pub¬
lished at Florence in 1810; the number comprised two hun¬
dred compositions, but subsequently to this period he pro¬
duced a considerable variety of admirable prints. Amongst
the most remarkable of Morghen’s productions, besides
those already mentioned, may be noticed the Transfigu¬
ration, from Raffaelle; a Magdalen, from Murillo; a Head
of the Saviour, from Da Vinci; the Car of Aurora, from
Guido; the Hours, from Poussin; the Prize of Diana, from
Domenichino; the Monument of Clement XIII. from Cano¬
la; Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur; portraits of Dante,
Petrarca, Ariosto, Tasso, and a number of other eminent
individuals. Some remarks on the style and general merits
of this artist will be found in the article Engraving. Mor¬
ghen died in 1833, at the advanced age of seventy-five.
MORISON, Robert, physician and professor of botany
at Oxford, was born at Aberdeen in 1620. He was bred at
the university of that place, where he taught philosophy for
some time; but having a strong inclination to botany, he
niade great progress in that science. The civil wars obliged
him to leave his country, but he did not take this step until
m had first signalized his zeal for the interest of the king,
and his courage, in a battle which was fought between the Moritz, St
inhabitants of Aberdeen and the Presbyterian troops, on the 11
bridge of Aberdeen, in which he received a dangerous Morkix.
wound on the head. As soon as he was cured, he proceeded "" ^
into France ; and having settled at Paris, applied assidu¬
ously to the study of botany and anatomy. He was intro¬
duced to the Duke of Orleans, who committed to him the
direction of the royal gardens at Blois. This office he ex¬
ercised till the death of that prince, and afterwards came
over to England in the year 1660. Charles II., to whom
the Duke of Orleans had presented him at Blois, sent for
him to London, and gave him the title of his physician, and
that of royal professor of botany, with a pension of L.200
per annum. The Prceludium Botanicum, which he pub¬
lished in 1669, procured him so much reputation, that
the university of Oxford offered him the professorship of
botany, which he accepted, and acquitted himself with
great ability in the discharge of his duty. He died at Lon¬
don in 1683, aged sixty-three. He published a second and
third part of his History of Plants, in two volumes folio,
under the title of Plantarum Historia Oxoniensis Uni¬
versalis. The first part of this excellent work has not been
printed, and it is not known what has become of it.
MORITZ, St, a small town of the canton of the Ori¬
sons, in Switzerland, in the Upper Engadin, where there
are celebrated mineral springs of similar efficacy to those
of Spa, Pyrmont, and Schwalbach, though less visited by
invalids, from the insufficiency of the means of accommo¬
dation. It is situated 6060 feet above the level of the sea,
in a wild and romantic district on the side of a lake at the
foot of the granite mountain of Rozatsch ; and the prome¬
nades offer prospects of the most exciting nature, amongst
which are the cascade of the river, the lake of Silvaplana,
and the extensive woods of Arvenwald. The visitors are
chiefly from Italy, but some are from Germany, and from
the other parts of Switzerland, and repair to the springs
from June till the end of August; but in those months,
from the great elevation, and from the glaciers around,
warm clothing is found necessary. The permanent inha¬
bitants do not exceed 500 persons.
MORLACHIA, a mountainous country of Dalmatia.
The inhabitants, who are called Morlacks or Morlacchi,
inhabit the pleasant valleys of Koter, along the rivers
Kerha, Cettina, Narenta, and amongst the inland mountains
of Dalmatia. They are by some said to be of Walachian
extraction, as is indicated by their name, Morlachia being
a contraction of Mauro Walachia, that is, Black Wala¬
chia ; and the Walachians are said to be descendants of
the ancient Roman colonies planted in these countries.
This, however, is denied by the Abbe Fortis, who publish¬
ed a volume of travels in that country. He informs us
that the origin of the Morlacchi is involved in the dark¬
ness of barbarous ages, like that of many other nations,
resembling them so much in customs and language that
they may be taken for one people, dispersed throughout
the vast tracts extending from the Adriatic Sea to the
Frozen Ocean.
With regard to the etymology of the name, the abbe
observes, that the Morlacchi generally call themselves, in
their own language, Vlassi ; a national term of which no
vestige is found in the records of Dalmatia until the thir¬
teenth century. It signifies powerful men, or men of au¬
thority ; and the denomination of Moro- Vlassi, corruptly
Morlacchi, as they are now called, may perhaps point out
the origin of the nation. This word probably signifies
the “ conquerors who came from the seamoor, mor, or
maur, in all the dialects of the Sclavonian language, sig¬
nifying the sea.
MORLAIX, an arrondissement of the department of
Finisterre, in France, extending over 605 square miles.
It is divided into ten cantons and fifty-eight communes.
502
M O R
Morocco.
Mornay and contains 120,000 inhabitants. The capital is the city of
the same name, situated at the junction of the Jaclot an
Offen, which form a haven, with a well-defended entrance.
' A considerable trade is carried on from this place with
Spain and Portugal, to which are exported the linens well
known by the names of Creas and Bretagmas; but ot
late years this trade has diminished. The city contains
1500 houses, and 10,000 inhabitants. It was tje birth¬
place of the celebrated General Moreau. Long. 3. 53. 30.
W. Lat. 48. 33. N. .
MORNAY, Philippe de, Seigneur Duplessis Marly, wa
born at Buhy or Bishuy, in Upper Normandy, in France, in
1549, and was educated at Paris. He made a rapid pio-
o-ress in the belles lettres, in the learned languages, and
fn theology, which was then thought a prodigy in a gen¬
tleman. At first he was destined for the church ; but the
principles of Calvinism, which he had imbibed from his
mother, effectually excluded him from the ecclesiastical
preferments to which, by his interest, abilities, and birth,
he would have been entitled. After the horrible massacre
of St Bartholomew, Philippe de Mornay made the tour ot
Italy, Germany, England, and the Low Countries ; and he
was equally improved and delighted by his travels. Mor¬
nay afterwards joined the king of Navarre, at that time
leader of the Protestant party, and since so well known by
the name of Henry IV. This prince sent Mornay, who
employed his whole abilities, both as a soldier and a wi iter,
in defence of the Protestant cause, to conduct a negocia-
tion with Elizabeth queen of England; and left him whol¬
ly to his own discretion in the management of that busi¬
ness. He wras successful in almost every negociation, be¬
cause he conducted it like an able politician, and not in a
spirit of intrigue. He tenderly loved Henry IV. and spoke
to him upon all occasions as to a friend. When he was
wounded at Aumale, he wrote to him in these words:
“ Sire, You have long enough acted the part of Alexan¬
der, it is now time you should act that of Caesar. It is our
duty to die for your majesty. It is glorious for you, Sire,
that I dare venture to tell you it is your duty to live for
us.” This faithful subject did every thing in his power
to raise Henry to the throne ; but when he deserted the
Protestant faith, he reproached him in the bitterest man¬
ner, and retired from court. Yet Henry still loved him,
and was extremely affected with an insult which he re¬
ceived in 1597, when one Saint Phal beat him severely with
a cudgel, and left him on the ground for dead. Mornay
demanded justice from the king, who gave him the fol¬
lowing- answer, a proof as well of his spirit as of his good¬
ness of heart. “ Monsieur Duplessis, I am exceedingly
offended at the insult you have received; and I sympa¬
thize with you both as your sovereign and your friend. In
the former capacity, I shall do justice to you and to my¬
self; and had I sustained only the character of your friend,
there are few perhaps who would have drawn their sword
or sacrificed their life more cheerfully in your cause. Be
satisfied, then, that I will act the part of a king, a master,
and a friend.” Mornay’s knowledge, probity, and valour,
made him the soul of the Protestant party, and procured
him the contemptuous appellation of the Pope of the Hu¬
guenots. He defended their doctrines both by speech and
writing. One of his books, on the Iniquity of the Mass,
having stirred up the Catholic divines, he refused to make
any reply to their censures and criticisms except in a public
M O R
conference. This was accordingly appointed to be held in Mowu
the year 1600, at Fontainebleau, where the court then was. I ’
The two champions were, Duperron bishop of Evreux, and^ •
Mornay. After a great many arguments and replies on f
both sides, the victory was adjudged to Duperron. He had
boasted that he would point out to the satisfaction of every
one five hundred errors in his adversary’s book, and he
partly kept his word. The Calvinists did not fail to claim
the victory on this occasion, and they still continue to do
so. But this conference, instead of putting an end to the
differences, was productive of new quarrels amongst the
controversialists, and of much profane wit amongst the li¬
bertines. A Huguenot minister, who was present at the
observed with great concern to a captain of the
same party: “ The bishop of Evreux has already driven
Mornay from several strongholds. No matter, icplied
the soldier, provided he does not drive him from Saumur
This was an important place on the river Loire, of which
Duplessis was governor, and whither he retired, his atten¬
tion being constantly occupied in defending the^ Hugue¬
nots, and in making himself formidable to the Catholics.
When Louis XIII. was making preparations against the
Protestants, Duplessis wrote him a letter, dissuading him
from such a measure. After employing the most plausible
arguments, he concludes by observing, that to make war
on the subject, is an indication of weakness in the govern¬
ment. “ Authority,” says he, “ consists in the quiet sub¬
mission of the people, and is established by the prudence
and justice of the governor. Force of arms ought never
to be employed except in repelling a foreign enemy. The
late king would have sent the new ministers of state to
learn the first elements of politics, who, like unskilful sur¬
geons, would apply violent remedies to every disease, and
advise a man to cut off an arm when his finger aches.’ But
these remonstrances produced no other effect than the loss
of the government of Saumur, of which he was deprived
by Louis XIII. in 1621. He died two years afterwards, on
the 11th of November 1623, aged seventy-four, in his ba¬
rony of La Foret-sur-Seure, in Poitou. ^ ,
The following is a list of his works: 1. Un Traite de
1’Eucharistie, 1604, in folio; 2. Un Trait6 de la Yerite de
la Religion Chretienne, 8vo; 3. A book entitled La Mys-
tere dTniquite, 4to ; 4. Un Discours sur le Droit pretendu
par ceux de la maison de Guise, 8vo ; 5. Curious and in¬
teresting Memoirs from the year 1572 to 1629, four vols.
4to, valuable; 6. Letters, which are written with great
spirit and good sense. David des Liques has published a
life of De Mornay, in a quarto volume, which is more in¬
teresting for the matter than the style. _
MORNING, the beginning of the day, or the time ot
the sun rising. The astronomers reckon morning, mane,
from the time of midnight to that of mid-day.
Morning Star, the planet Venus when a little to tne
westward of the sun ; that is, when she rises a little before
him. In this situation she is called by the Greeks Phos¬
phorus, and by the Latins
MORNINGTON ISLE, one ot the group of islands
which Captain Flinders calls Wellesley’s Islands. It is
situated o£ the north coast of New Holland, at the hea
of the Gulf of Carpentaria. It is thirty-five miles long
and ninety in circumference; and is inhabited, though n -
thing is known of the natives. Long, of Cape Van v
men, its eastern point, 139. 49£. E. Lat. 16. 3~. S.
Morocco, or
MOROCCO.
Marocco, a large empire in the north- extensive and important £**
ft
west part of Africa, is a remnant of the great African mo¬
narchies which owed their origin to the Saracens, and the
lost extensive auu , ~~ A,f„j:.orrQnean
is bounded on the north and west by the ^edi ^
and the Atlantic respectively, on the south its
Mo
MOROCCO.
:o. defined by the great desert of Sahara, and on the east it is
'separated from Algiers by the river Moulouia or Mulwia
and the mountains of Trava. It is about 550 miles in
length, lying between 29° and 36° of north latitude, and
2° and 10° of west longitude ; its average breadth may
be about 130 miles; and, according to Mr Washington, it
contains a superficies of 150,000 square miles. This large
territory is separated into four grand divisions, answering
to the four kingdoms into which it was originally divided,
namely, Fez or Fas, Morocco, Suz, and Tafilet, according
to the following table :
Northern provinces, or kingdom of Fez.
Chief Towns.
ElGharb Tangier, Tetuan, A1 Kayarr, El Ara'ish.
El Rif. 
Beni Hassan Rabatt, Slaa (Sake), Mehedia.
Ts”awTy“.d} ^ Ceida> Fidallah'
Fas Fas, Mekinez.
Central, or kingdom of Morocco.
Ducaila Azamor, Mazagau.
Shragna A1 Gala.
Abda Saffy.
Shedma Mogadore.
Haha 
Rhamna   
Morocco Morocco.
Southern, or kingdom of Suz.
Suz Agadir, Tarudant, Irnoon-
Draha   
503
Eastern, or kingdom of Tafilet.
But the whole of the country comprised in these divi¬
sions belongs rather nominally than really to the Emperor
of Morocco; for the Arabs beyond the southern bank of
the Suz avail themselves of their great distance from the
seat of government, and other local advantages, to disre¬
gard the mandates of the emperor, so that they can scarce¬
ly be said to acknowledge his sovereignty.1 The grand
physical feature of Morocco is the Atlas mountain chain,
which traverses it first from east to west, then from north
to south, and again from east to west, till it terminates at
Cape Nun, upon the shores of the Atlantic. Offshoots or
ramifications of this stupendous mountain spine intersect
the country in various directions, and some of them attain
a great elevation. Miltsin, the highest peak of Atlas visi¬
ble from Morocco, a distance of seventy miles, and not two
hundred, as has been uniformly asserted, is ll,400feet above
the level of the sea. This is below the limit of perpetual
snow assigned by Humboldt in his Personal Narrative ; yet
only once in twenty years had these summits been seen en¬
tirely destitute of snow. At ^6400 feet above the level of
the sea, which was the highest point reached by Mr Wash¬
ington in 1830, the mountain, he informs us, “ was of a
hard, red sandstone, the strata running in an east and west
direction, and dipping 10° south.” Mr Washington conti¬
nues: “ We had thus only passed limestone,2 micaceous
schist, and sandstone, that is, transition and secondary Morocco,
rocks ; no traces of the primitive, except a boulder of gra-N
nite, or rather of gneiss, in the valley below, and veins of
foliated quartz in the schistose hills. Besides, the tendency
of the formation is to table-land, ridges, and rounded sum¬
mits, not to sharp or Alpine peaks ; neither did we on our
route through the country see any trace of volcanic agency,
nor is there any thing in the outline of Atlas indicating the
former existence of a crater.” At the height of 2400 feet the
mountain consisted of a strata of lime running north-east
and south-west, the dip about 70° to south-east, and which
followed the undulation of the hills. There is a range of
hills which presents a striking appearance, even as seen
from Morocco. It is called the Arina range, and consists
of a basis of lime ; “ strata east and west; dip 20° to the
south-east; its north-western face precipitous, five hundred
feet high, and deeply channelled with the water-courses,
and having dark-red clay, possibly metallic, between the
strata of lime.” At the foot of Atlas is a range of schis¬
tose hills, varying from five to eight hundred feet in height,
and assuming every variety of shape, “ truncated cones,
pyramidal, pine apple, sugar loaf, &c.; one of which was
covered with masses of gneiss, or coarse-grained granite,
abounding with black mica; many of these blocks were se¬
veral tons weight.” These quotations will serve to convey
an idea of the more remarkable geological features of the
country. The rivers are comparatively few in number,
and, except near the sea, are small in size. The most consi¬
derable are the Moulouia or Mulwia, the Seboo, the Oom-
erbegh, the Tensift, and the Suz. All these, except the
first, fall into the Atlantic. The Oom-erbegh (mother of
herbage) has the longest course of any river in the em¬
pire. It rises in that part of the Atlas chain which se¬
parates the provinces of Fas and Tedla, and forms the
boundary between Temsena and Ducaila. After a very
winding course of above two hundred miles, it falls into
the Atlantic at Azamor, where it is about one hundred and
fifty yards wide. It has been conjectured that the Mul¬
wia derives its origin from the opposite side of the same
mountain, and that in this quarter are situated the highest
summits of the Atlas range; but this has not yet been
determined. “ The river Tensift,” says Mr Washington,
“ springing from the northern hills, about forty miles east¬
ward of the city, flows along at their base about four miles
north of Morocco, and, joined by several streamlets from
Atlas, reaches the Atlantic fifteen miles south of Saffy,
nearly one hundred miles distant; the river is shallow, but
rapid; the channel here (on the plain of Morocco) about
three hundred yards wide, but fordable, except in the spring,
in almost all places.” Several considerable streams, which
derive their origin from widely-separated parts of the At¬
las chain where it traverses Fas, unite and form the river
Seboo. The principal head branches are the Wad Werga
and Wad Leoen ; the latter is joined by another stream
larger than itself, but without a name. As it approaches the
ocean, the Seboo winds in “ the boldest sweeps imaginable,
through a rich and varied plain.” It is “ about four hun¬
dred yards wide; a bar of sand, a quarter of a mile from
its outlet, extends almost across, and is nearly dry at low
water spring tides ; inside from three to four fathoms wa¬
in rar t ie,best geographical description of Morocco, and the most correct map hitherto completed of that empire, will be found
ImKle Journ . the Royal Geographical Society of London. They are by Lieutenant Washington of the navy; and his va-
sta 16 co““un?J:ation was read in 1831. It does not appear to have been seen by some recent writers on geography, a circum-
nce which will account for some discrepancies between the present article and other accounts of the empire of Morocco nartion"
reference to the latitude and longitude of places. ’ *
j? . Tllls formation, it is believed, is of secondary limestone, and probably is generally diffused throughout the skirts of the Atlas
• 6 -is °* the k)W(:r ranges of the mountains, to the height, perhaps, of three or four thousand feet. Of marble we saw
or exicePt in some of the buildings in Morocco ; and, after much inquiry, could not decide, from the ignorance
in 0t the Moors’ whence it came, but it is believed from Italy. The great columns and pillars of white marble yet existing
oth;"^ ave, betw,e.e11 Yez and Mekinez’ and described as the ruins of a triumphal arch and temple ; but of rosso-antico, and
r ancient marbles, which have been historically almost proved to have come from Mauritania, we could hear nothin^.”
504
MOROCCO.
Morocco, ter ; rise of tide seven or eight feet.3 The town of Mehe-
' dia stands upon the southern bank of the river; and between
it and the city of Fas, situated about eighty miles in the
interior, but more than double that distance measured by
the windings of the river, there is water communication, ol
which, however, no advantage is taken. About twenty miles
to the south-west of the Seboo, the Bu Regreb falls into
the Atlantic at Slaa or Salee, a place renowned in the an¬
nals of piracy. This river is formed by the junction of the
Weroo and Bu Regreb. It is about four hundred yards
broad at its mouth at full tide. These are the principal
streams in Morocco. They have all several tributaries,
and there are besides a considerable number of rivulets,
which flow directly to the ocean. There are a few lakes,
one of which, called Murja Ras ed Dowra, is twenty miles
in length by one and a half in breadth.
Except during three months in summer, the climate is
mild in temperature, pleasant and salubrious even to Eu¬
ropeans; whilst the country, generally speaking, is free from
those marshy tracts which, in the tropical regions, are the
pregnant source of the most malignant forms of disease.
In the northern provinces the climate is nearly the same
as that of Spain, having the autumnal and vernal rains pe¬
culiar to the south of Europe. Towards the Great Desert,
however, the rains are less general and certain, and the
heat in consequence is more oppressive. Indeed, to the
south of the river Suz, little or no rain falls throughout
the year. We may, however, observe generally, that,
throughout the emperor’s dominions, the air has for the
most part a congenial softness, and a degree ol serenity,
which render the climate peculiarly delightful. The sea¬
port towns have the additional advantage of being fre¬
quently refreshed with sea-breezes.
The soil of Morocco varies in its nature and quality, yet
in general it is in the highest degree productive, and, un¬
der proper cultivation, is capable of producing all the luxu¬
ries of the eastern and western hemispheres. Some parts
of the sea coast, it is true, are sandy and barren ; but the
plains of the interior consist of a rich black loam of extra¬
ordinary fertility. The mountainous parts might also be
rendered extremely productive, if the inhabitants did not
almost entirely neglect agriculture. It is a rule which
scarcely admits of an exception, that where nature does
much for man, he does little for himself. Yet notwith-
standing the slight cultivation which it receives, the soil is
so fertile, that fruit and grain are produced, not only in
quantities sufficient for the wants of the people, but also
for exportation. Morocco formerly supplied a part of
Spain with the necessaries of life, but of late years the ex¬
portation of corn has been totally prohibited. The principal
grain is wheat. Barley is likewise abundant, and oats grow
spontaneously. Indian corn, peas, beans, hemp, tobacco,
and a great variety of esculent vegetables, are amongst
the products of the soil. All the culture which it receives
consists merely in burning the stubble before the autum¬
nal rains commence, and then ploughing it about six inches
deep. The olive in its best state, the citron, the orange,
and the cotton tree, cover the hills; and experience has
proved that sugar, rice, and indigo may be raised to much
advantage, and at a very trifling expense of labour. Many
varieties of the vine succeed in the northern provinces; and
figs, dates, pomegranates, melons, almonds, peaches, apri¬
cots, pears, cherries, plums, and, in shortfall the fruits to
be found in the southern provinces of Spain and Portugal,
are produced in abundance. The natives preseive their
grain in “ matamores,” or holes made in the earth, lined
and covered with straw, to prevent the rain from soaking
through ; and in these receptacles grain may be kept fresh
for five or six years. The forests of Morocco aie full of
oaks with sweet acorns, cork-trees, cedars, arbutuses, and
gum-trees. Copper, tin, iron, antimony, and other metals,
including silver and gold, are found in various parts; but Mori,
as the Moors are ignorant of mining operations, they have s'““v
proved of little value to the country.
In describing topographically the provinces of Morocco,
we shall commence with the most northerly. For an ac¬
count of Fez, however, it is only necessary to refer to the
article under that head. The next place in importance is
the sea-port of Tangier, situated on a steep acclivity rising
at once from the beech, long. 5. 48. and lat. 35. 47. 54.,
thirty miles west-south-west of Gibraltar. It is surround¬
ed by mouldering walls, with round and square towers at
short distances, and three strong gates. Its defences to¬
ward the sea consist of two batteries, one above the other,
on the south side of the sea-gate. High upon the wall,
and directly in front of the landing-place, are about twelve
guns; to the north, in a circular battery commanding the
bay, which is about three miles wide, are twenty more
guns, of all calibres, but in very bad condition ; and, crown¬
ing the whole, to the north is an old and extensive castle,
the residence of the governor. On the land side, walls
and a ruined ditch form the only defences. The gates
are shut at sunset, and a watch is set at night. With the
exception of the main street, which crosses the town irre¬
gularly from the sea to the land-gate, the streets are nar¬
row and crooked. The houses are low, with flat tops, ex¬
cept those of the European consuls, many of which are
good. El Jaama Kibeer is large and rather handsome. Its
tower, placed at the north-west angle, is lofty, and wrought
in coloured tessellated work, as is also the pavement of the
mosque, round which sweeps a colonnade of low pillars,
with a fountain in the centre. There are two public mar¬
kets well supplied with vegetables, fruits, poultry, game,
and meat, which is good and cheap. The town is the re¬
sidence of a pasha, whose territory extends about twen¬
ty-five miles to the southward. Outside the walls are some
productive gardens belonging to the different consuls re¬
sident here, who, with their families, are numerous enough
to form a very agreeable society. The anchorage in the
bay is very tolerable, excepting in strong north-west winds.
Were the mole rebuilt, the remains of which are still vi¬
sible under water, the landing on the beach would be al¬
ways secure. The ruins of Old Tangier, supposed to be the
Tingis of the ancients, and a Roman bridge, are still stand¬
ing at the southern part of the bay. Four small batteries,
of about six guns each, defend the sand-hills around tne
shores. This town was long a subject of eager contention
between the Moors and Portuguese; but the latter obtain¬
ed possession of it in 1471, and kept it for nearly two cen
turies, when it passed into the hands of the English as par.
of the marriage portion of the queen of Charles II. It was
wisely abandoned by Britain about twenty years afterwards
The population of Tangier is from seven to eight thousand,
including fifteen hundred Jews, who are the chief artisans.
Thirty miles south-east of Tangier is Tetuan, PleJ*ant'
Iv situated near the opening of the straits into the Medi¬
terranean, in long. 5. 24. lat. 35. 36. It is built upon a
rising ground between two ranges of high mountains,
of them forming a part of the lesser Atlas. 1 be tow
of considerable extent, and has defences neai y o
description as those of Tangier. The streets aie narrow
filthy; the houses are two stories in height, but tney m*
a mean appearance from the streets, which m ^ ■
stances are nearly arched over by them. T he E ^
or fair, for the disposal of goods, is filled with shops,
are well supplied with almost every variety of goods,
of European and African manufacture. I he &tte
brought by means of the annual caravans from re ,
the former by vessels from Spain and from Gibraltar,
have, besides, many manufactures of their 0WIJ». ®° ® ce.
tuan may be ranked next to Fez in commercial i P _
The mosques are large and numerous. The port
MOROCCO.
505
xo. ed on a river about two miles from the sea, and is named
—^Marteen; but only small craft can reach it, as the stream
is nearly choked up with sand. The entrance is defended
by a high square tower, on which are mounted twelve
pieces of ordnance. The population of Tetuan was former¬
ly estimated at 20,000, but it is supposed to be now consi¬
derably below that number.
Nearly midway between Tetuan and Tangier is Ceuta,
formerly the capital of Hispania Transjretana, and occu¬
pied by the Moors. It was afterwards taken by the Arabs,
and again in 1415 reduced by the Portuguese, from whom
it passed into the hands of the Spaniards, in whose pos¬
session it now remains. Being a commanding position, it
acquired great value in the eyes of the maritime states, as
affording the means of checking the Barbary pirates ; and
to the Spaniards, in particular, its importance has not been
diminished by the loss of Gibraltar. Various efforts have
been made by the sovereigns of Morocco to recover it;
but as it is almost impregnable on the land side, a military
force, without the aid of a fleet, must for ever prove inef¬
fectual. It is situated in long. 5. 17. 25. lat. 35. 54. 10.
Between this place and Tangier, which is distant about a
day’s journey, the whole coast is rugged, and interspersed
with projecting cliffs. About twenty miles to the west of
Cape Spartel, and five miles west from Tangier, stands the
town of Arzilla, in long. 6. 0. and lat. 35. 29. 30. It is
a walled square of about a quarter of a mile, situated on
the open beach. The walls, which were built by the Portu¬
guese, have a few guns mounted on them on the side facing
the sea. The population may be about 1000. The next
place of any consequence on the coast is El Araish, which
is situated on an abrupt declivity of sandstone, upon the
southern bank of the river El Kos, at its outlet into the
Atlantic, in long. 6. 9. and lat. 12. 50. The town is walled,
and strongly defended, on the land side by a ditch and a
citadel, and towards the sea by a battery of thirteen guns
and a venerable castle, with concave flanks and orillons.
El Araish is a picturesque ruin. Moslemin superstructures
are reared upon the foundations of Christian temples; the
principal mosque was once a Roman Catholic church. Here
was formerly the residence of European consuls, and their
deserted houses still line the Marina, commanding a fine
view of the port and of the Atlantic. Supplies are abun¬
dant, and there is some little commerce in charcoal and
other articles; but the town is fast falling to decay. The
population may amount to about 4000, including Jews. The
river El Kos, signifying a bow, and so named from its
windings, may be traced through a beautiful valley far
away to the eastward. Its banks are fertile, and enriched
by many gardens ; which fully justifies the propriety of be¬
stowing its present name on the town, El Ara'ish, or the
flower gardens. From an inscription over the walls on the
sea-gate, it appears that this place was taken from the Moors,
and fortified, by the Spaniards, in 1610.
The route of Mr Washington from Tangier to the capital
of Morocco passed through all the towns of importance in
the empire with the exception of Fez and Mogadore, as
well as some of the most fruitful and populous parts of
the country. Leaving Tangier, the road leads in a south
direction “ over a sandy soil, through the productive gar¬
dens that surround the town ; then through an undulat¬
ing country, over rounded schistose hills, about 300 feet
high; mica slate, with veins of foliated quartz, occurring
|?roely 5 direction north-west and south-east; dip of strata
5 to south-west, and covered with scanty herbage ; pass¬
ing occasionally an Arab village of a few hovels, fenced by
a hedge of aloes and prickly pear, or Indian fig ; here and
ere a patch of Guinea corn; otherwise no signs of culti¬
vation. The road then proceeds ten miles south by west
ovfr ** called Dahr Acclaou, well wooded with cork,
Wl olive, droo, myrtle, heath, broom, palmetto, and other
vol. xv. r
trees and shrubs. It then winds ten miles in a southerly Morocco,
direction through a valley about eight miles wide, abound-
ing in springs, and having a soil of light clay, but little
cultivated. Proceeding southwards, Mr Washington pass¬
ed several tracts of rich alluvial soil, woods of fine cork
trees, and numerous Arab villages, the country becoming
moie populous, and presenting traces of higher cultivation.
The Arabs possessed herds ofcattle, horses, mules, and flocks
of sheep. The first place of any importance is the town of
A1 Ksar, situated in a flat tract of rich, partially wooded
meadow-land, through which meanders, in a west-north¬
west direction, the river El Kos, a rapid but shallow stream,
and about an hundred yards wide in November. The
plain to the south-east is bounded by beautiful mountain
scenery; and conspicuous, by its singular conical form, arises
the peak of Sarsar, at the foot of which, said to be inha¬
bited by Shereefs, is the town of Wazen.
A1 Ksar, situated about half a mile from the river on its
northern bank, in long. 5. 52. lat. 34. 57. 10., is surround¬
ed by orchards and gardens of orange, pomegranate, and
palm, in great luxuriance. It was built by Jacob, son of
Almansor, about the end of the twelfth century, and is
connected in history with the wars of Granada. The town
is encompassed by old ruinous walls about a mile and a half
in circumference, and having loopholes, battlements, and
small square towers fifty paces apart. The streets are
narrow, and at intervals arched across. The houses are
remarkable for having ridged roofs of tile. Mr Washington
counted fourteen mosques, many of which were lighted up
and spacious; and the bazaar contained a few mean shops,
but no business was doing, markets and inns being de¬
serted and lifeless. The population amounts to about 8000,
of which 500 may be Jews; but doubtless it had once been
much more populous.
The course now lay through a succession of valleys and
over low ranges of hills to the great plain of Mamora, over
which herds of cattle range. As the travellers entered the
grazing country, Arab villages changed into douars, or cir¬
cular encampments of from twenty to thirty tents. Ap¬
proaching the Atlantic by a south-westerly course, Mr
Washington reached the large lake called Murja Has el
Dowra, which extends parallel with the coast nearly twenty
miles. It contains several islands, with saints’ tombs, in¬
sulated spots being here, as well as elsewhere, sacred to
holy purposes. The lake was covered with wild fowl of
every description, and fine eels are obtained from its waters.
The surrounding margin exhibits little or no trace of cul¬
tivation ; but the soil, although light and sandy, is produc¬
tive of various annual plants, and on the western shore is
a forest. The Arabs have here a great number of douars
and coubbas. The country now became hilly, and the soil
gravelly and sandy, but producing colocynth and coarse
herbage. Mr Washington next crossed the Wad Seboo,
and entered the town of Mehedia, which is situated on a
height of about ten feet, on the southern bank of the
river, and about ten miles from the sea, in long. 6. 36. and
lat. 34. 18. When in possession of the Portuguese it was
a place of some consequence, as the ruins of handsome
fountains, arches, churches, and fortifications attest. It
had a double wall, and was otherwise w^ell fortified; but at
present eight mounted guns constitute its sole defence.
The town now contains only 300 or 400 inhabitants, chiefly
fishermen, who subsist by the sale of shebbel, a fish re¬
sembling salmon, which is here caught in great abundance.
Between this place and Salee, about sixteen miles to the
south-south-west, is the extensive forest of Mamora, said
to cover eight miles of country. It is chiefly inhabited by-
lions and wild bears. Passing under an ancient aqueduct
extending a mile in length, having arches thirty feet high,
eight feet wide, and four feet thick, Mr Washington en¬
tered the town of Salee.
3 s
506
Morocco.
MOROCCO.
Slaa, or Salee, once the terror of the seas, and renowned
for those rovers whose daring exploits spread terror along
the shores even of Christendom, and whose city and port
were a constant scene of riot, bustle, and activity, is now
ruined, silent, and desolate. The present town, built on a
sandy point extending to the sea, and forming the north¬
eastern bank of the river, is about half a mile in length by
a quarter of a mile in breadth. It is surrounded by walls
thirty feet in height, having square towers at every fifty
paces. The defences are a long battery of twenty guns
facing the sea, a round fort at the entrance of the river, and
a gun or two on the gates. The mosques, arches, and foun¬
tains in the city appear to be of high antiquity, and show
traces of beautiful sculpture; but the streets aie nairow,
and the houses, like those of all Moorish towns, are sombre.
The population is about ten thousand, of whom five hundred
may be Jews, who apparently have little or no occupation.
The river Bu Ilegreb is here about five hundred yards
broad when full. The bar, about one eighth of a mile from
the entrance, runs almost across in a west-south-westerly
direction, with three or four feet on it at low water, but
leaving a channel at each end. The Moors use the eastein,
where there is a rise of nine or ten feet of tide ; and inside
the harbour is quite sheltered, with water sufficient for a
frigate. The imperial dock-yard is here, and ship-build-
in<r is carried on to a small extent. The presence of seve-
raf ferry-boats, some small traders, and a few fishing boats,
give to this river an animated appearance quite uncommon
amongst the Moors. . i <?
The town of Rabatt stands on the south-western side of
the Bu Regreb, fifty or sixty feet above its level, upon banks
of crumbling sand-stone. With its minarets, palm-trees,
ruined walls, old mosques, and, crowning the whole, its
venerable kassbah, or citadel, with its battlements all group¬
ed in the most picturesque manner, it has an imposing ap¬
pearance from the opposite shore. It extends three quarters
of a mile in length by about one third of a mile in breadth,
and is defended towards the sea and the river by three bat¬
teries and the citadel, and on the land side by a stiong wall
thirty feet in height, with square towers and angles of ma¬
sonry. The main street of Rabatt, which runs parallel to
the river, contains the principal shops, which are not very
attractive, and the markets, which are abundantly supplied
with excellent fruits and vegetables. The orange orchards,
vineyards, and cotton plantations, are extensive. The most
conspicuous object is the ruined mosque, and lofty tower,
called by the Moors Sma Hassan, which stands two hundred
and twenty feet above the level of the river. Mr Washing¬
ton counted ten mosques, besides the mausoleum of a sul¬
tan. and that of the hero of Moorish Africa, the great Al-
mansor. The Moorish population may amount to eighteen
thousand, and the Jewish to about three thousand. The
Jews are the chief artisans, and they have a part of the
town allotted to them, called Millah, which is exceedingly
filthy. Rabatt is situated in lat. 34. 2. 30. N., and long. 6.
46. W. One mile south-east of the town are the ruins of
the Roman or Carthagenian town called Sheila, formerly a
place of note, and, according to D’Anville, the limit of the
Roman station on this coast. Several ancient but luined
towns and villages were passed by Mr Washington, amongst
which were Tomana, distant seven miles from Rabatt and
three from the coast; El Mansoria, a square of one hundred
and fifty paces, enclosing an Arab village, in lat. 33. 46. 10.
N., and long. 7. 20. W.; Fidallah, situated six miles from
El Mansoria, on a fine corn plain, at three quaiteis of a mile
from the sea, and employed as a magazine for grain before
Mogadore was built; and, lastly,DarelBeida, a small walled
town about half a mile square, which stands on a point
projecting into the sea, and forming a bay three quarters of
a mile deep. The roadstead is well sheltered from westerly
winds, and protected by a few pieces of cannon. The town
was built for the exportation of corn, and was long in Moroe
possession of the Portuguese. It is walled in, has three ^
mosques, several houses built in the European style, and a
population of about seven hundred, including Jews.
Between this place and Azamor, thirty-three miles dis¬
tant, the country presents a rich and varied appearance,
and the signs of cultivation become more conspicuous.
There are numerous gardens, a forest of a beautiful ever¬
green tree called droo, resembling the arbutus in blossom,
and bearing a brown berry which yields a coarse species of
oil. Mr Washington saw many ploughs at work; large plan¬
tations of henna, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep and goats,
and a great number of Arab encampments.
On the south-western bank of the river Oom-erbegh, one
mile and a half from its outlet, stands the town of Azamor,
in lat. 33. 17. 37. N., and long. 8. 15. W. It is surround¬
ed by a wall about a mile and a half in circumference, but
in ruins. The streets are narrow and filthy, and the town
is dull and lifeless, maritime trade being interrupted by a
bar of sand across the mouth of the river. The population
may be about three thousand, including Jews. The sur¬
rounding country is open and destitute of wood, but well
cultivated, and laid out in plantations of henna, of which
three crops a year can be produced by irrigation. At a few
miles distance from Azamor is the town of Mazagau, si¬
tuated on a peninsular point projecting north about one
mile, and forming with another point a sandy bay about
a mile and a half in depth, which affords a good roadstead
for small vessels. The town is well built, and respectably
defended towards the sea by several redoubts. It enjoys
some little commerce, has excellent water, and is well sup¬
plied with provisions. The population amounts to about
two thousand, including Israelites. It is situated in long.
8. 21. W. and lat. 33. 15. N.
The course of Mr Washington now lay through the in¬
terior of the province of Ducaila, celebrated for its breed
of horses, and its woollen manufactures of sulharns, haicks,
carpets, and the like. The soil of the plain is a light loam,
covered with stones, flint, and the like. It is well culti¬
vated, and laid out in gardens and Indian corn fields. With
the exception of a few scattered palm-trees, there is no
wood; but the Arabs encamp here in great numbers, as
herds of cattle and flocks of sheep find plenty of pasture,
and are supplied with water from several springs and wells.
The plain is of vast extent, and presents many varieties of
vegetation; palmetto and colocynth occurring in swampy
spots, fine grass occasionally, patches of Guinea corn, gar¬
dens, and so on. Mr Washington passed a large market
on the great plain, where camels, horses, mules, asses,
rude implements of husbandry, coarse woollen manufac¬
tures, corn, vegetables, fruit, dates, almonds, henna, an
other articles, w'ere exposed for sale. Ducaila may be de¬
scribed as a succession of plains, the largest being tiat on
which the imperial city stands. The plain of Morocco
extends in an east and west direction, between a low range
of schistose hills to the north, and the lofty Atlas to t e
south; it is about twenty-five miles wide, and apparently a
dead flat to the foot of the mountains. It lies about n'
teen hundred feet above the level of the ocean, and, as tar
as the eye reaches east or west, appears to have no limit.
This vast level plain, therefore, may stretch from the sho
of the Atlantic on the west, to the foot of the Atlas on t
east, a distance of about two hundred miles, inis
of country, however, does not all go by the name o
x’occo, portions of it to the east and west being is ino
ed by other appellations. The soil is a hght san y »
interspersed with numerous rounded stones of crysta _
quartz, agates, porphyry, a green stone, carnehan ,
other minerals. It is, generally speakmg, cove ^
low brushwood of the thorny plant called si ra >
buckthorn. The banks of the streamlets are img
MOROCCO. go*
:co. oleanders of great beauty, whilst to the north a forest of and surmounted by a cupola, delicately wrought with rich Morocco.
— palm trees and olives, and to the south the towering snow- Saracenic tracery. El Moazin, said to be the most an-v—^
clad summits of the Atlas mountains, impart a picturesque cient sacred edifice, is very large, and has several courts
grandeur to the scene. . . opening into each other. The Moorish horse-shoe arches
Morocco, the capital of the empire, is situated on the intersect each other in various directions, and have a very
northern side of this rich plain, the principal mosque stand- rich effect. Attached to this mosque are gates, said to
ing in latitude 31. 37. 40. north, and longitude 7. 36. 0. have been carried away in triumph from Seville by the
west. It is surrounded by a strongly-built machicolated great Almansor, as our Henry VIII. did those of Bou-
wall of tapia-work, thirty feet high. The foundations are logne. The patron saint of the city is called Bel Abbas,
of strong masonry ; square towers are placed at intervals This mosque is composed of a square saloon, covered with
of fifty paces; there are eleven strong double gates ; and an octangular cupola, carved and painted with arabesques,
the whole is six miles in circumference. This vast area, and on the outside covered with varnished and coloured
however, is far from being entirely occupied with build- tiles. The sepulchre of the saint is richly ornamented,
ings; it also comprehends large gardens and open spaces and on one side of it is placed the alms-chest. Adjoining
from twenty to thirty paces in extent. Of the eleven the mosque are various court-yards, with arcades and
gates of the city now open, that which conducts to the rooms to lodge poor, old, maimed, and invalid people. The
palace of Beb el Rom is by far the best specimen of ar- hospital is capable of containing fifteen hundred patients;
chitecture to be seen. It is a Moorish horse-shoe arch, and this place is also a sanctuary or house of refuge for
richly sculptured in arabesque work, in imitation of shoe- those who are persecuted by despotism. Here they find
nails, and the like ; and however false in principle such a a never-violated asylum, and can negociate till pardon is
plan of an arch may be, it is said to have a pleasing effect obtained. The chief of this establishment bears the title
to the eye. The streets of Morocco are narrow and irre- of El Emkaddem, or the Elder, and is venerated as a saint,
gular, seldom wider than lanes in European cities, and in The college and mosque called Emdrasa del Emshia stands
many cases the lines of houses on either side are con- near the south wall of the city. Here are the sepulchres
nected by bridges with gates, possibly intended for de- of the sultans of the Moluc Saidia dynasty, once adorned
fence in case of attack. Several open spaces, which with statues and busts, which a bigoted Moslemin empe-
scarcely deserve the name of squares, are used as market- ror caused to be effaced. The other mosques it wouldbe
places, and for other purposes. The houses, which are superfluous to describe.
generally stony, have flat roofs and terraces, the side to- The Great Bazaar, called El Kaisseria, is a long range
wards the street being plain and white-washed. As an of shops, or rather stalls, protected from the weather,
apology for windows, there are here and there narrow un- and divided into compartments. The articles which Mr
glazed openings ; but the interior disposition of the tene- Washington saw exposed for sale were, silk scarfs, shawls,
mentis much in the Spanish style. Many of the doors and handkerchiefs, from Fez; sulhams, haicks, gellabias,
are of cypress wood, and highly sculptured. The rooms, and carpets, from Ducaila ; cloth, linen, hardware, tea, and
which are long and narrow, open into a court, sometimes sugar, from London; almonds, raisins, henna, and al ko-
surrounded with arcades, and having a fountain in the hoi, from Suse; very fine corn, caravances, beans, and the
centre. With the exception of a mat and a cushion or like, from Shragna; very luscious dates from Tafilet; and
two, they are destitute of furniture, which, with the want abundance of boots, slippers, saddles, coarse pottery, mats,
of windows and fires, conveys to a European any thing cord, &c. of domestic manufacture, together with embroi-
but an idea of comfort and convenience. On the outside dery in gold and silver, in which they particularly excel,
of the southern main wall, and facing the Atlas, stands the There are two or three markets, the principal of which is
palace of the sultan. It is encircled by a wall equal in called Sok el Khamise. It is held near the north gate of
strength to that which surrounds the city, and occupies an the city, on a Thursday, and is well supplied with home
area fifteen hundred yards in length by six hundred in manufactures. There is another for the sale of horses,
breadth. The whole is portioned into squares laid out in camels, mules, horned cattle, sheep, and other animals,
gardens, round which are detached pavilions, forming the The city is supplied with water by fountains, some of
imperial residence. The floors of the rooms are tessellat- which exhibit traces of delicate sculpture. There are se¬
ed with variously coloured tiles, but otherwise they are veral tan-yards, one of which was said to employ fifteen
quite plain, the furniture consisting only of a mat, a small hundred persons.
carpet at one end, and some cushions. Within the city The Miilah, or Jewish Quarter, which is situated at the
there are nineteen mosques, twoemdrasas or colleges, and south extremity of the city, is a walled enclosure, of about
one hospital. El Koutubia, the principal mosque, stands a mile and a half in circumference. It is populous, but,
alone in a deserted place of twenty or thirty acres, and is as usual, filthy in the extreme. All the Jews pay a capi-
conspicuous above all by its lofty square tower rising to tation tax to the sultan, and are treated with the greatest
the height of two hundred and twenty feet without dimi- contempt. Mr Washington was offered for sale, by the
nishing, thus producing a striking and singular effect. It scheikh of the Jews and a rabbi, the only copy of ihe New
is divided into seven stories, and its height is apparently Testament in Hebrew and Spanish, the last relic of the
about seven times its diameter. This tower resembles, Spanish hospicio which once existed within the walls of the
and is said to be coeval with, the Sma Hassan at Babatt, imperial city. Mahommedanism, in all its withering in-
and the Giralda at Seville, built towards the close of the fluence, reigns undisturbed. The Jews exercise several
twelfth century, but reconstructed by Christians in the arts and professions, being the only goldsmiths, tinmen,
thirteenth century. Upon the summit of the tower of El and tailors, in Morocco. The Moors are the shoemakers,
Noutubia is a small turret, in the shape of a lanthorn, from carpenters, masons, smiths, and weavers of haicks. With
winch it derives the name of Srna el Fanar. The body regard to the number of inhabitants in this city, travel-
°f the mosque, although large, is an irregular building, lers are much at variance. Jackson, with his usual li-
and insignificant when contrasted with the lofty tower by berality, assigns it 270,000; whilst Ali Bey (Don Juan
winch it is surmounted. Next in height, and coeval in Badiaj in 1804 fixed the population at 30,000, a number
erection, although modernized and well painted, is the doubted by other individuals. This extraordinary disa-
roosque of Beni Yussuf. It has a college of talebs, that is, greement must be accounted for from the plague and other
seekers or students, attached to it; and a saint’s tomb terrible visitations occasionally sweeping off thousands of
stands opposite its southern door, formed of three arches, inhabitants in a very short time. Mr Washington says that
508
MOROCCO.
Morocco, the population cannot exceed one hundred thousand, and
'   J is perhaps not above eighty thousand, including nve thou¬
sand Jews. As the women rarely show themselves in the
streets, it is difficult to estimate the number with any de¬
gree of exactness. The city, however, exhibits unequivo¬
cal tokens of having once had a far greater population.
The dreadful plague, and more dreadful famine, which vi¬
sited this country a few years since, committed fearful ra¬
vages. Not half the space within the gates is now inha¬
bited ; ruined walls and tenantless houses meet one at
every’turn ; nothing flourishes but vegetation, which, even
in the months of December and January, is rife and luxu¬
riant, its springing freshness forming a striking contrast to
the mouldering walls around.
The remains of numerous subterranean aqueducts sur¬
round the town. Some of these are ten or twelve feet in
depth, and stretch across the plain to the foot of the Atlas.
They are chiefly in ruins, and consequently out of use.
This is the strongest evidence which can be produced in
support of the fact, that the population of this country was
far greater formerly than it is at present; and also that
the arts were then more cultivated than they are now. A
want of water is never hinted at by any traveller who has
visited the imperial city ; so that the few aqueducts which
remain entire being sufficient for the supply of the present
inhabitants, we are naturally led to conclude that those
which have now fallen into disuse once conveyed a suffi¬
ciency of this indispensable element to a more abundant po¬
pulation, as well as to the grounds laid out in gardens in the
vicinity of the city. Cemeteries also extend beyond the
walls, both north and south ; and there is one to the east of
very considerable dimensions. This city was formerly sur¬
rounded with gardens and plantations extending to a gieat
distance, but they have now for the most part disappeared.
A few, however, still remain, and the sultan has three of
about fifteen acres in extent within the city, and two of
about twenty acres each, two miles distant from the walls.
Every variety of fruit-tree enriches these gardens, olive,
orange, pomegranate, citron, mulberry, walnut, peach,
apple, pear, vine,  > -i. ,
trees of beautiful texture or foliage, the cedar, poplar,
accacia, the solemn cypress, and the stately palm, together
with a profusion of flowers and flowering shrubs, form a
picturesque scene where the unchecked luxuriance and
beautiful wildness of nature add a charm to the studied
elegancies of the more regular ornaments of art. ihe
grounds are well supplied with water by means of the con¬
duits already mentioned.
The city of Morocco was built about the middle of the
eleventh century, by Yousef Abu lash fin, and at first ob¬
tained the name of Marakash. In the following century
it reached its highest degree of prosperity ; but there is
little in its history except what belongs to the country
generally, and as such will afterwards be given.
& A few towns of Morocco, not yet mentioned, require
some notice, and amongst these Mequinez has claims to pre¬
cedence, as being the first city in the empire after Moroc¬
co and Fez. It is situated in a beautiful valley about sixty
miles inland from Sallee, in lat. 33. 58. 30. E., and long. 5.
30. 0. N. It owes its importance to the policy of Sultan
MuleV Ismael, who, after conquering the various small
kingdoms which now constitute the empire, for the pur¬
pose of strengthening the northern division, erected a
walled town capable of containing a large garrison. There
was formerly a Spanish hospitium here, as well as at Mo¬
rocco ; but it has long been deserted by the monks. At
the south end of the city stands the palace, which forms
an immense quadrangle enclosing a number of gardens
well watered by streams from the adjacent country. In
the centre of this enclosure is the harem, which again sui-
rounds a small piece of ground planted with trees, and in¬
fig, date, apricot, and the like; whilst
vested by a gallery supported on massive columns. This Mon k
royal residence (the sultan occasionally inhabits it) is ren-^-
dered more spacious by being constructed entirely upon
the ground floor. The rooms, as usual, are narrow, but
long and high; and the walls are inlaid with glazed tiles
of bright colours. Many of the Jews here are affluent;
and the inhabitants are described as more courteous and
hospitable than those belonging to any other part of the
empire. The population is estimated by Mr Jackson at
110,000 souls, but this is very probably an exaggeration.
Ali Bey states, that the surrounding country, which, at a
distance, appears to be a level plain, is in reality composed
of a labyrinth of round hills, between which several small
streams wind in innumerable sinuosities. The soil is sandy,
with little clay, and produces nothing but palms and olives.
Mr Washington, in his return from the imperial city,
passed some interesting ruins. From the banks of the
Oom-erbegh to the sea-coast at Tidallah, a distance of
seventy miles, the country consists of a series of plains, at
first gravelly and desert-like, but latterly of a fine rich
soil, though little cultivated, and but thinly peopled. At
twenty miles north of the Oom-erbegh, he stopped at a
place called Kaisar, and both name and tradition agree in
pointing out this spot as of high antiquity. Our traveller
traced the foundation of a building, the north side of which
was two hundred and fifty paces long, with towers at the
corners, and walls of unhewn limestone five feet thick, but
level with the ground. Other foundations of great extent
were also visible, with a well and conduits leading to a
spring; and the plain seemed admirably adapted for corn.
These circumstances, together with the existence of seve¬
ral tumuli at some distance, have led travellers to conclude
that this has been a Mauritanian or Roman station. Twelve
miles to the north of this spot, the peasants have a tradi¬
tion, that here a city, called Caria, had sunk into the
ground ; that many substantially-built wells were in the
neighbourhood ; that coins had been found (which they
described as of brass'), of the size of a Spanish dollar, and
with an inscription of straight sticks and dots. Can this
be other than the Roman denarius.
It remains for us shortly to describe the most southerly
part of the empire, the province or kingdom of Suz or Suse.
A'mdeer or Agadir, better known under the Portuguese
name of Santa Cruz, the last, port in proceeding southward
in the emperor’s dominions, is situated in lat. 30. 3d. iY
Its bay, Mr Jackson says, is probably the best roadstead for
shipping in the empire, being large, deep, and well defend¬
ed on every side from all winds. The town stands upon an
elevated position, and it is of great natural strength, e-
sides being defended by walls and batteries. It was for¬
tified in 1503 by Emanuel, king of Portugal, but taken by
the Moors about thirty years afterwards; and continuing
in the possession of these last, it might have attaine to
considerable importance, had not the refractory conduct
of one of its governors provoked the emperor in D/d to
dismantle it, and transfer its commercial privileges to Mo-
gadore. Forty-four miles eastward from Santa Cruz stands
Tarudant, formerly the capital of a petty kingdom, and
still the principal town in the province. It is situated on
a fine but uncultivated plain about twenty miles south
the Atlas range. The walls, now half in ruins, enclose an
area much larger than is occupied by the buildings, w i
are scattered about without any regularity. It still, no -
ever, possesses a noble palace, adorned with gardens c -
taining the most delicious fruits ; but, generally spea c>
it has lost its trade, its population, and the consequen
which once belonged to it as a provincial capital. s
putation is now confined to the manufacture of a sup
kind of saltpetre*- and the preparation of leather use
saddles. The other places included in the province of
are too small to require mention.
MOROCCO. 509
5lor: o- Our knowledge of Tafilet, the eastern province or king- guage bears no affinity to the Arabic, although the latter Morocco.
'”/dom, is rather limited, although the communications with tongue is partially intermixed with it. It has long been
the country, the ancient Sugulmessa, are very important, a disputed point whether the Shelluh and Berebber are the
It is a flat plain, and the portion of the soil which is not same language. Jackson declares they are not; but later
sheltered by trees is bare sand. Comparatively little corn writers are of a different opinion, holding them to be dia-
is grown ; and what is produced is sown by the bank of a lects of the same parent stock.
swelling river, one of the largest in the empire. Its name The Jews in Morocco, as in most other countries, are
implies the gullet, being conferred on it from its forcing a degraded race, despised and insulted by the Moors,
its way through a narrow rocky pass during a part of its whom they cheat in turn upon all occasions, and not only
course. The melting of the Atlas snows causes an annual abused and struck by adults, but stoned by children for
overflow, which, as it never rains here, is of as much im- the slightest real or imaginary offence. They have no
portance to the country as the inundation of the Nile is to redress against these grievances ; and they must also sub-
Egypt; and the natives accordingly celebrate the event by mit to undertake the most menial offices, such as those
festivities and public rejoicings. The people of Tafilet in- of servants, porters, and scavengers. They are likewise
habit fortified towns, consisting of about four hundred fa- the chief mechanics, interpreters, and the like ; and, be-
milies each, and subsist chiefly on dates, for which their sides being an exceedingly serviceable, are a very nume-
country is much celebrated, and the milk of their camels, rous body.
Deer and ostriches are numerous. The cities of Morocco The Negroes are slaves, and a marketable commodity ;
and Fez are both entrepots of Tafilet. I he capital city, but, from their high character for fidelity, they sometimes
which bears the same name, is, by the route of the caravans, reach stations of great importance, and obtain their free-
twenty days’journey from Morocco, across Mount Atlas, dom. They constitute the sultan’s body guard, and the
and four hundred miles from the foot of the mountain, only standing army in Morocco.
When trade has reached Tafilet, there is a further trans- The government of this country is absolute, unmitigated
port to the utmost point in the interior, where is the grand despotism. The sultan is the head of both church and
mart; and during this journey the most cruel privations are state, which are inseparable. The laws are the edicts of
endured, chiefly arising from the want of water. Tafilet, the despot, who in the capital administers justice in per-
besides its intercourse in that direction, sends tobacco and son. In the provinces, his authority is delegated to the
dates to Guinea in exchange for gold dust. Salt is the kalifa or pasha, who faithfully copies the imperial despo-
chief article which this city receives from Morocco, and tism; yet judgment is generally correct, and always prompt,
the trade in it is in the hands of the sultan, a proof of its The leading principle of legislation appears to be, Keep
importance. These caravans are always commanded and the people poor, and they will not rebel. The religion of
attended by Moors of distinction ; they take with them Morocco is Mahommedanism, and in performing their reli-
blankets of the manufacture of Fez, tobacco, and salt; their gious duties, such as prescribed prayers, ablutions, and the
great return is in young slaves. like, the Moors are very attentive, even when travelling.
The inhabitants of the empire of Morocco may be di- They look upon Christians as having no religion at all;
vided into six classes ; namely, Moors, Arabs, Shelluhs, and, perhaps, from the specimens they often meet with,
Berebbers, Jews, and Negroes. they are not far wrong in this opinion.
The Moors are the descendants of those who were ex- The revenue is derived from taxes paid in kind, one
felled from Spain when the Moorish dynasty was extin- tenth of corn and one twentieth of cattle. There is a ca-
guished in that country. They chiefly inhabit the towns, pitation tax on all Jews; and districts where crimes have
and may be considered as the aristocracy of the country ; been committed are subjected to fines. But the revenue
filling the high offices of government, and forming the mi- is uncertain, and government is frequently compelled to
litary. Their language is the Mogreb, or occidental Ara- levy it by force from some of the Arab tribes. The whole
bic, intermingled with Spanish. For a more particular ac- may amount to about one million sterling. The military
count of the Moors, see the article Barbary States. are a species of militia, who are called out when required.
The Arabs came originally from the desert, and, spread- They receive no pay, but are furnished with a horse ; and
ing themselves over the plains, there pitched their tents, when those of the provinces visit the capital, they receive
commonly in a circle, hence called douars, and followed a a trifling present. The only standing army is the sultan’s
pastoral life. When the soil is unproductive, the herbage body guard, which is about five thousand strong. All the
scanty, or their tents become overrun with insects, so as to soldiers carry long muskets, in the use of which they are
be no longer habitable, they emigrate to another place, a very dexterous, firing at full gallop ; and many of them are
spring or a saint’s tomb generally influencing the selection, good marksmen. They are accustomed to sleep on the
They are mostly under the middle size, and slightly formed, ground, without any covering, even in cold nights, which
but are a hardy race, and capable of great endurance, renders them hardy ; but they are by no means formida-
ihey are hospitable, and maybe trusted under a promise, ble, as they have not an idea of the advantage to be de¬
but are otherwise much given to thieving. Their language rived from moving in regular bodies. If their first charge
18 the Koreish, or Arabic of the Koran, but greatly cor- is indecisive, they are easily put to flight. They have no
ruP^ed' artillery for the field, its management under such circum-
Ihe Berebbers Shelluhs inhabit the mountain range stances being beyond their comprehension,
or Atlas; the former occupying the north-eastern part as The education of the youth is confined to learning the
iar as the province of Tedla, and the latter the space ex- Koran, which they commit to memory in the schools, with
tending from thence to the south-west. They live chiefly the management of a horse, and the use of fire-arms,
in villages, consisting of houses built of stones and mud, Music is almost unknown in the country, a rude pipe,
"ith slated roofs; but occasionally they live in tents, and and still more barbarous drum, being their only instru-
pven in caves. Their principal occupation consists in hunt- ments. These are made to sound without any pretensions
ing ; but they also cultivate the ground, and rear many bees, to concord ; but amongst the Shelluh mountaineers, whose
rom their modeof life, they are more robustand active than songs are plaintive and pleasing, the charms of harmony
, eir neighbours of the plains. It has been conjectured are not unknown.
iat they are the aborigines of this country, and the direct The usual food throughout the country is a dish called
escendants of Ham, having been driven to the mountains Kuscasu, which consists of mutton and fowls stewed with
y the incursions of the Arabs and Moors. Their lan- a few vegetables, and served up in a large earthenware.
MOROCCO.
510
Morocco- pan, filled to overflowing with granulated paste, forming a
''—v'-"-'''savoury and nutritious dish. This is placed on the ground,
and around it half a dozen of persons sit down cross-legged.
Chairs, tables, knives, forks, spoons, and plates, are super¬
fluities unknown to the Moors. Coffee is not used, but tea
is very generally so, and presented to visitors at all hours
of the day. The Moors do not smoke tobacco, but snuff
is taken in great quantities. They occasionally smoke the
leaves of the hemp plant, which partakes of the soothing
qualities of opium. A sort of confection of the seed ot
this plant, called keef, has the same properties, and the use
of this article is consequently much resorted to.
The trade of Morocco is not at all commensurate with
its size, or the number of its inhabitants. The only manu¬
facture is that of the leather which bears its name. The
other exports consist of sweet and bitter almonds, gum-bar¬
bary, gum-soudan, gum-sandrac, bees’ wax, goat-skins, oil
of olives, sheeps’ wool, ostrich-feathers, elephants teeth,
pomegranates, raisins, worm-seed, rose-leaves, glue, fennel,
walnuts, cummin seeds, lead ore, capers, carraway seeds,
and similar productions. The articles of import which meet
the readiest market are cloths of various fabrics, cambrics,
muslins, blue linens, striped silk, velvets, damask, sugars
and spices of all kinds, tea, gums of sundry descriptions,
iron, wrought pewter, tin, white-lead, copper in sheets,
mirrors, earthenware, paper, coral beeds, Brazil wood, and
Mexican dollars. Besides the commercial transactions
now mentioned, Morocco maintains a constant intercourse Mort
with the negro nations beyond the Sahara, whence are'^w
brought gold dust, ivory, and gums, more especially that
valuable sort which is known by the name of gum Se¬
negal, or Soudan. The principal inlet to European pro¬
duce is the port of Mogadore, where accounts are kept.
The circulating medium consists of nutkeels of ten ounces,
the ounce being divided into four olankeels, and the olan-
keel into twenty-four fluce. From their proportion to the
Spanish dollars, the olankeel may be valued at one penny,
the ounce at four pence, and the nutkeel or ducat at three
shillings and four pence. The weights and measures are
as follow: The commercial pound is generally regulated
by the weight of twenty Spanish dollars; so that one hun¬
dred pounds Mogadore weight, or the quintal, is equal to
one hundred and nineteen pounds avoirdupois. The mar¬
ket pound for provisions is fifty per cent, heavier, or one
pound twelve ounces and a half avoirdupois. The corn
measures are for the most part similar to those of Spain,
but there are considerable discrepancies. The cubit or
canna, which is equal to twenty-one English inches, is the
principal long measure. Various estimates have been given
of the annual value of the exports and imports to and
from Morocco, on the loosest authority.
Having completed the general description of this country,
we shall now subjoin the following official returns, collected
by his majesty’s consuls.
Statement of the Trade of the Empire of Morocco, showing the Number and Tonnage of Vessels employed therein with
the Countries to which they belonged; also, the Value of Imports and Exports, distinguishing the Amount of hntuh
and Foreign Goods Imported, and the Trade carried on in British and horeign \essels at each Port oj the Empire.
in the Year 1835.
Mogadore.
Saffee 
Mazagau..
Rabatt....
Laraiche..
Tangier...
Tetuan....
British1 
Austrian....
French 
Neapolitan.
Portuguese.
Russian 
Sardinian...
Spanish 
Swedish 
Tuscan  
American...
Total.
ABSTRACT.
Total.
VESSELS EMPLOYED IN
TRADE.
No.
57
5
31
19
27
191
81
411
163
10
12
2
21
2
71
106
2
14
8
411
Tonnage.
7,562
510
4,588
1,591
2,006
7,467
6,330
30,054
10,416
> 19,638
30,054
Bullion.
(Dollars.)
£
31,406
17,884
British
Goods.
49,290
4,892
44,398
49,290
£
57,157
6,855
22,985
8,492
28,106
37,754
161,349
118,909
42,440
Foreign
Goods.
£
43,221
2,442
46
3,362
4,441
53,612
TotaL
Produce of
Morocco.
£
131,884
24,739
25,427
8,538
31,468
42,195
264,251
161,349
10, 450
43,162
134,251
130,000
53,612 264,251
EXPORTS.
£
167,920
2,184
33,560
22,068
6,767
37,409
42,502
312,410
125.546
186,864
312,410
K Besides the above number of British merchantmen, there entered at Tangier fourteen British vessels of war, and five yacht,
and at Tetuan four vessels of war.
MOROCCO.
Mon
Statement of the Quantities of British and Colonial Merchandise Imported into die Empire of Morocco in the Year 1835.
Quantities.
511
Morocco.
Alum  
Arsenic 
Cassia 
China 
Cloth, coarse 
... fine 
CofFee 
Cotton goods, brown.,
... India...
... wares 
... thread 
Earthenware 
Ginger 
Gum Benzoin 
Gunpowder 
35
6
62
46
97
13
181
286
60,990
1,134
48
196
142
75
363
tons,
boxes,
cases,
boxes,
bales,
bags,
bales,
pieces,
boxes,
bales,
crates,
bags,
boxes,
kegs,
Value.
£
525
50
98
315
6,790
1,470
543
8,550
64,039
38,556
960
905
210
600
1,815
Quantities.
Brought forward,
Hardware of all sorts :
iron, brass, &c 
Iron bars 
Lead, red 
Linen 
Logwood  
Pepper, black 
Silk manufactures of
India, Bandanoes,
&c 
Steel 
Sugar, refined  3,970 cwts.
Lea, Hyson  94 large boxes,
... common  484
320 casks,
808 tons,
181 casks,
7 bales,
445 pieces,
145 bags,
23 bales,
343 casks,
Carry forward, £125,426
Total.
Value.
£
125,426
8,574
8,888
1,079
360
120
302
1,750
707
9,924
1,800
2,420
£161,350
Statement of the Quantities and 1 alue of the Produce of the Empire of Morocco Exported from the Principal Ports of
that Country to Great Britain, including her Dependencies, and to all other Countries, in the Year 1835.
To Great Britain and
her Colonies.
Quantities.
Almonds, sweet cwts
... bitter 
Barley fanegas
Dates cwts.
Elephants’ teeth 
Feathers, ostrich 
Fowls doz.
Gum Arabic cwts.
... Morocco 
... Sandarach 
... Senegal 
Oil 
Orchilla 
Oxen, live No.
Skins, goat doz
••• calf. cwts.
sheep 
Saltpetre 
Wax 
Wheat .fanegas
Wool cwts.
Drugs, &c 
Total.
4,976
2,390
6,488
125
25
14
2,000
4,504
1,372
482
184
5,530
56
1,415
6,640
1,480
4,830
104
1,524
10,681
16,390
V alue.
£
14,585
7,006
1,340
377
558
1,131
1,000
14,133
4,315
2,575
1,637
8,105
293
5,925
4,518
3,099
8,090
109
10,201
3,141
34,317
92
To other Countries.
Total.
Quantities.
125,546
1,040
244
2,500
82
560
20
142
* 880
12
50,655
1,582
8,730
1,117
3,846
1,759
46,671
Value.
£
3,072
715
502
258
1,759
126
743
1,290
63
35,375
3,312
14,623
1,221
24,158
523
98,974
152
Quantities.
186,864
6,016
2,634
8,988
207
25
14
2,000
5,064
1,392
624
184
6,410
68
1,415
57,295
3,062
13,560
1,221
5,370
12,440
63,061
Value.
£
17,657
7,721
1,842
635
558
1,131
1,000
15.892
4,441
3,318
1,637
9,395
356
5,925
39.893
6,411
22,713
1,330
34,359
3,664
133,291
244
312,410
Lie empire of Morocco is a remnant of the great African
Monarchies founded by the Saracens. The dynasty of the
Aglabites, whose seat of empire was at first Kairwan, and
that of the Edrisites, whose capital twas Fez, were both
subjugated by the Fatimites, who, finding employment for
tieir arms in conquering Egypt, allowed their western
ornmions to be usurped by the variously-named Zuhites.
these again were supplanted by the Moravedi or Mora-
et i, who rose into military consequence about the middle
w the eleventh century. Their chief, Abu Bekr Ben Omar
atnathouni, with an army of Marabouts, made himself
aster of the country, after which he assumed the title of
"Hiral Mumeniru, or Prince of theFaithful. His successor,
Yussuf Abu Tashfin, pushed on his conquests, carrying his
arms into Spain ; and to this prince is ascribed the build¬
ing of the city of Morocco, which at first obtained the name
of Marakash. In the middle of the twelfth century this
warlike people gave way before the Almohades, a sect or
tribe of more austere character, and supposed to be Ka~
hyles of the Berber nation. This tribe subjugated a con¬
siderable portion of Africa, but were not so fortunate in
Spain as their predecessors. After the lapse of a century,
intestine discords exposed the Mohadi to the successful
attacks of several rival tribes, particularly the Merinites,
or Beni Merini, who ultimately obtained possession of the
kingdoms of Fez and Morocco. This tribe, however, did
512
M 0 R
Morpeth not push its conquests far, and its power was shaken by
II • hordes of unknown name and origin, who continued to issue
Morpheus. from the eastern desert. It was ultimately overthrown by
^ ^ the Oatazi, an obscure race, who envied the greatness of
the Beni Merini, and aspired to supreme dominion. Coin¬
cident with the triumph of the Oatazi was the invasion of
the Portuguese, who established themselves along the coast,
and began to disturb the country with a view to the pro¬
pagation of Christianity. This emergency in their affairs
induced the Oatazi to call to their aid the Shereefs settled
at Tafilet. In fact, they appear to have been invited on
account of their character as the supposed descendants of
Mahommed, under the emergencies of the state, menaced
with extraneous violence. Hassan Shereef had the ment,
M O R
in the eyes of his country, of delivering it from the dangers
of foreign thraldom ; and he compensated himself by the
possession of the sceptre, which he left to his family. He
was completely successful in his enterprise; and having
subjugated the zealots, who had shaken the empire, he
placed on the throne that dynasty which continues to oc¬
cupy it to the present day. With the regal power the
descendants of Hassan unite the more sacred distinction
which attaches to their pedigree as the progeny of Ma¬
hommed.
Mr Washington, the only traveller who can be fully re¬
lied on, estimates the actual population of Morocco at be¬
tween five and six millions. (R» R- R.)
lo
Mo;
Mo»
MORPETH, a town in the county of Northumberland,
in the western division of the ward of its own name, 292
miles from London, situatedon the banks of the river Wens-
bech, in tbe course of the great road from London to Ldin-
burffh. The town can boast of remote antiquity, and is
well built, consisting chiefly of two wide streets, in the
centre of which is the market-place, which, though con¬
veniently situated, is not sufficiently capacious for the large
droves of cattle which are here exposed for sale.
the year 1553 till 1832 the town returned two members to
parliament, elected by the bailiffs and free burgesses; but
since the passing of the reform bill it returns only one.
Before 1832 the number of voters was estimated at about
200; at the last general election (1835) there were
electors registered as qualified to vote. By the late mu¬
nicipal corporations bill, the borough is placed under the
municipal government of four aldermen and twelve coun¬
cillors. Morpeth has been twice destroyed by fire, first
in 1215, on which occasion, Camden says, it was burned
down by its inhabitants, out of hatred to King John; but
the chronicle of Melrose assigns a more probable cause,
asserting that this and many other towns were destroyed
by the barons, with the view of distressing that monarch
oh his march to punish their revolt. It was burned down
a second time by accident in 1689, when nearly the who e
buildings were destroyed. Besides the parish church (a
very plain structure), there is a Catholic chapel, and a Pres¬
byterian and a Methodist meeting-house, in the town.
Edward VI. founded and endowed a grammar school here :
there is likewise an English free school. In 1829 there
was erected a new county jail, house of correction, court¬
house &c. The town-house was erected at the expense
of the’Earl of Carlisle, in 1714. Of Morpeth Castle, which
was situated on an eminence in the neighbourhood, few
vestiges remain. It was built by William Lord Greystock
in 1358, and is said to have been of some extent and con¬
sequence as a baronial mansion. The population of the
town amounted in 1801 to 2951, in 1811 to 3244 m 1821
to 3415, and in 1831 to 3890; but the whole parish, which
contains seven other townships, appears by the last census
to have had 4797 inhabitants. In the borough of Morpeth
there are 560 inhabited houses, 897 families, fifty-five of
whom are chiefly employed in agriculture, 353 in trade, ma¬
nufactures, and handicraft, and 489 not comprised in either
of these classes: the males amounted to 18ol, and the
females to 2039. j r i
MORPHEUS, in fabulous history, the god of sleep,
or, according to others, one of the ministers of Somnus.
He caused drowsiness, and represented the forms of dreams.
Ovid styles him the kindest of the deities ; and he is usu¬
ally described in a recumbent posture, crowned with pop¬
pies.
MORRHINAorMuRRHiNA Vasa,were a sortofcupsor
vases made use of by the ancients. Authors are not agreed
as to the substance of which they were made. Some say
they were of stone; others assert that they were made of
a fluid condensed by being buried under ground. All that
we know concerning the matter is, that this kind of cup
was known by the name of murrha, and that Heliogaba-
lus’s chamber-pot was made of it. The word is sometimes
written myrrhina.
MORRISE-Dances. See Moresque-Dances.
MORS, Death, one of the infernal deities, born of Night
without a father, and worshipped by the ancients with great
solemnity. Death was not represented as an actually ex¬
isting power, but as an imaginary being; and Euripides,
in one of his tragedies, introduces this deity upon the stage.
The moderns represent death as a skeleton armed with a
scythe and a scimitar.
MORSHANST, a circleof the Russian province of lam-
bow, extending from east longitude 41. 17. to 43. 27., and
from north latitude 53. 14. to 53. 55.; containing 1958
square miles, with 104,870 inhabitants. The soil is good,
and produces a surplus of corn and cattle, and a sufficiency
of wood. The capital is the city of the same name, situ¬
ated on the river Zna, 828 miles from St Petersbuig. t
contains 609 houses, with 5500 inhabitants, who find em
ployment in making sail-cloth, twine, ropes, and in melting
tallow. Long. 41. 55. E. Lat. 53. 25. N.
MORTAGNE, an arrondissement of the department ot
the Orne, in France, extending over 806 square miles, and
containing a population of 122,000 persons. It is divi e
into eleven cantons, and these again into 171 communes.
The capital is the city of the same name, situated on a
hill, at the base of which flows the river Chyppe. It is a
well-built town, surrounded with walls, containing
houses, and 5750 inhabitants, who make some linen and
cotton goods, and carry on some twist spinning. Long. •
27.14. E. Lat. 48. 31. 18. N. i l t t nf
MORTAIN, an arrondissement in the department
La Manche, in.France, extending over 357 square mi es,
and containing a population of 74,300 persons. is
vided into eight cantons, and these into seventy-tnre
communes. The capital is the town of the same nam ,
situated on the river Cance, between two steep rocks, i
inhabitants amount to 2440 persons, who are employe ,
making earthenware, and the females in making
lace. Long. 1. 7. W. Lat. 48. 57. N.
513
mortality, human.
Mr
Ilia
iity. We shall consider this very important, as well as curious
of. subject, under two distinct heads ; the first of which will
treat of the History and Formation of Bills of Mortality ;
the second, of the Law of Mortality.
I. MORTALITY, BILLS OF.
Bills of Mortality are abstracts from parish registers,
shewing, as their name imports, the numbers that have died
in any parish or place during certain periods of time, as in
each week, month, or year; and are, accordingly, denomi¬
nated weekly, monthly, or yearly bills. They also include
the numbers of the baptisms during the same periods, and
generally those of the marriages.
ts of The objects of the present article are these : First, to
side, give a brief history of the principal things that have been
done in this way, which may suffice for such as are not dis¬
posed to go further into the subject, and may, at the same
time, indicate the best sources of information to those who
take more interest in it.
As both mortuary registers and enumerations of the people
are much more valuable when combined than when sepa¬
rate, we shall also notice some of the principal enumera¬
tions, the results of which have been published. We shall
then point out some of the. principal defects in most of the
published registers and enumerations; and, lastly, shall sub¬
mit some forms, according to which, if enumerations be
made, and registers kept, they will be easily convertible to
useful purposes.
The ancients do not appear to have kept any exact mor¬
tuary registers, at least no account of any registers of that
kind, with the ages of the deceased, have come down to us;
and although, in the Roman Census, first established by
bei vms Tullius, both the ages and sexes of the people were
distinguished, we have no exact account of these particulars
in any one of their enumerations.
Indeed the principal object of the census among that war¬
like people, was the levying of men and money for the pur¬
poses ot conquest; the duration of human life appears to
have occupied very little of their attention, and their profi-
Zw^111 tle,SC1TCe of (luantity was not sufficient either to
lew them what the necessary data were, or to enable them
possession^ mferenCeS fr°m them’ had they been in their
W!f f °d ac“unt of ^at the ancient Romans did in this
found in Vei!rrnCeS t0 ithe oriSinaI authorities, may be
round m he Italian translation of M. Demoivre’s Treatise
mhvTT™ ™ fjWeS’ by Gaeta and F°ntana, which was
“ 11,6 year 1776’in 8™-
inthtev^!Pi rfo0f- parish reSisters commenced in England
that vpL\ tl’m co^sequence of an injunction issued in
the Pnn ’by ],homaS Cr°nwell, who, after the abolition of
Vllf Ta tUthonty V1 this kingdom, in the reign of Henry
astical afthir^611 appointed the king’s vicegerent in ecclesi-
menced witb^^^-^6^ ^ Germany appear to have com-
Ordnunr, Sfwntb century; and in the Gdttliche
the tim/nf T US*[ridcil (L ‘j1- s- 23)> »'e are informed, that at
old renismLL?riCr<?m^e11 S function, they had already
However ^ b°th-at Augsburgh and Brcslaw^
gisters da n t ex^racts there given from the Augsburgh re¬
fer Bredaw b?° bafi?«her ?an the ycar 1501’ nor those
seventeenth About the beginning of the
tablished in ^lsters aPPear to have been es-
Vol xv Pa S °f EuroPe > hut it was not until the
year 1662 that they began to attract public notice, and to Mortality
be considered as the sources of valuable and interesting in- Bills of. ’
formation.
In that year, John Graunt, a citizen of London, (after-MroCmt
wards an officer in the trained bands of the city, and a
Fellow of the Royal Society), published his Natural and
Political Observations on the Bills of Mortality, principally
those for London. The London bills, or accounts of bap¬
tisms and burials, appear to have been occasioned by the
plague, and to have been begun in the year 1592, a time of
great mortality. They were afterwards discontinued, but
were resumed in 1603, after the great plague of that year.
They have ever since been continued weekly, and an annual
bill also has been regularly published. In 1629, the num-
bei of deaths by the different diseases and casualties, were
first inserted in them, also the distinction of the sexes; and
these have been continued ever since. But it is in the totals
only of the baptisms and burials that the sexes are distin¬
guished in these bills. They do not shew how many of
each sex died of each disease, neither have they, since 1728,
when the distinction of the ages of the dead was first intro¬
duced, shewn how many of each sex died in each interval
of age, but only the total number of both sexes.
This book of Graunt’s, although the first, is also one of
the best that have been published on the subject. It con¬
tains many judicious observations on the imperfections of
the bills, on the proportions of the deaths from different dis¬
eases and casualties, and on their increase and decrease, with
the probable causes of such fluctuations. He also observed,
that “ the more sickly the years are, the less fecund or
fruitful of children also they be.”
Besides the London bills, he gave one for a country pa¬
rish in Hampshire, in the first edition of his book ; and, in
an appendix to the later editions, two others, one for Tiver¬
ton, the other for Cranbrook in Kent, with a few observa¬
tions on foreign bills. He almost always reasons justly from
his data; but, as these were very imperfect, in his endea¬
vours to draw more information from them than they could
supply, he has sometimes fallen into error.
Even in this enlightened age, when a much greater pro¬
portion of the people devote a portion of their leisure to the
acquisition of knowledge than in Graunt’s time, subjects of
this kind have but few attractions for the generality even
of reading men, wffio cannot endure the fatigue of thinking
closely for any length of time. The author, accordingly,
expected his readers to be rather select than numerous, and
was ambitious of that distinction, as appears by the motto
he prefixed to his work,
 Non, me ut miretur turba, laboro,
Content us paucis lectoribus.
The book was, however, favourably received by the pub¬
lic, and went through five editions in fifteen years, the two
first in 4to, the three others in 8vo ; the last of them, pub¬
lished in 1676, two years after the author’s death, was edited
by his friend Sir William Petty, who, in consequence of
having sometimes spoken of this edition as his own, has by
some writers been erroneously considered as the author.
Graunt’s observations, like all others of a similar kind, by
shewing the usefulness of parish registers and bills of mor¬
tality, contributed to form a taste for these inquiries amongst
thinking men; and, consequently, to improve both the regis¬
ters and the bills derived from them; so that, from his time,
the subject has been continually cultivated more and more.
Parish registers, in most parts of Europe, have been kept
with more care; and a succession of works of considerable
merit have been published on the subject, containing an
3 T
.514
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Dr. Halley.
Dr- Dave-
nant and
Gregory
King.
Mortality, important part of the natural and political history of our spe-
Bills of. cies, and affording valuable materials for the science of poli¬
tical economy.
The principal of these works we shall proceed to give a
short account of, in the order of their publication.
As the ages at which the deaths took place were not in¬
serted in the London bills till 1728, Captain Graunt could
not avail himself of that important information, but made a
fruitless attempt to determine the law of mortality without it.
The Breslau bills appear to have been the first wherein
the ages at which the deaths took place were inserted, and
the most important information which bills of mortality can
afford was first drawn from them by Dr. Halley; who, in
1692, constructed a table of mortality for Breslau from these
bills for the five preceding years, and inserted a paper on
the subject in the Philosophical Transactions, (No. 196.)
In 1699, Dr. Davenant, in An Essay upon the probable
Methods of making a People Gainers in the Ballance of
Trade, published some extracts from Naturcd and Political
Observations and Conclusions upon the State and Condition
of England, by permission of their author, Mr. Gregory
King, Lancaster herald, who had completed them in 1696,
though they still remained in manuscript; and the whole of
Chalmers, this very curious production was published by Mr. Chalmers
at the end of his Estimate in 1802. Mr. King derived his
information from the poll-books ; from actual observations
in particular places ; from the assessments on marriages,
births, and burials ; and from the parish registers. Many
of his conclusions agree surprisingly well, considering the
time he wrote, with those which are the results of a hun¬
dred years of further observations and inquiries. He had
access to much better data than Graunt, and his conclu¬
sions are more accurate; but he does not explain so fully
how he arrived at them.
M. Kersse- From the publication of Davenant’s essay, above men-
boom. tioned, nearly forty years had elapsed without any thing
further being done in this way, when M. Kersseboom pub¬
lished an essay, in the Dutch language, on the probable
number of people in Holland and West Friesland, which he
deduced from the Bills of Mortality, Hague, 1738, 4to;
and two others in 1740 and 1742. (See Law of Human
Mortality.)
J. P. Suss- In 1742 was published the first edition of the celebrated
milch. work, entitled Die Gbtiliche Ordnung in den Verdnderun-
gen des menschlichen Geschlechts aus der Geburt, deni Tode
und der Fortpflanzung desselben erwiesen von Johann Peter
Siissmilch. The second edition appeared in 1761, en¬
riched with the materials which had been laid before the
public through various channels in the interim; the third
in 1765, and in 1775 a fourth edition of the two volumes of
J Baumann Siissmilch was published by Christian Jacob Baumann, to
which this editor himself added, in 1776, a third volume,
consisting of additions to the other two, and remarks upon
them, with many new tables, and a copious index. The
last edition of this work was published in 1798, but it does
not appear to have been augmented or improved since 1776.
It contains long dissertations on every thing not mathema¬
tical connected with the subject, and, besides original infor¬
mation, includes the substance of all the other publications
on it previous to 1776; with an immense collection of ma¬
terials, which, when borrowed, are often better arranged and
rendered more convenient for reference, than they will be
found to be in the works they were extracted from; be¬
sides. the original sources of information are always referred
to, and these advantages, with that of a full index, render
it a valuable work for occasional reference. The three thick
octavo volumes contain upwards of two thousand three hun¬
dred pages, closely printed with a small type, and the tables
alone occupy three hundred and thirty pages.
In 1746 was published theEssai of M. Deparcieux, which
has been already mentioned in the historical introduction to
M. Depar¬
cieux.
the article Annuities. Information much wanted on this Mortal
subject, was there given in a very clear and popular man- Bills j
ner, and the work no doubt contributed greatly to the ad-^yf
vancement of the science. It probably had some influence
in promoting the establishment of what is called the Tabell-
vdrket in Sweden, which took place in 1749, and of which
we shall have occasion to take further notice presently.
In 1750 appeared, in octavo, New Observations natu- Dr. Sb
rol, moral, civil, political, and medical, on City, Town, and
Country Bills of Mortality ; to which are added, large and
clear Abstracts of the best Authors who have written on that
subject; with an Appendix of the Weather and Meteors,
by Thomas Short, M.D. which he had “had on the anvil”
for eighteen years, as he informs us in the preface to his
History of Air, Weather, &c. This author, with incredible
labour, collected extracts from the motuary and baptismal
registers in a great many market-towns and country parishes
in England, chiefly in the northern counties, in almost every
variety of soil and situation, and reduced them into tables
in various ways, so as to enable him to draw useful infer¬
ences from them. . . .
He informs us that Lord Cromwell’s injunction in 1538
was but little regarded in many places till the year 1559,
when another was issued for the same purpose by Queen
Elizabeth; nevertheless, he had procured several exact coun¬
try registers, commencing with 1538, and continued with¬
out one chasm, for more than two hundred years ; and the
registers before 1644, he considered to be much more valu¬
able than afterwards, on account of the increase of dissent¬
ers from that time. He likewise procured both the num¬
bers of families and of souls in seven of the market towns,
and fifty-four of the country parishes, for which he had re¬
gisters ; and thus arrived at satisfactory information on se¬
veral points, which, till then, had been very imperfectly un¬
derstood. But the sexes were not distinguished in his enu¬
merations ; neither were the ages, in any of the enumera¬
tions or registers he has given accounts of, except in the
London Bills of Mortality, and what he has taken from Dr.
Halley, respecting those for Breslau.
Although Dr. Short took so much trouble in collecting
materials, and has generally reasoned well upon them, he
has shown but little skill, and does not appear to have taken
much pains in communicating his information to his readers,
so that it costs them considerable labour to find what they
want, especially in his tables ; and when found, to under¬
stand it. „ ,. ,, ,, •
In 1751 was first printed a tract by Corbyn Morris, en- MrA
titled, Observations on the past growth and present state oj
the City of London, with the most convenient and instruc¬
tive tables of the London bills that have been printed; they
contained the annual baptisms and burials from the year IbU,
the number of annual deaths by each disease from ib/o,
and of each age from 1728 ; all brought down to the year
1750. This tract was reprinted in 1758, with a continua¬
tion of the tables to the end of 1757 ; these also contain
useful annual averages and proportions. Mr. Morris s od
servations are generally very judicious, but he was °n
those authors who appear to have laboured under m»ch mis¬
conception with regard to the evils to be apprehen e
the mortality of London, and what they considere
its baneful effects in drawing recruits from the co •
These writers did not perceive, or did not sufficient y
sider, that the natural procreative power is much mo
adequate to supply any waste of that kind, and tha
obstacle to the increase of the people, is the im11^ in
of subsistence. This had been observed by Dr. Halley
his Further Considerations on the Breslau Bills J
tality, (Phil. Trans. 1693,; though it there also appe,
that he had not sufficiently conslderf^th£m??enklin ijhis
ation : this w^as first fully illustrated by D'^raf m mb
excellent Observations on the Increase of Mankind, reop
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
515
Jtftjility, ling of Countries, See. written in Philadelphia in 1751, the
B I of. same year in which Mr. Morris’s pamphlet was first pub-
w '^lished. The author also pointed out in that pamphlet, ma¬
terial defects in the Bills of Mortality, and proposed a bet¬
ter method of keeping them, not only in London, but through¬
out the kingdom. This gave occasion to a paper by Mr.
jl,. ebon James Dodson, which was inserted in the Philosophical
Transactions for that year (1751,) wherein he showed the
importance of their being so kept as to afford the means of
valuing annuities on lives, and proposed other alterations
which appeared to him calculated to fit them for the purpose.
Nid as Nicolaas Struyck of Amsterdam, who, in his Introduction
gtrljk. to General Geographrj, published there in 1740, had inserted
(Gissingen over den staat van ’t Menschelyh Geslagt,) Con¬
jectures on the State of the Human Species ; published at
the same place in 1753, a quarto volume, the first half of
which is astronomical, the other (216 pages) is entitled
(Nader Ontdekkingen noopens den staat van het Men-
schelyk Geslagt,) Further Discoveries concerning the State
of the Human Species. It contains statements of actual
enumerations of the people in many Dutch villages, prin¬
cipally in North Holland, w herein the sexes are distinguished,
and the numbers in childhood, celibacy, marriage, and widow¬
hood ; but with x-espect to their ages, it is only stated for
each sex, how many were under ten years, and how many
of the unmarried were above that age ; except in two in¬
stances, wherein the number of each sex is given in each
interval of five years of age, from birth to the extremity of
life : they amount altogether to 2728, of whom not one was
above the age of eighty-five, and only four above eighty.
He generally gives, for each place, the names and pro¬
fessions or occupations of the persons who made the enu¬
meration, and the precise day on which it was made ; or if
it occupied the parties more days than one, those on which
it was commenced and completed are given ; a practice
which shows a laudable solicitude about particulars, and a
title to our confidence, the want of which we have great
cause to lament in too many other writers.
Extracts from many parish registers are also given; in
these, too, the ages are seldom noticed ; but in a few cases
they are given very minutely, especially in that of West-
zaandam, for which, the numbers who died in each interval
of five years of age, from birth to the extremity of life, are
given; also the number in each year of age under fifteen,
the number in each month of the first year of age, even the
number that died in the first hour from birth, in the first
twenty-four hours, and in each day of the first week of their
age. During a term of nineteen years, the whole number
ot deaths thus registered was 3328 ; but the sexes were not
distinguished under fifteen years of age, which Struyck him¬
self lamented. The work also contains much information
respecting the population and parish registers of Amsterdam,
Haarlem, &c. with some accounts of other countries, and of
other works on the subject.
rch. Ei 1759 was published at London, in 4to, A Collection
of the yearly Dills of Mortality, from 1657 to 1758 inclu¬
sive, together with several other Bills of an earlier date ;
to which wrere subjoined Captain Graunt’s Observations ;
Another Essay, in Political Arithmetic, by Sir William
Petty ; the Observations of Corbyn Morris, Esq. ; and A
Comparative View of the Diseases and Ages, ivith a Table
of the Probabilities of Life for the last thirty years, by J.
P. Esq. F. R. S. This is a valuable compilation, and has
been generally attributed to Dr. Birch, the Secretary and
Historian ol the Royal Society ; the preface is very judici¬
ous, and contains a good deal of information. For the fol¬
lowing history of this publication, the author of the present
article is indebted to the kindness of Dr. Heberden:—
“ The bills were collected into a volume by his father,
t ie late Dr. Heberden. He procured, likewise, observations
‘ iom several of his friends, rectors of some large parishes, or
others likely to give him information ; particularly from Mortality,
Bishop Moss, Bishop Green, Bishop Squire, and Dr. Birch. Bills of.
These, together with some of his own remarks, were throwm
into the form ot a preface; and the whole was committed
to the care of Dr. Birch. To make the calculations which
appear at the end of the book, Dr. Heberden employed James
Postlethwrayt, Esq. a very distinguished arithmetician.”
In the year 1766, this branch of knowledge was enriched M. Mes-
with new materials, of more value than all that had previ- sance.
ously been laid before the public. These were contained
in three publications, of which we shall first notice the Re-
cherches sur la Population des generalites <f Auvergne, de
Lyon, de Rouen, et de quelques Provinces et Villes du Ro-
yame. Par M. Messance, Receveur des Tables de TElec-
tion de Saint Etienne.
Most of the political writers in France, for some years
previous to the date of this publication, had asserted confi¬
dently that the kingdom was depopulated, but without pro¬
ducing any proofs. The object of M. Messance was, to en¬
able his readers to judge of the merit of such assertions, and
to pronounce less vaguely on a subject in itself so interest¬
ing, the knowledge of which can only be obtained by a great
number of facts and actual observations. The work, ac¬
cordingly, is filled with tables, exhibiting the results of ac¬
tual enumerations of the people, and of extracts from the
parish registers. They show, for each sex, how many were
under fourteen, or in celibacy above that age ; those in the
states of marriage and of widowhood ; and the number of
domestic servants. The numbers of families are also stated ;
and the enumerations of the ecclesiastics, properly classed,
are given separately ; but no other information respecting
the ages of the living is given than that mentioned above.
A great many statements are also inserted of the numbers
that died in different parishes and more extensive districts,
under five years of age, between five and ten, and in each
interval of ten years, from thence to the age of one hun¬
dred ; during different periods of from ten to forty years or
more, generally ending about the year 1760; but in these
the sexes are not distinguished.
In all cases, he has given the general results of his tables,
and the proportions they afford, very distinctly stated ; and
among these results, the increase of the population during
the preceding sixty years, to which his researches were ge¬
nerally limited, is clearly ascertained.
The work also contains many interesting tables, in which
the rate of mortality and the produce of manufacturing la¬
bour, are compared with the contemporaneous prices of
grain, in various places, generally for periods of twenty years
each.
In the same year was published, at Yverdon, in octavo, the Muret
work entitled Memoire sur VEtat de la Population, dans le
Pays de Vaud, qui a obtenu la prix propose par la Societe
Economique de Berne. Par M. Muret, premier Pasteur a
Vevey, et Secretaire de la Societe Economique de Yevey.
The Pays de Vaud contains 112 parishes, and the popu¬
lation at that time was about 113,000 souls. M. Muret
wrote for information to all the clergymen in the country,
who made him returns of the numbers of baptisms and
burials in their respective parishes, for different periods,
from ten to forty years, in many of which both the ages and
sexes were distinguished; and from about two-thirds of them
he obtained also the numbers of marriages and families ac¬
tually subsisting ; also the number of souls, “ or at least of
communicants,” in their parishes : but neither the ages nor
sexes were distinguished in any of the enumerations of the
living.
This performance does much credit both to the author’s
industry and judgment, but it has also material defects. He
gave upwards of fifty tables, by which he intended to show
the probabilities and expectations of life till five years of
age, and at every fifth year after that, in different parishes
516
mortality, human.
Mortality, and places, under various circumstances of soil and situa-
Bills of. tion, and for people of different habits and occupations ,
'also for the two sexes separately. These must have cost
him a good deal of labour, and would have been extremely
valuable had they been correct; but, unfortunately, he did
not understand the construction of such tables, and they
are not to be depended upon. He also took considerable
pains to determine the rates of mortality among, married
and single women, considered separately, and thought he
had proved that it was less among the married ; but the
proofs he adduced were not conclusive. Some of his ob¬
servations on the state of the population, and the plans he
recommended for encreasing it, also show, that he did not
understand the principle on which its progress depends.
It is with much reluctance that we make, on so respec¬
table an author, remarks which apply equally to almost a
his predecessors in these inquiries ; but this we consider to
be rendered necessary, by the J/emoiV generally, and the
Tables in particular, having been praised for their extieme
accuracy, in a very good abridgment of them, inserted in
the second volume of a book, entitled De Re Rustica, or
the Repository, Lond. 1770, 8vo.
The disadvantages of her soil and climate necessarily keep
Sweden thinly peopled in comparison with the countries
which, in these respects, are more happily circumstanced ;
and since the year 1748, the state of the population has
been an obiect of anxious solicitude with the government;
which, in 1749, established what, in this country, would pro¬
bably be called a Board of Population, but is there deno¬
minated Tabell- Vdrket, that is, Table-Establishment, for re¬
ducing into convenient forms the extracts from the parish
registers, and the returns from the magistrates of the num¬
bers of the people, which the governors of the different pro¬
vinces are required to state to the commissioners appointed
for these purposes. The extracts from the registers are made
and transmitted annually, but the enumerations only once in
three years.    
Printed forms, with proper blanks, distinguishing the ages
and sexes, both of the living and the dead, with the diseases
the deaths were occasioned by, are distributed throughou
the country, to enable the people to make these returns
correctly and uniformly; and the information thus acqun -
ed, respecting the state of population and mortality, is much
more correct and satisfactory than what has been obtained
in any other place of considerable extent; but from causes
which we have not room to explain here, the results were
not laid before the public until some years after the returns
were made.
M.Wargen- M. Wargentin who was one of the Royal Commissioners
tin- of the Tabell-Yarket, inserted in the Transactions of the
Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm for the years
1754 and 1755, six papers on the usefulness of annual re¬
gisters of births and deaths in a country ; which, like all
his other productions, were written with much judgment
and modesty ; but, to illustrate the subject, he was general¬
ly under the necessity of borrowing materials from the writ¬
ings of others ; as, at that time, he was only in possession
of the results of complete Swedish returns for the years
1749 and 1750. In the same Transactions for the year
1766, he inserted a paper on the mortality in Sweden, in
which he gave Tables exhibiting the number of the Living
of each six in each of the following intervals of age . be¬
tween birth and one year completed, between one and three,
between three and five, and then in each consecutive pei iod
of five years of age till ninety, the last including all those
above ninety years of age ; at the three enumerations of
the people which were made in the years 1757, 1/60, and Mortalitr
1663 ; with the annual average number of still-born chil- Billsoi:
dren and of those born alive, also the number of deaths that'S^Y*/
took place in each of those intervals of age, during each of
the periods of three years, which ended at the times of these
three enumerations, the sexes being always distinguished.
These particulars he gave both for all Sweden and Finland,
and for Stockholm separately ; with other interesting re¬
sults of the registers and enumerations, and many judicious
observations on them. The ages of the living at the differ¬
ent enumerations, and those at which the deaths took place
in all the subsequent publications of them, have been given
for the intervals of age stated above.
This paper of M. Wargentin is more valuable than all
that had previously been published on the subject; it is also
to be found in the French abridgment of the Stockholm
Transactions, in the eleventh volume of the Collection Aca-
demique (partie etrangere), which abridgment was also pub¬
lished separately in 4to at Paris, in 1772.
Condorcet in his Eloge of M. Wargentin states, that he
had collected the results of his labours as Commissioner of
the Tabell-Verket in a great work which he had not time
to publish ; but in that statement, there is probably some
mistake. In the Stockholm Fransactions for the first quar¬
ter of the year 1801, M. Nicander informs us, that M. War¬
gentin at his death, left in manuscript a continuation of the
observations published in 1766, consisting of four state¬
ments similar to those just mentioned; the first for the
years 1765, 1766, and 1767, the second for the two follow¬
ing years, the third for the year 1772 alone, and the fourth
for 1774, 1775, and 1776 ; and having taken the mean of
all the seven, he sent it a little before his death to Di.
Price, who published it in the fourth edition of his “ Ob¬
servations on Reversionary Payments? which appeared in
1783, the same year in which Wargentin died.
In 1767, Dr. Short published, in quarto, A Comparative
History of the Increase and Decrease of Mankind, in which
the tables are printed more intelligibly, and there is more
information respecting foreign Bills of Mortality, than in
his New Observations.
The first edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever-^, Pnc
sionary Payments appeared in 1771, and contained ‘ Ob¬
servations on the expectations of lives, the increase of man¬
kind, the number of inhabitants in London, and the influ¬
ence of great towns on health and population,” which had
been published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1769,
and added considerably to the information on those subjects
which had been previously before the public; also obser¬
vations on the proper methods of constructing tables oi
"^Tnihe Philosophical Transactions for the years 1774 andDrs.Ha
1775, were inserted two excellent papers by Dr; Haygar
of Chester, in which he gave the Bills of Mortality for tha
city, for the years 1772 and 1773 respectively, in a orm
calculated to exhibit, at one view, the most useful and in¬
teresting information such bills can afford without calcula¬
tion, and presenting to the calculator data that are essen
tial to the solution of the most important questions respect¬
ing the state of the population. Three papers by Dr. rer-
cival (also of considerable merit) appeared m the same
Transactions about this time, relating principally to me
population of Manchester and its neighbourhood.
P The second part of Dr. Moehsen’s « Collection of Ob p,
servations for the better illustration of the great usefulne en.
and value of Inoculation for the Small-pox, 1 \vas publis
ed in 1775 ; in which he gave a good historical accou
Entes Stuck, Lubeck 1774;
. Sammtuusmerkv.urdigcrErfahru^endie c^Wcth u,dgros.at f .Mted in fc title, ®i"°
*4.**' - ^ 1775 . T SeTeS”;'. £ gave notice*that h/tenAs on bin third table
... • - .1 1' 11 mirt- . iurViirh Vinwpvfif. IS WfUltUlK.
K„;rer.rrPffi^^
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mori
Bill: .
the first institution of Registers of Births, Marriages, and
Deaths, and of their gradual progress and useful applica¬
tions down to his time; also twenty-six tables derived from
the Berlin Bills of Mortality for a period of seventeen years,
commencing with 1758, and ending with 1774.
For each of the seventeen years he gave in the text what he
calledaYear Table, shewingforthatyear the numberof deaths
by small-pox, which took place during each month, in each of
the first five years of age separately, and also in each interval
of five years of age above that, with the number during the
whole year in each of those intervals of age, the total num¬
ber in each month of the year and also in the whole year;
so far without distinction of sex or condition. But he added
in each of those tables, the distribution of the number who
died in the year by the small-pox into the civil and mili¬
tary population, shewing for each of these classes how many
of each sex were children and how many adults, taking the
age of fifteen years as the limit between them, without no¬
ticing the month or the interval of age in which the deaths
took place. And in an 18th table he gave the same infor¬
mation for the first half of the year 1775. At page 152,
he gave a table shewing the number of deaths in Berlin
during each of those seventeen years, from all causes with¬
out distinction, but distinguishing the civil from the mili¬
tary population, and the sexes in each case. Amongst
these deaths the still-born are included, which it is impor¬
tant to notice here, as he did not mention it. At the end
he gave seven other which he called Principal Tables ;
the three first are summaries of his Year Tables ; the first
exhibiting at one view the number of deaths by small-pox
in each month of each of the seventeen years, also those in
each month during the whole term, with the whole number
during each year, and the total during the whole term of
seventeen years, without distinction of age, sex, or condi¬
tion. The second shews the number of those deaths in
each year, and the sum of them in all the years, disting¬
uishing the sexes, the civil from the military population,
and children from adults. The third shews the number of
those deaths in each interval of age that took place in each
year, and also during the whole term, without noticing the
particulars given in the two first tables. In the fourth ta¬
ble he gave the numbers of male and female children se¬
parately which were born in each month of each of the
seventeen years, with the total number in each year, and
the total number born in each month during the whole term
of seventeen years, but without mentioning whether the
still-born were included in these statements or not; it seems
probable that they were, as he included them in the deaths.
Taking the numbers of births and deaths, as stated by
Br. Moehsen, without attending to the still-born, it appears
that
517
The whole number born dur-1 „„
the seventeen years was J ’
Males.
915
Females.
31,718
Both
sexes.
65,633
While there died of the civil 1 Qn
population 
Of the military  11,166
30,153
9,341
60,626
20,507
Total 41,639 39,494 81,133
Exceeding the births by  7724 '7776 15,500
His fifth table shews how many children were still-born,
ao ow many died during each of those seventeen years,
a so urmg the whole term, by each of thirteen different
iseases which are the most prevalent amongst “ children
otiers, but without distinction of age, sex, or condi-
ion, and without including the small-pox, respecting which
taw Same, ioforoiation was given both in his first and third
inf 68 ’ ^la^ makes fourteen, of which he has given this
°rmation. But two of them, Rittlen and Maseru, appear
to be only different forms or varieties of what we denomi- Mortality,
nate measles, whilst of some other heads or denominations Bills of.
in the Berlin bills, probably each included several distinct
diseases ; as disease of the chest and consumption, both dis¬
tinguished from phthisis (Swindsucht) which is given se¬
parately. But these Dr. Moehsen could only give as he
found them in the Weekly Bills of Mortality, from which
he states that he formed his Tables.
His sixth table shews the number of suicides that took
place in each month of those seventeen years, and also dur¬
ing the whole term, in the five different divisions following,
viz., by shooting, hanging, cutting the throat, drowning,
and otherwise ; also the number of deaths by accidents in
forty-nine different ways, the whole number being 447 ;
distinguishing the civil from the military population, males
from females, and children from adults, but without stating
the months in which the deaths took place. Amongst
those causes of death, except drowning and sudden death,
the numbers by which were ninety and one hundred and
thirty-one respectively, the greatest number, thirty-nine,
was of those who died by hunger and misery in the year
1772. Always excluding the still-born; the number of
deaths in 1/72 was 8314, whilst the annual average num¬
ber of the remaining sixteen years was only 4339 ; so that
in 1772 the mortality was nearly twice as great as on the
average of the other sixteen years of the term, which shews
how small a number of deaths is imputed in the bills to
hunger and destitution in comparison with those which, al¬
though ascribed to other causes, were hastened and chief¬
ly produced by want and misery.
The seventh table shews for the year 1774 alone, the
number of the still-born, the number of deaths by unknown
diseases, and the number of them produced by each of
seventy-three different diseases and casualties according to
the Berlin Weekly Bills, which took place in each month
of that year and during the whole year, with distinction of
the civil from the military population, males from females,
and children from adults. The whole number of deaths,
including the still-born in that year, was 4401 ; still-born
259, deaths by unknown diseases 276.
Dr. Moehsen states that the diseases were first introduc¬
ed into the Bills of Mortality at Berlin in the year 1721.
The sexton of every parish had some years before been or¬
dered to leave at the senate-house, at the end of every
week, a list of the names of all who had been baptized,
married, or buried during that week ; and in the case of
the buried, the age at which, and the disease by which,
each death took place, were also to be stated. But these
orders were not properly attended to until 1733 ; from that
year he made and preserved abridged extracts from them
until 1753, when these were destroyed by fire. In 1757,
he resumed his labours which we have here given an ac¬
count of, more minute than in most other cases, but not
more so than their value appears to entitle them to, whe¬
ther for their useful applications or as examples worthy of
being followed.
In 1778 was published at Paris, in octavo, the work entit- M.Moheau
led Recherches et Considerations sur la Population de la
France, par M. Moheau. This book is agreeably written,
in a way entirely popular, and will probably be perused
with more pleasure by the generality of readers than most
others on the subject of population. It contains a great
number of tables, for many of which he was indebted to
other writers, especially to M. Messance; but he has also
given many that are original, derived from the Bills of Mor¬
tality and actual enumerations of the people, though with¬
out explaining in a satisfactory manner how he obtained
his information, which, if it be correct, must have cost great
labour. In his preface he says, “ il est tel page de ce li-
vre qui a coute necessairement deux mois de travail, et un
volume de chiffres.”
518
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N
Mortality, The fourth edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever-
Bills of. sionaru Payments appeared in 1783, and contained much
and valuable information on these subjects, as has al-
M. Krafft. rea(jy been stated above, and in the historical introduction
to the article Annuities. . -
In 1786 was published, at Petersburgh, in the Acts of
the Academy of Sciences there, for the year 1782, an essay
bv M. Krafft, on the marriages, births, and burials, at
Petersburgh, during a period of seventeen years, from Wb
to 1780, preceded by a general exposition of the uses sue
tables might be applied to, if the observations they record
were extended over entire governments m liussia. i ms
paper contains seventeen tables, which shew the number
of deaths at each age, and by each of the principal diseases
together with the numbers of marriages and baptisms , the
numbers in each case, being given for each of the seven¬
teen years separately, as well as for the whole term , a
the sexes are always distinguished ; as are likewise foreign¬
ers from the native Russians. . ,,
These tables would have been rendered very valuable,
had they been accompanied by statements of the numbers
of the living of each sex in the different intervals of age ;
but for want of this information, it is difficult to them
to any useful purpose, and many of the inferences M. Krafft
has drawn from them are very uncertain.
During a period of nine years, commencing with 17/9,
and ending with 1787, Dr. Heysham of Carlisle kept accu¬
rate registers of the births, and of the deaths at all ages, in
the two parishes which comprehend that city and ^ envi¬
rons ; also the diseases or casualties which the deaths at
each age were occasioned by ; and the sexes were in al
cases distinguished. These excellent registers were kept
with great care and skill on the plan of Dr. Haygarth above
mentioned, and included all dissenters within the two par¬
ishes. Dr. Heysham published them from year to year as
they were made, and accompanied them with valuable ob¬
servations on the state of the weather and diseases in eacn
year. Their value was greatly enhanced by two enumera¬
tions of the people within the two parishes one made in
January 1780, the other in December 1/87, in both of
which the ages were distinguished, but not the sexes o
each age, though the totals of each sex were. Ihese do¬
cuments, printed in convenient forms, with further informa¬
tion respecting them, and many useful tables deduced from
them, may be found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities.
In the third volume of the Transactions of the American
n-1 m,Wished in 1793, were inserted
after his decease. But other new commissioners were ap- Mortalit
pointed at the same time as M. Nicander, and he com- B.llsof'
menced the performance of the duties of his office by form-
ing a catalogue of the acts arid tables in the archives of the
commissioners, when he found so many deficiencies in the
returns from different parts of the kingdom, and so little
assistance was afforded him, that it was not until the year
1799 that he was enabled to commence the publication of
the most important results for the term of twenty-three
years ended with 1795, and he continued to insert papers
on that subject in the same transactions for the remainder
of his life ; he died in 1815. The following statement will
facilitate reference to those papers, eighteen in number.
Stating the results of obser¬
vations made during the
term of
23 years.
1773—1795.
1796—1803.
1801—1805.
1806—1810.
1811 and 1812
Dr. Hey¬
sham.
Mr. Barton
M. Nican
der.
In the third volume oi me ^    
Philosophical Society, published in 1793, were inserted
Observations on the probabilities of the duration of human
life, andon the progress of population in the United States of
America, contained in a letter from Mr. Barton, which had
been read to the Society in March 1791 ; also a postscript
to that letter, read in December following; the returns ot
an actual enumeration of the people of the United States
having been made in the meantime. The information there
given from the parish registers is of little value. In the
enumerations the sexes were distinguished but not the ages,
except the numbers of free white males under and above
sixteen ; but even that information with regard to the po¬
pulation of America is very interesting, whether we con¬
trast the early with the more recently settled counties, or
the whole of the United States with the population of Eu-
*M. Wargentin having died in 1783, M. Henrich Nicander
was in the following year appointed his successor as astro¬
nomer and secretary of the Royal Academy ov Sciences at
Stockholm ; and in 1791 as one of the royal commissioners
of the Tabell-Verket, and their secretary. After the death
of M. Wargentin, and perhaps for some time before, ow¬
ing to his infirmities, the Tabell-Verket would appear not
to have been duly attended to ; no communications ot the
results having been made to the public for fifteen years
The most valuable information contained in these papers
is the mean number of persons living of each sex, m each
interval of age during a certain number of years, and the
annual average number of deaths of persons of each sex m
the same intervals of age which took place during the same
time ; as these data are sufficient for determining the law oi
mortality for each sex separately, and also tor the whole
population! without distinction of sex. That information
M Nicander has given for all Sweden and Finland in his
fost paper In the transactions for 1801, both for the whole
period of twenty years, 1776-1795, and for each o the four
consecutive periods of five years contained m the same
term ; also derived from these, the proportion of the annu-
al average number of deaths to the -ean number of fc
living of each sex in each interval of age. And in the vo
ume for 1809, (tab. B,) he gave the same information as
to the population and mortahty durinphe term of tive ye^
ending with 1805. In the volume for 1813, he gave t e
number of deaths of persons of each sex, which too P
in each interval of age during every one of the hve year,
1806-1810; also the number of living persons of e
in each interval of age at the end of the year 810 In t
volume for 1814, he gave the number of deaths/ PeJin
of each sex in each interval of age winch tool 1
each of the two years 1811 and 1812. And in all ca^e he
numbers born alive and still-born ot each sex werealsog
separately, but the still-born were never included among
Sweden having lost Finland by the war wtli
1808, the observations recorded by M. Nicander i ^
lumes of the Stockholm Transactions tor 1813 *"1 bell.
w^e made in Sweden alone. The operations oi the l abeii
VerkeTnever extended to Swedish Pomerania, the Elect
Riicren or the town of Wismar.
In the sixth and last paper of M. Way^’shewing
Stockholm Transactions for 1755, he gave a ^
the proportion of the w hole number o e » p n gwe.
each of about thirty of the principal chse^es, n Ij. ^
den, in Stockholm alone, within the London bdl
tality, and in Berlin. But at that ^co^ ^ ^
from the whole or Sweden ha only for the five
from the whole or fewerien nau omy tbrthefive
two years 1749 and 1750; time had
vears 1749-1753. Forty-six years from that n
elapsed without any thing further having b^n P^vhen M.
the mortality from different diseases in Sweden,
MORTALITY, HU M A N.
Mori y
Bill f-
Nicander resumed it in his second paper in the Stockholm
Transactions for 1801, where, in table T, he gave for each
''of the twenty-one years 1775-1795, the number of deaths
produced by each of thirty-seven different diseases, besides
these four other causes, child-bearing, the infirmities of
age, unknown diseases, accidents and other violent deaths ;
with the annual average number by each cause, and the
proportionate number produced by each cause, out of a total
number of 10,000 deaths.
In table U he gave for each diocese in the kingdom, for
Stockholm and for Carlscrona, each separately, also for the
whole of the kingdom, the annual average number of deaths
during the same period of twenty-one years, produced by
each of the causes above mentioned, without distinction of
the sexes, except for the whole kingdom taken together;
for which the average was given from each cause for males
and females separately, and also for the whole population,
without distinction of sex. M. Nicander continued his pa¬
pers on the mortality produced by different diseases in Swe¬
den, in the same Transactions for the years 1805,1809,1813,
and 1814, which appears in the tabular statement of his papers
given above, for the term of years there set against their
respective uates ot publication. But in these four papers,
the mortality produced by several kindred diseases taken
together was given, without distinguishing that which was
produced by each disease separately. In his paper pub¬
lished in 1809, besides the number of deaths produced in
each of the five years 1801-1805, by each disease or class
of diseases, the annual average number produced by each,
in every month during the same term, was given, so as to
shew the effects of the seasons in increasing or diminishing
the mortality from each.
M. Meander’s papers contain much valuable information
which, not coming v/ithin the scope of this article, it may
suffice merely to mention here. Besides the statements
above mentioned, of the births and deaths in the whole of
the kingdom taken together, the numbers of them which
took place in the city of Stockholm, and in each of the Ians
or governments the country is divided into, are given sepa¬
rately for the period between each two consecutive enu¬
merations of the people, with the excess or defect of the
births in each case, as compared with the deaths ; and the
difference is compared with the increase or decrease of the
population in the same period, determined by actual enu¬
merations at its extremities. The number of marriages
contracted, and the number dissolved by death during given
periods, are also stated ; with'the number of pregnant wo¬
men delivered in each interval of five years of age, from
tffteen to fifty, and those above fifty; the number of those
women who were married, and who were single ; the num¬
bers of double, triple, and quadruple births, distinguishing
those born alive from the still-born, the legitimate from the
1 egitimate, and males from females. In the enumerations,
the number of married persons of each sex, the numbers of
widowers and widows,' and the numbers unmarried above
htteen years of age, of each sex; also the number of child¬
ren of each sex under that age, were given.
The numbers of the people, classed according to their
ranks, conditions, and employments, were stated, with dis¬
tinction of the sexes, and the number of children vaccinated
m each year, from 1804. In the volume for 1813, the num¬
ber of families in each of the four following classes was
gnen: 1. the opulent; 2. other persons of property; 3.
ose subsisting by their labour; 4. the destitute poor;
I' ic i consisted of two persons, from two to five, from five
^"’from ten to fifteen, and of more than fifteen persons;
n't a 6 W^e number of families of each of those five mag-
i u es, and also the whole number of families of each class
^09 'a0u' In addition t0 these, tables were given for
L , and the subsequent years, shewing how many Swedish
ins were sown of each kind of grain, also of pease, and of
519
potatoes put into the ground, with the produce derived from Mortality,
each ; the quantity of live stock of each kind; and the quan- Billls of.
tity of land under cultivation for each government of the'
kingdom separafely.
Some of the most valuable parts of these papers of M.
Nicander, with deductions from them, will be found under
the second section of this article.
After the death of M. Nicander, which took place in 1815
no reports on the state of the population and mortality were
inserted in the Stockholm Transactions, where they had
always appeared previously; and as books, or any informa¬
tion concerning them, can hardly ever be obtained from
Sweden through the London booksellers, it was not till the
siimmer of 1836 that the author of this article learnt from
-rrofessor Nilsson of Lund, who was then in London, in what
way they had been published; and to that gentleman and
Mr. Charles Lottie, consul-general in London for Sweden
and Norway, he is indebted for a manuscript copy of the
1st, 2d, and 3d tables, at the end of this article, which give
the most important information on the subject; their au¬
thenticity he considers to be sufficiently guaranteed, by his
having received them through Mr. Tottie, from M. John Ad.
Leyonmarck, the successor of M. Nicander, as the secretary
to the Tabell-Verket, or Registry Commission; also by com¬
paring them with the printed tables under mentioned.
The principal printed documents on the progress of popu-
lation in Sweden, since the death of M. Nicander, which the
author has yet succeeded in obtaining are the following:—
1. An oblong folio pamphlet, consisting of forty leaves,
(each twenty-one inches by eighteen), and containing forty-
two lithograph tables, most of the pages being very much
crowded with small figures, shewing all the particulars above
stated with respect to M. Nicander’s tables, not only for the
whole of Sweden, but also for the city of Stockholm, and
each of the Ians or governments separately, which the king¬
dom is divided into, for the five years 1821-1825. The
number in each of the usual divisions of age, at the enumer¬
ation of 1825, is given, with distinction of the sexes, and of
the country people from those residing in towns. The fol¬
lowing were the numbers for the whole of the kingdom : 
Country people, 
Inhabitants of towns,
Total,
Males.
1,202,989
129,981
1,332,970
Females.
1,287,984
150,298
1,438,282
Both sexes.
2,490,973
280,279
2,771,252
The numbers of the people in that year, classified accord¬
ing to rank or condition, profession or occupation, are also
given. And the number of deaths in each of the five years
(1821—182,/) by childbirth, also those of each sex separ¬
ately, by eleven different diseases, including the principal of
those prevailing among children, and those by seven differ¬
ent kinds of violent deaths or casualties, are stated for the
city of Stockholm, and each lan in the kingdom separately.
Lor that city, and each of those Ians separately, the num¬
bers of the people in 1805 and 1810, without distinction of
age or sex ; and the numbers in 1815, 1820, and 1825, both
with and without that distinction are given ; with the num¬
bers of births and deaths during the two quinquennial periods
1816—1820, and 1821—1825. The divisions are indeed much
more minute than these; the population of the city of Stock¬
holm is given for nine different districts separately, and the
births and deaths for twenty ; this arises from the popula¬
tion being divided into those districts for the purposes of
taxation, and the twenty others are the different congrega¬
tions or places of worship, where the registers of births,
deaths, and marriages, are kept. But every lan in the king¬
dom being divided into several districts, and each district into
its separate parishes; the particulars above mentioned, are
mortality, human.
that the very large and instructive tables published in 1829, Moridi
Mortality, given for each parish separately, and also t ‘ deserve much attention. There can be no doubt that these BiUsc:
Bills of. fn each district, which shows the same things or it. tables ordered by the king to be printed in 1828
^ This is a very imperfect statement ot the contens of these were the ^0 ^ ^ bee»publis];ed before 1829i (
valuable tables, but sufficient it is hoped, to s ow , jda(j ^ere been any others of the kind, those probably
take interest in such subjects, that they are wor % ld t b b n s0 noticed, and as the translator must
consulted and studied. The title is as Allows ^ ^ information on the subject, the obvious
ble Report of the Royal ^ry Commission^ to h^ ^e^ce k that no others existed in 1835.
Royal Majesty, on the Proportions of the Births ‘ 4 a folio pamphlet of three sheets extracted from the
during the years 1821-1825, to the P°Pulatl°n °f d f Tabell-Verket, showing the number of persons carried off
dom in the last mentioned year ; also on the observed In ’bolera ^ Sweden in the year 1834.* It
crease of the population of the ^ ium Contams five tables, but we shall only notice the first and
elapsed compared with the "^ Preceding Decennium ^ t of.tiemhere . it shows the number of deaths
Dated the 10th of May 1828. Printed by the gracious ™27e™oduced by tbat diseaSe in the year 1834,-in
command of his Royal Majesty. everv lan in the kingdom, and in every town and every sub-
2. A quarto of sixty pages, with ^ sa^e, con^ every L ^ ^ ^ in each oftbe usua] intervals of age
ing an abstract of the above, printed with types 1 ^ ^ ^ t;11 tweyntv.five, those between twenty-five and fifty, and the
ing an abstract of the above, printed with types m ^ tiU tw/nty.five, those between twenty-five and fifty, and the
way, and observations and remarks which were ab number above fifty years of age ; also the number in each
the larger tables. . ZSth, without diltLtion of age- The estimated number
in that quinquennium (1821-1825) are comPa c' f tbe pe0pie in each place at the commencement of that
of the preceding, by placing the correspondmg numbe^on Fop^ of. tbem wbo died of the disease
the same line ; those of the next preceding qu j ra ^ , given, the sexes being distinguished throughout.
(1816-1820) on the left; and those of the present (1821- ^ be tbe first p^blicatio6n of the number of
1825) on the right of the page, with the explana deaths in Sweden classed according to the ages of the de¬
import between them. rpa,pd as well as, and together with, the causes of death.
These contain almost all the more important informat \ assistance in procuring the last mentioned and other
in the larger tables, at least to persons r* vl“okS from Sweden, fhe author makes his grateful
den, and are much more convenient to use. > lt this acknowledgments to Mr. George Warde Norman, and Mr.
fective in giving only the numbers of violent or slid e Jameg prescott. also to Mr. Norman, for a manuscript
deaths, and those without distmction of sex, with harclly any IT J ^ ^ number of chiidren of each sex born
information as to the numbers by different diseases, excep ^ tb{fnumber of tbe still-born, without distinction
stating in what parts of the country they produced tne g e ^ ^ . witb the number of deaths of persons of each sex,
est mortality in different years. ’ k , in eacb 0f the intervals of age there men-
3. A similar quarto of seventy-four pages for the cpun- ne oftbe tenyears 1824-1833, intheking-
quennium 1826-1830, with a similar tit e, was in , ’ N y tbe authenticity of which, that gentleman
therefore’neithCT- h-s-the ^
the tables in possession of the Commissioners, twenty-five m
number, are here stated, and then very satisfactory extracts
from them are given. The number of deaths from child¬
birth and twelve different diseases are given ; for the pre¬
ceding quinquennium, the annual averages only; but tor tins, m ine ^^ swedish' is entitled to preference;
1826-1830, they are statedfor eachyear separately; but the intervals ofage, in which the num-
annual average only for violent deaths, casualties, and un- P ^ ^udren are iven in tbe Swedish ; and it is to be
known causes. As each of these gives the results of die ^^^tVdving the numbers of the still-born the
preceding quinquennium, the two «?ether f 6 Ae ^ ^ ^ kep distinct „ the great excets of s*
hpflutiful tvnes, dom ot iNorway, me auuieuui^y wx .vxxxv..., .
The con enB of has no doubt of, and therefore, neither has the author of
1 he contents ot na^ ^ ^ ^ taMe a, ,he end of th,s arUcle, the
total of those numbers for the whole term of ten years are
<riven. • *1
r It is gratifying to see this table from Norway, so similar
to the excellent form of the Swedish. In every point 111
sexes were not kept distinct
Stockholm Transactions, gave the observations to tne ena muchte'be desired that these should
of 1812; those for the years 1811 and 1812 being contame j ^ dy. Norway and that periodical enumerations
in the volume for 1814. So that only the observations for be amt d J should also be made re-
the three vears, 1813, 1814, and 1815, are wanting to com- of the people on me owe ^ v ^ ^ in his en
plete the series ; and the most important parts of these and gularly
others are contained in the tables above mentioned, which
are given at the end of this article.^ Whether two other
quartos similar to those above mentioned, were published,
with the observations made in the two preceding quinquen-
niums, 1811-1815, and 1816-1820, the author had not been
able to ascertain when this article was printing, (in Febru-
Rev. A. G. F. Freese, preacher to the royal court of Swe- any other, relat except those of M. Deparcieux,
den, and rector of the German National Lyceum at Stock- previously been publ h d of the people. Thisme-
holm 18vo Lubeck 1835,) it is stated in a note at page which related only to se e F .b National Insti-
Striven’ on entering the subject of the, Swedish tmllsSa,Mr.««■«■
tables, that they are often quoted by fore.gn autnors, and tute in i , 95, anu pnnte    
—————“”—”—     
1 Kongl. Tabell- Commissionfens underdamga Beratleisa till Kongl. Maj ^r- anRaend^ sistfdrtluiita, jamnforelsevis emot da
1821 med 1825, Rikets Folkmangd f jberorde Ar samt till trycket befordrad.
'"f »^S^ke^rr^lS^n S Se^due personer Ar 1834. Stockholm 188,
ued in Norway, and that periodical enumerations
DPle on the Swedish plan should also be made re¬
gularly. But the author has not yet succeeded m his e -
deavours to ascertain whether those have been made,
mtIn the year 1800 was published, at Paris, in octaub timler
the title of EssaideStatistique, a,memo\r by J- A. Mou gi
on the births, marriages, and deaths, that took place m
Montpellier during a period of twenty-one y^^^
with 1792, with the ages at which the deafh.s. hndPLhe piaCe
also distinguished, and the population f “
MORTALITY. HUMAN.
521
jjorti p, An enumeration of the people in Spain was made by
Billii royal authority in the years 1768 and 1769, and again in
plL/1787 ; a minute account of this last was printed at Madrid,
showing for each province separately, the numbers of pa¬
rishes, cities, towns, villages, &c. &e. with the number of
people in each class according to their ranks, professions,
occupations, &c. and the monastic orders of both sexes were
particularly distinguished: to these was prefixed a summary
of the census of 1768 and 1769* In these two enumera¬
tions, the ages of the people were not distinguished with
sufficient minuteness; they only showed how many were
under seven, between seven and sixteen, sixteen and twenty-
five, twenty-five and forty, forty and fifty, and above fifty.
In both enumerations, together with the ages, the distinc¬
tion of the sexes was given ; in the first, the married were
only distinguished from the single ; but that of 1787 show¬
ed how many of each sex, and in each interval of age, were
in the states of celibacy, marriage, and widowhood.
A third enumeration of the people in Spain and the Span¬
ish possessions in Europe and Africa, including the Canary
Islands, was made in 1797 ; and a full account of it, occu¬
pying nearly fifty large tables, was printed at Madrid in
1801. The distinction of the ages in this enumeration was
still not sufficiently minute ; under forty it was the same as
in the two preceding ; but after that age, the number of the
living in each interval of ten years to one hundred was given,
and the number above one hundred.
No information from the parish registers in Spain was
given in any of these cases ; although satisfactory extracts
from them all, distinguishing the ages and sexes of the de¬
ceased, or even from those only which could be most de¬
pended upon, during the ten years that intervened between
the two last enumerations, would have rendered the results
of these incomparably more valuable, provided that the po¬
pulation of the places for which correct registers were given,
could be distinguished from the rest. Those to whom the
superintendence of these measures were entrusted in Spain,
seem to have been well aware of this, and to have actually
entered upon the formation of these necessary supplements
I to the enumerations, as appears by the following passage
extracted from the introduction to the printed statement of
the last census :
“ Interin que se forman las tablas necrologicas, las de
nacidos y casados, en que entiende el ministerio de Estado,
I y que son muy utiles para valuar casi geometricamente el
total de la poblacion del Reyna, debemos contentarnos con
I, las noticias que nos proporcionen los censos executados por
el metodo que el presente.” But these tables of births,
deaths, and marriages, have not yet (in the year 1836,) been
published, neither does it appear probable that they were
ever formed.
In 1801 were published, in quarto, Observations on the In¬
crease and decrease of Different Diseases, and particularly
oj the Plague, by William Heberden, junior, M.D. F.R.S.,
containing some tables, chiefly deduced from the London
bills. In the advertisement prefixed to this valuable tract,
we are informed that it had been intended to be subjoined
to a new edition of the Bills of Mortality ; which edition,
however, was not published. We are also indebted to the
same ingenious physician for other interesting observations
the mortality in London, inserted in the Philosophical
t ransactions of the Royal Society (for 1796,) and in those
°i the London College of Physicians, vol. iv.
In the same year (1801) was published another valuable
work, entitled, Reports on the Diseases in London, particu¬
larly during the years 1796, 1797, 1798, 1799, and 1800, Mortality,
in 12mo, by Robert Willan, M.D. F.A.S. part of which had Bills of.
been previously inserted in some periodical publications.
The author’s observations were made both on the Bills of
Mortality, and on the cases that occurred in his own prac¬
tice.
Dr. Bateman commenced a series of similar observations
and reports on the diseases of London with September 1804,
which he continued till the end of August 1816. The sub¬
jects of those reports were, the cases that occurred at the
Public Dispensary in London, in which he was a physician ;
they were first published quarterly in the Edinburgh Medi¬
cal and Physical Journal, but the author collected them
into a separate octavo volume, which he published in 1819,
with an introduction, in which he gave a Historical Survey
of the Diseases of London.
All of the three works last mentioned, are very interest¬
ing and instructive ; but it would not be consistent with the
objects of this article, to notice them further here.
By art. 1, sect. 2, of the constitution of the United States
of America, it was provided that the representatives and di¬
rect taxes should be apportioned amongst the several states
which should be included within the union according to their
respective numbers. The first actual enumeration to be
made within three years after the first meeting of the Con¬
gress of the states, and within every subsequent term of ten
years, in such manner as they should by law direct.1 In
consequence of this, five enumerations of the inhabitants of
the United States have been made, viz. in 1790, 1800,1810,
1820, and 1830 ; statements of the first four are given in
the American Almanac for 1832, and of the last in the same
Almanac for 1833. In the first, as was stated above, no at¬
tention was paid to the ages, except the distinction of the
numbers of free white males under and above sixteen years
of age. In the enumerations of 1800, 1810, and 1820, the
numbers of free white persons of each sex in five different
intervals of age were ascertained ; but three of the intervals
were much too long to admit of the enumerations being
available for determining the law of mortality ; the first of
those long intervals being all under ten years of age ; the
second, those between twenty-six and forty-five years ; and
the third, all above that age. Of these three enumerations,
it was in that of 1820 only, that the free coloured persons
and the slaves were classified according to their ages and
sexes; and the intervals of age into which they were dis¬
tributed, were longer than those for the free whites.
In 1830, the numbers of free white persons of each sex,
in thirteen different intervals of age were determined; the
four divisions under twenty years of age being of five years
each ; the eight between twenty and a hundred, of ten years
each ; and the thirteenth division included those of a hun¬
dred years of age, and upwards. The numbers of each sex,
of free coloured persons, and of slaves separately of each
sex, in each of the following divisions of age, were ascer¬
tained. Between 0 and 10, 10 and 24, 24 and 36, 36 and
55, 55 and 100, and above 100. These particulars were
given for each state and territory separately, and also the
totals for the whole of the United States. Statements of
all the five enumerations from that of 1790 to that of 1830,
both inclusive, may be seen in the American Almanac for
the year 1832. That of 1830, with the ages of the living
for each state and territory will be found in the same Al¬
manac for 1833. No general returns of the numbers of
births, marriages, and deaths, appear to have been required
or made throughout the United States; and previous to the
„ ^eyl)erti in his Statistical Annals of the United States of America, published in 1818, (p. 17) makes the following statement:
k ^ Onited States of America alone require an actual enumeration of the inhabitants to be made at regular intervals ; as far as our
nqwiedge extends, no other instance can be furnished from the history of mankind; our practice is worthy of being followed by other
•h tTh' •^n<* a sta,;ement t0 the same effect is made in the American Almanac for the year 1832, (p. 156) by which it wculd appear,
a e writers were not aware of Sweden having set a still better example of that kind more than thirty years before.
VOL. XV. 3 u
522
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, year 1820, but few births were registered there. Many
Bills of. marriages were till then, and probably still are, contracted
^ before magistrates, whose records of them were seldom pre-
served.1 .
In the city and liberties of Philadelphia more attention
appears to have been paid to these subjects than in almost any
other part of the United States. In the first number of the
American Journal of the Medical Sciences, published at
Philadelphia in November 1827, in octavo, there is an ex¬
cellent article (the 8th), entitled, Medical Statistics: be¬
ing a series of Tables, showing the Mortality in Philadel¬
phia, and its immediate causes, during a period of twenty
years, by Gouverneur Emerson, M.D. Dr. Emerson
states, that the subject of the diseases and mortality of Phi¬
ladelphia, was first made one of regular record in the year
1807, through the influence and exertions of Professor
James, and that “ their authenticity may be regarded as
resting on very solid grounds.” From authority vested in
the Board of “Health,this municipal power makes it obliga¬
tory upon physicians to give certificates designating the
name, age, and sex, of all who die under their care ; and
sextons are bound by still heavier penalties, not to per¬
mit the interment of any dead body, until such certificate
is obtained, which he returns to the health office on the last
day of every week, for publication. The accuracy with
which the diseases are designated in these certificates, rests
chiefly upon the general intelligence of the medical profes¬
sion in that city, the members of which are very much in
the practice of testing their pathological opinions by autop-
sical examinations. For the purpose of ascertaining the
number born, the various practitioners of midwifery are re¬
quired to render an account at the health office of all births.
With regard, however, to this department, there is some
reason to suspect a deficiency in the returns, especially froin
the outskirts of the city and liberties. But the registry of
the dead has, for the most part, been kept with a care and
fidelity creditable to those who have had its superintendence.
Dr. Emerson after making some general observations on
the topography and climate of Philadelphia, proceeds with
his observations on the eleven valuable tables which aie in¬
serted at the end of the article.
The first shows the results for each calendar month of
thermometrical observations made at Philadelphia, during
the term of ten years, which commenced with March 1811,
and ended with February 1820. I he second is an abstract
of the census of the city and county of Philadelphia, taken
by order of the general government in 1820.
All the observations on the Mortality were made within
the period of twrenty years, which commenced with 1807
and ended with 1826 ; the still-born being always, as they
should be, given separately, and not included amongst the
deaths; except in Table IV., which shows the number of
deaths in each month of each of the twenty years ; the
Board of Health having found it impracticable to make an
accurate monthly estimate of them for deduction.
In the number stated in the Philadelphia bills to be still¬
born, the abortions are included. J he fifth and eleventh
of these tables are the most valuable. In the fifth are stated
the numbers of deaths from the principal diseases dm ing
the whole period of twenty years in the following intervals
of age, viz. between birth and one year completed, between
one and two years, between two and five, between five and Morta.
ten; then in each interval of ten years of age to a hun- Bills;
dred and twenty ; fifty-five deaths having happened be-^*v t
tween the ages of a hundred and a hundred and ten, and
six between a hundred and ten and a hundred and twenty.
After the columns set apart for those fifteen different in¬
tervals of age, in a sixteenth the number of deaths produc¬
ed by each disease at ages not ascertained, is given; and
in the seventeenth and last column, the total number of
deaths produced by each of those diseases. The total num¬
ber of diseases in the table is sixty-six, and the number of
causes of death, old age being included, is sixty-seven.
A few cases of deaths occasioned by accidents and dis¬
eases of vague character, Dr. Emerson omitted, as tending
rather to perplex than to elucidate the subject; and adopt¬
ed the alphabetical arrangement in this table, as the most
convenient.
The total number of deaths registered during the term
of twenty years was 53,004, whilst the number included in
this fifth table was 50,614 ; so that 2390 were excluded for
the reason just stated.
Dr. Emerson’s other tables and his observations on the
whole of them, wTill be found ■well worth the attention of
those who take interest in the subject.
In Hazard’s Register of Pensylvania for July 30,
1831, (No. 5, vol. viij.) there is an elaborate paper en¬
titled, Comparative Views of the population of the city
and county of Philadelphia, from the time of the fiist cen¬
sus in 1790, till that of the last in 1830 ; in which the num¬
ber of white persons of each sex in that city and county at
the time of the census of 1830, in each of the thirteen in¬
tervals of age, stated above to have been adopted through¬
out the United States at that census, is given; and the
same information is given as to the coloured population at
that time, but distributed into the six intervals of age only,
above stated to have been adopted for them. The number
of whites was 173,345 ; of coloured persons, 15,595 ; total,
188,940. , , ...
A statement of the deaths which took place within the
Bills of Mortality during the term of ten years 1821-1830,
is also given for the whole population without distinction o
colour or sex, and distributed into the following sixteen in¬
tervals of age in which they happened, viz. under one year,
between one and tw'O, between two and five, then in each
of the three intervals of five years each to twenty, and the
remaining ten intervals often years each between twen y
and a hundred and twenty; thirty-two persons having
died between a hundred and a hundred and ten years o
age, and five between a hundred and ten and a hundrea
and twenty. The whole number of those deaths, which
did not include the still-born, was 37,914.
The number of births of each sex in each of the
years 1821-1830, is also given, including the s1111;1^11;
without distinction of colour ; and the number of still-horn
for each year separately, but without distinction ei i
colour or sex. .
The number of deaths in each of the ten years is Statea
separately, both with and without distinction o fe,
always without distinction of age ; and it is o^YV .
whole number of deaths of both sexes without cbstmchon,
in each of the ten years is stated, that the division
i In consequence of the notice which was taken in the first edition of this article, Pub}'®^d ™ ^ishTeSerrin^h^Ihiited States, with
tannica in June 1817, of the enumerations of the people, and the published extracts from the pa g Esq , the Librarian
some suggestions for improving the best of them, those of Philadelphia, and increasing their usefulness, g < ^ information given
SX American Philosophical Society, had the goodness to communicate to theau‘hor m June 818 mo^of-he ? ^ eight of; e
above as to the state of things down to that time, both in the United States general >, and in umiaceipn of. deaths at every age
annual statements (all he could procure and part with,) of the Board of Health m Pluladelphia, sho g of deatils in eacb of the
by each disease or other cause, in that city and its liberties; and several American ^;8Pa^rs; ^° ''e wlthout in this last case, stating
same intervals of age, the number in each month of the year, and ^e number of deaths by each c , th^ ^ ^ authorfeels
at what ages they happened, in Baltimore, Boston, Charleston, New York, Philadelphia, Salem, and \Ya uj
it incumbent upon him to acknowledge his obligations, and express his gratitude in this place.
523
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
ity, the numbers of white and coloured persons is given ; in
if these numbers of deaths without distinction of age, the still¬
-born are included. So that these documents do not enable
us to determine out of how many persons of each sex, one
died annually during the ten years 1821-1830.
Taking the limits of the Bills of Mortality from Dr.
Emerson’s second table, where he stated the wards and dis¬
tricts from which the returns of interments w ere made, and
the population of each at the census in 1820, amounting in
all to 121,980 ; and assuming the limits of the bills to have
been the same in 1830, the population within them at the
census of that year, was, according to Hazard’s Register,
171,212; and the mean number of the people during the
intervening ten years, appears to have been 146,596.1 The
number of deaths in the same time, exclusive of the still¬
born, was, according to the statement with the ages,
37,914 ; according to that without the ages, 37,814 ; tak¬
ing 37,864, the mean between these for the true number,
we find that there died annually on an average of those ten
years, one person for every (38*7165 or nearly) thirty-nine
in the whole population. The number of persons in the
city and county at the census of 1820 was 137,097, at that
of 1830, 188,961, mean number during the intervening ten
years, 163,029.
The following statement of the progress of population in
the city alone of Philadelphia, appears to be sufficiently in¬
teresting to deserve a place here.
In the
year
No. of
the
people.
No. of
square feet
for each
person.
No. of
persons
to a sq.
mile.
1790
1800
1810
1820
1830
28,522
41,220
53,722
63,802
80,458
1755
1216
933
786
623
15,885
22,926
29,880
35,469
44,749
The three first columns are taken from the article above
mentioned in Hazard’s Register; but since the numbers in
the third are proportional to the rarity of the population at
the five enumerations, those in the fourth have been add¬
ed, as they measure its density at the times of those enu¬
merations.
The whole population of the city and county of Phila¬
delphia, without distinction of age, sex, or colour, was dis¬
tributed as follows, at the times of the enumerations in 1820
and 1830.
In the city 
In the suburbs.
Total within the bills of )
mortality J
In the rest of the county
Total within the city)
and county   f
In the year
1820.
63,802
58,178
121,980
15,117
137,097
In the year
1880.
80,458
90,754
171,212
17,749
188,961
(Hazard’s Register, vol. viii. p. C5.)
Here the inhabitants of Blockley, amounting
in 1820 to 2655,
in 1830 to 3401,
are included within the suburbs and bills of mortality. It
is much to be regretted that in the census of 1830, the Mortality,
coloured population were not distributed into the same in- °**
tervals of age as the whites; also that the colours and sexes'
of those who died within the bills of mortality during the
ten years, 1821-1830, were not distinguished in the pub¬
lished statements, as wrell as the ages. Dr. Emerson was
of opinion that the rate of mortality amongst the coloured
population was much greater than amongst the whites.
It is equally to be regretted that, while the bills of mor¬
tality extended only to the city and suburbs, of which the
mean population during the ten years, 1821-1830, was
146,596, the enumeration of that portion of the population
of the city and county distributed into the different inter¬
vals of age, with distinction of the colours and sexes, was
not given separately. For with such documents as are be¬
fore us, even if the enumeration of 1820 had been made
exactly in the same manner as that of 1830; in attempt¬
ing to determine the rate of mortality in any interval of age,
we should only have the means of comparing the annual
average number of deaths which took place in that interval
within the bills of mortality, with the mean number of the
people in the same internal of age in the whole of the city
and county. But the mean population
within the bills of mortality was only  146,596
while that of the whole city and county was  163,029
that is    16,433
or about one-ninth greater.
The difficulty arising from this would not be great, if the
population without the bills were known to be distributed
into the different intervals of age in a manner similar to that
within them ; but there is no doubt of the distribution in
the two cases being very dissimilar; for, excluding the still¬
born both from the numbers of the births and of the deaths,
during the ten years ended with 1830,
The total number born within the bills of mor¬
tality was   61,945
Total number of deaths in the same time..*.*. 37,814
Increase of population, within the bills, by pro¬
creation    24,131
While the increase from all causes during these
ten years, was    49,232
So that the increase by migration must have
been  25,101
within the bills of mortality; that is, one twenty-fourth part
greater than by procreation. The part of the county with¬
out the bills certainly could not have been increased in a
like proportion in the same way; therefore the population
without the bills must have been much more dense at early
ages, and more rare at the advanced ones, in comparison
with the population within them, than in proportion to the
mean number of the people of all ages, without and within
the bills respectively. WTience it is manifest that nothing
but enumerations of the people in each interval of age,
within the limits of the bills, at each extremity of the pe¬
riod for which the annual deaths at the different periods of
life are given, can make either those enumerations or the
registers of deaths, available for the most important purposes
they can be applied to.
In pursuance of an act of Parliament (41 Geo. HI. cap.
15), an enumeration of the people in Great Britain was made
in 1801; also returns of the baptisms and burials in Eng¬
land and Wales, during the year 1700, and every tenth year
after that till 1780, then for every year to 1800 inclusive,
with the number of marriages in each year, from the com¬
mencement of 1754 to the end of 1800. Large and clear
abstracts of the answers and returns to this act were printed
the township ot Blockley in the limits of the bills according to Dr. Emerson, although in the register it is removed from
an“ P^ced in the rest of the county. If the interments in or from Blockley were not included in the bills, the annual average mor¬
tality must have been one of 37-9167.
524
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, by order of the House of Commons in 1802, and occupy
Bills of. more than one thousand pages folio. In 1811, another act
'(SI Geo. III. cap.6), was passed, “for taking an account
of the population of Great Britain, and the increase or di¬
minution thereof;” in consequence of which, returns were
that year made to Parliament, of the number of persons in
every part of Great Britain ; also of the numbers of bap¬
tisms, burials, and marriages in England and Wales, during
each of the preceding ten years; very satisfactory abstracts
of these were also printed by order of the House of Com¬
mons, in 1812, with some preliminary observations, in which
corrections of the preceding returns are given.
The sexes were distinguished both in these enumerations
and extracts from the registers, but the ages in none of
them; and the proportions of males to females among the
living are not to be depended upon, a number of males in
the army and navy, which it is difficult to estimate, not being
natives of Great Britain, nor usually resident there. Ihe
returns of baptisms and burials were also defective, but tew
registers of Dissenters having been included in them.
These abstracts are, however, with respect to the objects
they extend to, more minute and satisfactory, than any other
accounts of the same kind that had previously been pub¬
lished ; and it was very desirable that such returns should
have continued to be made, and abstracts of them to be
printed at regular intervals; for nothing is so well calcu¬
lated to shew the influence of different causes on the pros¬
perity of a nation, as the comparison of the different states
of the population, and the rate of its progress or declension,
under different circumstances; besides, the value of the ab¬
stracts, once obtained, will be much enhanced by the pub¬
lication of others of a similar kind thereafter.
It is much to be regretted, that no information as to the
ages of the living, or those at which the deaths took place,
was required by either of the acts above referred to, nor any
encouragement or facility afforded to those who might be
disposed to collect such information; and, consequently, that
none was given in the returns.
Without better regulations for the keeping of mortuary
registers than those heretofore in force, without such as
should extend to dissenters of every denomination, it would
probably be better not to require returns of the ages of the
deceased from all parts of the kingdom ; for defective or in¬
accurate returns would only mislead; and, not to mention
the difficulty and expense of procuring returns of the ages
of all the living, they would be comparatively of little use,
where those of the dead were wanting.
But if government were to print forms for making returns
both of the numbers of the living and of the annual deaths
in proper intervals of age, throughout the extent of life;
only sending these forms along with those now in use, to
such as should apply for them; then persons who take an
interest in such inquiries, and have the means of making
correct returns, might do so with advantage. And a sum¬
mary of all of that kind made from different parts of the
kingdom, would convey much important information. Re¬
turns also, from such places only as were similarly circum¬
stanced, might be collected into as many summaries as
there were material varieties in the circumstances; and thus
would afford the means of determining the different modifi¬
cations of the law of mortality, which different circumstances
produce. If the diseases that occasioned the deaths were
also inserted, the greater prevalence of particular diseases
in some circumstances than in others, would be apparent,
with their effects, and the probable means of preventing
them, or lessening their mortality.
But, the population enumerated must always he precisely
that which produces the deaths registered; the grand desi¬
deratum being, to determine the number of annual deaths Mortal
at each age, which takes place among a given number of the B>lls o:
living at the same age. r
Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities and Assurances was
published in 1815, and contains clear abstracts of the most
important statements of this kind that had been published
between Dr. Price’s time and the date of its publication;
these will, we believe, be found to be much more valuable
than any thing of the kind that was extant when that re¬
spectable author wrote, whose work had long been referred
to for the best information on such subjects.
Since the first publication (in 18171) of what has been
stated above respecting the two first enumerations of the
people in Great Britain, and the extracts from the parish
registers of England and Wales, two other enumerations
have been made in 1821 and 1831; and abstracts of the
answers and returns under the acts that required them, (1
Geo. IV. cap. 94, and 11 Geo. IV. cap. 30), have been
printed by order of the House of Commons, (in 1822 and
1833 respectively.) The extracts from the parish registers,
shewing in each case the numbers of births, marriages, and
burials, returned for each of the ten years next preceding
that of the enumeration. The principal difference between
the queries put at the two enumerations of 1811 and 1821
was, that in 1811 no inquiry was made as to the ages of the
people, while in 1821, after nearly the same questions had,
according to the act, been put to the overseers in England,
and to the schoolmasters in Scotland, the following instruc¬
tions as to the ages of the people were given: “ It you are
of opinion that in making the preceding inquiries, (as to the
number of families and persons), the ages of the several in¬
dividuals can be obtained in a manner satisfactory to your¬
self, and not inconvenient to the parties, be pleased to state
the number of those who are under five years of age, &c.
The thirteen intervals of age into which the persons of eac
sex separately were to be distributed, being these: 4 of 5
years each from birth to 20 years of age; then 8 of 10 years
each to 100; the thirteenth including all those above 100
years of age. Thus it was left optional with the returning
officer whether this important question should be put, and
with the party interrogated, whether it should be answered
or not; from which it would appear that this part of the
inquiry was not intended to be made with much correctness,
and those whose onerous duty it was to put the question in
populous places, might easily lighten the burden ; accord¬
ingly, from such places the ages of a considerable part o
the population were not returned. None were obtained
from Manchester, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, or Sunderland.
The proportion of the ages which were not returned was, in
Birmingham, about fgths, in Leeds, £th, in Bristol, gth o
the returned population. In Middlesex, |th, York, eas
riding, ^th, north riding, ith, in Lancashire, ^th, in War¬
wickshire, 4d, evidently owing to the large manufacturing
towns they contain, especially Birmingham, the population
of which is more than a third of that of the county of ar
wick. These deficiencies in the returns may reasonably be
ascribed to the option which was offered to the overseers,
who, however, performed the duty imposed upon themwi
great good will and attention, as appears by the comp e
return of ages where the obstacles were not too great.
That the people were not unwilling to state their ages,
may be inferred from the complete returns of them ro
Hull, Liverpool, Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Great
mouth, as well as from every city in England, if we mis
not, except London, Canterbury, and Bristol, brom
counties of Bedford, Chester, Rutland, and Leicester, nearly
the whole were obtained; and from those of Lincoln,
folk, Suffolk, and Wilts, the deficiency was only on an avei-
i In the Supplement to former editions of this work.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
535
Mon:-7> age about one-thirtieth, while from all Wales it was only other circumstances, in producing a more or less complete Mortality,
ninl'.i „ r~--4-TT c>^r>nTtrl TYorf return fVio o+1-%^ ^ <-,4- 4-V.«4-   i.: 
Bill t. a forty-second part of the whole
^ ^ The following table may throw some light on the influ¬
ence of large manufacturing towns, migration, and some
return of the ages of the people at that enumeration. It Bills of.
being borne in mind that from Glasgow the whole were re-'
turned.
Omitting the army, navy, marines, and seamen in registered vessels.
'Both
100 ages
were not
returned
out of
In England, 
— Wales, 
— England and Wales,....
— Scotland,  
— Do., omitting Glasgow,.
— Great Britain, 
787
4164
827
1531
1423
888
For every million of each
sex, the number whose ages
were not returned, was, of
Males.
123,053
23,776
117,359
61,016
65,556
108,999
Females.
130,880
24,240
124,512
69,139
74,431
116,048
Excess
of Fe-
males.
7,827
464
7,153
8,123
8,875
7,049
Excess of Females for
every J 00 males.
In the
whole po¬
pulation.
5-36
4- 70
5- 32
12-85
11-55
6- 41
Among
those whose
ages were
not re¬
turned.
6-36
1-95
6-09
13-31
13-54
6-47
With regard to the extracts from the parish registers, the
principal difference between the questions put in 1831 and
at the three preceding decennial periods of enumeration,
was, that in these no inquiry was made as to the ages at
which the deaths happened, while in 1831 the officiating
minister of every church or chapel was requested to state
the ages of the individuals of each sex entered in his burial
register, during each of the eighteen years 1813—1830, in
consequence of which the ages of 3,938,496 persons buried
during those eighteen years were returned, 1,996,195 males,
and 1,942,301 females. The number of each sex separately,
and of both sexes, who died in each year of age during every
one of the eighteen years, in all England and Wales, ac¬
cording to the returns, were given in the preface to the
Enumeration Abstract, (pp. 36-42); besides which, a simi¬
lar table wras also given for each county separately, and
sometimes for its principal town, at the end of the returns
from that county, in the Parish Register Abstract.
Omitting the army, &c., as above mentioned, the whole
returned population in 1821 was 11,978,875 persons; but
the ages of 10,530,671 only were obtained, the number of
persons whose ages were not obtained having been 1,448,204.
As the ages withheld were generally those of residents in
large manufacturing towns, whilst those returned were from
the rest of the population, and a considerable proportion of
the former class had migrated from the latter, many of them
probably about the age of puberty; there are good reasons
for believing that the ages returned and those omitted were
not similarly distributed, as to their numbers, into the dif¬
ferent periods of life; so that, although the total number
omitted be given, they cannot be interpolated in their pro¬
per places by calculation or otherwise, among the ages re¬
turned.
In the returns of burials at different ages, there are also
omissions, which can only be guessed at. Thus it appears
that these documents, after all the pains and expense they
have cost, do not afford the means of determining the law
of mortality, although that undoubtedly is the most import¬
ant purpose to which enumerations and registers of these
kinds can be applied.
The act 6 and 7 Wm. IV., cap. 86, passed in August
1836, is likely to secure satisfactory records of marriages,
births, and deaths, in England; but the abortive and still¬
born should be distinguished from the children born alive,
which does not appear to be provided for. They may, in¬
deed, be entered as abortive or still-born, under the cause
of death, in the register of burials; if that be done, they
should be carefully excluded from the number of deaths, in
making extracts or returns, and stated separately. And if,
at the future decennial enumerations, the ages of the people
be determined with corresponding accuracy, the values both
of the enumerations and registers will be greatly enhanced,
and the law of mortality, with much other important infor¬
mation, may be derived from them. The insertion of the
cause of death, in the register of it, is of itself a great im¬
provement.
As has already been observed in the article Annuities,
(p. 209? col. 2), it is much to be regretted that in the popu¬
lation returns of 1831, the people were not classed accord¬
ing to their ages, as in 1821; but without giving any option
either to the party by whom or to whom the question on
that subject was required to be put, as to putting or answer¬
ing it. It appears highly probable that there would be no
occasion to impose any penalty for refusing to answer that
question, or for giving wilfully an incorrect answer; and in
the few cases where it might be so given, or altogether
withheld, if a memorandum were made of it, the desired in¬
formation might afterwards be obtained nearly enough from
other parties; if it came but within the right interval of age,
that would be sufficient. It is true that in the present de¬
fective state of the returns of births and deaths, that would
not have enabled us to determine the law of mortality in a
satisfactory manner; but with the returns of 1821, and those
of a similar kind to be made at the future enumerations, it
would have been of great use. Indeed it must be obvious
to all, that one of the greatest uses of such periodical in¬
quiries into the state of the population, is to ascertain its
progress, by comparing the returns at the several successive
periods, which can only be done satisfactorily when the same
method of proceeding is adhered to at each, or as nearly so
as may be consistent with the introduction of improvements
into it.
Dr. Robert Watt’s Inquiry into the Relative Mortality
of the Principal Diseases of Children, and the numbers ivho
died under ten years of age in Glasgow during the thirty
years 1783-1812, forming the appendix to his Treatise on
Chincough, was published with it, in 8vo. in 1813.
He states, (p. 336,) that, “ on inquiring into the state of
1 Those above mentioned are only a few cases, others may be easily found in the Population Abstract. The ages of the inhabitants of
London within the walls were very nearly all returned; those of Canterbury were deficient by ^th part of the whole.
526
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, the Registers of the City, he found something of that kind
Bills of. ^a(j existed from a very remote period ; but that it was only
— J from the commencement of the year 1783 that they had been
kept in a regular manner.” The Bills extended to the
suburbs as well as the city, and he stated that so early as
the year 1798, more than half of the funerals were without
the city. With the most laudable zeal and unwearied in¬
dustry, he collected from the different registers of burials
contained in fifteen folio volumes, for every one of those
thirty years, the number of children under ten years of age
who died in each month of that year, by each of eight dif¬
ferent diseases, (counting fevers of all kinds as one disease
only, designated by the term fever, according to the bills,)
the number of the abortive and still-born, and the numbers
of deaths under two years of age, between two and five, and
between five and ten ; and gave a separate table exhibiting
those particulars for each of the thirty years ; shewing also
the total number of deaths during the whole of each year
from each of the causes, and in each of the intervals of age
above mentioned ; with the whole number of deaths at all
ages, and from all causes that took place in each year.
Then, dividing the whole term of thirty years into five
periods of six years each, he gave a table (his 31st) shew¬
ing how many deaths took place in that period from each
of the causes and in each of the intervals of age above men¬
tioned, for every hundred in the whole numbers of deaths,
including the abortive and still-born, which took place dur¬
ing the same period.
The following are four of the fifteen columns in that table.
For every hundred in the
total number of deaths during
that period, there were caus¬
ed by  
Period of six
years.
1783—1788
1789—1794
1795—1800
Small¬
pox.
19-55
18-22
18-70
Measles.
Stopping
or croup.
0-93
1- 17
2- 10
2- 54
3- 33
2-47
Gratuitous vaccination commenced in Glas¬
gow in 1801.
1801—1806
1807—1812
8-90
3-90
3-92
10-76
4- 93
5- 18
Dr. Watt, in common with almost all others who have
well considered the subject, was an advocate for vaccina¬
tion ; and if he overrated the degree in which the reduction
of mortality effected by it was counteracted by the contem¬
poraneous increase of mortality from other diseases ; he has
given abundant proof that it was neither from the want of
an earnest desire to discover the truth, nor of persevering
industry in the pursuit of it.
At the conclusion of his work he recommended scarla¬
tina to be thenceforward carefully distinguished from other
fevers in the bills, and expressed his opinion that it had been
a very considerable cause of mortality among children for
some years previous to the date of his publication.
Medical men in general, both in London and in Glasgow,
dissent from the opinion of Dr. Watt, that the mortality
from measles had materially increased since the introduc¬
tion of vaccination ; but it is supported by the Bills of Mor¬
tality both of London and Sweden, as well as those of
Glasgow ; the increase has also been observed both in Corn¬
wall and at Plymouth, although the numbers there are small.1
Perhaps this increase of mortality may take place principally
among the children of the poor, who, in such cases, seldom Morte
have proper medical assistance ; and either from ignorance Bills
or necessity do not sufficiently protect the patients from coldly <
whilst labouring under the disease.
The third edition of Dr. Cleland’s Statistical Tables re¬
lative to the City of Glasgoiv, was published there (in 8vo.)
in 1823, containing a good account of the population and
mortality both of the city and suburbs down to that time;
he there gave the bills of mortality of the city and suburbs
for the year 1822, which appears to have been the first pub¬
lished, and continued to prepare these bills during fourteen
years, 1821-1834, with great care and attention, and to
publish them in the Glasgow newspapers, with the appro¬
bation of the magistracy, who cheerfully defrayed the ex¬
pense.
These bills were similar to those published by Dr. Hay-
garth at Chester, and by Dr. Heysham at Carlisle ; except
that the intervals of age the numbers of deaths were given
in under five years, were much less minute, and that the
causes of death were not stated in Dr. Cleland’s bills. That
gentleman was also appointed to superintend the two enu¬
merations of the people in the city and suburbs of Glasgow
in 1821 and 1831 ; and having been appointed on this last
occasion by the sheriff of Lanarkshire to superintend the
enumeration of the county also, in a letter to the author of
this article, dated February 15th 1831, he expressed his ap¬
prehensions that he should not be able to give a classifica¬
tion of the inhabitants of Glasgow and its suburbs according
to their ages at that enumeration in the same manner as in
1821 ; but upon being informed, in reply, that in that case
all the labour he had bestowed upon the parish registers
during the ten years then elapsed would be fruitless, he an¬
swered, that, notwithstanding the extra trouble, he would
prepare fresh schedules, and give the number of the people
of each sex in each of the same intervals of age as in 1821,
which he did accordingly ; and that is the only instance, ex¬
cept the Carlisle enumerations in January 1780 and Decem¬
ber 1787, of its having been done in this country.
In the year 1831, Dr. Cleland published, in a folio volume,
his Enumeration of the Inhabitants of Glasgoiv and Lan¬
arkshire, including all the details of his labours above men¬
tioned, and, in 1832, a second edition of nearly twice the
bulk ; in the first, the bill of mortality for each year of the
ten, 1821-1830, is given; but in the second, only those
for the first and the last of them.
The following is an extract from the folio volume, (first
edition, p. 11.) “ From my official situation I am enabled
to state, that the books of the church-yard wardens are kept
with such perfect accuracy that every reliance may be plac¬
ed on the number of burials in the city and suburbs.” '
Since the year 1834 the Glasgow bills of mortality ha\e
been prepared by Henry Paul, Esq. convener of the Com¬
mittee of Churches and Church-yards, under the superin¬
tendence of a committee of the magistrates and town council,
with some material improvements upon those of Dr. Cle¬
land. The bill for 1835 contains six tables, besides Ge-
neral Remarks, the principal improvements are in the tlnrc
and fourth tables, which were not given by Dr. Cleland, in
both of them the sexes are always distinguished; in the
third, the number of still-born children, and the number o
deaths in each interval of age that took place in each month
of the year is given separately; and the sum oftheraon
ly numbers shews the same thing in each case for the who e
year. But the fourth table, which is still more valuable,
shews the number of deaths of each sex in each interval o
age, by each of the causes most easily discriminated.
Part of these two bills have been published in the b as^
gow newspapers; of that for 1836, in the Scottish uar
1 Sketch of the Medical Topography of the Hundred of Penwith, Cornwall, by Dr. Forbes, part ii. p. 138, in 7V«n.9.
vol. ii; and Dr. Blackmore on the Rtse and Decline of Particular Mortal Diseases, 8vo. Plymouth 1829, from Trans, of Plymou
Mo
B.
MORTALITY, HUM A
ity, dian of the 3d of February 1837 ; but only the contents of
'f- the first two of the tables above mentioned for that year had
^been published when this article was put to press, and the
author acknowledges his obligations to Mr. Paul for the
copies sent him by that gentleman of the papers already
published. In these the intention of the council committee
is announced, to improve as they proceed, the statements of
the diseases by which the deaths were occasioned; also their
intention to detail, in the future bills of mortality, the par¬
ticular trades and professions of those who have died ; and
to give a table exhibiting the mortality among children from
one month up to five years of age, with a statement of the
various diseases which have proved fatal at those ages ; all
of which improvements are very desirable. .
It is much to be regretted that only about one half of the
births in Glasgow and its suburbs are registered, also that
certain registers in the Barony Parish burying-grounds con¬
tain no record of the cause of death. The act passed in
1836, for registering births, deaths, and marriages, extends
to England only; and the committee of the city council
express their opinion that these defects cannot well be sup¬
plied without some legislative enactment.
In the bills of mortality for London, Glasgow, and too
many other places, the still-born have been included among
the burials, as the numbers are obtained from the burial
registers; although, as was observed before, p. 525, col. 1,
they never should be, for in that case they are generally
included among the deaths in calculating the rate of mor¬
tality, in consequence of which, that rate comes out greater
than the truth in the ratio of the whole number of the re-
gisterial burials to the number interred who had lived and
breathed.
The Observations on the Mortality and Physical Man¬
agement of Children, by Mr. Roberton of Manchester, were
published (in 12mo.) in 1827 ; it is the first part only of that
valuable work, namely, the observations on the mortality
amongstchildren, which we have occasion to notice here; and
we consider that no gentleman of the medical profession has
treated it better, few, if any, so well. Mr. Roberton informs
us that no bill of mortality is published in Manchester, and
that, before the year 1812, the ages were not entered in the
tegisters. He extracted, with great care, the numbers of
deaths under ten years of age from the register of the col¬
legiate church of Manchester, for the term of eight years,
1816-1823 ; and from the valuable register at the Rush-
olme Road cemetry there, for the term of four years, ended
with April 1825. The results he has stated shortly, (p. 19-)
u ith the proportion in each interval of age under ten, to the
whole number of deaths in each register; and has given a
valuable table, shewing, without distinction of sex, the num¬
ber of children buried in the Rusholme Road cemetry dur¬
ing the four years 1821-1825, who died under one month
old, between one and two, two and three, three and six, six
and nine, and between nine and twelve months; also be¬
tween one and two years, two and three, three and five, and
etween five and ten years old, with the total under ten;
“ each °f forty-seven different diseases, and twelve other
causes separately. The total number of deaths under ten
having been 2056, and at all ages 3559-
We have already stated in the article Annuities, (vol.iii.
L 03,) that Mr. Finlaison’s Report to the Lords of the
reasury, on the mortality among government annuitants in
18 c<)untry, was printed by order of the House of Com-
ons in 1829. Government having raised money at differ-
j..n tim^s by the sale of life annuities, either by way of ton-
ines, with benefit of survivorship, or otherwise ; a separate
gister of the nominees or annuitants on whose lives the
nuiUes depended, was on each occasion kept; the name,
tifip/011^11611^ t^1.e sex’ a^so the age, satisfactorily cer-
rnrr, ’ nominee at the time when the annuity
menced, with the day of death, and the age attained,
N.
527
were entered in the register. For each of these classes of Mortality,
nominees generally, but in some instances for two or three Bibs of.
ui 6 smaller ones combined, Mr. Finlaison has given a's-
table, showing for each sex, 1. The number enrolled at
each age last completed, during the observations; 2. The
number alive of each age when the observations terminat-
gc ; 3. -The number who died at each age during the ob-
servations; and, 4. The number w ho passed on from that
to the next greater age.
Mr. binlaison calls each of his tables above mentioned an
observation, although each records several thousands of ob¬
served facts or occurrences. Of these tables he has given
twenty-one, but the recorded facts, which alone we have
occasion to notice here, are contained in six only of them,
the other fifteen being combinations of two or more of the
six, or of selections from them.
These six are the following:—
Table.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VII.
Observations on the nominees of the
No. of
Lives. I Deaths,
English! ontine, which commenced
in July 1693, the last died in
1783 
The observations in all the
other cases terminated in Janu¬
ary 1826.
Life Annuities issued at the Ex¬
chequer in 1745, 1746, 1757,
1766, 1778, and 1779 
Three Irish Tontines of 1773,1775,
and 1778 
Great English Tontine of 1789.
Selected by the contributors 
Drawn by lot, (Art. Annuities,
p. 207) 
Life Annuities chargeable on the
Sinking Fund, commenced in
1808 
1002
2552
3557
3518
4831
6892
Totals, ! 22,352
1002
2396
1993
1315
1823
1548
10,077
In the article Annuities (pp. 202 and 203) we mentioned
the desire of the members of the Equitable Assurance So¬
ciety to ascertain the law of mortality which had obtained
among them ; and that the late Mr. Morgan, their then act¬
uary, had been able to form a table which had induced him
to alter his opinion on the subject; accordingly, in Febru¬
ary 1834, the Society printed for the use of the members a
folio pamphlet of “ Tables showing the total number of per¬
sons assured in the Equitable Society, from its commence¬
ment in September 1762, to January 1, 1829, distinguishing
their ages at the time of admission into the Society, and
exhibiting the number of years during which they have con¬
tinued members of it, the periods of life at which their as¬
surances have terminated, and the ages which the surviving
members had attained on the first of January 1829. To
which are added, Tables of the Probabilities and Expecta¬
tions of the duration of human life, deduced from these docu¬
ments ; a statement of disorders (as certified to the Court of
Directors) of which 4095 persons assured have died, in thirty-
two years, ending December 31, 1832; and a Supplement,
showing the mortality of the Society for the years 1829,
1830, 1831, and 1832.” With an introduction by Mr. Ar¬
thur Morgan, who succeeded his father as actuary of the
Society.
By these documents it appears that, of the persons whose
lives were assured in the Society during the period of 66^
years from its commencement, till the end of the year 1828,
528
Mortality,
Bills of.
The number then surviving and continuing in
sured, was  
The number who went out of the Society during
their lives, the assurances on them having been
discontinued 
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A NV
Brought forward 16254
The number who continued assured till death... 5144
6930
9324
Carry forward 16254
And that the total number of lives insured was 21,398
The most valuable of these data are contained m a table,
marked A, of the following form, the ages stated being those
last completed:—
Age 29-
<3,
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
462
481
624
726
783
•-s
£PcT o
5 OJ
> CO CS
7
6
10
8
d -rA
S §
C/3 O
<j.a
' rr~i
32
22
54
40
Age 30.
421
451
557
676
780
762
a
.2
10
7
6
7
1
29
26
31
70
45
1
Age 31.
c £
380
411
515
595
729
759
785
T 53 ^
•r« CM r,
.S 00'S
S §
tn O
.2
14
13
29
37
65
36
£
c .2
O cn
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
The number in each column on the extreme right and
left shows the age at which the lives in the horizontal line
passing through it were insured; and each large column,
with the age written over it, gives in its four subdivisions
the information there expressed for each age of aamissxon
-phe number of lives wbo attained that over-written
° 2. How many of them were living of that age when the
observations terminated.
3. How many went out of the Society alive, by discon¬
tinuance of insurance at that age, during the observations.
4 How many of them died insured during the same time.
And as none of the last three descriptions of lives could
have entered into the next greater year of age during the
observations, while all the rest of the lives of the fii-st de¬
scription must have done so ; if the sum of the 2d, 3d, and
4th numbers be subtracted from the first, the remainder,
being the number who entered on the next greater age, is
inserted in the first division of the column for that greater
0 r The numbers in each horizontal line of the table always
ben-in with the number admitted during the observations
at the age of admission standing on the same line m the
marginal columns ; and the number admitted is placed in
the first division of the column with the same age at its
head ; from which it necessarily follows that Lie number of
lives insured at any age, is always the last number m the
first division of the column with that age written over it.
Thus, the numbers admitted of the ages 29, 30, and 31,
were 783, 762, and 785 respectively. 785, the number ad¬
mitted at 31, that is, in the 32dyear of age, is greater than
the number admitted at any other age, which shows that to
be the time of life at which assurances were most frequently
effected in the Equitable Society previous to the year 1829,
and may be taken as a proof that they are most generally
wanted at that age, although no such inference could be
safely drawn from the records of that or any other office,
during a period of twenty years or more, commencing with
1829, on account of the great diversity in the rates of pre¬
mium required for life assurance by different offices, and m
the advantages held out by them, since about 1825 or 1830.
The numbers admitted at the four ages 29-32, vary but
little. The three first are given in the above specimen of
the table, that for the age 32 was 780; they decrease gra¬
dually on both sides of that interval of age, so that from the
commencement of the 30th to the end of the 33d year of
age, appears to be the period of life in which most life as¬
surances are applied for ; probably also that m which most
first marriages of men are contracted m this country.
Thereareinthe table 70ages of admission, beginning with
7 and ending with 88; but only ten lives were admitted
after completing their 67th year. As the greatest age at¬
tained by any life assured, and that by one only,was94yeaxs
completed, there are 88 columns with the ages from 7 to
94 written over them, each divided into four.
Thus, it appears, that in this very valuable table, wh ch
had long been wanted before it appeared, and is one of he
many important benefits derived by the public from
Equitable Assurance Society; the progress of all the
21,398 lives through the different ages from seven
ty-four, so long as they respectively remained insured, ffie
respective ages at which they entered the society, an
winch they went out of it, whether by death or discontinu-
ance of aJurance, are distinctly shewn, and the means «
determining the law of mortality *e $
given, even for determining it amongst those
which were admitted at any one age, so far as their I mite
numbers will allow. Immediately after this, two ot er
undistinguished for reference either by nuniber or letter
ar e eiven; the first exhibiting for each of the four divisions
of every column with the age set over it, that age standing
in the margin of this table on the same line, the
numbers in that division set against all the ^ ^ ^ we
sion The numbers in the first column of this taD
consider to be of very little importance ^ cumpa^berof
those in the three other columns; they shew ffie n
observations of each kind obtained in each year of ^ ^
consequently the different degrees of confidenc ^
of mortality derived from them at differen g four
ed to. It shews, that between twenty and ^ n^ ing
years of age, the number of observations or ofhves^
into, and in whole or in part through each yearffi
always above 1,000 ; that number increas"dwhere
of seven where it was forty, to the age ^f ] eased gra-
it attained its maximum of 7,725, and tfien ^ one
dually to the age of ninety-four, where the ^ game
life left which did not reach ninety-five. :n table A,
things were shewn, although not at one vie^in ^
where the sum of the numbers in each column
MORTALITY, HUMAN
B of.
jtfdlity, against all ages of admission were given; therefore the
numbers in that first column might well have been omitted,
'and the number of admissions at each age substituted for
them; or if the first were retained, a column for the num¬
ber admitted at each age should have been added, for then
that table would have exhibited at one view, and in small
compass, all the data necessary for determining the law of
mortality.
The other small table merely gives the same information
as the first, not for each year of age separately but for the
interval between seven and ten, and then for every interval
of five years of age between ten and ninety-five years.
A table marked B differs much from A both in its con¬
tents and value ; it is stated to shew “ the duration of the
lives of those persons only who became members of the
Equitable Society between September 1762 and January
1st 1829, and who either continued their assurances to the
latter date or died during the intervening period all those
lives the insurances on which were discontinued, having
been omitted. But all of those omitted lives were, while
insured in the society, subjected to the chances of mor¬
tality equally with the others which continued insured
till they either survived the period in which the observa¬
tions were made or became extinct. By the extract given
above from table A, it appears that 783 lives were ad-
mited at 29 years of age; but that table shews, that of
these, 379 went out of the society during the observations
by discontinuance of the assurances on them ; the remain¬
ing 404 only are inserted in table B, as having been expos¬
ed to the chances of mortality in that year of age during
the observations, and the three deaths which happened in
the same year of age, are assumed to have taken place out
of 404 instead of 783 persons admitted in the same year
of age. The same number, 379 of those admitted at 29
years of age, also went out after the age of 30, which num¬
ber being taken from 780, leaves 401 ; 334 of them went
out after the age of 31, which, taken from 729, leaves 395 ;
and in this manner table B has been formed from table
A. The following extract from table B corresponds with
that given above from table A.
529
Age of
admis-
Age 29.
sion. Living. Died.
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
266
298
340
386
404
Age 30.
Age 31.
Living. Died. Living. Died
257
290
327
376
401
435
245
276
306
365
395
433
460
. ket us now consider those lives only which were twenty-
nine years of age when admitted, and since the number of
deaths among them at that and each of the greater ages
was the same according to both tables, whilst the number
attaining the age 29, 30, 31,
was, according to table A, 783, 780, 729,
B, 404, 401, 395,
1 is manifest that the mortality, at each age according to
ble B, will be greater than according to table A, in
Li ra^° ^e number attaining that age according to
, ,e t° the number attaining the same age according to
e B ; that is, at these three ages nearly in the ratio of
two to one. But the younger the lives are at admission the Mortality,
greater is the proportion of them who leave the society by Bills of.
discontinuance of insurance ; and after the lapse of eight' ~ ~
or ten years from the age of admission, the number of lives
which leave the society in that way diminishes rapidly as
the age increases, so that the two tables (A and B) approxi¬
mate closer and closer as old age comes on, and differ but
little after sixty.
It is also to be borne in mind that the numbers attaining
the age of thirty, and dying of that age, are obtained bv
taking the sum of all the numbers in the first and last di¬
visions respectively of the column in table A with 30 at
its head, from seven, the least age of admission, to the ao-e
thirty, the mortality in which is the object of inquiry; and
the higher in the column any number is, or the less the
age of admission, the longer have the lives then thirty years
of age been insured, both in table A and B. Hence it is
evident that the error in excess of the mortality according
to table B in any year of age (thirty for instance) will not
be so great as among those lives only w hich were admitted
at that age. And all that is shewn here, with regard to
lives admitted at thirty years of age, and attaining that age,
applies equally to those admitted at and attaining to any
other age.
Those marked C and D are tables of mortality derived
from A and B respectively; and two other tables, marked
E and F, shew the expectation of life at every age from ten
to ninety-seven years according to tables C and D.
After these a valuable table is given, shewing the num¬
ber of deaths wdiich took place amongst the persons insured
in the society during the term of thirty-two years, 1801 
1832, in each interval of ten years of age from ten to
eighty and those above eighty, by each of forty-three dif¬
ferent causes, as certified to the Court of Directors. The
whole number of deaths during that term was 4,095, of
which there were occasioned
By thirty-seven different diseases....3,449
Natural decay of age  566
Childbirth  4
Accidents  40
Suicide   29
Murder  3
Being slain in war  4
4,095
This table shows the comparative numbers of deaths by
each disease at different ages, and from different diseases
in the same interval of age ; but not the rate of mortality
from each disease in each interval of age ; for this purpose,
the annual average number of insured lives existing in the
society in such interval of age during that term of thirty-
two years is necessary, but unfortunately wanting. Lastly,
as a supplement to Table A, a small table is given, showing
for the intervals of age between 7 and 10, 90 and 97, and
in each interval of 10 years between 10 and 90, the num¬
bers living and dying in each of those intervals of age dur¬
ing each of the four years. Upon comparing the numbers
living in the same intervals of age at the end of the year
1828 given in Table A, with those in this supplemental
table, we infer that it was at the end of the year placed at
the head of the column in this table that the numbers
stated in that column were living in those intervals of age.
But the only information given on the subject, is the word
“ Living” placed at the head of the column of numbers.
In the year 1832 was published a compilation in 4to, by
Mr. Marshall, entitled, Mortality of the Metropolis, contain¬
ing the London Bills of Mortality to the year 1830 inclu-
remainimr"0 om1^ t^,e deduction shewn in the section on the Law of Mortality to be necessary for the number of lives entering the society
it jjgj. S “is'ired when the observations terminated, and leaving it by discontinuance of insurance at each age. To make and to explain
posed without j*tJer^ ex some readers, and the false views of the subject table B is calculated to give, are here, we trust, sufficiently ex-
VOL. XV. 3 x
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
530 . ^ •
s=«i£|S5=5
Pnrtliral PnMia the Netherlands and Sweden, but with- multiply the applications and to encourage the eaerctse of
Portugal, rrussia, tne t; ^ v c „orl0r. nnfl pvph that new art; probably this gave occasion to its being used
r S population, ontytlne numbers of deaths in the single s» above
year 1820, under one year of age, between one and fifteen, ml 829. Th-eothe ^ ^ ^ prlnted by types inPthe
gi~iSf:Sr.ga,jg-;g--is ^~rjSMl 2sgS"Cs!;
ran sac ^ years 1834 and 1836. It is divided population, institutions, agriculture, manufactures, com-
Association, m the years 1834 an of, the second and finances . are all minutely detailed in so many
into two parts ; and it is only the hrst c p . seDarate chapters ; but we have only occasion in this arti-
part, which is contained in the ^J^ JnoZe here cK attend ; and on that subject shall
Lmade,
tural. There are twenty-five small tables; in the first An enumeration ^ ^ ^ Tolume, where the results
si:-; :h„d W
^Crc^mJ-of mortality in Paris commenced ^ich he — it MspepUe ^taim ^ £
an" the pindpd toswMi had mlvailed; wtt thl
Eo^tvirrp^ :&^ofjs SI PS3I «:SsS’ihis
noistre 1’estat en tout terns, et d’observer soigneusement and m one month
ies causes qui augment ou diminue le peuple en chacqun persons was made at their P inative enumeration,
des quartiers de Paris, il sera fait, tons les seconds jours du ner stated f^ve. ^
mois, une feuille qui contiendra le nombre des baptesmes, But a pa p 1 erated g0 correctly. These
des mariages et des mortuaires du mois precedent et e ^ J j or native French subjects then resident in
ChSei=“tSltT;r fifteen years, .670- the -pi^ut’wi« todha^on,^^
1684, but after the death of Colbert, which happened in inmates of twenty-seve P ’ bU h ts 0fsixhun-
1683,itwasneglectedduringtwenty-fouryears, 1685-1708 ;• prisons, of forty-three ^yj^hj^ets other es-
the publication of the bills was resumed in 1709, and has dred and mnetyAwo ^ whom the
been continued ever since, improvements having also been tabhshmen s, anc p p p ^gse persons
introduced into them from time to time. inf0rmf and no distinction is
This information is taken from a “ Memoire surlaPopu- are said to be numbered collectively, an
tion de la ville de Paris depuis la fin du 17e siecle,” in the made either of their aSes or ®e^Sm. ivel the number of
second volume of a great and important work printed by Of the persons enumerated n° J interval of age
the French Government, but not for sale, entitled, Re- each sex separately m each qumquenmal £terval ^
cherches Statistiques sur la ville de Paris et le Departement from birth to thirty years comp e ^ h ^ hundred
de la Seine; Recueil de Tableaux dresses et reums tfapres mal interval to a hundred, a v f them of
les ordres de Monsieur le Comte de Chabrol, comeiller years of age was given. The whole numbers
defat, prefet du departement. all ages were these .
The first volume was published in 1821, in small octavo,
1 As were also those for the three last months of the year 1684; and the bills for 1676 and 1677 are wanting ; so that’ the
were twlnty-seven years from the first publication of the bills, in which their publication was either interrupted or neglected,
two missing bills were lost. wThich is probable. _ T . •
2 Under which term we here include les Hospices et les Hopiteaux.
i lity,
Jof.
MORTALI
Males.
Unmarried..
Husbands...
Widowers...
Totals.
162,843
128,589
13,815
305,247
Females.
Unmarried..
Wives....
Widows..
175,210
129,596
47,119
351,925
Those enumerated collectively amounted to...
and made the total population within the walls,
Adding to this the population of the Hospice
de Bicetre, and of the Maison de Retraite de
Mont-Rouge, which, though situated without
the walls, belong to Paris 
Both Sexes,
338,053
258,185
60,934
657,172
56,794
713,966
3,246
we have....  717,212
the whole population of Paris on the first of March 1817.
An attempt was made to class according to their ages the
persons who were only enumerated collectively, the ways
in which the different estimates were made, are explained,
and a table (No. 7.) of their results is given ; but we con¬
sider them to be so uncertain, that we are not aware of any
useful purpose they can be applied to, and therefore take
no farther notice of them here.
It is also observed that the number of the living under
five years of age, even in the nominative census, was much
less than it should have been in consequence of the very
great number of children which are sent to be nursed in the
neighbouring villages, both by their parents and by public
establishments, neither the mean number of them, nor the
mean duration of their absence from Paris, could be ascer¬
tained, and any estimates that could be made on the sub¬
ject were so uncertain that it would have been useless to
state them.
The nominative census was also deficient in numbers
after fifty years of age, on account of the number of aged
poor who die in the civil hospitals. The approximations to
the ages in these appear to be entitled, to more confidence
than in the rest of the collective census, and for those with¬
in the walls of Paris they are given in column sixth, whilst
the numbers of the nominative census at the same ages are
given in column seventh of table seven ; and by them we find
that the numbers were
In the nominative census.
At all ages 657,172
Above fifty years ofage, 134,104
In the civil hospitals.
12,596, about ^d part.
6,037, about ^'gd part.
From what has been stated above, it will be evident to
t lose who understand the subject, or who read the next
Vii ^lat enumeration, although performed with great
^‘,and labour, does not afford the means of determining
the law of mortality in Paris, even if we had the most sat¬
is actory accounts of the numbers of births and of the deaths
that took place at all ages.
Paris being for municipal purposes divided into twelve
istncts called arrondissements, distinguished by so many
numbers from one to twelve, and each of these into four
quarters, Table III. shows for each arrondissement and for
each quarter of it (giving also the names of the quarters),
T Y, H U M A N. 53l
the numbers of houses, of families,1 and of persons, that Mortality
were ascertained by the nominative census to be in it on Bids of.
the first of March 1817 ; also for each of the six descrip-
tions of persons separately, mentioned above as those who
were numbered collectively, how many persons were so
numbered in each arrondissement and in each quarter of it.
And in the last two columns of that table, the total number
of persons in each arrondissement and in each quarter of it
on the first of March 1817, is given ; but there is no dis¬
tinction of age or sex in this table.
Table IV. exhibits the number of the living ascertained
by the nominative census to be then in each of the four¬
teen intervals of age above mentioned, with the distinction
of sex and condition as to celibacy, marriage, or widow¬
hood ; the totals of which, omitting the ages, we have stated
above.
Table V. shows for every 10,000 persons in each of the
twelve arrondissements, how many were in each of the same
intervals of age, but without distinction of sex or condition.
The following tables to the tenth inclusive, relating to the
numbers and proportions of the people, we do not think
necessary to notice here particularly ; the whole number of
the tables relating to the population and extent of Paris is
twelve, numbered from three to twelve, and including two
as first and second supplements to table ten.
We now proceed to those parts of the work which ex¬
hibit what the French denominate the mouvement, but we
call the progress* of the population; which is shown by
statements of the numbers of annual marriages, births, and
deaths, during a series of years, with the ages at which the
deaths happened.
The volumes these documents are contained in, and the
years in which the events recorded took place, are as
follow:
No. of Vol.
I. 8vo.
II. 4to.
III. 4to.
IV. 4to.
Published in
the year.
1821
1823
1826
1829
Years reported upon.
1817 and 1818
1819 — 1821
1822 and 1823
1824 _ 1826
There are able introductions and memoirs prefixed to all
the volumes, which it would not be consistent with the ob¬
jects of this article to notice further here; except the
memoir already mentioned on the progress of the popula¬
tion of Paris during the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries;
which we now resume.
Before 1710 the numbers of foundling infants were, or
at least can only now be found, recorded, for the years
1670, 1680, 1690, and 1700 ; but the publication of the
bills of mortality having been resumed in 1709, the num¬
ber of foundlings was stated in them for 1710, and every
following year. The sexes were not distinguished either
in the numbers of births, deaths, or foundlings, till the year
1745 ; after which it was always preserved ; it was only
from the year 1795 that the numbers of still-born children
were recorded separately, and we are not informed whether
they were previously included among the births or deaths,
or both or neither of them. 1806 was the first year in
which the illegitimate children were distinguished from the
legitimate ; they had previously been put together without
distinction. This information is taken from the table in
the second volume numbered 53, (and the notes that ac-
Person 6 V01"^ 18 Menage, and to renter family synonymous, we have, we believe, only to extend its meaning to the case of a single
2 ln^ an° condyctin£ ah bis or her domestic affairs alone ; whether occupying the whole of a house or only a part of it.
<?r ™0?20n °f the population would be the better term if it were admissible in English, as it applies equally whether the
or toe people is increasing or decreasing.
532
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, company it) showing the numbers from the year 1670 to
Bills of. 1821, with the exception of twenty-six years above men-
~ ' tioned necessarily left blank, and another which was de-
fective.
The progress of the population of Paris during each of
the ten years 1817—1826, as exhibited in the four volumes
above mentioned, is contained in ten tables. In the first six
there is no distinction of ages.
The first shows the numbers of births, marriages, and
deaths, that took place in each month of the year, without
reference to place; and then those which took place in
each of the twelve arrondissements of Paris, without refer¬
ence to the months of the year which they happened in ;
the sexes being distinguished both in the births and deaths.
The second shows the same things in greater detail; the
columns of the first table being subdivided in this, so as to
show how many both of the births and deaths took place at
home, and how many in the hospitals ; also, of each of these
two descriptions of births, how many of the children were
legitimate and how many illegitimate.
The third is confined to natural children ; and with re¬
gard to them, the same information is given as to the sexes,
and the months and arrondissements in which they were
born ; but in addition to this, it is shown how many of them
were acknowledged at their birth, and how many were not;
also how many were acknowledged by celebration of mar¬
riage, and how many after birth, before a magistrate.
The fourth shows the number of still-born children of
each sex, during each month, and in each arrondissement.
Tiic fifth shows the number of marriages in each month
and in each arrondissement, which were given without
further particulars in the first table ; but here, the number
of marriages in each horizontal line of that table, is shown
to consist of four different numbers of so many different
kinds of marriages. Thus :
Between
Bachelors and
Maids. 'Widows.
The totals in'
the city of
Paris in the
year 1826,
were,
In the arron¬
dissement of >
St. Denis, ^
Arrondisse
ment of
Sceaux
GrandTotals
in the capital
or depart¬
ment of the
Seine.
mis, i
iisse- )
S
6457 I 368
732
584
7773
60
44
472
8245
Between
Widowers and
Maids. Widows.
708
83
222
Total
as in
Table I.
7755
26
77
27
868
275
1143
9388
901
732
9388
Hitherto for the sake of perspicuity, we have taken no
notice of the rural arrondissements of Saint Denis and
Sceaux ; but we add them here, to show the way in which
the numbers for them are introduced in all the first six
tables, after the totals for the city of Paris are obtained;
and by adding them to the totals for the city, the grand or
general total is also obtained for the whole of the capital,
or department of the Seine. The last four of the ten tables
relate to the city of Paris only.
The sixth shows the deaths in each month and arron¬
dissement, the same as the first; but each column in the
first table is so divided in this, as to show how many of Morta,
each sex died at home, also how many in the civil, how Bills i|
many in the military hospitals, and how many in prisons,
In this and the first table of deaths, the dead bodies de¬
posited at the Morgue within the year, are added to the
sum of the deaths both in the different months of the year,
and in the different arrondissements within the walls of
Paris, to obtain the total number of deaths in the city.
The seventh table we consider as being the most valuable of
the ten. It shows, for the city of Paris only, the numbers of
deaths in the first and second quarters of the first year of
age, also in the last half, consequently in the whole of that
year; then in every following year of age separately, to
that often years completed ; and after that in every interval
of five years of age to a hundred, and those above a hun¬
dred ; always distinguishing the sexes, and showing the
numbers who, in each interval of age, died unmarried,
married, widowers or widows.
Were it not for the salutary practice of sending children
born in Paris into the neighbouring villages to be nursed;
as the numbers of births of both sexes are given, and also
the numbers of deaths of both sexes separately in minute
intervals of age under ten years; the law of mortality
among them might be determined, even independent of
enumerations of the living. But under the actual circum¬
stances, that very desirable object cannot be attained.
The eighth shows the numbers of violent and accidental
deaths, voluntary and involuntary, in each of various ways,
which took place in the city of Paris in each month of the
year, and in the whole year ; the sexes being distinguished
, in each of the numbers for the whole year, but not for
each month.
The ninth shows the number of suicides attempted dur¬
ing the year, in the department of the Seine ; the number
of those attempted which were effectuated, and the number
of them wdiich were prevented; with the means or destruc¬
tion employed, and the presumed motives of suicide. The
sexes are also distinguished, and the married from the un¬
married. • .
The tenth shows the number of deaths from small-pox in
each month of the year, and in each arrondissement in the
city of Paris, without distinction of age ; also the number
of them that took place in each of the intervals of age em¬
ployed in the seventh table, without distinction of months
or arrondissements ; the sexes being in all these cases dis¬
tinguished. Then the number of gratuitous vaccinations
during the year, in each arrondissement, is shown. The
sexes of the vaccinated were distinguished for the years
1817 and 1818, but not afterwards. Each of the two tables
here numbered 9 and 10, w as, for the years 1817 and 1818,
divided into two ; so that the number showing the progress
of the population in those two years, was twelve instead ot
In addition to these, a table numbered 37, in the first
volume, is too curious and interesting to be passed un¬
noticed here. It was formed from extracts made by M-
Benoiston de Chdteauneuf from the statements of deaths
prepared in the mayoralties of the different arrondisse¬
ments ; which statements were founded on the declarations
made by the physicians and surgeons who certified tne
deaths. _ iqiq
The table shows, for each of the four years, 1810—
the number of deaths produced in the city of Paris, by eac
of the following pulmonary diseases: Asthmas, catarrhs,
defluxions on the chest (fluxions de poitrine), and con¬
sumptions (phthysies); in the spring, summer, autum >
and wdnter of each year, without distinction of age, u
also in each interval of ten years of age from birth to seven •,
years, between seventy and ninety, and between ninety
a hundred; without distinction of seasons. The totai , '
each of these diseases in each of the four years is
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Monty-
BiUf-
stated, with the total number of deaths in Paris from all
causes during the same year; and the proportion of the
mortality from each of those pulmonary diseases to the
whole mortality ; the sexes being distinguished throughout.
No table of that kind, nor of the deaths by other diseases
than the small-pox, was inserted in any of the other three
volumes. Statements of the annual average progress of
the population in each of the arrondissements of Paris dur¬
ing the five years 1817-1821 are given in the third volume,
tables 42-50 ; and for the next following quinquennial
period 1822-1826 in the fourth volume, tables 54-62.
Table 102 of the second volume shows the comparative
riches of the different arrondissements in the city of Paris;
it was constructed from the register of personal taxes im¬
posed in the year 1820 ; that table with the others above
mentioned in the first three volumes, were the principal
data on which M. Villerme founded his very valuable Memoirs
sur la Mortalite en France dans la classe aisee et dans la
classe indigente, in the first volume of the Memoires de
VAcademic Royale de Medecine, tome i. 1828.
In the introduction to the fourth volume of the Recher-
ches Statistiques it is stated, that a fifth would terminate
the work ; and a short account is there given of its intended
contents; but in May 1837, when this article was printed,
that volume had not appeared.
Statements of the progress of population in Paris and in
every department of France, are regularly published in the
Amuaire du Bureau des Longitudes, also of the popula¬
tion of the different departments, and of their arrondisse¬
ments and chief towns, but without any notice of the ages.
The numbers of deaths in the city of Paris of each sex by
the small-pox at the different ages, have also been inserted
in the same work, for 1817 and every subsequent year ; but
not the numbers gratuitously vaccinated.
The ages at which the deaths happened are not given in
any of the statements in the Annuaire, except those for the
city of Paris.
In February 1835 was published at Troyes, the capital
of the department of the Aube in France, Recueil desprin-
cipaux iravaux des Conseils de Salubrite du departement de
l Aube, containing the same kind of information, given in
the same manner, but rather more fully respecting the pro¬
gress of population in Troyes, as is given in the Recherches
Statistiques for the city of Paris ; except that there is no
mention made of still-born children, or of the deaths from
small-pox, or of the numbers gratuitously vaccinated.
The statements of the deaths in all the intervals of age,
are given not only for each year, but for each month of
each of the ten years 1821-1830 ; also in one table, those
in each month during the whole term.
These documents were derived from the bills of mortality
by Dr. Patin, president of the council for the arrondisse-
ment of Troyes.
The population of the place at the commencement of the
term was 25,076, at the end of it 23,749, of whom 10,626
were males, and 13,123 females. The ages of the people
do not appear to have been distinguished at either of the
two enumerations made at the commencement and at the
end of the term ; neither are the total numbers of the two
sexes who were living at its commencement given separ¬
ately. So that the lawT of mortality cannot be determined
from the data obtained.
The three following tracts relating to the Netherlands,
were all published at Brussels in 8vo :
1. In the year 1827 a Memoir on National Statistics, entitl¬
ed, Developpement des trente et un Tableaux publics par la
Commission de Statistique, et relalifs aux mouvernens de la
Population dans lesPays-bas, depuis la creation duRoyaume
533
jusqua 1824 inclus ; par Edouard Smits, Secretaire de la Mortality,
Commission, See. &c. Bills of.
The tables shew the numbers of persons on the first ofs
January 1815, and on the thirty-first of December 1824,
residing in the towns, and in the rural communes separ¬
ately, tor each of the nineteen provinces in the kingdom ;
with the numbers of them for the whole kingdom of the
Netherlands taken together. They also show w’hat the
number of the people with the same distinction of town and
country residence, was on the first of January in each of
those ten years; with their mean number during the first
and second halves of that period, and during the whole of
the same period ; but in these numbers of the people there
is no distinction made either of age or sex ; the number at
the end of 1814 is stated (p. 2) to be estimated, and that
at the end of each year after it, was found by adding the
excess of the births above the deaths in the same year, to
the population at the end of the preceding; so that the
numbers of the people there stated, are not entitled to
much confidence.
The progress of the population is also shewn by state¬
ments of the numbers of births, marriages, divorces, and
deaths, and the differences between the numbers of births
and deaths during each of the ten years for the whole of
the kingdom ; and for each province during the whole of
the ten years, the inhabitants of towns being distinguished
from those of the country, and males from females, in all
that relates to the numbers of births and deaths. The pro¬
portion between the sexes in the numbers both of births
and of deaths, and that of the annual births as wrell as of the
annual deaths, and of the difference between them to the
whole population, in the towns and the rural communes
jointly and separately are given, for the whole term of ten
years, the two periods of five years each, and for each year
of the whole term.
2. In the same year (1827) Recherches sur la Population
les Naissances, les Deces, les Prisons, les Depots de Mendi-
cite, 4’c. dansle royaume des Pays-Bas, par M. A. Quetelet,
secretaire de la commission de statistique du Brabant-meridi¬
onal, 8pc. M. Quetelet (p. 2)states the population on the 1st
of January 1825, to have been estimated at 5,992,666, which
falls short of 6,013,478, stated by M. Smits, by 20,812 ;
and that this estimate was founded on two partial enumer¬
ations of the people made previously, one under the im¬
perial government, the other about the commencement of
the then (in 1827) actual government; and that from these,
and the numbers of annual births, the estimate was made
in the manner proposed by Laplace.1 He states that the
data they then (in 1827) had, could only be considered as
provisional and wanting rectification. There is little more
in this tract that we can properly notice here, as it is chief¬
ly on subjects not wdthin the scope of this article; but the
note A at the end, by M. Le Baron de Keverberg, contains
some good observations on enumerations of the people,
3. In 1832, Recherches sur la reproduction et la mor¬
talite de VHomme aux differens ages, et sur la Population
de la Belgique, par MM. A. Quetelet et Ed, Smits, (pre¬
mier recueil official). An enumeration of the people in
Belgium was made in November and December of the year
1829, but owing to the partial occupation of the provinces of
Limburg and Luxemburg, the information obtained respect¬
ing them, especially the latter, was incomplete. The whole
number of the people on the 1st of January 1830 was found to
be 4,064,209, of whom 998,118 were resident in towns, and
3,066,091 in the rural communes. The people were through¬
out classed according to their residence in town or country,
their sexes, and their state of celibacy, marriage or widowhood.
The authors state (p. 13) that in the tables of enumera-
1 Theorie Anahjtique des Probabilites, p. 391, and Essai Philosophiqite sur les Probabilites, p. 45.
government in 1802.
It was first adopted by the French
534
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, tion the ages of the inhabitants were carefully specified;
Bills of. but although we consider this to be of much more impor-
~ ~ 1 * * * tance than any other part of the inquiry, the information
they have given on this subject is far from being satisfac¬
tory. In every other place of any considerable magnitude
where this important and laborious operation has been per¬
formed ; in Sweden, Spain, Carlisle, Paris, Great Britain,
Glasgow, and Philadelphia, a distinct statement of the ab¬
solute number of persons found to be in each interval of
age at the time of the enumeration has been published ; and
in some cases, as in those of Carlisle, Paris, and Glasgow,
the manner of proceeding and the checks employed to en¬
sure a considerable degree of accuracy have been explain¬
ed. But in the case of Belgium, all information of this
kind has been withheld, and the authors have only given
us (p. 16) a table shewing the relative numbers of the peo¬
ple in the different intervals of age. For every million of
them it shews for each sex separately, and for each of forty-
seven ages from birth to one hundred years inclusive ; how
many were above that age, and also how many of these
were in a state of celibacy, marriage, or widowhood.
Although the professed object of the authors was to treat
of the mortality at the different ages of human life, they
have given their readers no information whatever as to the
ages at which the deaths took place ; nothing in the form
of bills of mortality, nor any abstracts from them ; they
merely state that the data from which they formed the table
of mortality they have given (p. 36), were carefully collect¬
ed during three years from the civil registers of the king¬
dom.
A very valuable memoir, the result of more than two
years’ labour, entitled Recherches Historiques et Siatistiques
sur la Population de Geneve, son mouvement annuel et sa
longevite, depuis le l6me siecle jusqu’d nos jours (1549—
1833), by M. Edouard Mallet, was read to the Societe de
Physique et dHistoire Naturelle of that city on the 18th of
November 1834. It is divided into three parts ; the first
contains all that is known of the population of Geneva, and
the successive enumerations of its inhabitants from the six¬
teenth century to the present time, with some details re¬
specting the extent of the place, its habitations, its climate,
and the industry of its inhabitants. The second exhibits
the progress of the population from the commencement of
the registers in Geneva, in December 1549, to the restora¬
tion of the republic at the end of December 1833, a period
of 164 years, especially the meritorious but hitherto unpub¬
lished labours of Drs. Cramer and Joly ; the progress of the
population is given year by year, viz. for the deaths from
1549, for the marriages and births from 1693; and some
theoretical inferences are drawn respecting the different
elements of this population, the continual increase of its
longevity and decrease of its fecundity. The third part
presents' the detailed results of the progress of population
in Geneva during the twenty years 1814-1833, from the
restoration to the end of the latter year. The necessary
length of this memoir prevented the whole of it being pub¬
lished in the second part of the seventh volume of those
above mentioned ; he therefore gave in that place the third
part of it only, but not even that without omitting an ex- Morta;
planation of the steps he took in making, himself, extracts
from the registers, to render them available for useful pur-^V
poses. This third part being the result of his own labour,
and containing new facts and discussions relative to the
progress of the population during that term of twenty years,
1814-1833.
The above is nearly a literal translation of the short pre¬
face to that part; although read to the society in Novem¬
ber 1834, it was not published till the end of the year
1836; and the whole of the memoir, including what was
omitted in the first publication of the third part was
inserted in the Annales d’Hygiene Publique, No. 33, (being
tome xvii. prem. partie,) which appeared in January 1837.
M. Mallet shews, that at a remote period the legislature
of Geneva considered an exact knowledge of the population
of the city a matter of importance, and he has given it at
nine different periods of enumeration ; the first in the year
1589, when it was 13,000, the last in 1834, when it was
27,177, of whom 12,573 were males and 14,604 females;
at the same time the population of the suburbs was 9052.
In these enumerations the administration took no account
of the numbers of locations or of families, nor of the propor¬
tions of the people in the states of celibacy, marriage or
widowhood ; neither do they appear to have taken any ac¬
count of the ages of the people at any of the enumerations,
which is much to be regretted, as that information would
have greatly enhanced the value both of the enumerations
and of the extracts from the registers of births, deaths and
marriages; it would have enabled us to determine the law
of mortality in Geneva, which has not yet been done, al¬
though repeatedly attempted and thought to have been
effected satisfactorily.
The deaths are certified by a visiting surgeon, who gives
an account of them every week to the hospital where the
civil registers are kept; and it is from his statements that
the general mortuary registers are formed. The births,
marriages and deaths that take place in the suburbs are en¬
tered in the registers with those of the city till 1791 for the
marriages and births, and till 1805 for the deaths. Since
1799 for the marriages, and since 1806 for the births and
deaths, those only for the population of Geneva within the
walls are stated. The population of the suburbs has sel¬
dom been ascertained or stated with that of the city. In
the registers of births and deaths the sexes are always dis-
timniished ; the abortive and still-born are stated separate¬
ly ; but before the year 1814, at which period M. Mallet
took up the bills twenty years afterwards, as in too many
other bills of mortality, they were also added to the num¬
ber of deaths, properly so called, which took place among
the living, and w ere therefore likely to be included among
them by incautious or unskilful persons in calculating the
rate of mortality. .
The mortuary registers of Geneva, as M. Mallet remarks,
have been the object of a great and laborious work, which
the celebrated economist M. DTvernois has lately discover¬
ed by chance.1 ‘ This work, the fruit of immense researches
in the old registers, for a period reaching so far back as the
1 The author of this article happened accidentally to contribute to this. In his letter of the 20th March 1834, to S * *'r M.
nois, he requested information respecting the extracts from the mortuary registers of Geneva made by he Dr. G ^ ^
Duvillard in his work on small-pox and vaccination, stated were communicated to him by Dr. Butim, also re p g
pubhcadons of Dr. Odier, and others there mentioned, p. 105. In answer M. D’lvemois was so oblong as to publi-
letters dated respectively the 2d and 16th of April, and the 17th of May of that year, with satisfactory infoimat o du pri
cations of Dr. Odier on the subject are to be found. In the first is the follovying passage : “Quant aux ouvrages, ou p ° ^ ^ puvil.
Cramer ce n’etaient que des notes manuscrites qu’il laissa a sa mort a son ami le Dr. Butim lequel les communiqua an ]™PderaaI)clant les
lard-’’ In the second ; “ J’en profite aussi pour vous remercie d’une decouverte bien precieuse que vous m avez fait gans
ouvrages du Dr. Cramer, son petit neveu le C. Cramer, vient de decouvrir dans les papiers de famille un manusc q ^ G^ve
parallele nulle part, rien moins que pres de 200 tables de mortalite tenues annee par annee, e !lyec une x , • Proposition de M-
villa depuis 1’origine denos registers jusqu’ en 1768.” The third was accompanied by a printed half-sheet, ^ 8yo. bcng ^ as
D'lvernois, lu an Counseil Reprtsentatif dans la stance du lundi 12 Mai 1834, in which he mentions thfVS SthTrdle:ter commences thus;
“ consign^ dans un manuscrit qu’un heureux hazard m’a fait de'couvnr depuis quelques semaines seulment. That third
Mo
Bi
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
535
ity, year 1549, and which; from 1560, when their representation
of the progress of the population became regular, to the year
w 1760, contains no less thanl 15,777 deaths classed according to
the ages at which they happened, was performed by Dr.
Jean-Antoine Cramer. Periodical recapitulations and ge¬
neral tables give the results to the year 1760 ; Dr. Cramer
continued the bills of mortality from that year till his death
in 1775, and left then a continuation of them to the year
1770 inclusive. It was only from the year 1560 that the
ages of the deceased were stated in the registers, and they
were omitted during the twelve years 1568-1579, as were
also those of 1648 individuals who died of the plague in
1615 and 1616.
Dr. Abraham Joly continued the inquiries of Dr. Cramer
in the same manner during forty-one years, 1771-1811, and
died himself in 1812.
Dr. Louis Odier published, in the Journal de Geneve, for
9th July 1791, and in the BibliothequeBritannique, for 1797, a
General view of the Mortality at Geneva, which is nothing
more than an abridged reproduction of Dr. Cramer’s tables,
but unfortunately left it to be inferred that they were the
results of his own labours, and that was the impression pro¬
duced.
But the most important work of M. Odier was a continu¬
ation of the labours of M. Cramer for the last forty years,
1761-1800, of the last century, and the first thirteen 0801-
1813) of the present.
The other authors who have laboured in the same field
of research, besides M. Mallet himself, are MM. De Can-
dolle-Boissier, Serre, Dr. H. Lombard, M. Heyer.
Among many other useful and interesting tables, M.
Mallet gives one which shews the progress of the popula¬
tion by giving the number of births, marriages, and deaths
for each year, from 1549 to 1813, both inclusive, in the se¬
cond part of his work ; those for the next following period
of twenty years in the third part.
We have here given a very imperfect account of this able
memoir, which we consider highly creditable to the author’s
judgment and taste; almost all we have taken from it here
is nearly literal translation, as we felt that we could hardly
do otherwise without doing worse. Those who take inter¬
est in the subject will no doubt refer to the original, which,
by being printed in the Annales de Hygiene, is easily ac¬
cessible. We had gotten together the materials for a more
lengthened notice of the labours of M. Odier, gathered
from the Bibliotheque Britannique, but the opportune ap¬
pearance of M. Mallet’s memoir induces us rather to refer
to it.
In M. Mallet’s account of his own inquiries into the state
of the population and mortality during the twenty years
1814-1833, we have the fullest information on every point,
in the same manner and to the same extent for Geneva, as
it has been given for Paris, in the Recherches Statistiques ;
but whilst these are generally confined to mere tabular
statements of numbers and their proportions, with as few
observations on them as can well be avoided; M. Mallet
accompanies his tables with observations, reasonings, refer¬
ences to other authors, and the results of calculations very
clearly stated, that greatly increase their value. As instan-
ces of the way in which he shows the uses of his tables,
and assists his readers in drawing inferences from them,
w lc“ become much more interesting and instructive
by being compared with those drawn in the same way from Mortality,
other tables of a similar kind; we give the two following Bills of.
statements : after a table showing the numbers of births of
males and females separately, in each of the twenty years,
and for the whole term; also distinguishing the legitimate
from the illegitimate, he gives the following
Proportion of the sexes.
Boys...5678 — 51-9725 — 100  108-21 13.
Girls.. .5247 — 48-0275 — 92-39—100 —12.*
10-925 100-0000
M. Mallet justly observes, that the proportion of boys to
girls in the births at Geneva, is high in comparison with
other places, and higher there in the present than in the
last century, when M. Cramer estimated it to be 18 : 17 ;
whilst in France since the restoration, it has been 17: lb!
He also states, that “ M. Poisson a fait remarquer qu’il y a
dans la proportion des sexes une difference notable entre
les enfans legitimes et les naturels: chez ceux-ci, les nais-
sances des filles se rapprochent plus de celles des gar^ns
que chez ceux-la. M. le Professor Prevost a meme donne
une explication, si non tout-a-fait satisfaisante, du moins
tres-ingenieuse de ce phenomene. La plus grande pro¬
portion des males dans les naissances legitimes n’est nulle
part plus frappante qu’ a Geneve. En effet, on trouve:
Legitimate
J Boys...5128—52-151 —100 —108-99
( Girls...4705—47-849— 91-75—100
9833 100-000
Illegitimate
Boys... 550—50*366—100 —101-48
Girls... 542—49-634— 98-54 — 100
1092 100-000
M. Mourgue, however, had stated the numbers, of births
of both sexes separately, with distinction of the legitimate
from the illegitimate, in the first part of his valuable me¬
moir on the progress of population in Montpellier, publish¬
ed in the Mem. de la Soc. Roy. de Medecine, ann 1780 et
1781 ; and the whole of the memoir was read at a meeting
of the French National Institute as above mentioned in
1795 ; but he made no remark on the difference in the
proportion of the sexes between the legitimate and illegiti¬
mate births. Mr. Milne in his Treatise on Annuities, pub¬
lished in 1815, (article 789) has stated the proportion or
the sexes at birth for several places at different times and
under various circumstances; with distinction of the le¬
gitimate from the illegitimate in Sweden and Finland, and
in Montpellier; he also there expressed his opinion, con¬
firmed by subsequent observations, that the difference de¬
pends principally upon the age of the parents; the youn¬
ger the parents, the nearer the proportion of the numbers
of their male and female children at birth approaching to
equality. What the connexion is, between the cause and
effect, is a curious and interesting problem, which has not
yet been solved that we are aware of.
In Wales the pressure of the population upon the means
of subsistence in a way suited to the wants and habits o.
the people, is such as, notwithstanding their great disparity
in civilization and refinement, to produce great similarity
sur le T)Un pScours dont Je vous dois 1’hommage car le premiere idee m’en est venue a la suite des renseignmens que vous m’aviez demande's
Genev ^ rfai?er’ et qi“ .m’ont/ait dfcouvrir dans la poussiere d’une grenier le recueil non interrompu de 200 tables de morcalite pour
W 6 i f1 “ aParu “writer d’etre mis en evidence. Mais voila tout ce que je puis vous envoyer des oeuvres de ce modeste ecrivain.”
travad H61 v/r1 nagree ^allet in the opinion expressed by him in a note supporting it, from which the following is extracted: “ Le
ce cmi f • ^rarn?r a etc attribue' a M. Odier par divers auteurs, MM. Prevost, Serre, D’lvernois, Lombard. Pour rendre a chacun
Le beau U1 ^ • JC •d°iS d're eSt ddmontre a mes yeux> <lue le rdeve' mortuaire de 1560 a 1760, appartient en propre a M. Cramer,
docteur ,manifcnt 9ui le renferme est tout entier de la main de M. Cramer, comme je m’en suis assure en le comparant a la signature du
M naL an.S la.reglstre de faculte de medecine de Geneve. A 1’epoque oil s’arrete les tables de recapitulation de M. Cramer en 1760.
• uaiernavoit encore que 12ans.”
536
Mortality, between the inhabitants ui u.c mar
Bills of. Geneve intra muros, in the proportion ot'
— triages to the population, and of he sexes at ^th, which
M Mallet appears not to have been awaie oh
we infer a similar resemblance in the advanced age of mar-
•Snathe small average number of ch.dren t„ a
riao-p ('in Geneva during these 20 years 2|) , the
fective state of the British registers of births rendering them
of no use in this inquiry, except m determini g 1
portion of the sexes at birth, for which t^y !>e "s ^
L, however defective these registers may be, thcre.snor^
son to suppose they are more so for one sex than the other.
mortality, human.
During the
years.
1811
1821
1811
. 1820
.1830
. 1830
In Wales.
No. of persons
to one annual
marriage.
No. of males born]
for every 100 fe-j
males.
^66 , . h different intervals of age not being given inMortali;
Mortality, between the inhabitants of the princtpidity and *ose of pe pi “0™case8) mbles of mortidity constructed
itiiis J. mums, in the proportion of the annual mar eiu^ ^ numbers of deaths alone, at the different ages, can'-V'
bein voL fUpart 1, of The Transactions of the Statistical
Society of London, recently published, there A statistical
vieic of the births and (hath* in the Prussian States, during
the fifteen years 1820-1834, translated from the German
of m! Hoffman, Director of the Statistical Bureau m Berlin,
the numbers of births and deaths, with distinction of the
sexes, and the mean number of the people without that dis-
tinction during that term of fifteen years are gjven ; also
the number of deaths during the same term, with distmc-
tion of the sexes, between birth and one year of age com
pleted, between 1 and 3, 3 and 5, 5 &nd 7, 7 and 10
then in each quinquennial interval of age to d0, and those
above 90. But the intervals of age into which the people
were6distributed in the Prussian enumerations appear neve
to have been sufficiently minute to admit of then be ng
available for determining the law of mortality. I he e
good deal of interesting information m this paper ; bid je
above is all we can with propriety notice here , especially
as the translation must be easily accessible to most of our
readers and throughout this article it has been our object
togive the0 most minute accounts »f ^ mteresttng pab-
lications as, to many readers, may be difficult of access ,
that thos^who take interest in them may see whe her it
mav he worth their while to procure the perusal of them ;
and also to assist others in perfecting similar labours winch
~ , “TnT firsnlmetwhieh is statistical) of the work of
SS ass
1814 -—1833
1811 — 1830
141- 036
143-039
142- 334
In Geneva.
141-593
In England.
121-342
109- 500
110- 916
110-207
108-990
104-277
‘Th^ecoTvXme covins a great m^y tables in to ““ “ of'age or sex. ftr
text, and seventeen at the end; most of them copted fron, year , ^ ^ the same durmg each nt™
rofle S “utert'u ‘ Jb.^hi.e ^-^co^ apart for those wht. «
text (p. 106), showing the numbei of iQiq_i«25 were not known. . f t .n mrts both of which
i ? \n Hamburg; during the seven years 1819 ’ ttt qqie ^ffird table consists of two pai , eaCh
and tliose above 90 years oi age.       
. Bcitmge sur medecinischen s.-.^ burgerhehen and geselligen verhalmissen, nacb ihren b«d,ag«»-
, Die wahrscheinliche Lebensdauer des Menschen, m
"^e taXrfrrT—,fader Friedrieh Wilhelm HI. 1- bead. Berha, Bvo,
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mort Y,
Bill i
besides the number of abortive and still-born, shows the
number of deaths in each of the above-mentioned intervals
of age. The sexes are distinguished throughout.
IV. The fourth table, besides the abortive and still-born,
shows the number of deaths of each sex, and of both with¬
out distinction, that took place within the year, both under
and above ten years of age, by about eighty different causes,
besides those by suicide in various ways, and other violent
deaths.
V. The fifth table shows the number of children born
in each month of the year, and during the whole year, both
alive and dead at birth, with distinction of the sexes of those
born alive, but not of the others ; that, however, is given
for them both in the 2d and 3d tables ; the'number of twin
and triple births are also stated in separate columns.
The only fault we see in this bill of mortality, which, in
in other respects, may well serve as a pattern for others, is
the most improper practice of including the abortive and
still-born children in the totals both of the births and the
deaths; they should always be stated, but kept separate,
both from those born alive, and from the deaths that took
place among the living. The distinction of the legitimate
from the illegitimate births with that of their sexes, would
also be an improvement, if it could well be made ; but we
consider it to be much more curious than useful. The
author is only in possession of one of these Hamburgh bills,
which is for the year 1836. The totals were as follow :
Births. Males.
Abortive and prematurely I
still-born1 / 85
Still-born at the full time... 96
Females. Both sexes.
56 141
81 177
Totals
181 137 318
Bom alive  2109 1951 4060
Deaths  2138 1837 3975
No attentive reader can fail to be struck with the differ¬
ence (so ill understood) in the proportion of the sexes
among the three kinds of births ; those born alive, the still¬
born, and the abortions. This bill is but for a singfe year,
but the same kind of difference prevails generally ;' and can
hardly be contemplated by a philosophical mind without
exciting curiosity and the desire of further information as
to the difference between the sexes, first, in the difficulty of
fully entering upon life, and afterwards in retaining it, more
strongly marked, as we approach nearer to the period of con¬
ception.
In October 1836 appeared, in the 32d number of Ati-
nales d’Hygiene (tome xvi. part 2), Considerations Statis-
hques sur le Royaume de Naples, addressed to the Royal
Institute of France by Dr. Salvatore de Renzi, in which he
shews why the population of the kingdom, and consequently
the rate of mortality among the people, could not be deter¬
mined previous to the year 1818. He gives four tables,
fne first shews for each of the sixteen years 1818-1833,
t ie number of the people, and the numbers of births and
ueaths which took place among them, in each of the fifteen
provinces of the kingdom separately, without distinction of
e sexes, aud without including Sicily, being able, he states,
assure his readers of their exactness and precision during
that period being incontestible.
The number of inhabitants in 1818 was 4,990,380, and
^ e end of 1833 it was 5,883,273. In his second table,
, e £lves for each of the provinces, and for the whole of the
'mg om, the proportions of the annual average numbers of
mrths and of deaths to the number of the people. The fol-
lowmg are a few of them :—
Province.
Capitanata,  
Principato citra, 
Abbruzzo ultra, 1 o,,
  ultra, 2°,.
   citra, 
The whole kingdom,.
No. of inhabitants out
of which one
was born
annually.
M. 21
m. 29
m. 29
28
24
25
died
annually.
26
m. 48
45
43
M. 21
36
M. set against a number denotes that the mortality or
fecundity is there a maximum, and m. that it is a minimum,
not of those above mentioned only, but of all the provinces
in the kingdom. The third table shews in what proportions
1000 inhabitants, and the fourth in what proportions 1000
deaths were, in each province separately, and in the whole
kingdom taken together, distributed into the following in¬
tervals of age:—between birth and one year completed,
between 1 and 8, 8 and 19, 19 and 26, 26 and 41, and those
above 41 years of age.
A bill of mortality is published annually for the city of
Naples, which contains most of the information contained
in other bills of that kind; but is defective in one import¬
ant point, the statement of the ages at which the deaths
took place, those of the inhabitants are not even mentioned,
which indeed is too common elsewhere. It states the num¬
ber of the people at the end of the year it reports upon, and
also at the end of the preceding year. The sexes are al¬
ways distinguished in the enumerations of the people, as
well as in the births and deaths; the legitimate are also dis¬
tinguished from the illegitimate births ; the number of twin
births, with the sexes, are stated, and how many of them
were pairs of boys, how many of girls, also how many of the
pairs were children of different sexes; as was also done by
M. Mallet and M. Hoffman, in their statements for Geneva
and the Prussian states respectively.
I he numbers of immigrants into and emigrants from the
city, are stated, distinguishing native Neapolitan subjects
from those of foreign states; the number of marriages con¬
tracted is given, but without any information as to the ages
or previous conditions of the contracting parties. The num¬
ber of deaths at home, and those in the hospitals and other
public establishments are stated separately. The propor¬
tions also are always stated: as of the births, deaths, and
marriages to the population, and of the annual births to the
contemporaneous annual marriages, but not minutely ; they
are expressed in vulgar fractions, instead of decimals, having
always the same denominator, as 100 or 1000, which is a
great fault. No information is given as to the ages of the
people, and the deaths are only stated in the following in¬
tervals of age :—between birth and 1 year completed, be¬
tween 1 and 11, between 11 and 18, 18 and 26, 26 and 41,
and those above 41. The only bill for the city of Naples
in the author’s possession is for the year 1822; it was in¬
serted in the Giornale del Regno delle due Sicilie, of the
8th of February 1823. The population at the end of 1822
was 344,716, of whom 163,059 were males, and 181,657
females; at the end of 1821 the number of inhabitants was
341,143. The total number of births in 1822 was 14,233;
of deaths, 12,195. The number of deaths in 1822 at ages
above 100 years, was 17, and of the deceased 6 were males,
and 11 females; the names, residences, and ages of them
all are stated; they were all citizens of Naples but three,
who came respectively from Procida, Salerno, and Venice,
which last, Rosa Romanzo, was the oldest of all, having at-
,tm^f^aeitl0e todtgeborne, that is, untimely and early still-born, by which we presume are meant, the abortive which had never
VOL xy3 01016 C0mm0n t^an vveB term, and those which died between the time of quickening and the full period of gestation.
• 3 Y
537
Mortality,
Bills of.
538
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, tained the age of 107 ; three other ladies attained each to
Bills of. the a^e of 104. , ... 0
' In'the same Journal, for the 23d of April 1823, a bill of
mortality for the city of Palermo during the year 1822, com¬
piled by Dr. Francesco Calcagni, is given. The number of
inhabitants at the end of 1821 is stated to have been 160,051,
and at the end of 1822, 161,735; but this last was derived
from the first number, only by adding to it the excess of the
births above the deaths during the year 1822. No useful
information is given as to the ages of the deceased, and this
bill is in other respects inferior to that for Naples; it ditieis
from that, and all others we have seen, in tracing persons
born out of wedlock to their graves, whatever age they may
attain, and distinguishing the iegitimate from the ihegi^
mate in the numbers of deaths as well as of births, in 182
the number of deaths of the legitimate was 44,6, of whom
2294 were males, and 2182 females; that of the bastards,
as they are called, was 418, of whom 151 were males, and
267 females. Of the illegitimate children born in that par¬
ticular year, 256 were boys, and 307 girls. Out of the 4894
deaths, ! 6 of the deceased are stated to have attained ages
from 97 to 105 years ; but no information is given as to the
distribution of those 16 persons into or among those last
nine years of age. . . . .
For these two Italian bills of mortality, the author is in¬
debted to Mr. W. R. Hamilton, who was so good as to send
them to him from Naples, when they were published; and
he is happy to avail himself of this opportunity to acknow¬
ledge his obligations to that gentleman, for the facilities he
has afforded him of procuring information from abroad on
other occasions. , t ... A
Of all the statements derived from bills of mortality and
enumerations of the people, which we have mentioned, only
those for Sweden and Finland, Dr. Heysham’s for Carlisle,
and Dr. Cleland’s for Glasgow, have been given in the pro¬
per form, and with sufficient correctness to afford the intor-
mation, which is the most important object of them all, viz.,
that which is necessary for determining the law of mortality.
To effect this, it is only necessary to know the mean num¬
ber of the living and of the annual deaths, in sufficiently
small intervals of age, throughout the extent of life, tor a
period of time sufficient to allow of the accidental fluctua¬
tions arising from more or less fruitful years, and other
causes, compensating each other: such periods, probably,
should not be less than eight or ten years ; but the neces¬
sary length will depend upon the climate, the number ot
the people, their general modes of life, and their political
circumstances.
These data being obtained, it is not difficult to determine
the proportion of the annual deaths to the number of the
living in each year of age. Then, assuming any number
of births, as 1000 or 10,000, it is easy to show how many
would die in each year of their age ; and, consequently,
how many would survive that year ; which numbers of sur¬
vivors and of annual deaths, when arranged in the order of
the ages, constitute the desired table of mortality, by which
all the most important questions respecting the duration of
human life may be easily resolved.
For want of understanding the principles upon which the
proper construction of such tables depends, most of the
writers on this subject, many of them men of great merit
and industry, have taken much pains to little purpose, and
after excessive labour, have arrived at false conclusions.
Hardly any of them appear to have been aware of the
necessity of obtaining the number of the living, as well as
of the annual deaths in each interval ot age, or that that
would greatly enhance the value of Bills of Mortality, by
extending their useful applications.
Dr. Price’s Essays on the proper Method of constructing
Tables of Mortality, already mentioned in this article, was
intended to show how such tables might be constructed
from registers of the deaths only at all ages; but the hypo- Moif
theses he proceeded upon can hardly obtain in any real case ;
and even if they did, his method would only determine the^ <
number of the living in the place, at every age ; therefore,
if it could be put in practice (which it never can), it would
only supersede the necessity of actual enumerations ; and,
with the numbers so obtained, we should have to proceed
as above. .
That Essay of Dr. Price was an amplification of what Mr.
Simpson had previously advanced on the subject, with his
accustomed accuracy, and contains many just observations
on the defects of the tables of mortality that had previously
been published ; but so far as it contributed to induce a be¬
lief that the determination of the number of the living in
every interval of age, by actual enumeration, was not neces¬
sary to the construction of accurate tables, it must have
done harm.
What is here stated will be found demonstrated in the
third chapter of Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Atmuities.
It is desirable that a bill should be published for each
year separately, to show how the rates both of mortality
and fecundity, vary with the circumstances of the people in
different years; and, from these yearly bills, nothing is
more easy than to derive others for longer periods.
According to the form A, the births of both sexes in each
year will be distinguished, and the born alive from the still¬
born ; the number of marriages will also be given.
In this, and all other cases where those who undertake
the formation of such bills are either unable or unwilling to
distinguish all the particulars indicated, the reasons for the
omissions should be inserted in the spaces set apart for the
numbers omitted. The number of still-born children should
always be stated separately, and should never be included
in the number either of the births or deaths with those who
had lived and breathed.
The numbers of deaths of the two sexes in each interval
of age, during any year, may, as they are collected from the
registers, be conveniently disposed according to the form
the intervals between five years of age and an hundred,
being each five years ; and the number dying at each age
above an hundred should be particularly specified.
But some persons, who would not take the trouble ot
forming bills of mortality in which the ages are to be so
. minutely distinguished, might yet be willing to furnish them
with the requisite care, according to the form b, wlucti
might $till be very useful; and, indeed, from twenty to
sixty years of age, intervals of ten years each might do very
The value of Bills of Mortality would be greatly enhanced,
by inserting in them the contemporaneous wages of labor¬
ers in agriculture, and of the workmen employed in tfte
more common kinds of trade and manufacture carried on
among the people they relate to ; also the prices of
necessaries of life which persons of these descriptions co
sume the most of; together with any thing uncommon
the seasons or the crops, and every material change in
circumstances of the people.
Enumerations.
The number of the people in the several intervals of age,
which we have stated above to be of so much imPort^>
may be disposed in tables exactly similar to B or b, rec
mended for the deaths; but it is not necessary that tne
duration of life should be divided into the saine m
for the living as the dead. It is always desirable that m
intervals should, in both cases, be small; but yet nu
small, as, by the increase of labour, to occasion th
bers being determined with less exactness, or to ciete i
from engaging in the work. Such mterva s s o
however, exceed ten years. • a -e tWp be
When the bills are given for a certain period, it t
B10RTALITY, HUMAN.
Mw ty.
but one enumeration of the people, it should be made at
the middle of the period; if two, at its extremities ; and if
more than two, it is desirable that they should be made at
equal intervals of time throughout the period.
We give no forms here of Bills of Mortality and Fecun¬
dity, designed to distinguish legitimate from illegitimate
children, or the mortality or fecundity of each month of the
year, nor the number of women delivered annually at the
different periods of life, nor the diseases the deaths were
occasioned by. Neither are the forms here recommended
for enumerations of the people, calculated to distinguish the
numbers in the different states of childhood, celibacy, mar¬
riage, or widowhood; nor the ranks, or professions, or oc¬
cupations of the people. All these things are curious, and
of some use, although, if we except the diseases which the
deaths of each sex at the different ages were occasioned by,
they are of little value in comparison with the information
the forms here given are calculated to convey. And it is
of so much importance that that information should be given
correcdy, that we would willingly forego these minor objects,
to avoid dividing and fatiguing the attention of those who
undertake the more important part of the task, which is of
itself sufficiently laborious.
And those who may be disposed to keep registers, and
form bills and enumerations, on a scale so much extended
as to include all these particulars, or most of them, and have
also the requisite qualifications, will find no great difficulty
in preparing the most convenient forms of tables for the
purpose. Several forms of that description, with references
to others, will be found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities,
and in many other works referred to in this article.
A.
539
During the year 18
Males.
Females.
Both.
Born alive.
Still-born.,
Whole number born....
449
13
462
431
9
440
880
22
902
Number of Marriages, 261.
B.
Males.
Fein....
Both....
Between the
210
180
390
152
149
301
Ages of
90
I &
195
25
95
&
100
14
above
100
0
2
3
o
H
881
959
184oj
b.
Males..
Fein...
Both...
417
395
812
Between the Ages of
60
95
&
100
4
J_0
14
above
100
3
o
H
881
959
'21840
The first, second, and fourth of the following tables are Mortality
good exampfrs of that kind; but for insertion of the deaths -Bills of: ’
of children, we prefer the intervals of age between one and'
two, and between two and five, to those used in the Swed¬
ish tables, viz. between one and three, and between three
and five ; because the greatest mortality prevails at the
earliest ages; and that from small-pox is greatest in the
first year of age, while the mortality from measles is great¬
est in the second year. It is, therefore, desirable to have
the means of comparing the rates of mortality in the first
and second year of age in registers kept both before and
after the prevalence of vaccination.
Information on the diseases and mortality of children is
highly desirable; and as their ages at death can generally
be stated correctly, if accurate registers were kept of the
numbers born alive, and of the numbers of annual deaths
at all ages, with the causes of them, the rate of mortality
amongst children at every age might thence be determined,
and even that produced by each of the principal diseases at
each age. It will be seen by our account of the Parisian
Recherches Statistiques, or by the Annuaire du Bureau
dcs Longitudes, that the numbers of deaths of children are
given for Paris in much more minute intervals of age than
is usual in this country; and by the Jaarboekje of M. R.
Lobatto, published at the Hague, that for Amsterdam, and
also by the Annuaire de V Observatoire de Bruxelles, by M. A.
Quetelet, that for that city, they are given in intervals of
age still more minute than for Paris. This indeed is the
case for more advanced ages, but we consider it as being
there of less importance.
The expression we have adopted of the interval of age in
which any lives were prolonged, or in which any deaths took
place, we consider as at once the most simple and free from
ambiguity; yet it has been stated to be ambiguous, an opi¬
nion which we conceive can only be held by those who do
not clearly comprehend the exact import of the expression.
We therefore trust we shall be excused for giving an expla¬
nation here, of what we thought could have required none.
The age of every individual being the time tliat has elapsed
since the moment of birth, is at that moment nothing; we
therefore express it by 0 ; and whatever portion we assume for
the unit of time, whether an hour, a day, week, month, or
year, the age at the expiration of that time from birth will
be exactly one such portion; and all individuals of a less
age than that, may be properly stated to be between the
ages of 0 and 1. Except in infancy, one year is generally
taken for the unit of age; a man at the moment of the 25th
anniversary of his birth, is precisely 25 years of age, and
until the 26th anniversary, he is between the ages of 25 and
26, or, in other words, in his 26th year; although, it being
sufficient for common purposes, he is usually stated to be
25 years of age till he attains 26. At the 30th anniversary
of the moment of birth, he will be precisely 30 years of age,
but cannot continue of that or any other age during any
assignable portion of time, however small. So that at the
moment a man is enumerated amongst the living, or dies, the
probability of his being precisely of any one age that can
be expressed by a whole number of years, is infinitely small;
and he may always with the greatest strictness and pro¬
priety be stated to be between two such ages. Thus, in the
case last mentioned, of a man who has attained the 25th
anniversary of his birth but not the 30th, he may be pro¬
perly stated to be between the ages of 25 and 30.
540
mortality, human.
Mortality,
Bills of.
TABLE I.
Mortti
Bills;
» ^ "ofa9e’at ^end of
Males.
32,591
60,435
57,100
123,547
121,946
105,016
96,072
91,427
76,675
72,516
70,116
61,845
57,012
43,692
34,077
23,394
16,606
9,000
3,903
1,053
235
38
4
1805.
Females.
1,158,300
32,505
60,945
57,436
122,850
120,767
107,896
104,481
98,236
85,189
81,966
78,810
69,239
64,790
51,551
41,149
31,679
23,647
13,076
6,087
1,746
371
49
7
Total.
1,254,472
65,096
121,380
114,536
246,397
242,713
212,912
200,553
189,663
161,864
154,482
148,926
131,084
121,802
95,243
75,226
55,073
40,253
22,076
9,990
2,799
606
87
11
Between
the Ages
of.
2,412,772
0 and 1
1 — 3
3—5
5 — 10
10 — 15
15 — 20
20 — 25
25 — 30
30 — 35
35 — 40
40 — 45
45 — 50
50 — 55
55 — 60
60 — 65
65 — 70
70 — 75
75 — 80
80 — 85
85 — 90
90 — 95
95 -100
above 100
1810.
Males.
Total.
33,821
52,006
53,741
120,157
118,711
112,241
92,534
85,065
82,641
68,454
65,434
61,056
54,173
47,040
35,227
23,671
15,014
8,480
3,399
937
184
18
4
1,134,008
Females.
33,342
52,650
54,439
120,295
117,954
114,644
106,073
97,104
91,589
76,515
75,753
69,913
63,155
55,700
44,184
30,390
20,382
12,311
5,371
1,711
310
51
7
1,243,843
Total.
67,163
104,656
108,180
240,452
236,665
226,885
198,607
182,169
174,230
144.969
141,187
130.969
117,328
102,740
79,411
54,061
35,396
20,791
8,770
2,648
494
69
11
2,377,851
Males.
37,079
67,287
64.873
130,351
115,187
115,465
110,730
105,308
88,115
77,979
73,443
57.873
53,463
46,413
‘37,409
28,438
17,469
8,334
3,157
911
167
22
2
1,239,475
1820.
Females.
36,052
67,287
64,974
131,518
115,626
116,868
114,758
111,270
97,691
87,492
83,021
66,806
63,969
57,715
48,001
38,206
24,436
12,251
5,151
1,699
362
' 58
4
1,345,215
Total.
73,131
134,574
129,847
261,869
230,813
232,333
225,488
216,578
185,806
165,471
156,464
124,679
117,432
104,128
85,410
66,644
41,905
20,585
8,308
2,610
529
80
6
2,584,690
Between
the Ages
of.
0 and 1
1 — 3
3—5
5 — 10
10 — 15
15 — 20
20 — 25
25 — 30
30 — 35
35 — 40
40 — 45
45 — 50
50 — 55
55 — 60
60 — 65
65 — 70
70 — 75
75 — 80
80 — 85
85 — 90
90 — 95
95 - 100
above 100
Males.
40,983
79,054
72,528
170,878
145,150
130,368
107,122
106,353
102,105
93,658
76,441
64,762
58,901
43,507
36,505
28,246
18,765
10,459
3,934
1,009
164
27
2
1,390,921
1830.
Females.
40,132
79,407
72,812
169,870
145,247
132,925
110,585
110,261
106,088
100,661
87,263
76,528
70,808
54,435
48,958
39,092
27,008
16,028
6,794
1,824
362
62
11
1,497,161
Total-
Si,115
158,461
145,340
340,748
290,397
263,293
217,707
216,614
208,193
194,319
163,704
141,290
129,709
97,942
85,463
67,338
45,773
26,487
10,728
2,833
526
89
13
2,888,082
Total.
M. Leyonmarck observes that “the mortality during the five years, 1806—1810, was greater than it is stated in this table, owing to the lists of
those who died in the service during the war, not having been so accurately made out as they ought to have been.”
In the table sent to the author, from which the above has been copied, the average number of each sex in each interval of age was given in years
and tenth parts of a year ; and that given here in each case is the nearest whole number, whether greater or less; the difference is obviously of no
MORTALITY, HUMAN
541
Mortality
Bills of.
Co
05
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mortality, human.
542
Mortality,
Bills of.
Morta.
Bills;
table m.
Shevrim, the number of Deaths that took place in Sweden from earh of the causes, and in eaeh of the
™ years under mentioned.
MORTALITY, HUMAN
TABLE III. (Continued).
543
Mortality,
Bills of.
Year.
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
Total,...
Average,
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
Total,..,
Average,
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
Total,...
Average,
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
Total,...
Average,
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
Total,...
Average,
Infants stifled
in Bed.
Males.
209
173
196
169
190
937
187*4
192
232
186
185
166
961
192-2
199
203
178
152
170
902
180-4
203
175
224
174
218
994
198-8
181
162
197
250
212
1002 984
Females
237
182
218
172
157
Murdered.
Children.
M.
966
193-2
189
229
158
183
188
947
189-4
221
167
136
143
151
818
163-6
178
177
204
191
197
947
189-4
181
168
187
251
197
200-4 196-8
1
1
19
4
5
30
4
13
5
3
5
30
31
6-2
30
43
8-6
21
4-2
19
3-8
16
3-2
30
22
4-4
Adults.
Executed
according
to law.
18
15
19
18
23
93
18-6
26
12
11
12
20
81
16-2
23
17
20
25
22
107
21-4
29
30
23
30
32
144
28-8
25
23
19
29
30
126
25-2
F.
1
2
11
8
2
24
4-8
13
2-6
17
3-4
3
4
8
16
4
35
8
13
9
2
2
34
6-8
25
10
6
8
4
6
34
6-8
8
3
12
5
14
42
8-4
1-8
12
Suicide.
By.arfent In other
spirits. 1
ways.
13
18
10
6
20
67
13-4
19
10
3
15
13
60
2-4 12
20
13
18
8
16
8 75
1-6 15
30
10
12
14
11
14
61
12-2
1-8
12
2-4
42
25
38
28
33
166
33-2
31
21
47
50
39
188
37-6
1-2
0-4
24
M.
57
69
54
48
62
290
58
70
53
58
74
60
315
63
87
96
102
95
117
497
99-4
114
113
119
122
115
583
F.
26
21
34
16
12
109
21-8
29
23
21
34
15
122
24-4
22
27
27
16
21
Drowned.
659
691
541
495
615
3001
600-2
756
568
631
618
636
3209
641-8
113
22-6
35
40
32
30
35
172
4-8 116-6
26
5-2
138
115
158
154
153
718
143-6
34-4
33
29
34
27
42
165
33
643
670
652
819
714
3498
699-6
802
1059
876
1000
1006
4743
968-6
1039
741
980
797
836
4393
878-6
95
128
136
102
113
574
114-8
153
119
146
137
124
By various other
casualties.
431
479
510
515
451
2386
477-2
444
389
441
438
406
679
135-8
156
167
147
144
136
750
150
144
174
184
205
179
886
177-2
177
151
169
136
151
784
156-8
2118
423-6
449
421
422
402
450
2144
428-8
609
500
499
514
574
2696
539-2
568
506
617
635
546
2872
574-4
150
145
165
162
145
767
153-4
116
146
140
118
113
633
126-6
127
129
120
149
127
652
130-4
226
176
157
205
134
898
179-6
158
160
167
154
150
789
157-8
In the copy received by the writer of this article, the deaths from ardent spirits were put between the drowned and
‘he other casualties ; and the diseases were not arranged in the order in which they stand here.
mortality, human.
544
Mortality,
Law of.
TABLE IV.
Shewing the number of Persons mho died in the Kingdom of Norway in meh of the undermentioned intervals
* ofageduring the term of Nine years which commenced with 1824, and ended with 1833.
ilortij
Law i
Between the
ages of
Males.
0 and 5
5—10
10— 20
20— 30
30— 40
40— 50
50— 60
60— 70
70— 80
80— 90
90 — 100
above 100
at all ages,...
The numbers, in the
same time and place,
of children born
alive, were 
Stillborn,.
Thus it appears that
the excess of the
number born alive
above the number
of deaths, was 
38,362
3,753
4.377
6,589
6,645
6,725
8.378
11,023
11,744
6,396
1,024
52
105,068
181,712
76,644
Females.
32.500
3,349
3,964
5,694
6,602
6,431
7,569
11,753
14.501
9,134
1,761
102
103,360
172,784
Both sexes.
70,862
7,102
8,341
12,283
13,247
13,156
15,947
22,776
26,245
15,530
2,785
154
208,428
354,496
11,438
69,424 j 146,068
U.—MORTALITY, LAW OF.
The Law of Human Mortality is that which determines the
proportion of the number of persons who die in any assign¬
ed period of life, or interval of age, out of a given number
of persons who enter upon the same interval; and, conse¬
quently, the proportion of them who survive that interval.
Tables showing how many out of a great number of chil¬
dren, as 10,000, or 100,000, born alive, die in each year of
their age ; and, consequently, how many complete each
year ; exhibit this law through the whole extent of life, and
are called Tables of Mortality.
This section is divided into three parts. In \\\o. first, we
deliver the history of this branch of knowledge, with as much
brevity as appears to be consistent with the chief object,
which is that of conveying correct and useful information.
In the second part, we demonstrate the whole theory by
common arithmetic.
In the third part, a new table of mortality is given, con¬
structed on the principles previously explained ; some ob¬
servations are made on the comparative merits of the differ¬
ent tables that have been published ; which were purposely
omitted in the historical part, when the tables they relate
to were mentioned, to avoid discouraging such readers as
might not be previously acquainted with the theory ; and
the faults are explained, which render most of those tables
really of no use, since others, more correct, have been con¬
structed.
Part I.—History.
The first table of mortality was constructed by Dr. Hal¬
ley, from the Mortuary Registers of Breslau, for five years
ending with 1691 ; and was inserted in his paper on the
subject in the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1693,
with many judicious observations on the useful purposes to
which such tables may be applied.
No further information of this kind was communicated to
the public, until William Kersseboom of the Hague pub¬
lished there three tracts on the subject (in 4to.) The first,
dated March 1, 1738, was entitled, Eerste Verhandelmg tot
een Proeve om te weeten de probable menigte des volks m de
provintie van Hollandt en Westvrieslandt. The secon ,
dated May 15, 1742, Tweede Verhandelmg bevestigende de
Proeve om te iveeten de probable menigte des volks in dc
provintie van Hollandt en Westvrieslandt ; and the third,
dated August 31, 1742, Derde Verhandeling 0™r ?eJ-™'
bable meenigte des volks in de provintie van Hollandt en
Westvrieslandt.
A good account of the first of these tracts has been giv
by Mr. Eames, in the Philosophical Transactions for 17d»;
and rather a meagre one of the other two, by Mr.
Rixtel, in the same Transactions for 1743. It 1jtyer®
unnecessary to repeat here, any thing contained m
accounts ; but as they give no satisfactory information c
cerning the construction of Mr. Kersseboom s table o i
tality (which he called a Table of Vitality), it will be pro
per to supply so material a defect in this place.
In his first tract, the author informs us that he const(r '
ed his table from registers of many thousand hfe-annm a,
in Holland and West Friesland, which had been kept mere
from 125 to 130 years previous to the date of ins put) i
tion ; and showed how many of the nominees, or VveS .
annuities depended upon, were, at the time of
nation, under one year old, between one and two, D
two and three, and so on for all ages.
¥
d
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mon :y, An exact account was also kept of the age at which each
Lam- life of every class failed; whence it clearly appeared, what
degree of mortality prevailed at every age above one year.
But because very few children were nominated at or near
their birth, he could not, from these registers, determine
the mortality under one year of age. He therefore had re¬
course to mortuary registers and other observations ; from
exact accounts of which he found, with sufficient certain¬
ty, as he says, that out of 28,000 born alive, 5500 died
under one year. He also informs us, that, for this purpose,
he made use of the observations of divers learned men in
England and elsewhere, especially Major John Graunt’s, upon
the number of the people and the rate of mortality ; and
upon taking an average of the whole, he found it to differ
but little from that just stated.
And this appears to be the only ground for the assertion
made by most writer# on this subject (probably copying
from each other without having seen the original work),
that Kersseboom’s Table of Mortality was constructed from
observations made upon annuitants in England as well as
in Holland ; also, that it was formed partly from observa¬
tions made upon the inhabitants of some Dutch villages.
He first published his Table of Mortality in his second
Tract, and in his third, he gave abstracts of the registers
from which it was constructed. These were contained in
twenty-nine tables, twenty-two of which were for the two
sexes separately; in the rest the sexes were not distin¬
guished ; and the ages at which the lives failed were gene¬
rally given to the exactness of half a year.
The numbers of lives, whose current year of age at the
time of their nomination was given precisely in these tables,
were,
Males separately 1843
Females separately 1769
Males and Females, without dis¬
tinction of sex 1536
Total.
.5148
And none of these nominees were above twelve years of
age at the time of their nomination.
These, however, are only specimens of M. Kersseboom’s
labours. He says there were so many lives in the registers,
that he had not the courage to undertake extracting the
necessary particulars for more than 50,000 of them ; and
in that, he was greatly assisted by his friend Thomas von
Schaak. Of all the lives, not more than 1 of 120 was past
55 years of age at the time of nomination.
Nicholas Struyck, in his Aanhangsel op de Gissengen
over den staat van het Menschelyk Geslagt, en de Uitree-
kening der Lyfrenten, published at Amsterdam in 1740, at
the end of the quarto volume, commencing with his Inleid-
mg tot de Algemeene Geographic, gave, from registers kept
at Amsterdam for about thirty-five years, two tables of ob¬
servations made upon the duration of the lives of 794 males,
and 876 female annuitants separately ; and two tables of
mortality he had constructed from them for the two sexes ;
both beginning with fjpe years of age. These two, taken
together, differ but little from that of Dr. Halley ; they re¬
present the mortality to be considerably greater than Kers¬
seboom’s : having been constructed from so few observa-
hons, they are not entitled to much confidence, and appear
to have been very little known or attended to.
This work of Struyck gave occasion to the publication,
m the same year, of a small tract in quarto, by Kersseboom,
entitled, Eenige Anmerhingen op de Gissengen over den
staat van het Menschelyk Geslagt, &c. wherein he accused
.^k of plagiarism, with but too much appearance of
Neither Kersseboom nor Struyck gave any information
38 to the manner in which they formed their tables of mor-
VOL. xv.
545
tality from the observations on which they were grounded. Mortality,
M. Kersseboom informs us, that he submitted his table to Taw of.
Professor S’Gravesande, some years previous to its publi-'
cation, and obtained his approbation of it for calculating
the values of annuities on lives.
In the year 1742, Mr. Thomas Simpson, in his Doctrine
of Annuities, (see the article Annuities) gave a table of mor-
tality for London, being the same that had previously been
constructed by Mr. Smart, at twenty-five and all the greater
ages, but corrected at all ages under twenty-five years, on
account of the greater number of strangers who settle in
London under that age, which occasioned, till the com¬
mencement of the present century, a constant excess of the
burials above the births. This correction Mr. Simpson
made by comparing together the numbers of christenings
and burials; and observing, by means of Dr. Halley’s table,
the proportion between the mortality in London and Bres-
law above twenty-five years of age.
In 1746, M. Deparcieux published (at Paris in 4to,) his
Essai sur les Probabilites de la duree de la Vie Humaine,
in which he gave six new and valuable tables of mortality;
one of them constructed from the lists of the nominees in
the French Tontines, principally those of the years 1689
and 1696, and the rest from the mortuary registers of dif¬
ferent religious houses; four of these showing the mor¬
tality that prevailed amongst the monks of different orders,
and the fifth, that which obtained amongst the nuns in dif¬
ferent convents of Paris. Those for the monks and nuns,
with the exception of the tables of Struyck, mentioned
above, were the first ever constructed for the two sexes
separately.
The Essay of M. Deparcieux is written popularly, and
with great perspicuity ; he has given the most satisfactory
accounts both of the data his tables were constructed from,
and the manner of their construction.
In his thirteenth table, he included with the five tables
of mortality of his own construction ; that of Mr. Smart for
London, as corrected by Mr. Simpson, Dr. Halley’s, and
M. Kersseboom’s, together with the expectation of life at,
or its average duration after each age, both according to his
own and M. Kersseboom’s table for annuitants, and for
every fifth year of age according to each of the other tables;
the fractional parts of a year being always expressed in
months, and not in decimals.
Dr. Halley first, and Struyck after him, had given the
probable duration of life after several ages, according to
their respective tables, that is, the term at the expiration of
which, the persons now living at any proposed age, will be
reduced by death to one-half their present number.
But Deparcieux appears to have first given the average
duration of life after any age, and showed how to calculate
it correctly from tables of mortality. On account of the
scarcity and value of M. Deparcieux’s Tables of Mortality,
Mr. Milne has reprinted them, with the expectations of life
just mentioned, in his Treatise on Annuities, with a short
account of their construction ; it is therefore unnecessary
to pursue the subject further here.
In 1760 M. Deparcieux published (at Paris in 4to) his
Addition a PEssai sur les Probabilites de la duree de la Vie
Humaine, with five tables ; three of them relating to life an¬
nuities deferred on a peculiar plan, we consider to be of no
interest or value at this time : the two others are tables of
mortality constructed from statements of the numbers of
deaths that took place at different ages, without knowing
the numbers of the living at the same periods of life. He
obtained the data for the first of them from a clergyman on
the frontiers of Normandy and Perche, whose accuracy in
all he undertook, he could rely upon ; and who gave him
the names of the parishes from the registers of which he
had extracted the information ; but strictly enjoined him
not to disclose his name in the event of his making use of
3 z
546
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, the documents. In these the sexes were not distinguished.
Law of. The other table of mortality M. Deparcieux constructed
''from statements sent to him by M. Wargentin ol the num¬
bers of deaths of males and females separately, which took
place in the different intervals of age in Sweden and Fin¬
land, during the three years 1754, 1755 and 1756. Ihose
two tables have the same faults as others constructed from
similarly defective data ; and we consider them to be of no
value. .
M. Deparcieux states, (p. 28) that in 1744, he suggested
to M. Aubert, the commissary who at that time prepared
the Bills of Mortality for Paris, the expediency of distin¬
guishing the sexes in the columns of births and deaths,
which had not been done previously, but was in consequence
of this commenced with the year 1745, and has been con¬
tinued ever since, as we have already observed in our ac¬
count of the Parisian Recherches Statistiques.
M. de Buffon, at the end of the second volume of his
Histoire Naturelle, published in 1749, inserted a table of
mortality that had been constructed by M. Dupre de Saint
Maur, from the registers of twelve country parishes in
France, and three parishes of Paris ; which M. de Buffon
informs his readers that he inserted in his work the more
willingly, since these were the only kind of documents, or
combinations of them, from which the probabilities of life
among mankind in general, could be determined with any
certainty. Yet this was a very faulty table, and the num¬
bers of annual deaths were so injudiciously distributed, ac¬
cording to the ages, that it often represented the mortality
in one year of age to be three or four times as great, and
in some cases, six times as great, as in the next year. Some
remarks of M. Kersseboom on this table may be seen in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1753. M. de Saint Cyran
corrected some of its most obvious errors, and inserted
both the original and his corrected copy in his Calcul des
Rentes Viageres. (Paris, 1779, in 4to.)
sionary Payments, appeared in 1771, containing his obser- Mortal
vations on the proper method of constructing tables ofmor- Law,;
tality from bills which shew the numbers dying annually at's-*y
all ages, and three new tables of mortality constructed from
the London, Norwich, and Northampton bills.
The second edition of the same work was published in
1772, and contained, in the Supplement, much interesting
and valuable information which did not appear in the first,
together with five new tables, intended to exhibit the law of
mortality that obtained, 1st, in the district of Vaud, in Switzer¬
land; 2d, in a country parish in Brandenburg ; 3d, in the pa¬
rish of Holy Cross, near Shrewsbury ; 4th, at Vienna; 5th,
at Berlin. * The first formed from bills of mortality given in
the Memoire of M. Muret; and the 2d, 4th, and 5th, from
those given by Sussmilch in his Gbttliche ()rdnung; the
3d was from the parish register only of Holy Cross. But
we consider none of those tables as now of any value, on ac¬
count of the defects in the data from which they were con-
structed.
At the end of the first volume of the work of J. H. Lam¬
bert, entitled, Beitrage zum Gebrauche der Mathematik und
deren Amvendung, published at Berlin in 1/65, 8vo, he
gave a chapter on the certainty of inferences^ deduced from
observations and experiments; and the example with which
he concluded the illustration of his theory, was the deduc¬
tion of the law of mortality in London from the bills of mor¬
tality there; by means of a curve, of which the absciss
being proportional to the age, the corresponding ordinate
was proportional to the number of survivors of the same
clg6*
In the third volume of the same work, published in 1772,
the ingenious author treated the subject at much greater
length : x being the age, and y the corresponding ordinate .
to the curve of mortality for London, proportional to the
number of survivors of that age out of a given number
(10,000) born alive, he gave this equation to the curve
96
r-
Mr. Simpson, in the Supplement to his Doctrine of An¬
nuities, published in 1752, gave some further explanations 10,000
of the corrections he had made in Mr. Smart s table of mor- w™. unit W the hvnerbolic loga-
of mortality from the mortuary registers only, of large tahty very near the truth, untd 96 years of age, Deyon
towns. i t o
In the Nouveaux Mem. de VAcad. Roy. de Rerun tor the
vear 1760, there is a paper by the celebrated Euler, en¬
titled Recherches generales sur la Mortalite, et la Multipli¬
cation du Genre Humain, wherein the subject is treated al¬
gebraically. He assumes that the population is not affected
by migration, and that the annual births and deaths are al¬
ways as the contemporaneous population; consequently, that
the number of the people increases or decreases in geome¬
trical progression. Then he gives several theorems exhi¬
biting the relations that would obtain between the annual
births and deaths and the population, and determines the
law of mortality upon these hypotheses, but does not shew
how it may be deduced from actual observations independ¬
ent of hypotheses ; neither does he undertake the construc¬
tion of any table of mortality, but, by way of example, gives
that of M. Kersseboom, w ith the changes of the numbers
which become necessary, in consequence of his altering the
radix from 1400 annual births to 1000.
Sussmilch took great pains in collecting the numbers of
annual deaths in the different intervals of age, which he pub¬
lished in his Gbttliche Ordnung ; and four tables of mor¬
tality formed from these data are to be found in the same
work; that in the second volume (§ 461), which has many
imperfections, was formed by himself; the three others,
being the 21st, 22d, and 23d, at the end of the third volume,
were constructed by his commentator Baumann, according
to the more correct method of Lambert.
The first edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever-
which it was not intended to be used.
M. Lambert also constructed a table by which he intend¬
ed to exhibit the law' of mortality that prevails among man¬
kind in general, from the 23d and 24th tables in the second
volume of Sussmilch’s Gbttliche Ordnung, which gave the
numbers of deaths, in the different intervals of age, in se¬
venteen country parishes in the mark of Brandenburgh, and
from the London bills for thirty years; supposing, with
Sussmilch, (Gbtt. Ord. t. i. § 34), that the country peop e
are double the number of those residing in towns.
By an extract of a letter from M. Lambert to Gaetaana
Fontana, given in their Italian translation of Demoivres
Treatise on Life Annuities, (Discorso Preliminare, part m.j,
it appears, that all his attempts to find d/KWtenbn an equa¬
tion which should determine the relation between the ag
and the number of survivors in this last table, proved rm
less ; the formulae he arrived at having been either too lo g
and intricate, or too incorrect. This is the less to pe ^ ■
and intricate, or too incorreci. a ms is ~ . urn did
gretted, since there is no doubt that M. Lambert s ta ^
not represent the true law of mortality, as he n
lowance for the effect of the increase of the peopJe by P
creation; and it is singular he did not see that t a
might be correctly determined from the numbers o
living, and the annual deaths at all ages m SwecleI^n
land, given in M. Wargentin’s paper in the Stockholm
actions for 1766, which paper he himself quotes.
Lambert appears to have first demonstrateil " J, • b
principal properties of tables of mortality, m cloin§ _ .t
he made use of the differential and integral calcu u ,
l
MORTALITY. HUMAN.
MO ity:
Li of.
as he could not determine the equation to the curve of mor¬
tality, that resource did not avail him much.
Flourencourt treated this subject algebraically in the
third chapter of his Political Arithmetic^ where he gave a
perspicuous view of it, as it had been previously treated by
Euler and Lambert; but added nothing himself that was
original, except three new tables of mortality; one for
males, another for females, and a third for both sexes with¬
out distinction ; deriving his data in each case from the
Gottliche Ordnung of Siissmilch. He also gave a new copy
of the table of mortality M. Deparcieux had constructed
from the registers of the nominees in the French tontines;
assuming 10,000 for the radix, and inserting the numbers
under three years of age, nearly according to M. Kersse-
boom’s table ; this, however, does not differ materially from
the original table of Deparcieux.
The fourth edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever¬
sionary Payments was published in the year 1783, and con¬
tained new tables of mortality for Warrington and Chester,
also for all Sweden and Finland, and for Stockholm separate¬
ly, in which the sexes were di stinguished. Those for the whole
kingdom were constructed from enumerations of the living,
and registers of the annual deaths, in each interval of age,
during twenty-one years; those for Stockholm during nine
years. The tables for Sweden and Stockholm were the first
ever constructed from the data that are requisite to determine
the law of mortality among the bulk of the people, and were
sufficiently accurate representations of that law, for the times
and places in which the observations were made.
In a paper of M. Henrich Nicander, inserted in the Trans¬
actions of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm,
for the first quarter of the year 1801, he gave two tables of
mortality for all Sweden and Finland, in which the sexes
were distinguished, but they were not properly construct¬
ed ; and the mean duration of life which he gave in them
at each age, was very erroneous, especially in early life.
In that paper he asserted, without offering any demonstra¬
tion or proof, that, in what we have called the curve of
mortality above, if an ordinate be drawn through the centre
of gravity of the portion of the area cut off by the ordinate
at any assigned age, on the side of the more advanced ages,
the part of the base, or of the axe of the abscisses, inter¬
cepted between these two ordinates, will measure the mean
duration of life after such assigned age. And the mean
duration of life after each age, which he has given, was de¬
termined in this manner.
Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities and Assurances was pub-
lished in the year 1815 ; and, in the third chapter of that
work, the construction and properties of tables of mortality
are fully treated of.
In the second volume of the same work, three new tables
of mortality are given; one constructed from very accurate
observations made at Carlisle, by Dr. Heysham, who pre¬
served the bills of mortality of the two parishes, which in¬
clude that city and its environs, and supplied their defici-
ences with great care, together with correct accounts of
two enumerations of the inhabitants, in which their ages
jere taken; and a table showing the diseases by which the
deaths at all ages were occasioned, is also given.
The fourth and fifth tables in Mr. Milne’s work, exhibit
the law of mortality which prevailed in all Sweden and Fin¬
land, both with and without distinction of the sexes, de¬
duced from the registers kept and the enumerations made
there, during the twenty years ended with 1795 ; which
term was subsequent to that wherein the observations were
made, from which Dr. Price’s tables were constructed.
The seventh table in the same work exhibits the law of
mortality at Montpellier for males and females separately,
and was constructed from the bills of mortality of that place
tor twenty-one years, ending with 1792.
547
The second table at the end of this article, was publish- Mortality,
ed in the first edition of it in 1822 ; the tables of mortality Law of.
for the lives insured in the Equitable Office, which werev 
constructed by Mr. Babbage and Mr. Davies, were pub-
lisheu in 1826 ; and we have given some account of them
as well as of those formed by Mr Finlaison, from observa-
tions on Government Annuities in this country, and pub¬
lished m 1829, in the article Annuities in this work.
MM. Quetelet and Edouard Smits, in dozxx Recherches mr
la Reproduction et laMortalite de VHomme, in 1832, gave a
table of mortality for the towns and the rural districts in
elgium separately, distinguishing males from females, and
also for the whole population, without distinguishing the
sexes, or the inhabitants of towns from those of the country.
Mr. Morgan, in the above mentioned publication of the
Equitable Assurance Society, in 1834, gave a table of mor¬
tality for the lives insured in it, (marked C, p. 28), derived
f.om table A of that work ; another (D) derived from table
B, is not worth a place there.
The second of the tables at the end of Dr. Casper’s work
on the Probabilities of Human Life, published in 1835, was
intended to exhibit the law of mortality in Berlin, with dis¬
tinction of the sexes ; it was constructed from 69,362 deaths
at different ages ; 36,895 of males, and 32,467 of females,
which took place there during the twelve years 1818-1829.
And M. Mallet at the end of his valuable Memoire, pub¬
lished in 1836, has given one for Geneva, in which the
sexes are distinguished: it contains both the mean and the
probable duration of life after every age, and was formed
from the bills of mortality there for the eighteen years
1814—1833. I'or males, females, and the two sexes with¬
out distinction, M. Mallet took so high a radix as 100,000
births ; the number of deaths were, of males 5219, females
5688, of both sexes 10,907; and in the column of deaths,
on the same line for any age, as the survivors of that age,
the author has put the number of deaths in the registers in
the next following year, instead of the decrement of life, or
excess of the number attaining that above the number at¬
taining the next greater age, which will probably puzzle
many readers.
Part II—On the Construction and Properties of Tables
of Mortality.
1. Suppose 10,000 children to have been all born alive
at the same instant of time, more than 100 years since •
and that the numbers of them who completed and who died
in each year of age, were correctly entered in the following
table i
Age.
0
1
2
3
4
5
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Number who
completed
that year.
10,000
8,112
7,659
7,403
7,226
7,096
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
died in their
next year,
1,888
453
256
177
130
112
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
Abhandlungen aus der Juristischen und Politischen Rechenkunst, von Carl Chassot de Florencourt. Altenburg, 1781, 4to-
548
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, which, then, would evidently be a table of mortality ; and
Law of. this mode of constructing one, were it practicable, would
“ "“^be the simplest possible.
2. But of 10,000 children taken indiscriminately at birth,
it is manifest that the number who complete or survive any
year of age, will be just the same, whether they be all born
at the same time or not; and, therefore, this table might
as well have been constructed by noting the times of the
births of 10,000 children taken indiscriminately, and regis¬
tering the time or the age at which each died; for then,
after the whole were extinct, it would only be necessary to
collect the sum of those who died in each year of their age,
and insert it in the third column of the above table (1)
against the proper age. The numbers in the second co¬
lumn would then be obtained by beginning with the 10,000
births, and merely subtracting the number in the third from
the number in the second column, and placing the remain¬
der in the next line below, in that second column, through¬
out the table.
3. It is evident that the number against any age in the
second column of such a table, is equal to the sum of those
in the third column against that, and all the greater ages ;
that is to say, that the number who complete any year of
age is equal to the sum of those who die at all the greater
ages.
4. Now let us suppose the population of a place to have
remained invariable for one or two hundred years past, dur¬
ing which period 10,000 children have been born alive, at
10,000 equal intervals of time in each year. Also that,
there having been no migration, and the law of mortality
having been always the same, both the number of the liv¬
ing and that of the annual deaths in each year of age, have
remained constant, the whole amount of the annual deaths
at all ages, as well as the number of annual births, having
been 10,000.
5. Then, if the law of mortality exhibited in the above
table (1) be that which obtains in the place just mentioned,
that table will represent the stream of life which flows
through it, and fills the vacancies left by those who advance
in age, or are carried off by death, their successors incess¬
antly following and being followed in the same course.
6. Thus: 10,000 children being born annually at so many
equal intervals of time, 7096 will annually complete their
fifth year, also at equal intervals ; and of these, 112 will die
annually in the sixth year of their age.
7. And it is manifest that the number ivho annually com¬
plete any year of their age in such a place, is equal to the
sum of the annual deaths at all the greater ages.
8. Let us next suppose, that the constant number of
deaths which happen annually in any one year of age, take
place at equal intervals of age in that year. For instance,
that the four deaths which happen annually, in the ninety-
fifth year of age, always takes place at the ages of
Years. Months.
94 . 3
94 . 6
94 . 9
and 95 years ; or rather, that die last individual dies at the
moment before completing the 95th year.
9. Then the number constantly living in any year of age
may be determined as follows :
Let us take, for example, the ninety-fourth year, which
14 persons annually enter upon, and 5 die in. Now, if no
deaths happened in that year, it is obvious that the 14 per¬
sons who annually enter upon it at so many equal inter¬
vals (4 and 6), would be all constantly living at 14 equal
intervals of age in that year; and it that year ot age
were divided into five equal intervals, there would be
14
similarly circumstanced, but five times more populous, 14 Mortali'
persons. o;
But when five deaths take place at so many equal inter-
vals in the ninety-fourth year of age, (the fifth part of a
year being 73 days,) the case is altered. Thus,
Lives.
14
13
12
11
10
Complete the age
of
Years. Days.
93
93
93
93
94
73
146
219
292
Number of the
living during
these last 73
days.
i 4
5
1 3
5
1 0
Or rather, the oldest life that fails in the 94th year, must
be considered to expire the moment before completing that
year, as only 9 survive 94.
But tbe numerators of these fractions being in arithme¬
tical progression, their sum is equal to half the sum of the
first and last terms multiplied by the number of terms; or
x 5; which sum being divided by the common
2 ,
denominator, 5, we have the number of the living in the
94th year of agean arithmetical mean propor-
2
tional between the numbers who enter upon the first and
last of the intervals which that year of age was divided into.
10. Now, the number, 9, who survive their 94th year, is
less only by unit than the number 10, who enter upon the
last of the intervals that year was divided into ; so that if,
instead of
14 + 10
, we take
14 + 9
or an arithmetical mean
2 7 2
proportional between the numbers who annually enter upon,
and annually survive their 94th year, for the number con¬
stantly living in that year, it will only be less by half a life
than what has just been demonstrated to be the true num¬
ber, according to the hypotheses ; and the difference would
still have been but half a life, although the radix of the table
had been 10,000,000 instead of 10,000; the number of the
living would, in that case, according to these two methods,
have been 1200 and 1199|. And the number of the living
in any one year of age, even according to the above table,
is generally several thousands, so that this difference, which
remains always the same, is quite immaterial.
Besides, it is obvious that the above hypotheses can never
coincide exactly with the facts. And the above reasoning
is evidently applicable to any other year of age.
11. We are therefore authorised to conclude, that in a
place, circumstanced as above stated, the number of tie iv
inq in any year of their age is an arithmetical mean propor¬
tional between the numbers who annually enter upon, am
who annually complete that year.
12. Thus it appears that
The number of
the living in their
94th year,
95th ' —
96th —
97th —
98th —
99th —
Is half the
sum of
14 and 9,
— 5,
— 3,
— 2,
- 1,
_ 0.
constant1 y living in each interval — persons; or, in a place ^ ^ .g to ^ obgerved5 that the same numbers occur in
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mo: ityj the first of these two series as in the second, except the first
La if- term of the first, and the last of the second, which are 14
^‘‘^and 0 respectively. Therefore the sum of the second of
these two series falls short of the sum of the first by 14, the
number who annually complete their 93d year ; so that the
series of half sums falls short of the sum of the first series by
7, the half of 14. And this reasoning will apply equally to
any other age than that of 93 years.
13. Whence it follows, that in a place circumstanced as
we have supposed, the number of persons constantly living
at any assigned age and upwards, is less than the sum of
those who annually complete that and all the greater ages,
by half the number who annually complete that year of their
age.
14. From the supposition that the number of persons who
die annually in any one and the same year of age, expire at
so many equal intervals of age in that year (8), it follows,
that for each of these lives which fails before the middle of
that year of age, there will be another which will fail just
so much after it, and, consequently, that the average quan¬
tity of existence during any year of age, for the lives that
fail in it, is just half a year.
15. But in taking, for any one year of age, the sum of the
numbers in the second column of the table (1) at all the
greater ages, each life is counted once for every complete
year it survives, after the age first mentioned; and if, to the
sum of these, we add half the number in the same second
column against that first mentioned age, this half number
being the sum of the fractional parts of a year, by which the
whole of these lives survive the last year of age they com¬
plete (14); the sum total thus obtained will evidently be
the whole^duration of life after the age first mentioned, en¬
joyed by all the lives that survive that age in any one year.
16. Therefore, if this last sum total be divided by the
number who annually survive that first mentioned age, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life after that age
which is also called the expectation of life at the same age,
being the portion of future existence which an individual at
that age may reasonably expect to enjoy.
17. But, by No. 13, it appears, that the last mentioned
sum total is also the number constantly living in the place,
at and above the age first mentioned (15).
18. Whence, and from No. 16, it follows, that if the num¬
ber of the living in the place at any age and upwards, be
divided by the number who annually complete that age, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life after the same
age.
19. And, consequently, if the number constantly living
at all ages, be divided by the number of annual births, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life from birth, or the
expectation of life of a child just born.
20. Hence also it appears, that the number of years in
the expectation of life at any age, is the same as the num¬
ber of living persons at that age and upwards, out of which
one dies annually.
21. Thus, for example, the expectation of life at 40 years
of age being 25*495 years, the proportion of the living in
the place aged 40 years and upwards who die annually, is
one of 25*495, or, which is the same, 1000 out of 25,495.
22. The numbers represented by a table of mortality to
die in any intervals of age, are called the decrements of life
in those intervals.
23. And the interval between any age and the utmost
extent of life, according to any table of mortality, is called
the complement of life at that age, according tp the same
table.
24. If the decrements of life be supposed to be equal and
uniform through its whole extent, and the interval between
birth and the utmost extremity of life be divided into as
Many equal parts as there are annual births, then, one of
he individuals born will die at the expiration of each of
549
these equal intervals of age ; and the numbers who survive Mortality,
the several intervals, from birth to the extremity of life, will Law of. ’
form an arithmetical progression. '
25. Whence it will be found (11), that the number of the
living at any assigned age and upwards, will be equal to the
number who annually complete that age, multiplied by half
the number of years in the complement of life at the same
age.
26. And if this last product be divided by the number
who annually complete that age, the quotient, that is, half
the complement of life, will be the expectation of life at
that age (18). J J
27. The mean numbers of annual deaths at all ages, or,
which in this case is the same, the number of deaths in each
year of age, that take place during any one year, in a place
circumstanced as we have supposed, being given, a table
may be constructed as follows, which will answer all the
most interesting questions that can be put respecting the
population and mortality of the place.
28. Let there be five columns, in the first of which insert
the ages 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 96, 97, 98, 99, and against every
age, insert in the fifth column, the given number that died
in the year between that and the next greater age ; then
begin at the greatest age, and proceed towards the least, as
follows:—
1^, To the number against any age in the fourth column,
add that against the next less age in the fifth, and insert
the sum against that next less age in the fourth (7).
‘Id, To the sum of the numbers in the third and fourth
columns against any age, add half the number in the fifth
column against the next less age, and insert this last sum
against that next less age in the third column (11).
3rf, Divide the number against any age in the third co¬
lumn, by the number against the same age in the fourth,
the quotient will be the expectation of life at that age, to
be inserted in the second column (16).
1
Age.
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Expectation
of life at that
age.
39*385
2*357
2*176
1*978
1*928
1*722
1*700
1*500
1*000
0*500
99
0
Number of the
living at that
age, and
upwards.
393,848
115*5
74*0
45*5
27*0
15*5
8*5
4*5
2*0
0*5
0
Number who
annually com¬
plete that year
of their age.
10,000
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
Number who
die annually
in their next
year.
1888
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
0
A complete table of this kind for the two sexes sepa¬
rately, formed from observations made in all Sweden and
Finland, during twenty years ending with 1795, will be
found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities and Assurances,
being the fourth in that work.
29. Hitherto we have supposed the state of the popula¬
tion to continue invariable for 100 years at the least, on ac¬
count of the facility with which tables of mortality might be
550
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
,T ... formed from accurate mortuary registers in such circum-
Mortal i ty»
I aw of stances.
^ But whether the population be stationary, or increasing,
or decreasing, and from whatever causes these changes pro¬
ceed, provided that they be produced gradually, and not by
sudden starts during the time of the observations, the law
of mortality may be determined from actual enumerations
of the people, and the bills of mortality. Thus,
30. Let the number of persons in each year of their age,
that are resident in a place at any one time, be taken, and
let an accurate register be kept of the number that die an¬
nually in each year of their age, during a term of eight or
ten years at the least, whereof the first half may precede,
and the second follow the time of the enumeration.
Then, if the number of the inhabitants of every age
either increase or decrease uniformly during that term, the
mean number of annual deaths in each year of age thus
registered, will be the same as if the population of the place
had continued throughout that term what (it was when the
enumeration was made.
31. But if, to the number of the living in any year of
age, we add half the number who annually die in the same
year, the sum will be the number who annually enter upon
that year of their age fll.) .
And thus, from the enumerations and registers above
mentioned, may be derived the ratio of the number who
annually enter upon any year of their age, to the number
who annually die in it.
32. But all the observations which have been made with
sufficient minuteness, on the mortality during the first year
from birth, concur in showing, that many more deaths take
place in the first few weeks from birth, than in equal periods
of time during the remainder of the first year ; and that the
nearer to birth, the greater is the mortality among infants.
So that the number of the living in successive equal inter¬
vals in the first year of age, cannot be correctly assumed to
be in arithmetical progression.
33. On this account it is desirable that the annual num¬
bers, both of the children born alive, and the deaths under
one year of age, should be correctly registered, as in Swe-
den. . ,
34. Then, as the number annually born alive, is to the
number of annual deaths under one year of age, according
to the registers, so is the radix of the table of mortality, to
the number dying under one year of age according to that
table, which, being subtracted from the radix, the remain¬
der is the number who complete their first and enter on
their second year. Whence the numbers, both of surviv¬
ors and annual deaths, at all the greater ages, may be de¬
termined in the order of their succession by No. 31.
35. If, instead of the number of the living in each year
of age being taken only once, according to No. 30, that
operation be performed several times during the term for
which the mean number of annual deaths in each year of
age is given ;—then, the mean number of the living in each
year of age throughout that term, must be deduced from
the given numbers ; and, being substituted for the number
at the middle of the term according to No. 30, the law of
mortality may be determined with more certainty, than
when the people are only numbered once.
36. Both in enumerations of the people, and in bills of
mortality, the numbers are, however, almost always given
only for intervals of age of several years each. For the
manner of interpolating the numbers in each particular
year of age, the reader is referred to Mr. Milne’s Treatise
on Annuities and Assurances, arts. 180 and 181.
37. Hitherto we have only considered the determination
of the law of mortality amongst the whole of the inhabitants
of a place, of all ages, ranks, and conditions; and untd
within the last eight years, no statements of facts relating
to particular classes of the people had been published, ex¬
cept those of M. Deparcieux, in his valuable Essai, suffici
ently numerous and correct to be available for the purpose. Wti
But the inquiries made by order, and with the aid of go-'^Vf
vernment in this country, into the mortality amongst vari¬
ous classes of nominees, on whose lives annuities depend¬
ed, published in Mr. Finlaison’s report to the Lords of the
treasury in 1829, and already noticed in the article Annui¬
ties in this work ; with the publication in 1834, of the still
more interesting, important, and distinctly detailed obser¬
vations on the mortality that has taken place among the
lives insured in the Equitable Assurance Society, form most
valuable accessions to our knowledge of the subject; we
therefore proceed to show how the law of mortality among
those classes of persons may be deduced from these docu¬
ments. We shall have compassed that object, when we
have determined out of a considerable number of persons
who entered upon each year of age, how many died in that
year, and, consequently, how many survived it; and the
Equitable Assurance documents are so disposed, as to afford
great facility in effecting this. The following table is ex¬
tracted from them, with the addition of the column mark¬
ed B.
B
+
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
£ be
Age 30.-j-
na q
40
53
26
31
40
35
53
48
50
66
71
149
250
263
373
438
499
521
643
615
683
732
783
762
D E
rU
% 2
11
14
13
14
20
11
18
26
45
124
177
232
314
421
451
557
676
780
762
4692
539
4153
cn So
3
4
6
10
51
5
13
11
19
29
26
31
70
45
1
f
t+H m
o v
265
51
762
1078
32
38. According to the common mode of expressing the
ages, which is adopted both in the government docum
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mori ;y> and in those of the Assurance Society, the year of age
LavitL stated is always that which was last completed ; but where-
v^v'.fw'ever that is the case, it should be distinctly stated, and kept
steadily in view. We confine ourselves in this table to the
31st year of age, and mark it 30-}- to avoid ambiguity ; for
the same reason (-f) is put over the ages in column A, to
show that each number in it denotes the age last completed.
39- Column B has been added for the sake of illustra¬
tion ; it shows at what earlier ages the different lives entered
the society, which afterwards completed the 30th year of
their age in it, and entered their 31st: thus, out of 40 in¬
sured in the 8th year of age during the period of the obser¬
vations, only 5 entered their 31st while insured in the so¬
ciety, the rest having passed out of it either by death or
otherwise, at earlier ages, as the preceding columns of the
original table fully show ; and of the 373 persons who were
insured in their 22d year, 124 remained insured till they
entered their 31.
40. This table shows that of 4692 persons who entered
on their 31st year of age in the society, 265 went out of it
alive in the same year of their age during the observations,
51 were still living and insured at the termination of the
observations, and 762 came into the society in that year of
their age ; the individuals of those three classes amount to¬
gether to 1078 persons. But of the 265 who went out of
the society alive during that year of age, it may reasonably
be assumed, that whatever number of them at the time of
their exit exceeded 30j years of age by any interval of
time, as many would fall short of that middle age by the
same interval, when they went out; and, therefore, that
the whole of them on an average may properly be consi¬
dered to have been exposed to the action of the Law of
Mortality during one half of that year of age; so that the
mortality among them must have been the same as it would
have been among half the number of exactly similar lives,
in passing through the whole of that year.
In the same manner it appears, that of the 762 persons
who were insured at various periods of the 31st year of age,
and of the 51 persons who remained alive and insured in
the society at various periods of that year of age when the
observations terminated ; may, each of them on an average,
be properly assumed to have been exposed to the action of
the law of mortality in the society during one half of the
81st year of age ; and we are therefore entitled to conclude
that the mortality among them was the same as it would
have been among half the number of exactly similar lives
in passing through the whole of the 31st year of age.
But 4692, the total of the numbers in column C includes
all those 1078 lives, the same as if they had all entered
upon their 31st year of age in the society, and had all pass¬
ed through it except those which were carried off by death.
It is, therefore, manifest, that 539, the half of their num¬
ber, must be substracted from 4692, and the remainder,
4153 must be taken as the number of persons entering on
the 31st year of their age, and continuing exposed to the
law of mortality in the society during the whole of that
year, among whom thirty-two deaths take place in the same
year of age.
This, when the principle is clearly understood, is cer¬
tainly a very simple operation and easily performed; and
its application to every other age in the original table of
data is exactly the same as to the 31st year.
41. In constructing the table of mortality, supposing that
in proceeding from the earliest age we have arrived at the
completion of the 30th year, or the entrance on the 31st,
and have determined the number of survivors at that limit
to be 4305 ; since
4153 : 32 :: 4305 : 33*1712,
we find 33 to be the number of deaths which will take place
in the 31st year of age out of 4305 persons who enter on
it; and, consequently, that 4272 enter on their 32d year,
551
according to the table we are constructing ; the method of Mortality,
completing it is obviously the same throughout, and can be Law of.
attended with no difficulty after the valuable documents re-
quisite for the purpose have been obtained.
42. What has been shown here respecting the determi¬
nation of the law of mortality amongst insured lives, ap¬
plies also, and with rather more facility to the nominees on
whose lives annuities depend. The life annuities sold by ‘
government in this country not being redeemable, are al¬
ways continued during the whole of the lives they depend
upon ; therefore, with regard to them, column E in the
above table is left blank ; and in the case of the old English
Tontine, which commenced in 1693 and ended in 1783
with the life of the last survivor, column D will also be
quite blank.
Part III— On the Law of Mortality as deduced by the
'preceding methods from actual observations ; and on the
comparative merits of the different Tables of Mortality
that have been published.
43. When the uniformity of anatomical structure in dif¬
ferent individuals of the human species is considered, and
the great power possessed by the human body, of so adapt¬
ing itself to the circumstances it is placed in, as to avoid
injury from changes in those circumstances, it appears
natural to expect a priori, that, where the circumstances
of the people are not greatly different, the law of mortality
will be nearly the same. And, from a comparison of the
best tables of mortality yet constructed, we are induced to
believe that this expectation will be realized, whenever a
sufficient number of good observations shall have been
made, under circumstances sufficiently varied.
44. We know of no observations that have hitherto been
made and published, from which the law of mortality may
be correctly determined, except the following:
1. Those of M. Deparcieux in France.
2. The Swedish.
3. Dr. Heysham’s at Carlisle.
4. Dr. Cleland’s at Glasgow.
5. Mr. Finlaison’s on the nominees of life annuities grant¬
ed by government in this country.
6. Mr. Morgan’s on the lives insured in the Equitable
Assurance Society.
Those of Deparcieux, Finlaison and Morgan, were made
only on select classes of the people; the Swedish are in¬
comparably the most numerous and extensive ; and whilst
Dr. Cleland’s exhibit the mortality in a large manufacturing
town, Dr. Heysham’s will, we believe, be found to be best
authenticated, and most correct.
45. The climate of Sweden is so unfavourable to the
products of agriculture, and the number of the people is so
great in proportion to the quantity of food produced, that
unfavourable seasons there, are generally followed by dis¬
tressing dearths, and the destructive epidemical diseases
constantly attendant upon famine, which raise the mor¬
tality, when they occur, much above what it would other¬
wise be ; and both in that way, and by weakening the con¬
stitutions of those who survive them, they materially in¬
crease the average mortality deduced from observations
made during any considerable number of years. Of this
the reader will find ample proofs drawn from authentic
sources, in the 10th, 12th, and 13th chapters of Mr. Milne’s
Treatise on Annuities.
46. For these reasons, the mortality in Sweden deduced
from many years’ observations, will be found to be higher
than in the more temperate aud fruitful parts of Europe.
And we shall probably make the nearest approach to the
general law of human mortality in the temperate climates,
that can be made from the Swedish observations, by select¬
ing a period in which no remarkable epidemics prevailed.
Such a period was that of five years, 1801-1805 ; during
552
MORTALITY, HUMAN,
Mortality, which, according to a statement of M. Pn icander, in the
Law of. Transactions of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stock-
^^^holm for the year 1809, the population and mortality were
as stated in Table I. at the end of this article.
47. From these data, the second table at the end of
this article has been formed. The numbers in the columns
for males and females separately, having been determined
according to Nos. 36 and 31-35 ; assuming that, of 20,000
children born alive, 10,219 are males, and 9,781 females,
in the ratio of 275,599 to 263,812.
The numbers against each age in the columns for the
whole population without distinction of sex, are arithmeti¬
cal mean proportionals between the corresponding num¬
bers in the columns for males and females separately,
against the same age.
48. From the table last mentioned, Table III. has been
deduced by No. 16, exhibiting the expectation of life at
every fifth year of age ; or its mean duration after that
age.
49. Vaccination commenced throughout Sweden and
Finland in 1804, during which year, the number vaccinated
was 38,255 ; and, in the year following, 42,839-
The number of deaths by small-pox there, during the
year
1801, was 6,458
1802, — 2,679
1803, — 8,610
1804, — 3,764
1805, — 1,887
Sum, 23,398
Annual average number, 4,680
Whilst the annual average of the ten years ending with
1803, was 6962. (Vet. Ac. Handl. 1809, and Mr. Milne’s
Treatise on Annuities, art. 698.)
50. Therefore if we assume that, had vaccination not
been practised in the years 1804 and 1805, the annual
average number of deaths during the five years ending with
that last mentioned, would have been greater by 2,282 than
it actually was, and that these 2,282 additional deaths would
have all taken place under five years of age, both assump¬
tions will be near the truth; and it will follow that the
annual mortality under five years of age, which actually
was but one of 13*534, would have been one of 12*629, had
vaccination not been introduced. Its introduction cannot
have affected the first three tables above five years of age;
and under that age, not quite so much as has just been
stated.
51. Of all ages, and both sexes, there actually died an¬
nually, during these five years, one of 40*901 ; had vaccin¬
ation not been practised at all, the annual average mor¬
tality would not have been so great as one of 39*759*
52. Table IV. exhibits the mean duration of life after
every fifth year of age, according to twelve different tables
of mortality ; the first six, A, B, C, D, E, F, having been
constructed from the requisite data (30 and 38,) the last Mort);
six, M, N, O, P, Q, R, from mortuary registers only. Lawi
53. The numbers in the first column A have been'^Y
taken from table III. in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities,
and those in B from table E (p. 28) in the Equitable As¬
surance Society’s publication.1
54. Deparcieux’s table C constructed from great num¬
bers of accurate observations on the nominees in the French
Tontines, resident principally in Paris and its environs, re¬
presents the duration of life too small after 60 or 65 years
of age. (See Mr. Milne’s Tteatise on Annuities, articles
867 and 868.)
55. Column D has been taken from the 45th table in Dr.
Price’s Observations, E from the 5 th in Mr. Milne’s Annui¬
ties, and F from the 3d table in this article. All these
tables represent the duration of life in Sweden and Fin¬
land, after 45 or 50 years of age, to be less than according
to the others ; and it might reasonably be expected, a pri¬
ori, that the excessive cold in Sweden would be unfavour¬
able to the prolongation of life in old age.
56. Of the less correct columns, M has been deduced
from the 7th table in Mr. Milne’s Annuities, and N from
the 42d in Dr. Price’s Observations ; but, as the Montpel¬
lier and Chester tables, just referred to, give the expecta¬
tions of life only for males and females separately, the
numbers in columns M and N against each age, are arith¬
metical mean proportionals between the expectations for
males and females against the same ages in those tables;
which, though not quite correct, is fully sufficient for our
present purpose.
57. The number in column O against each age has been
derived from that given by M. Mallet in his table of mor¬
tality as the mean duration of life in Geneva from and after
that age, by subtracting one half (0*5) from each of them;
which will be found to be a necessary correction.
58. Column P has been derived from Lambert’s table for
mankind in general, already mentioned in the historical
part of this article, in which he gives a column headed
mean age. Thus, against the age of 20 in that column,
stands 54*3, by which he means that persons who survive
20 years of age, do, on an average, attain the age ol 54*3
years; so that their expectation of life at 20, will be 34*3.
But his numbers in that column are all too great by or
0*5, as he has himself demonstrated; the last, therefore,
should be 33*8 ; and
Against the
age of
For his
number.
We insert in
column P.
0
5
10
15
29*5
47*7
51*4
53*1
and so on.
29*00
42*20
40*90
37*60
1 The author of this article in reading the note on the 4th and 5th pages of Mr. Arthur Morgan’s introduction to the valuable work above
mentioned, when that gentleman was so good as to send it to him on its first publication, had noted with a pencil in the margin, that the
practice there stated was not quite correct; but the circumstance had long passed from his recollection, when he showed in No. 40 of the
present article, how the law of Mortality in the Society might be determined from the large and valuable table marked A ; therefore, by
the words “ age on admission,” at the head of the extreme left hand column over the age in the same horizontal line with the number 0
lives admitted in the first division of the large column with that age at its head, he was naturally led to conclude that that was, as itoug
to be, the number of lives which really were insured during the observations, when that was the age they had last completed. But by t e
note referred to, it appears not to be so; on the contrary, none of the lives insured during any year commencing with the first of January,
^ are entered in these statements as having come into the Society until the first day of January next following the day of their actual a -
mission, and then each is stated to be one year older than it was when insured ; although whatever deaths may happen amongst them before
the first of January next following the commencement of the insurances, are entered in the statements as having taken place amongst t e
lives previously insured. The manuscript being wanted immediately, was in the hands of the printer, 400 miles from the author, be¬
fore these circumstances were called to his recollection, by his accidently seeing his original note on the subject; he is therefore
to give this explanation. The principle of the method of determining the law of mortality in such cases, remains just the same. Bu 1
now appears that the number stated in Table A to have been admitted at any age, should have been stated to be so at the next younger
age; and any calculator who may choose to employ himself on the subject, had better make that correction before proceeding fait er.
The probable error arising from the fault will not be great; but it is incumbent upon us to state the right method of proceeding.
mortality, human.
to.
;y, 59. The reason assigned by Lambert for voluntarily ad¬
mitting this error at each age, as well as the corresponding
■''one in the number of the living at and above the same age,
into his table, was, that he did not consider the data in his
possession enabled him to determine the duration of life
within half a year of the truth.
60. In both these errors M. Lambert has been followed
by J. C. Baumann, in constructing the 21st, 22d, and 23d
tables inserted at the end of the third volume of Siissmilch’s
Gottliche Ordnung which were intended to represent respect¬
ively, the law of mortality among the country people in the
churmark of Brandenburg, amongst the whole population
of the churmark, and amongst the inhabitants of London.
61. The numbers in column Q were calculated by De-
parcieux from Dr. Halley’s table ; and those in column R
have been extracted from the 18th table in Dr. Price’s Ob¬
servations.
62. Upon comparing the numbers in the first six of these
columns, which are more correct, with those in the last six,
which are less so ; it will be found, that at the early periods
of life, its future mean duration according to the tables
formed from mortuary registers alone, is less than according
to those formed from the requisite data ; also that the dif¬
ference is greater the younger the lives are, and diminishes
while the age increases, so as at 60 or 65 years of age to be
little or nothing, and to continue small, and variable both
in kind and magnitude, through the rest of life.
63. This appears to have arisen from the number of the
people having varied but little during the first 35 or 40
years of the century that ended at or about the middle of
the term in which the observations were made ; and having
increased considerably by procreation, during the remainder
of that century ; such increase having been slow at first,
but gradually accelerated afterwards.
64. Table Y. is calculated to illustrate this part of the
subject. The columns A and B represent the law of mor¬
tality among the whole population of Sweden and Finland
without distinction of sex, having been merelv copied from
Table II.
Column C shews the proportion of 10,000 annual deaths
in Sweden and Finland that took place in each year of
age, on an average of five years ending with 1805. And
the number in column D against any age, being the sum of
of those in column C against that and all the greater ages,
would be the number who annually attain to that age, if the
number of the people of every age had remained stationary
from the year 1700 till 1806 (7).
65. The table of mortality formed by the columns C and
therefore, is that which Dupre de Saint Maur, Siissmilch,
Lambert, Baumann, Florencourt, Muret and others, for want
°i the mortuary registers of a whole country, endeavoured
to form by combining the registers of different town and
country parishes.
Those tables also have the same faults, which have been
ormed in a similar way for particular towns or other com¬
paratively small districts, from the bills of mortality alone,
"here the population had been increasing during the cen-
tury preceding the commencement of the observations or
stateinents in the bills of mortality which each table was
ormed from, and also during the period of the observa¬
tions.
66. But it has been ascertained by repeated enumera-
jons of the people in Sweden and Finland, that the hypo-
esis of their number having remained stationary for the
as 100 years or more, is far from the truth. And by
omparing columns A and B with C and D, it will be seen
|n w at manner, and to what degree, the falsity of the hypo-
^SIS m case, has vitiated the table derived from it.
, ‘ j 0 facilitate this comparison, columns E and F have
een added. Taking the age of five years for an example ;
e numbers against that age in columns C and D show,
VOL. XV.
553
that, according to the hypothesis, out of 5988 children who Mortality,
annually enter upon their 6th year, 144 die in it; while it Law 0f.
appears by columns A and B, that out of 7096 children'
who enter upon that year of their age, only 112 die in it:
and 112 : 7096 :: 144 : 9123, so that 9123, inserted against
the age of five years in column E, is the number of children
annually entering upon their 6th year, out of whom 144
reaUy die in the same year of their age ; and the mortality
ms represented by the hypothetical table in this case, is to
the true mortality, as 9123 to 5988, or as 3 to 2 nearly.
I hen the number in column F against any age, is always
the excess of that m E above that in column D against the
same age. °
68. Columns B and C both containing 10,000 deaths, it
will be seen that m column C, they are greatly accumulat¬
ed at the early ages, in comparison with those in column
B ; and that in old age, the deaths in column C are much
less numerous than in B ; which are necessary consequen¬
ces of the people increasing by procreation ; the numbers
ot the people in a progressive population, in comparison
with a stationary one, being greater in early life, and less
in old age. And, while the law of mortality remains the
same, the numbers of deaths at the different ages, must ne¬
cessarily be distributed in a similar manner.
69. This enables us to see clearly how the principal dif¬
ferences have arisen between the correct and incorrect
tables of mortality AB and CD ; whilst the number of annu¬
al deaths at all ages (10,000) is the same in both, the pro¬
portions of that number are necessarily in column C of the
increasing population greater, and the deaths are more
densely distributed at the early ages, and less so at the ad¬
vanced ones than in column B of the population which has
consisted of the same number of persons of every age, and
has produced the same number of annual births and of
annual deaths at every age for 100 years past. The in¬
creasing population is necessarily attended with a corres¬
ponding increase of the annual births and of young persons;
while the elderly persons are only those left by the law of
mortality out of the corresponding small numbers that were
born annually, 50, 60, 70, or 100 years back. And as col¬
umns A and B represent the true law of mortality that pre¬
vails among the people, columns C and D cannot do so,
although constructed from observations on the same peo¬
ple ; for in an increasing population it is not true that the
sum of the deaths happening annually above a given age
will be the same as the number of persons annually arriv¬
ing at or completing that age; it always falls short of it,
and the more so as the given age is younger, there bein»-
deficiencies at all ages above that.
Columns E and F show what the errors of the hypothe¬
tical table are at the different ages, and they are of a simi¬
lar kind in all tables similarly constructed from records of
the number of deaths at the different periods of life in an
increasing population ; and such are probably 99 out of 100
of those hitherto published ; many of them for people in¬
creasing their numbers much faster than the Swedes have
done, and the errors of such tables must be greater than
those of the table CD.
70. Table VI., which needs no further explanation than
is placed at the head of it, will also illustrate the difference
between tables of mortality formed from the requisite data,
and those constructed from mortuary registers only.
It is better fitted for this purpose than Table IV., with
which, however, it will be found to correspond very well.
But the 4th table has other uses which this has not.
71. From what has already been advanced, it would ap¬
pear probable, that the number of annual births in Sweden
and Finland had been nearly stationary, and rather decreasing
than increasing, upon an average, from about 1700 till 1735.
The numbers both of the annual births and deaths, from
the year 1749 till 1803, will be found in Milne’s Treatise
4 A
554
Mortality,
Law of.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
on Annuities, art. 698 : these kind of returns to govern¬
ment were not made before 1749, neither have we any satis¬
factory account of the population before that period.
72. But the statements in our 7th table corroborate the
inferences just drawn from the 5th and 6th, as they shew
that during the 43 years ended with 1800, the total popu¬
lation increased, while the proportion above 90 years of age
diminished through the whole term, and increased very little
during the next 10 years.
The numbers in that table include both sexes, and the
long continued diminution of them past 90, cannot be ex¬
plained by supposing the males to have fallen in battle ;
for the females were reduced in the same proportion, their
number throughout, having been to that of the males above
90 years of age, as nine to five nearly.
From the 7th table, therefore, it appears probable, that
the annual births in the years ^ ^ ^ ^
907, 637, 837, and 786.
The last number, 786, has been calculated upon the sup¬
position that the proportion of the population in Sweden
and Finland to those in Sweden alone, was the same in
1810 as in 1805. , .
73. It should also be observed here, that the disastrous
career of Charles the Twelfth commenced with the eigh¬
teenth century, and terminated in 1718, when the country
was in such a state of exhaustion as it could not have re¬
covered from for many years; whence there appears rea¬
son to believe, that the annual births during the succeeding
fifteen or twenty years, did not increase fast.
Cantzlaer informs us, that between the 10th of August
1710, and the month of February 1711, near 30,000 persons
were carried off by the plague in Stockholm alone. (Mem.
du Rouaume de Suede, t. i. p. 29.) _ , t" r w ui
74. It will be seen that the numbers in col. t ol I able
V., in proceeding back from four years of age to birth, con¬
tinually decrease, contrary to what generally obtains ; and
as we ascribe the general increase of these numbers, when
taken in the retrograde order of the ages, to the annually
increasing number of births, so will this anomalous appeal -
ance be found to arise partly from the average number ot
annual births having actually decreased for a few years ; lor
During the five years The annual average
ending with. number of births wfts
1800 107,690
1801 106,392
1802 105,504
1803 104,644
1804 105,430
1805 107,882
But it appears to have arisen principally from the prac¬
tice of vaccination during the years 1804 and 180o, by
which the mortality among children, or the numbers in
col. C, in a few of the first years from birth, were reduced
below what they otherwise would have been (50) while
those in col. D remained nearly the same (64) ; conse¬
quently, the numbers in col. E were reduced in nearly the
same ratio as those in C (67), and the reduction in col. F.
was in each case nearly the same as in E (61).
75. The numbers relating to Sweden and Finland in the
have been derived from the Stockholm Transac
76. If the population of Spain had remained invariable Mori;
from 1697 to 1797, the law of mortality there, might have
been easily derived from the statements above mentioned^
of the enumeration in 1797; but in the actual state of
things, that cannot be determined without comparing these
with exact accounts of the numbers that died annually in
each interval of age. And, as was observed in the first
section of this article, the author has obtained satisfactory
information that no such returns from the parish registers
throughout Spain, as are there mentioned, ever were pub¬
lished, nor is it probable they were ever made.
77. When what we have advanced respecting the 5th
and 6th tables is clearly understood, it will not be difficult
to account for the greater part of the difference between
the more and less correct columns in Table IV.
Most of the observations which the German tables were
constructed from, were made between the years 1720 and
1750; and those who died then between 60 and 100 years
of age, must have been born between 1620 and 1690; in
which period nearly the whole of the thirty years’ war, ended
in 1648, was included, during which, and for several years
after, it is probable that the annual births increased little
or nothing, if they did not decrease.
78. Amongst the less correct columns of Table IV., those
for Montpellier, Chester, and Geneva, agree much better
than the rest with the more correct ones, which has proba¬
bly arisen in each case, partly from the mortality in these
three places having really been less throughout life than in
most large towns ; and partly from the annual births in
them, having increased less than in the other places, during
the fifty or sixty years preceding the period in which the
observations the tables were constructed from were made.
79. The Northampton table was constructed by Dr.
Price, from the bills of mortality (from the year 1735 to
1780) of the single parish of All Saints, containing a little
more than half the inhabitants of the town; and as the
deaths exceeded the births in number, the Doctor applied
a correction to the table under twenty years of age, which,
if it had answered the intended purpose under that age, as
we are satisfied it did not, could have no effect on any of
the numbers above the same age; and almost all of the use¬
ful applications of such tables, are to ages above twenty.
80. The table so formed could only be correct, provided
that the numbers, both of the living and the annual deaths
at every age above twenty years, had continued invanable
during the 146 years that intervened between 1634 and
1780 ; provided also, that no migration from or to the town
took place, except at twenty years of age, and that the an¬
nual increase the population received by migration at that
age, was just equal to the excess of the annual deaths above
the annual births. ,
81. But we consider it to be much more probable, tnai
during these 146 years, Northampton partook of the pro¬
sperity and adversity that prevailed in the rest of the king¬
dom ; and, consequently, that its population was genew y
progressive, though sometimes stationary, and sometim
TP trOPT&QG
82? We have not room here to support this opinion by nu¬
merical statements and calculations, but from the l,0Pu a
abstracts, and an enumeration of the inhabitants o o
ampton, given in Dr. Yriee’s Observations on Reversion ^
Payments, (vol. ii. p. 94,) it will be found, that o
nual births, and annual settlers in that town, have bee
“X"years'1766, 1801, 1809, and 1813. . birtns, iyiS off720;'also,that
Those relating to Spain and the Spanish possessions in creasing ever since about the yea 7 1'
Europe and Africa, including the Canary Islands, from the although the burials exceeded the baptisms nu J
So Tfe PMacion de Espana en elano de 1797, men- 1802, the supply by migration was much greaterto^.^
tioned in the first section ot this article. These last have
been included in this Table, to show the difference in the
proportion of aged persons between Spain and Sweden, and
still more between the Canary Islands and both.
1802, the supply by migration was muen .
excess ; and, consequently, that the numbers ot »
have been accumulated more at the early ages, ami ^
the advanced ones, than they would have been had tn I
pulation remained stationary.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
555
jlorta i 83. Thus it appears, that the faults in the Northampton
Law table are of the same kind as those of the others constructed
’"'from mortuary registers only. And the civil war in the time
of Charles the First, with the unsettled state of the kingdom
for some years before and after it, would probably have pre¬
vented or greatly retarded, the increase of the annual births,
during the time in which those persons were born, who died
past sixty years of age between the years 1734 and 1781,
and may account for the table after that age being near the
truth; while the comparatively rapid increase of the people
during the sixty years ending with 1780, appears to explain
the great excess of mortality in that table at the early pe¬
riods of life.
84. As it was only from the Carlisle and Northampton
tables of mortality, that tables of the values of annuities on
single and jointliveshad been calculated, sufficiently copious
to admit of the values of interests dependent upon the con¬
tinuance or the failure of human life being accurately de¬
rived from them. When the first edition of this article was
published in the year 1820, the author gave the following
comparison between the mortality represented by each of
these tables to take place at the different periods of life, with
that which had been observed to obtain among the mem¬
bers of the Equitable Assurance Society.
85. From an address delivered at a general court of that
Society, by Mr. Morgan the actuary, on the 24th of April
1800, it appears, that according to the result of an annual
experience of thirty years, the decrements of life (22) among
the members of the society, were to those in the Northamp¬
ton table,
Between the ages of 10 and 20
20
30
40
50
60
30
— 40
— 50
— 60
— 80
as 1 to 2.
— 1—2.
— 3 — 5.
— 3 — 5.
— 5 — 7.
— 4 — 5.
The same information may also be found in two notes in
Dr. Price’s Observations on Reversionary Payments, (vol. i.
p. 183, and vol. ii. p. 443.)
86. From the preceding statement, the Carlisle table of
mortality, (No. II. in Mr. Milne’s Annuities, or No. V. at the
end of the article Annuities in this work, and the Nor¬
thampton table, (No. XVII. in Dr. Price’s Observations),
we have derived the following:—
Out of
Persons.
6460
6090
5642
5075
4397
3643
Who at¬
tain the
age of
Years.
10
20
30
40
50
60
There
die be¬
fore the
age of
20
30
40
50
60
80
According to the
Carlisle
Table.
370
448
567
678
754
2690
Experience
of the
Equitable
Society.
309
443
579
652
900
2244
North¬
ampton
Table.
618
886
965
1086
1260
2805
87. This table shows that the law of mortality exhibited Mortality,
in the Carlisle table is almost exactly the same as that which Lawof.
has prevailed among the members of the Equitable Assur- '
ance Society. And although the members of such a so¬
ciety, when they first enter, are select lives, they are not,
even then, so much better than the common average, as
many persons suppose; for the more precarious a life is, the
stronger is the inducement for parties interested in its con¬
tinuance, to get it insured, so that bad risks are frequently
offered to such companies. And many proposals for insur¬
ance are accepted by the directors, that are not thought
very eligible at the time, in cases where they are not aware
of any specific objection to the life proposed.
88. Besides, it is to be considered, that of the number in
a society at any one time, but a small proportion can have
been recently admitted, and in a few years from the time of
admission, the members will generally have come down to
the common average of persons of the same ages.
89. It ought also to be observed, that most of the tables
of mortality that have been published, have been construct¬
ed from observations made upon the whole population of
very large towns, such as London, Paris, Vienna, and Stock¬
holm; in each of which there are particular quarters inha¬
bited only by the very lowest of the people, who, unfortu¬
nately, are also very numerous, badly clothed and fed,
therefore exposed to serious injury from the inclemencies of
the weather; extremely ignorant and vicious, indulging in
the abuse of spirituous liquors, and inattentive to cleanliness
both in their persons and habitations, which last are crowded,
badly ventilated, and surrounded with mud and the putrid
remains of animals and vegetables. These are the nests of
contagious diseases, in which they are generated and kept
alive, where they at all times occasion great mortality, though
not so much within the last forty-five or fifty-five years
as previously, and from which, when circumstances favour
them, they spread amongst the rest of the people.
90. It is, therefore, obvious, that in such places, the aver¬
age mortality at every age, must be considerably greater
than that which prevails only among the middling and higher
classes of society, even in such towns.
91. But the lives upon which leases, annuities,reversions,
and assurances depend, are very seldom exposed to the in¬
fluence of the causes of mortality mentioned in number 89*
Whence it follows, that a table of mortality on which those
causes have had no great influence, is best adapted to the
valuation of such interests.
And these kind of valuations are the most important pur¬
poses to which tables of mortality can be applied.
92. The number of years in the mean duration of life from
birth according to a table of mortality properly constructed
from the necessary data, will, when the population has re¬
mained stationary for a century or more, be the same as the
number of persons in the whole population, out of which
one dies annually (20). When the population has been in¬
creasing, the mean duration of life, according to the table,
will be less than the number out of which one dies annual¬
ly in that population ; but the difference will be small, ex¬
cept under particular circumstances, as appears by the fol¬
lowing statement.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
556
Mortality,
Law of.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Place.
Stockholm, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes..
Sweden and Finland.
Ditto 
Sweden alone 
Carlisle 
Glasgow, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes...
Years.
9
9
9
21
20
5
9
10
10
10
Term
of the
observations.
1756-1763
1755-1763
1755-1763
1755-17761
1776-1795
1801-1805
1779-1787
1821-1830
1821-1830
1821-1830
Died
annually,
one of
16-86
20-93
18-85
34- 60
37- 33
40-90
40-00
35- 42
42-32
38- 81
Mean
life.
14-25
18-10
16-18
34-45
36- 12
39-39
38-72
34- 38
37- 24
35- 77
Differ¬
ence.
2-61
2-83
2- 67
0-15
1-21
1-51
1-28
1-03
5-08
3- 04
Authorities.
Dr. Price’s Observations, tab. 46
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto, tab. 44.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities, tab. 5.
This article.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities, tab. 2.
Dr. Cleland’s Observations, and
- a table of mortality formed from
i them by the author of this article
Morta,
Law
W'
93. The above mentioned table of mortality for Glasgow,
which the author has had by him several years, he expects
to publish soon.
The high number in the column of differences for fe¬
males in that place, arises from the small mortality amongst
them, which was occasioned principally by the great influx
of healthy females between the ages of 15 and 30, at which
period of life the rate of mortality amongst them was small;
its minimum for them being in their 18th year.
Between the ages of 10 and 15 the numbers of the two
sexes were just about equal, whilst between the ages of 15
and 30 the females were more numerous than the males in
the ratio of 3 to 2 ; and this accounts for the great number
of females (42-32), out of which one died annually there,
which necessarily raises the number out of which one died
annually in the whole population of both sexes, and there¬
fore the number in the column of differences (in the line
numbered 10) for the whole population of both sexes in
Glasgow.
94. Similar causes probably produced similar effects, al¬
though in a much less degree in Stockholm.
95. When tables of mortality are constructed from the
numbers of deaths only in the different intervals of age,
without comparing them with the numbers of living per¬
sons in the same intervals ; such as that formed by columns C
and D of Table V. at the end of this article, and the popula¬
tion is increasing. The number of years in the mean duration
of life from birth, according to that table, will fall short of the
number of the peopl e, out of which one dies annually,by a much
greater number than in the case we have just been consider¬
ing,of the table of mortality havingbeen properly constructed
from the necessary data: as the following statement will show.
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Place.
Sweden and Finland.
Belgium 
Berlin.
Geneva, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes.
Chester, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes.
Montpellier 
Years.
5
3
12
20
20
20
10
10
10
21
Term
of the
Observations.
1801-1805
1825-1827
1818-1829
1814-1833
1814-1833
1814-1833
1772-1781
1772-1781
1772-1781
1772-1792
Died an¬
nually,
one of
40-90
43-00
36- 91
45- 00
48-69
46- 92
34- 54
37- 27
35- 97
29-56
Mean
Life.
30-86
32- 15
27- 39
37-97
42-21
40-18
28- 13
33- 27
30-70
25-36
Differ¬
ence.
10-04
10-85
9-52
7-03
6-48
6-74
6-41
4- 00
5- 27
4-20
Authorities.
Table Y. C. & D.and Tab.VI. D
( MM. Quetelet and Smits, Be-
cherches, &c., 8vo, 1832, pp
( 29 and 36.
f Dr. Casper ; Lebensdauer der
j Menschen,tab.2 & § 14,s.35; also
Y Staatskrdfte der Preussischen
Monarchic, b. 1. ss. 303 & 304
M. Mallet, in the places referred
to above.
Dr. Price’s Observations on Bev.
Payments.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities.
96. In both of the above statements, where the sexes are
not mentioned, the table is for both without distinction.
97. In places where the increase of the population was
slow, the numbers set against them in the column of differ¬
ences are smaller than where the population increased more
rapidly.
98. In the tables of mortality for Belgium and Montpellier,
the sexes were distinguished, but not in the given number
of the whole population, as well as the whole number of
deaths in each of those places, and for that reason the sexes
could not be distinguished for those two places in this last
table.
99. When what we have shewn here is clearly understood,
and the proportion of the people dying annually is known,
it will not be difficult to judge whether a table of mortali \
for that people has been constructed properly from the ne¬
cessary data; or, what is much more common, and more
easily effected, merely by summation of the deaths at a
ages. For in the case of the correct table of mortality, t e
difference obtained in the manner stated above, wi pr0
bably not exceed 2; nor in the case of the incorrect ta e,
will it be likely to be less than 7, upon the supposition o
the population having increased generally for a considera
number of years preceding the termination of the observ
tions; if for a whole century, so much the better.
1 But omitting the year 1764, in which no observations were made.
(eff
MORTALIT
u'ty, 100. The probable life at birth, or the age to which half
the number born attain, will also be a good criterion for enabl-
'‘^ing us to judge, by comparison, whether a table of mortal¬
ity has been correctly constructed from the necessary data
or not; provided that, in the places the compared tables
have been constructed from, the children have been simi¬
larly circumstanced, or nearly so.
According to the
Correct table for Sweden, in this 1
article,  J
Incorrect one, 
Belgian table,   
The probable duration
of life from
10 years of
birth, is
45 years.
22 —
25 —
age, is
53 years,
48 _
48 —
In Belgium vaccination was practised during the whole
period of the observations, in Sweden only during about 1^
out of the 5 years’ observations.
101. From all that has now been stated, we are entitled to
conclude, that the Belgian table of mortality has been con¬
structed either from the registers of burials alone, or only
from the statements of the numbers living in the different
intervals of age at the time of the enumeration ; most pro¬
bably from the burials alone. M. Quetelet appears now to
be aware that such tables are very incorrect. In his late
work sur VHomme et le Developement de ses Facultes, ou
Essai de Physique Sociale, 2 tom. Paris 1835, in 8vo, af¬
ter giving the above mentioned table of mortality for Bel¬
gium, in which only the numbers attaining the different
ages are given, without the decrements of life, or its mean
or probable duration at the different ages, he states the
mean duration of life from birth according to that table, and
then proceeds thus, (tome i. p. 166) :—“ D’apres le dernier
ouvrage de M. Rickman, la vie moyenne serait en Angle-
terre de 33 ans (32 pour les hommes, 34 pour les femmes).1
On 1’estime en France de 32-2 ans d’apres le chifife des nais-
sances.2 Du reste, ces calculs supposent une population
stationnaire, et nous aurons occasion de voir qu’ils peuvent
conduire a des erreurs assez graves.”
102. Reasoning as in Nos. 68 and 69, it will be seen that
when the number of the people has been decreasing for a series
of years, the deaths will be more densely distributed among
the advanced ages, and more rarely in the early periods of
life, than if the number of the people at every age, and the
law of mortality had remained always the same. Conse¬
quently, in the table of mortality constructed from such data,
merely by taking the successive sums, in retrograde order,
from extreme old age to birth; those successive sums,
which are the numbers of the living at the different ages in
the table so constructed, will be greater at advanced ages
and less in early life than if the population had remained
stationary, as stated above. So that the errors of the in¬
correct table would, in this case, be of the opposite kind to
those of the common tables, constructed in a similar way
horn the deaths only, in an increasing population. From
the general increase of arts, manufactures, commerce, and
civilization, ever since tables of mortality were first formed,
the population has been increasing more or less rapidly in
almost every place, for which a table of mortality has been
constructed. But in Amsterdam we have an instance of
the population having continued to decrease for half a cen¬
tury or more. We here present a view of it since the year
Y, HUMAN
  Population of Amsterdam.
In the
year
1622
1753
1777
1787
1826
1830
Number of
persons.
104,961
200,000
241,353
224,862
200,784
202,175
Authorities.
Struyck, Nader Ontdekkingen, p. 118.
Ditto ditto, p. 146.
CiueteletsMT’ VHomme, tom.i.p.246.
R. Lobatto on Life Insurance? p. 20.
Ditto, p. 21.
Quetelet sur VHomme, tom.i.p.246.
Place.
Amsterdam
Term of the obser¬
vations.
lOyrs. 1816-1825
Died an¬
nually,
one of
29-22
Mean
duration
of life.
32-22
Differ¬
ence.
— 3-00
’ Preface to the Population Abstract. 1831.
3 Annaaire du Bureau des Longitudes, pour Vannie 1834, p. 102.
van den aard> de voordelen, m de inrigting der Maatschappijen van Levensverzekering, &c., door R. Looatto; Amsterdam,
557
Mortality,
Law of.
103. The information on this subject is scantv and difficult
to procure. Kersseboom took much pains in endeavouring
to make just estimates of the population from the annual
births and deaths; and taking it to be 35 times the num¬
ber of annual births, he estimated the population of Am¬
sterdam in 1742 at 241,000 persons.
Three only of the six numbers stated above, viz. those
for the years 1622, 1826, and 1830, were determined by
actual enumerations at the times stated. Although M.
Smits, the secretary of the Statistical Commission, relative
to the population of the Netherlands, is not mentioned in
the above table, we are greatly indebted to him. In his
Statistique Nationale he gave a table, (No. 10, p. 82),
shewing the number of deaths that took place in Amster¬
dam in each year of the 18th century. M. Lobatto has
given them in the place above referred to for each of the
ten years 1816-1825; and M. Quetelet, in the part of his
work referred to above, has given them for each of the
17 years, 1816-1832, and states that in the year 1777 the
mortality was 1 in 27; the number of deaths in that year was
8939, whence the population inserted in the table is deriv¬
ed. M. Lobatto states, on the authority of Professor Van
Swinden and of M. Nieuwenhuys, that from 1774 to 1813
there died annually 1 of 26; the deaths in 27 years, 1774-
1800, were 233,510, the annual average number, therefore,
was 8648-5, and multiplying this by 26, we obtain 224,862,
the mean number of the people during these 27 years, which
is stated in the above table to have been the population in
1787, the middle year of the 27.
104. The enumeration in 1622 was made in levying a capi¬
tation tax, which was exacted with great strictness, even in
every receptacle for paupers, the master or owner of it was ob¬
liged to pay the tax for each inmate. This enumeration ap¬
pears not to have been known of, either by Kersseboom or
by Struyck at the time of his first publication on the sub¬
ject ; but an original paper, with many particulars which
he gives, was afterwards communicated to him. Struyck,
after taking great pains with the subject, stated his opinion,
that in 1753, Amsterdam did not contain 200,000 inhabitants.
105. M. Lobatto, at the end of his Beschouwing, &c. gives
two tables of mortality for Amsterdam, one for males, the
other for females, constructed from the deaths that took
place during the ten years 1816-1825, with the expectation
of life at every age, and we here give the same particulars
for it as are given for some others above, but marking the
difference (—) as it is of the opposite kind to those which
resulted from an increasing population.
558
Mortality, 106. This low mortality of one in 29*22 was obtained by
Law of. M. Lobatto stopping at the year 1825, which he himself states
    on account of the mortality having been high in the
two following years, 1826 and 1827. He obtained the an¬
nual mortality of 1 in 29, by dividing the number of the
people in 1826, the year after the end of the term, by the
annual average number of deaths during the term. During
the 12 years 1821-32, of which 1826 was the middle one,
the annual average number of deaths was 7,336 18, a
there died annually, on an average, one ot 27'3b9; tne aij-
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
ference in the above statement should therefore be —4-85, Mortality,
or nearly 5; which is the true excess of the number of Law of.
years in the mean duration of life, above the number
persons out of which one died annually.
107. For some of the most important applications ol the
facts and inferences stated in this article, the reader is re¬
ferred to the article Annuities in this work, where he will
find that the valuation of Assurances or Reversions de¬
pendent upon lives is also treated of.
TABLE I.
In all Sweden and Finland during the Five Years ending with 1805.
The Numbers of Births during the same Five Years
were,
Males.
275,599
Females.
263,812
Both-
539,411
MORTALITY, HUMAN
Moi: ity>
Lat of-
TABLE II.
559
Mortality,
Law of.
Exhibiting the Law qf Mortality which prevailed in all Sweden and Finland, during the Five Years ending with 1805.
560
Mortality,
Law of.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
TABLE III.
According to the Law of Mortality that prevailed in all Sweden and Finland during the
Five Years ending with 1805.
Mortalit
Law of
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
Years in the average future Duration,
or Expectation of Life.
Males.
37-820
48-987
46-681
42-888
39-051
35-486
31-853
28-208
24-622
21-189
17-901
14-968
12-173
9-606
7-255
5-509
4-095
3-230
2-553
1-700
Females.
41-019
51-046
48-570
44-727
40-905
37-167
33-494
29-901
26-353
22-924
19-367
16-087
12-978
10-220
7-698
5-784
4-221
3-230
2-263
1-700
Both.
39-385
50-014
47-629
43-809
39-980
36-330
32-684
29-063
25-495
22-066
18-651
15-550
12-598
9*933
7-497
5-665
4-165
3-230
2-357
1-700
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
TABLE IV.
Showing the Number of Years in the Expectation of Life at every fifth year of age, from birth to 90 years, according
to different Tables of Mortality.
Age.
MORE CORRECTLY.
Carlisle.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
Equit¬
able As¬
surance
Society.
38-72
51-25
48-82
45-00
41-46
37-86
34-34
31-00
27-61
24-46
21-11
17-58
14-34
11-79
9-18
7-01
5-51
4-12
3-28
B
Depar-
cieux’s
Annui¬
tants.
48-32
45-03
41-67
38-12
34-53
30-93
27-40
23-87
20-36
16-99
13*91
11-13
8-70
6-61
4-75
3-39
2-56
D
E
Sweden and Finland.
1755-76 1775-95 1801-5
48-25
46-83
43-50
40-25
37-17
34-08
30-92
27-50
23-92
20-42
17-25
14-25
11-25
8-67
6-50
4-67
3-17
1-75
34-42
46-79
45-07
41-64
38-02
34-58
31-21
28-03
24-66
21-61
18-46
15-53
12-63
10-10
7-72
5-91
4-28
3-23
2-05
36-12
47-92
46-16
42-63
38-96
35-47
32-12
28-82
25-45
22-26
19-03
15-90
12-85
10-19
8-01
6-27
4-85
3-84
3-03
39-39
50-01
47-63
43-81
39-98
36-33
32-68
29-06
25-50
22-07
18-65
15-55
12-60
9-93
7-50
5-67
4-17
3-23
2-36
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
LESS CORRECTLY.
M
Mont¬
pellier.
25-36
45-40
45-45
41-54
37-99
34-90
31-89
28-85
25-75
22 72
19-79
16-98
14-44
12-12
9-90
7-88
5-86
4-07
3-62
N
Chester.
36-70
45-32
43-55
39-70
36-48
33-39
30-76
27-62
24-65
21-85
19-13
16-33
13-28
11-37
8-43
7-70
5-32
4-53
2-98
O
Geneva.
M.
Mallet.
Mankind
in general.
40-18
46-56
43-67
40-14
37-07
34-24
31-21
27-75
24-33
20-96
17-80
14-86
12-11
9-76
7-81
5-96
4-72
3-68
3-46
Breslaw.
Lambert‘
29-00
42-20
40-90
37-60
33-80
30-50
27-60
24-90
22-30
19-60
16-80
14-20
11-80
9-90
8-20
6-50
5- 70
6- 50
5-00
Q
41-25
40-42
37-50
34-17
30-93
27-93
25-00
22-33
19-67
17-25
14-83
12-42
9-93
7-58
5-58
4-50
R
North¬
ampton.
25-18
40-84
39-78
36-51
33-43
30-85
28-27
25-68
23-08
20-52
17-99
15-58
13-21
10-88
8-60
6-54
4-75
3-37
2-41
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Morfe. 7:
Law
TABLE V.
I
Exhibiting the Law of Mortality that prevailed among the whole Papulation of Sweden and Finland, during the five
years ending with 1805, according to two different methods of constructing tables.
561
Mortality,
Law of.
MORE CORRECTLY,
£-2
10,000
8,112
7.659
7,403
7,226
7,096
6,984
6,900
6,832
6,776
6,729
6,690
6,654
6,621
6,590
6,558
6,523
6,488
6,453
6,416
6,377
6,334
6,291
6,245
6,200
6,155
6,108
6,062
6,015
5,968
5,918
5.869
5,819
5,767
5,713
5.659
5,604
5,548
5,490
5,430
5,369
5,304
5,236
5,166
5,096
5,025
4,954
4,882
4,809
4,731
£ .
<D a>
1888
453
256
177
130
112
84
68
56
47
39
36
33
31
32
35
35
35
37
39
43
43
46
45
45
47
46
47
47
50
49
50
52‘
54
54
55
56
58
60
61
65
68
70
70
71
71
72
73
78
84
LESS CORRECTLY.
It?
£ £
2565
625
365
261
196
144
106
84
68
59
49
43
40
39
39
39
39
39
40
44
47
49
50
50
50
49
49
49
49
49
50
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
60
62
65
67
68
67
66
66
67
68
73
D
* O
.2 ^ .a?
s g" <£
SO "S
“ o
5 o
’as "G 5^
C -=
- S'0
<*- S S
©Of-.
rr4 ^
O'S-S
10,000
7.435
6,810
6,445
6,184
5,988
5,844
5,738
5,654
5,586
5,527
5,478
5.435
5,395
5,356
5,317
5,278
5,239
5,200
5,160
5,116
5,069
5,020
4,970
4,920
4,870
4,821
4,772
4,723
4,674
4.625
4,575
4,525
4,474
4,422
4,369
4,315
4,260
4,204
4,147
4,087
4,025
3,960
3,893
3,825
3,758
3,692
3.626
3,559
3,491
O O' s=
•3 U.2
5 s «
O
Ja rO
c o
3 *
0) 5- *0
^ s ©
©St-.
z? , Cd
o ^ ^
13,586
11,192
10,920
10,916
10,895
9,123
8,813
8,524
8,296
8.506
8,454
7,991
8,065
8,330
8,032
7,308
7,269
7,230
6,976
7,239
6,970
7,218
6,838
6,939
6,889
6,417
6.506
6,320
6,271
5,849
6,039
5,869
5,707
5,553
5,607
5,556
5,504
5,357
5,216
5,341
5,121
5,070
5,011
5,018
4,809
4,671
4,541
4,481
4,193
4,111
3586
3757
4110
4471
4711
3135
2969
2786
2642
2920
2927
2513
2630
2935
2676
1991
1991
1991
1776
2079
1854
2149
1818
1969
1969
1547
1685
1548
1548
1175
1414
1294
1182
1079
1185
1187
1189
1097
1012
1194
1034
1045
1051
1125
984
913
849
855
634
620
0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
MORE CORRECTLY
CL, •
p OJ
c to
O r£l
rC
£ "o
*-• c3
3 X
4,647
4,554
4,456
4,358
4,258
4,157
4,054
3,945
3,831
3,713
3,590
3,460
3,326
3,190
3,054
2,914
2,769
2,624
2,475
2,322
2,163
1,995
1,824
1,656
1,490
1,325
1,167
1,022
889
762
644
532
432
345
271
209
157
119
89
66
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
93
98
98
100
101
103
109
114
118
123
130
134
136
136
140
145
145
149
153
159
168
171
168
166
165
158
145
133
127
118
112
100
87
74
62
52
38
30
23
17
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
LESS CORRECTLY,
81
85
86
87
87
86
86
86
86
89
95
98
100
101
103
103
104
105
106
109
116
121
122
121
119
111
101
94
87
82
77
69
62
55
47
38
28
21
15
12
9
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
0
D
'C CVS
G G Q>
a o£
£ ° o
rS © £
G > ,-G
3 ?
. ’■9 C3
'is £ ^
^ rlH ^
O'SS
3.418
3,337
3,252
3,166
3,079
2,992
2,906
2,820
2,734
2,648
2,559
2,464
2,366
2,266
2,165
2,062
1,959
1,855
1,750
1,644
1,535
1.419
1,298
1,176
1,055
936
825
724
630
543
461
384
315
253
198
151
113
85
64
49
37
28
21
15
10
6
3
1
0
C ■*-> •
O ^ G
g E tS
So >
.O G
o S I.
0'S-s
4,047
3,950
3,910
3.792
3,668
3,471
3,199
2,976
2.792
2,687
2,624
2,530
2,446
2,369
2,247
2,070
1,986
1,849
1,715
1,592
1,494
1,412
1,325
1,207
1,075
931
813
722
609
530
443
367
308
256
205
153
116
83
58
47
29
22
15
14
9
8
6
2
0
H
629
613
658
626
589
479
293
156
58
39
65
66
80
103
82
8
27
- 6
- 35
- 52
- 41
■ 7
27
31
20
■ 5
- 12
- 2
- 21
■ 13
- 18
• 17
■ 7
3
7
2
3
. 2
6
2
8
6
6
1
1
2
3
1
0
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
4 B
VOL. XV.
M O R '
M O R
562
Mortality,
Law of TABLE VI.
II
Mortar.
Exhibiting the Expectation of Life
in Sweden and Finland, both ac¬
cording to Columns A and D oj
the preceding Table.
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
More
Correctly.
D.
Less
Correctly.
Expectation of Life.
39*385
50*014
47*629
43*809
39*980
36*330
32-684
29*063
25*495
22*066
18*651
15*550
12*598
9*933
7*497
5*665
4*165
3*232
2*357
1*700
30*863
45*719
44*361
41*019
37*531
34*299
30*983
27*650
24*382
21*294
18*159
15*384
12*562
9*978
7*536
5*752
4*259
3*361
2*770
1*167
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
TABLE VII.
Mortalit-
Law on
Exhibiting the Increase of the Total Population of Sweden and Fin-]^
land, and the Decrease of the Absolute Number above W Years
Age, as well as of the Proportion of the whole Population above
that Age, throughout the latter halj of the Eighteenth Century.
In the Year.
1757
1760
1763
Mean No. between
1776 and 1780
1781 _ 1785
1786 — 1790
1791 — 1795
In 1800
In 1805
1810
Total Popula¬
tion of Sweden
and Finland.
Number
above90
years of
age,
2,323,195
2,367,598
2,446,394
2,706,757
2,823,826
2,884,834
2,974,447
3,182,132
3,320;647
In Sweden alone
2,377,851
1797
1797
That
is, of
1,000,000
1609
1574
1515
1082
1014
1072
907
637
837
693
665
619
Who were bom.
between the years
400
359
372
305
200
252
574
241
Total population
of the Spanish
Dominions in the
Old World.
10,541,221
In the Canary
Islands only.
173,865
4549
155
1657 and 1667
1660 — 1670
1663 — 1673
1676 — 1690
1681 — 1695
1686 — 1700
1691 — 1705
1700 — 1710
1705 — 1715
1710 and 1720
432
892
In inserting the
dates in this co¬
lumn, those who
survived 100
years have been
neglected, as in¬
considerable in
comparison with
the rest.
(A. A,
MORTAR, a preparation oflime and sand mixed with
water, which serves as a cement, and is used by masons
and bricklayers in building walls of stone and brick. ^ ^
Mortar, a chemical utensil, very useful for the division
of bodies, partly by percussion and partly by g”11^?*
Mortars have usually the form of an inverted bell. I he
matter intended to be pounded is put into them, and there
struck and bruised by a long instrument denominated a
pestle. The motion given to the pestle ought to vary
according to the nature of the substances to be pounded.
Those which are easily broken, or which are apt to fly out
of the mortar, or which are hardened by the stroke of the
pestle, require that this instrument should be moved cir¬
cularly, ratber by grinding or bruising than by striking.
Those substances which are softened by the heat occa¬
sioned by rubbing and percussion require to be pounded
very slowly. Lastly, those which are very hard, and which
are not capable of being softened, are easily pounded by
repeated strokes of the pestle; they require no bruising
but when they are brought to a certain degree of fineness.
But these things are better learned by habit and practice
than by any directions.
Mortar, in the military art, is a short cannon or a large
bore, with chambers ; it is made of brass or iron, and its
use is to project hollow shells, filled with powder, called
bombs, and sometimes also carcasses. (See Artillery.)
The mortars used at sea are fixed in bomb-vessels, which
are constructed for their reception; they are made some¬
what longer and much heavier than those employed on
land. See Gunnery.
MORTARA, a province of the duchy of Piedmont, in
be continental dominions of Sardinia. It extends over
178 square miles, and comprehends one city, eighty-tou
;owns and villages, and 56,840 inhabitants. It was for¬
merly a part of Milan, and then was denominated Lumei-
ina. It is a level district, watered by the Po, the Ticino,
md the Sesia, with their tributary streams, which irrigate
be land abundantly, and cause it to yield much nee,
tvhich, with silk, forms the chief product. The capital is
city of the same name, and is surrounded wit wa •
is situated in a most insalubrious district, much aflecteci oy
miasmata, and contains only 2850 inhabitants. o g.
11. E. Lat. 45. 16. N. . . np bv
MORTIER, an ensign of dignity, which was borne oy
the chancellor and grand presidents of the
France. That borne by the chancellor consisted “ a P
of cloth of gold, edged and turned up with errmni ,
borne by the first president was a piece of black
edged with a double row of gold lace. , 0f
MORTISE, or Mortoise, in carpentery, &c. a
joint wherein a hole of a certain depth is made in a P
of timber, which is intended to receive another piece
a tenon. e c :n the
MORTLAKE, a parish of the county of Surrey,
hundred of Brixton, seven miles from Loudon. ^
tifully situated on the south bank of the Th
includes several splendid houses, and a par jgQi
park of Richmond. The inhabitants amounted
[o 1748, in 1811 to 2021, in 1821 to 2484, and m
to 2698.
Mortc:
V'
M O R
n. MORTMAIN, or Alienation in Mortmain (in mor-
tua manu), is an alienation of lands or tenements to any
corporation, sole or aggregate, ecclesiastical or temporal.
But these purchases having been chiefly made by religious
houses, in consequence of which the lands became perpe¬
tually inherent in one dead hand, this occasioned the gene¬
ral appellation of mortmain to be applied to such aliena¬
tions, and the religious houses themselves were principally
considered in framing the statutes of mortmain. In de¬
ducing the history of these statutes, it will be matter of
curiosity to observe the great address and subtle contri¬
vance of the ecclesiastics, in eluding from time to time the
laws in being, and the zeal with which successive parlia¬
ments pursued them through all their finesses; how new
remedies were still the parents of fresh evasions, until the
legislature at last, though with difficulty, obtained a deci¬
sive victory.
By the common law any man might dispose of his lands
to any other private man at his own discretion, especially
when the feudal restraints of alienation were worn away.
Yet in consequence of these it was always and still is
necessary for corporations to have a license of mortmain
from the crown, to enable them to purchase lands ; for as
the king is the ultimate lord of every fee, he ought not,
unless by his own consent, to lose his privilege of escheats
and other feudal profits, by the vesting of lands in tenants
who can never be attainted or die. Such licenses of mort¬
main appear to have been necessary amongst the Saxons
above sixty years before the Norman conquest. But, be¬
sides this general license from the king as lord paramount
of the kingdom, it was also requisite, whenever there was
a mesne or intermediate lord between the king and the
alienor, to obtain his license also for the alienation of the
specific land; and if no such license was obtained, the king
or other lord might respectively enter on the land so alie¬
nated in mortmain, as a forfeiture. The necessity of this
license from the crown was acknowledged by the Constitu¬
tions of Clarendon, in respect of advowsons, which the
monks always greatly coveted, as forming the groundwork
of subsequent appropriations. Yet such were the influence
and ingenuity of the clergy, that, notwithstanding this fun¬
damental principle, we find that the largest and most con¬
siderable donations of religious houses happened within
less than two centuries after the conquest. When a li¬
cense could not be obtained, they contrived that, as the for¬
feiture for such alienations accrued in the first place to the
immediate lord of the fee, the tenant who meant to alie¬
nate should first convey his lands to the religious house,
and instantly take them back again to hold as tenant to
the monastery, which kind of instantaneous seisin was pro¬
bably given not to occasion any forfeiture; and then, by
pretext of some other forfeiture, surrender, or escheat, the
society entered into those lands in right of such their new¬
ly acquired signiory, as immediate lords of the fee. But
when these donations began to grow numerous, it was ob¬
served that the feudal services, ordained for the defence
of the kingdom, were every day visibly withdrawn ; that
the circulation of landed property from man to man began
to stagnate ; and that the lords were curtailed of the fruits
of their signiories, their escheats, wardships, reliefs, and the
ike. To prevent this, therefore, it was ordained by the
second of King Henry III.’s great charters, and afterwards
y that printed in the common statute-books, that all such
attempts should be void, and the land forfeited to the lord
of the fee.
But as this prohibition extended only to religious houses,
is iops and other sole corporations were not included
nfrtf1*1 ’ an<^ t^le ag£regate ecclesiastical bodies, who had
eir counsel the most learned men that they could get,
ound many means to creep out of this statute, by buying
ands which were bona fide holden of themselves as lords
M O R
563
of the fee, and thereby evading the forfeiture ; or by tak-Mortmain,
ing long leases for years, which first introduced those ex-
tensive terms, for a thousand or more years, which are
now so frequent in conveyances. This produced the sta¬
tute Jde Religiosis, 7 Edward I., which provided, that no
person, religious or other whatsoever, should buy, or sell,
or receive under pretence of a gift, or term of years, or any
other title whatsoever, nor should by any art or ingenuity
appropriate to himself, any lands or tenements in mort¬
main, upon pain of the immediate lord of the fee, or, in de¬
fault of him for one year, the lords paramount, and in de¬
fault of all of them, the king, entering thereon as a forfei¬
ture.
This seemed to be a sufficient security against all aliena¬
tions in mortmain. But as these statutes extended only
to gifts and conveyances between the parties, the religious
houses now began to set up a fictitious title to the land,
which it was intended they should have, and to bring an
action to recover it against the tenant, who, by arrange¬
ment and collusion, made no defence; and thereby judg¬
ment was given for the religious house, which then reco¬
vered the land by a sentence of law upon a supposed prior
title. And thus they had the honour of inventing those
fictitious adjudications of right, which afterwards became
the great assurance of the kingdom, under the name of com¬
mon recoveries. But upon this it was enacted by the second
statute of Westminster, 13 Edward I. c. 32, that in such
cases a jury shall try the true right of the demandants or
plaintiffs to the land, and if the religious house or corpo¬
ration be found to have it, they shall still recover seisin;
otherwise it shall be forfeited to the immediate lord of the
fee, or else to the next lord, and finally to the king, upon
default of the immediate or other lord. A similar provi¬
sion was made by the succeeding chapter, in case the ten¬
ants should set up crosses upon their lands, the badges of
knights templars and hospitallers, in order to protect them
from the feudal demands of their lords, by virtue of the
privileges of those religious and military orders. And so
careful was this prince to prevent any future evasions, that
when the statute of Quia emptores, 18 Edward I., abolished
sub-infeudations, and gave liberty to all men to alienate
their lands to be holden of their next immediate lord, a
proviso was inserted that this should not extend to autho¬
rize any kind of alienation in mortmain. When afterwards
the method of obtaining the king’s license by writ of ad
quod damnum was marked out by the statute 27 Edward
I. st. 2, it was further provided, by statute 34 Edward I.
st. 3, that no such license should be effectual without the
consent of the mesne or intermediate lords.
Yet still it was found difficult to set bounds to ecclesias¬
tical ingenuity. For when the clergy were driven out of all
their former holds, they devised a new method of convey¬
ance, by which the lands were granted, not to themselves
directly, but only to nominal feoffees for the use of the reli¬
gious houses, thus distinguishing between the possession
and the use, and receiving the actual profits, whilst the sei¬
sin of the land remained in the nominal feoffee, who was
held by the courts of equity, then under the direction of the
clergy, to be bound in conscience to account to his cestuy
que use for the rents and emoluments of the estate. And it
is to these inventions that our practitioners are indebted for
the introduction of uses and trusts, the foundation of mo¬
dern conveyancing. But, unfortunately for the inventors
themselves, they did not long enjoy the advantage of their
new device; for the statute 15 Richard II. c. 5, enacts,
that the lands which had been so purchased to uses should
be admortised by license from the crown, or else be sold
to private persons, and that for the future uses should be
subject to the statutes of mortmain, and forfeitable like
the lands themselves. And as the statutes had been notori¬
ously eluded by purchasing large tracts of land adjoining to
564
M O R
M O R
Morton
Hatnp.
the respective foundations.
MORTON HAMPSTEAD, a town of the county of J
Devon, in the hundred of Teignbridge, 184 miles from rllc
London. It stands in a picturesque situation at the foot of
Dartmoor Hills. It is an ancient corporate town, and has
a market on Saturday, with some natural curiosities worthy
of observation, especially by the geologist. 1 he popula¬
tion amounted in 1801 to 1768, in 1811 to 1653, in 1821
to 1932, and in 1831 to 1864.
MORUNG, a district of Northern Hindustan, tributary
to the rajah of Nepaul, situated about the 27th degree
of north latitude, and bounded on the south by Bengal.
It is a mountainous country, being in some parts 7000 feet
higher than Bengal; and it produces very fine timber, but
is yet imperfectly explored.
MORWARA, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Gujerat, governed by a Rajpoot chief. The surrounding
country is frequently plundered by the Coolies. It is thirty
miles south-south-west from Theraud.
MOS, a bailiwick of the province of Aggerhuus, in Nor¬
way, containing 19,800 inhabitants, ihe chief town, of
the same name, is situated on the Bay of Christiania, and
contains 400 houses, with 1408 inhabitants, who make much
bar, rod, and cast iron. . .
MOSAIC LAW, the code of laws delivered to the Is¬
raelites by Moses. This is the most remarkable system of
Mortmain, churches, and consecrating them by the name of - church- be at liberty to purcha e ^
yards,” such subtle imagination was also declared to be in number to one moiety of the fellows or students upon
within the compass of the statutes of mortmain. Civil or the respective foundations,
lay corporations, as well as ecclesiastical, were also de¬
clared to be within the mischief, and of course within the
remedy provided by those salutary laws. Lastly, as, during
the times of popery, lands were frequently given for super¬
stitious uses, though not to any corporate bodies, or were
rendered liable in the hands of heirs and devisees to the
charge of obits, chantries, and the like, which were equal¬
ly pernicious with actual alienations in mortmain, there¬
fore, at the dawn of the Reformation, the statute 23 Henry
VIII. c. 10, declared, that all future grants of lands for any
of the purposes aforesaid, if granted for any longer term
than twenty years, should be void.
But during the whole of this time it was in the power of
the crown, by granting a license of mortmain, to remit the
forfeiture, as far as related to its own rights, and to en¬
able any spiritual or other corporation to purchase and
hold any lands or tenements in perpetuity ; a prerogative
which is declared and confirmed by the statute 18 Edward
III. st. 3, c. 3. But as doubts were entertained at the
time of the Revolution how far such license was valid,
since the king had no power to dispense with the statutes
of mortmain by a clause of non obstante, which was the
usual course, though it seems to have been unnecessary ;
and as, by the gradual declension of mesne signiories
through the long operation of the statute of Quiaemptores t0 the world, as well as ihe most
the rights of intermediate lords were reduced to a very junspiudence ever given to me wo, , d
^"rrefr ten^ntsmSu he holden ^ Powers c^ns "cts‘S E
After the dissolution of monasteries under Henry VIII. tions wnatsoever, it was one _ J had
i\°et4tot:^^
their'owner^mightinduce thmiTto^art^ith^the^statutes ^^e^eb.d^Kdt^—,
ed to any spiritual corporation without any license what , . bv the most^nlightened nations as the rao-
soever. And long afterwards, it was enacted by the sta- been adopte y Th| precepts too, were not
tute 17 Car. II. 0*3, that appropriators might annex the
great tithes to the vicarages, and that all benefices unJei p » ire e o0|.all 0f a later age, but were
L.100 per annum might be augmented by the purchase of seemef
lands, without license ot mortmain in either case ; and the given c , S „ character and a singleness ot
like provision has been since made in favour of the gover- which exhibits a of ^ J thr0Ugh-
norsof Queen Anne’s bounty. It has also been held that purpose « an end and
the statute 13 Henry VIII. before menttoned, d.d not ex- out *e wh°le “de “ery^demyjpp. ^ ^
tend to any thing but superstitious uses, and that thete- obje , , ,, j, fres],ness, life, and vigour,
fore a man may give lands for the maintenance of a school, ™Pa«8 1 b‘, ywithdrawn or accompUshed, the body is
an hospital, or any other charitable uses, but as it was anu which ue g -u nf Hcith
apprehended, from recent experience, that persons on their ^J^Mos'Iic oTJewish law is generally said to be com-
deathbeds might make large and improvident dispositions The Mosaic J .)artifu]ars . namely, the deca-
even for these good purposes, and defeat the political ends piehen , | th judicial law, and the or-
of the statutes of mortn/ain, it was therefore enacted by the logue, or ^ c^^ts the ^ But it
statute 9 George II. c. 36, that no lands or tenements, or dinances of divine service, or tnec themselves,
money to be laid out thereon, should be given for or was certainly no so conside^
charged with any charitable uses whatsoever, unless by nor by their law g . F That God had chosen
deed indented, eiecuted in the presence of two witnesses rested was historical. n1at.i^S^-^'t Ms idolatrous
twelve calendar months before the death of the donor, and the progenitor of the nation from amo g
enrolled in the Court of Chancery within six months after kinsmen, to impart to h m and his Postemy a which
its execution (except stocks in the public funds, which of the true God, and e/tabJ sJ^^™7thre governed by
may be transferred within six months previous to the do- the nation was now advaaa S’ ^ JecaloSgue are, “ J
nor’s death), and unless such gift were made to take effect this law. l hthv God which brought thee out of the land
immediately, and were without power of revocation, and am the Lord thy God, wh c g thou ghalt have
that all other gifts should be void. The two universities, of Egypt, out ot the house . eye0f faith, the
their colleges, and their scholars, upon the foundation of no other Gods before me A ^ ^Le distant future, and
the colleges of Eton, Winchester, and Westminster, were hehevmg Jew ^7!^/u Should “come forth a rod out
excepted from the operation of this act; but such exemp- anticipate e im branch grow out of his roots,
tion was granted with this proviso, that no college should ot the stem of Jesse, and a branc g
MOSAIC LAW.
565
MOS'
La'
Slaren
when a new seed should arise to serve Jehovah, not after
the law of a carnal commandment, but after the power of
an endless life; and in the still remoter future see a hea¬
venly Canaan, wherein “ the ransomed of the Lord” should
be found gathered out of every kindred, and tongue, and
people, and nation, and God should be all in all.
The Hebrew community, as it existed in the time of
Moses, was placed under a theocracy, in the strictest sense
of that term. The fundamental principle of their law
was the recognition and obeying of God as the only true
God, and in particular as their sovereign ; the law issued
from his mouth ; and the whole Jewish judges, magi¬
strates, and officers, were merely his deputies, to announce
to the people, or execute upon them, the divine promises
and threatenings, with a certainty like that of the laws of
nature, of which, indeed, the laws of the Hebrew common¬
wealth might reasonably enough be regarded as but a part.
The principal copy of the law was committed to the
custody of the priests and elders,1 that is to say, the joint
care of the civil and ecclesiastical powers ; it was appoint¬
ed to be publicly read and expounded to the people at
stated solemnities, “when all Israel was assembled to¬
gether ;”2 parents were commanded to teach and impress
it upon their families and households ;3 and it came to be
customary also to read and expound it every Sabbath-day
in the synagogues.4
The great principles of the Mosaic code are piety and
mercy, love to God,5 and love to man ;6 and all the pre¬
cepts of the law are either deductions from these two first
principles, or ordinances explanatory of how their end was
to be attained. On these two commandments hang all the
law and the prophets.7
Let us now consider the several parts of the law. And,
first,
The Decalogue, or Ten Commandments.—By these8
it was enjoined on the people, 1. That there is no other
God but the Lord God, that brought them out of the land
of Egypt: 2. That no image or likeness of any creature
whatever is to be made, as the divine likeness, or for divine
worship ; implying the entire separation of the Deity from
all created beings, and his exclusive right to their worship
and adoration : 3. That the name of God is not to be taken
in vain, that is to say, either lightly, or to a falsehood ; im¬
plying the divine omniscience and power: 4. That the se¬
venth day is to be observed as a day of rest for all persons
and for all cattle within the Jewish territory, to restore them
after their previous toils, and, at the same time, to keepalive
in the world a sense of the creation of all things, and their
great Creator: 5. That parents are to be honoured: 6.
Ihat the life of man is not to be attacked: 7. That the re¬
lation of husband and wife is not to be disturbed: 8. That
the property of others is not to be violated: 9. That false
testimony is not to be borne : and, 10. That covetousness,
and all risings of envy, are to be avoided and repressed.
The Judicial or Civil Law was next delivered to the
nation ; and here the first object which attracted the no¬
tice of the great lawgiver was the Hebrew slave, upon whom
was immediately conferred the boon of an everlasting
Sabbath. “ If thou buy a Hebrew servant, six years shall
he serve, and in the seventh he shall go out free for no- Mosaic
thing.”9 The practice of slavery existed before the law, Law.
and persons might become slaves, by captivity or sub- ^ ^ v'""™
jugation in war ;10 secondly, by purchase,11 the chief occa¬
sions of which were debt12 and theft ;13 and, thirdly, by acces¬
sion of issue to the owner of a slave mother.14 But, under
the Mosaic law, slavery was divested, we may say, of all
its horrors; for the slave was entitled to be treated at
once as a sentient, a rational, and an immortal creature.
He enjoyed the common benefit of the Sabbath15 and other
great national festivals ;16 if a Hebrew, he was to be treat¬
ed like a hired servant, that is to say, without rigour ;17
personal maltreatment operated his release ;18 and, in all
cases, a master was indictable for killing his slave, if the
latter died under his hand.19 The escape of a slave even
operated his release, those to whom he ran being forbid¬
den to deliver him up again.20 We have seen also, in the
case of a purchased Hebrew slave, that the service proper¬
ly continued six years, and no more ; in the seventh year
he behoved to be liberally furnished “ from the flock, the
floor, and the wine-press,” and set free, alone if he came
alone, with his wife if he came married. But if his wife
was given him by his master, she and her children remain¬
ed the master’s.21 A purchased Hebrew female does not
appear to have had the benefit of the seventh year; but
there was a peculiarity in the case of her being betrothed
to her master, for then he could not sell her to a foreign
nation ;22 and where a female slave was betrothed to the
master’s son, she became, as it were, a daughter in the
house, and if the engagement was not completed by mar¬
riage, she was entitled to her freedom.23 There was but
one case of perpetual bondage. It was when a slave, hav¬
ing married a female given him by his master, or having
become attached to his master’s home, preferred remaining
in his house rather than accepting the freedom of the year
of release. In that case the man was taken before a ma¬
gistrate, and had his ear bored in token of perpetual ser¬
vice.24 But this was plainly a sacrifice to the best feel¬
ings of our nature ; and it furnished the royal psalmist,
and him of whom David was a type, with an affecting em¬
blem of devotion to the divine will.25
The learned Selden remarks three modes of contracting Husband
marriage amongst the Jews, viz. argento seu nummulo dato, and wife.
pactionis libello, and coitu.26 Under this last mode is to be
ranked seduction of an unbetrothed female, which operat¬
ed as a marriage,27 without liberty of divorce.28 There
were two other compulsory marriages. The one was
where, a man having died leaving a widow without issue, his
brother was obliged to take the place of the deceased ;29
and the other was where daughters, who were co-heiresses,
were obliged to marry within their tribe, that the inherit¬
ance might not be severed from it. The reason of the
other regulation, which indeed existed before the law,30
was to maintain the line of the deceased; and both sorts
were wisely adapted for a people out of whom the Mes¬
siah was to arise. The power of a husband was great;
he could disallow or annul his wife’s vows ; he could bring
her at any time before the priest for trial by the waters
of jealousy ;31 and he appears to have had an arbitrary
1 Deut. xxxi. 9.
2 Ibid. xxxi. 10-14.
3 Ibid. vi. 6-9 ; xi. 18-22.
4 Acts, xv. 21.
5 Deut. vi. 5.
6 Levit. xix. 18.
7 Matth. xxii. 40.
3 Exod. xx. 1-18.
Ibid. xxi. 2.
10 Deut. xx. 10, et seq.
11 Exod. xxi. 2-7; Deut. xv, 12.
l% Levit. xxv. 39 ; 2d Kings iv. 1;
Matth. xviii, 25.
13 Exod. xxii. 3,
-14 Ibid. xxi. 4.
15 Ibid. xx. 10 ; Deut. v. 14.
16 Deut. xii. 17, 18; xvi. 11.
17 Levit. xxv. 39, et seq.
18 Exod. xxi. 26, 27.
19 Ibid. xxi. 20, 21.
20 Deut. xxiii. 15, 16.
21 Exod. xxi. 2-5 ; Deut. xv. 12, et seq.
22 Exod. xxi. 7, 8.
23 Ibid. xxi. 9.
24 Ibid. xxi. 5, 6.
25 Psalm xl. 6; Hebr. x. 5.
88 Selden, Ux. Hebr. lib. ii. c. i.
97 Exod. xxii. 16, 17*
88 Deut. xxii. 28, 29.
29 Ibid. xxv. 5, et seq.
30 Gen. xxxviii. 8.
31 Numb. v. 11, et seq.
566
MOSAIC LAW.
Mosaic
Law.
Parent and
child.
Inherit¬
ance.
Deposit.
Hiring.
Loan.
Pledge.
power of divorce,1 this last being,2 we have the highest
authority for saying, a concession to the habits and cir¬
cumstances of the people. .
The same power of disallowing vows was possessed by
parents,3 whose authority in general was, like that of a hus¬
band, very great indeed. A father might sell his daughter
as a slave d and we find, that as Abraham before the law
was about to offer up his son in sacrifice, so Jephtha un¬
der the law actually offered up his daughter. A father seems
also to have had power to dispose of his daughter s in mar¬
riage :5 and all injuries done to a daughter living in her fa¬
ther’s house were repaired to the father. Reverence to
parents was indeed a peculiar characteristic of the Mosaic
law. They were the sovereigns of their family, its priest,
and its prophet, which last office they Particularly fil ed
when they stored the minds of their household with t e
knowledge of their national history and law, which, whilst
it taught them their filial duty, taught them also their re¬
lation to the Great Parent of all. A first-born son had
some peculiar privileges over the other children of the fa¬
mily; as dedication to God,6 and a double portion of his
father’s goods as inheritance7 #
The principle of the law of inheritance was early stated,
but its several steps were not brought out till forty years
after the promulgation of the law, in the case of the daugh¬
ters of Zelophehad. The course of descent was this. Ihe
estate passed first to the children of the deceased, prefer¬
ring sons to daughters, and allowing the first-born son a
double portion of his father’s goods. On failure of chil¬
dren, the estate fell to the brothers of the deceased, next
to his father’s brothers, and, lastly, to the nearest kinsman
of the family. . . .
In the case of deposit, if the thing deposited, money or
goods, was stolen, and the thief was not discovered, a
that was required of the depositary was, to swear that he
had not acted wrongfully in the matter; except in the case
of cattle, when he was bound to make restitution, or show
that the animal had been torn in pieces by wild beasts.
A hired thing, hurt or dying in the hand of the hirer,
needed not be made good ; the hire stood for it.
In the case of loan, if the thing borrowed was hurt or
died, the owner being present, the borrower was not bound
to make it good ; but otherwise, if the owner was absent.
The case of a money loan was peculiar; interest might be
taken from foreigners, but not between Jews. Ihe ge¬
neral policy of the Hebrew code was to preserve modera¬
tion of means in individuals, and a general equality through¬
out the nation; and this seems to have been the particular
policy of the Hebrew law of interest. For by the regula¬
tion disallowing interest, coupled with the regulation, to
be immediately noticed, that debts were released at the
Sabbatical year, the loan of money was made difficult ot
attainment, and so the spirit of speculation, no less than
the contracting of debt, was prevented.
The same principle, no doubt, pervaded the law ot
pledge, so that pledges were in fact only nominal. Rai¬
ment might be taken in pledge, but, like all pledges from
the poor,12 it required to be returned before night.13 The Mosti
goods of a widow could not be taken in pledge at all ;14 nor Uw
the upper or nether millstone,15 by which we are probably s~y-
to understand any implement whatever of trade or handi¬
craft. In such a state of society we cannot wonder at the
absence of all provision in regard to suretyship.
Various provisions were made in the law for the regain-Agrari s
ing of rights which had been conveyed away. _ All landslaws.
and houses were sold with a power of redemption; every
fiftieth year was a year of jubilee for the restoration of
lands other than common burghal tenements,16 and the
discharge of all incumbrances ;17 and every seventh year
was a year of release from all debts and personal services.18
It was' also a Sabbatical year, or year of rest to the land,
wherein the land was neither sown nor reaped, but its na¬
tural produce was common to all. The reason of these
agrarian laws we have in Leviticus, xxv. 23. The land
shall not be sold for ever, for it is mine, saith the Lord;
and ye are strangers and sojourners with me.”
The benevolent sentiments were anxiously and impres¬
sively inculcated.19 Mercy, indeed, was, as we have seen,
one of the first principles of the law ; and in the appoint¬
ment of the Sabbath the Jew was continually reminded of
the divine compassion towards even the beasts of the held,
who had thus secured to them a weekly intermission from
their labours. Mercy was to be shown to every Jew, as to
“ a brother,” and whether he were a friend or a foe; and
all oppression was forbidden towards strangers, for, says
the divine lawgiver, “ ye were strangers in the land ot
Egypt, and know the heart of a stranger;’20 and towards
the widow and fatherless, for “ if thou afflict them m any
wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their
cry; and your wives shall be widows, and your children
The Mosaic punishments were not very various. Re-Punii
compense was sometimes enjoined, by restitution, by com-ment>.
pensation, and by fines. The principle of retaliation was fre¬
quent, “ eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and beast for beast;
but the most common award was death, “ to cut on t ic
offender from among the people,” and preserve the com¬
munity from the moral contagion of his example. Striking,
cursing, or continuing obstinately disobedient to a parent,
was punished in this way ;22 as were also man-stealing, with
intent to sell or reduce to slavery,23 murder,24 blasphemy,
idolatry and false worship,26 sabbath breaking,27 witch¬
craft and sorcery,28 sodomy and bestiality,29 incest, a u-
tery,31 fornication,32 and lewdness,33 all of which crimes
were punished with death. Nor was there any provision Pardon
in the law for the pardon of offenders, or any power lodged
any where for that purpose. The law was imperative an
inexorable, excepting only in the case of casual homicide,
for which six cities of refuge were provided throughout
the land, that the manslayer might flee thither and D
SE The last branch of the code is the Ceremonial Law,Cere®
or ordinances of divine service. The situation ot the
in relation to the Deity was singular. They were, map
• Deut. xxiv. 1. .... in fn1. enmp of the rabbis, and which seems to have been the com
* That is to say, if we take the passage m the sense contf"d^ f®r J^orce llot for any cause but for unchastity only,
monly received interpretation ; but others ofthe rabbis he 25 xxiv. 10, et seq.
3 Numb. xxx. 2, et seq. 1 Deut. xxiv. 12, 17- g6 Exod xxii 20 . Deut. xvii
is Ioid. xxiv. 6. - 'T
* Exod. xxi. 7-
5 Ibid. xxii. 17 ; Deut. xxii. 16.
* Ibid. xxii. 29.
7 Deut. xxi. 17-
8 Exod. xxii. 8.
9 Ibid. xxii. 15.
10 Ibid. xxii. 14, 15.
11 Ibid. xxii. 25.
1’ Deut. xxiv. 12, 13.
13 Exod. xxii. 26.
16 Levit. xxv. 30, 32, 33.
77 Ibid. xxv. 10, 13, et seq.
i8 Exod. xxi. 2, et seq.; Deut. xv. 1, 2, 12.
is Ibid, xxiii. 4, et seq.; Deut. xxii. l,et seq.
20 Ibid. xxii. 21.
*i Ibid. xxii. 22.
22 Ibid. xxi. 15, 17 ; Deut. xxi. 18.
23 Ibid. xxi. 16.
24 Ibid. xxi. 12.
26 Exod. xxii. 20 ; Deut. xyii. 2.
27 Exod. xxxv. 2; and see Numb. xv.
28 Ibid. xxii. 18; Levit xx. 27-
29 Ibid. xxii. 19; Levit xx. 13, et seq
30 Levit. xviii. 29, xx. 14.
31 Ibid. xxL 10; Deut xxii. 22.
32 Deut xxii. 20, 21.
33 Levit. xx. 17- , R £t
34 Exod. xxi. 13, 14; Numb. xxxv. 6,
seq.; Deut xix. 1, et seq.
The tc
nade.
Mon : eminent sense, “ a peculiar people, above all the nations of
La the earth f’1 and as the nation and the land of Israel were
'—^"''denominated holy, so other nations were called polluted
and unclean? “ aliens from the commonwealth of Israel,
and strangers to the covenants of promise.” But though
this was the case nationally considered, there were certain
things which defiled a Jew, and rendered him unclean.
Ihe first notice which we have of this is in the judicial
law, where it is said, “ ye shall be a holy people unto me;
neither shall ye eat any flesh torn of beasts in the field ;
ye shall cast it to the dogs.”3 But the several occasions
of defilement are stated at large in that branch of the
code which we are now considering ;4 where we find that
leprosy in the person, in garments, or in a house, ren¬
dered these respectively unclean, and that, amongst other
things, certain animals, beasts, fishes, fowls, and reptiles,
were unclean. The defilement contracted was sometimes
but temporary, and ceased with the morning’s ablution ; at
other times it could be removed only in the way prescribed
by the law.
r- There were also certain persons, places, and times, which
were accounted peculiarly holy. Lhe holy place par ex¬
cellence was the tabernacle, the outer court of which occu¬
pied a space of one hundred cubits in length by fifty in
breadth, or about one hundred and eighty feet by ninety.
The only entrance to this court was from the east by a hang-
ingrail of blue, purple, scarlet, and fine-twined linen. Here,
under the open sky, stood a laver of brass for the priests
to wash in, and the altar of burnt-offering. Into this court
every clean Hebrew or proselyte of the covenant might
enter with his offerings. At the west end of this court
stood a close tent about fifty-four feet in length by eigh¬
teen in breadth, which was properly called the tabernacle,
and divided into two apartments. The first, which St Paul
calls Ihefirst tabernacle, was about thirty-six feet in length,
and contained the shew-bread, the candlestick of pure gold,
&c.; and into this, which was denominated the holy place,
only the priests durst enter or look. Beyond this apart-
ment was another about eighteen feet square, called the
second tabernacle, most holy place, or Holy of Holies,
which was separated from the first tabernacle by a veil of
embroidered linen hung upon pillars of wood overlaid with
gold. Here stood the ark of the covenant. It was made
of wood overlaid with gold, and contained the book of the
testimony. Upon the ark, and of like dimensions with it,
was the mercy-seat, of pure gold, with a cherub of beaten
gold on either side, stretching its wings over the mercy-
seat, the face of the cherubim being towards each other. It
was from above the mercy-seat, and between the cherubim,
that God met and communed with Moses and the high
pnest; none else was permitted to enter the sacred pre-
cincts, and even the high priest could only do so once a
year, and this not without blood, which he offered for him¬
self and for the errors of the people.
The priesthood was in the family of Aaron. The priests
served at the altar, prepared the victims, and offered the
sacrifices; they kept up the fire upon the altar of burnt-
o enngs, and in the lamps of the golden candlesticks ;
ey kneaded, baked, and offered the shew-bread; they
pu mly blessed the people, and were consulted by them
8 e interpreters of the law, and judges of controversies ;
n > in time of war, they carried the ark and sounded the
umpets. Their garments, which were specially prescrib-
j ln the wer>e a tiara, a girdle, a linen tunic, and linen
^.ers; high priest had a plate or crown of gold
Hp ll* ]Iaya’ inscription, “ Holiness to the Lord.”
ac also the square breastplate of judgment, with its
ve stones containing the names of the twelve tribes,
MOSAIC LAW.
567
Priests.
anv! <?e Ur-ini and Thummim fixed in the breastplate; the Mosaic
ephod having on the shoulders two onyx stones, whereon Law.
were also engraved the names of the children of Israel;v   
the blue robe of the ephod with golden bells hung to the
skirt to sound when the high priest walked in and out
from the holy place ; and, lastly, the high priest’s coat.
The Levites, who were consecrated to God, instead of,
the first-born of the nation, were assigned to the priests,Ijevites'
to wait upon them, to serve the tabernacle, to carry it, to
encamp round it, and to minister in relation to it. They
were divided into three classes, from the three sons of
Levi, Gershon, Kohath, and Merari, each of which had its
own particular charge. The charge of one class was the
tabernacle, and its coverings and hangings ; that of another
was the boards of the tabernacle, its bars, pillars, and sock¬
ets; and that of the third was to bear “ the most holy
things, that is to say, the sanctuary or most holy place,
and all the vessels and articles appertaining to it. But these
were not to be touched by them; they were to be taken
down and put up by the priests, and simply carried under
cover by the bearers, and this upon their shoulders; whereas
the other two classes of the Levites had, the one two wag¬
gons and four oxen, and the other four waggons and eight
oxen, for their service.
And as the Levites were appointed to assist the priests, V1
so Moses was allowed seventy elders of Israel “ to bear j , of
the burden of the people with him.” e
The holy Festivals were the weekly Sabbath and the
three great annual feasts, namely, 1. the Passover and feast ^7 Sea*
of Unleavened Bread; 2. the feast of Weeks, or of the first
fruits of the ground; and, 3. the feast of Tabernacles, or
the gathering in of the corn and wine. The Passover was
observed on the fourteenth day of the first month of the
Jewish year, which began in March ; and the feast of Un¬
leavened Bread lasted the seven following days. The feast
of Weeks was a moveable feast. The feast of Tabernacles
was in the seventh month, or in our September. On the
first day of the month, which was observed as a Sabbath,
the trumpets were sounded, whence that day was called
the feast of Irumpets. I he tenth day, which was likewise
Sabbatical, was the great day of Atonement, when every
one was required to afflict his soul; and on the fifteenth
day the feast of Tabernacles began, and lasted seven days.
It was on the great day of Atonement also that the Ju¬
bilee was proclaimed every fiftieth year, and then every
one returned to his family and possessions, and the land lay
fallow for a year. All these feasts and times were spe¬
cially ordered in the law; and the matter and manner of
the sacrifices and offerings then to be made were therein
also specially prescribed. There were other sacred sea¬
sons, such as the times of new moons; and every day the
Temple was open for worship, and sacrifices and offerings
were made every morning and evening.
Besides the stated sacrifices and offerings, free-will of¬
ferings were allowed; and to meet particular vows, per¬
sons were valued in the law according to their sex and
age; but it was specially provided that no devoted thing
should be redeemed,—“ every devoted thing is most holy
unto the Lord.”
A few words may now be added on the history of this
remarkable code. It was promulgated before the Israelites
began their journey to Canaan ; and they had not pro¬
ceeded far on their way thither when the authority of Moses
was signally vindicated, particularly on two occasions ; first,
when Miriam the sister of Moses was struck with leprosy
for envying and speaking against Moses ; and next, when
Korah, grandson of Kohath, whose function was to carry
“ the most holy things,” ambitious of a higher charge,
' Leut. xiv. 2.
Lxod. xxii. 31.
s See 2 Chron. vi. 32; Psal. Ixxix. 12; Isa. xxxv. 8 ; Amos, vii. 17; Zech. ii. 12.
4 Levit. xi.-xv.
568
M O S
Mosaic headed a great company, who would have put down all
II subordination and rank, on the pretence that “ all the con-
Moschus. „re,Tation were holy, every one of them.’ But Moses,
''~’'v"""after remonstrating with them on their rebellion,
on them the divine vengeance, in consequence of which
they all perished. In the time of Joshua, the successor ot
Moses in the captaincy of Israel, the people were settled
in the promised land. From Joshua’s death they had no
regular succession of leaders down to the time of Samuel,
when they sought a king, and obtained one, first in the
person of Saul, and then of David ; in whose reign, that is
to say, nearly five hundred years after the departure out
of Egypt, a permanent Temple was erected at Jerusalem,
instead of the former Tabernacle. In their internal ar¬
rangements the Temple and Tabernacle were alike, the
house of God at Moriah consisting, like the Mosaic ia-
bernacle, of a porch or court, the temple or sanctuary, and
the most holy place, or place of the oracle ; but the change
of the Tabernacle, which was ambulatory, to a fixed and
permanent temple, occasioned the alteration on the Mosaic
code to which we alluded in the beginning of this article.
There was now no need for the Levites in their capacity of
bearers of the tabernacle. King David, therefore, distri¬
buted the priests and the Levites into new classes, and ap¬
pointed treasurers, singers, porters, and other officers. His
son Solomon, also, ordered for the temple an immense mol¬
ten sea, and caldrons for water for the sacrifices ; and for
himself a throne of ivory overlaid with gold. This was
the First Temple ; for, at the captivity of the last remain¬
ing tribes, it was finally destroyed ; and, upon the return of
the Jews under Cyrus and Darius, a new temple on the
same site was erected, of which it was predicted that its
glory should exceed the glory of the former. This was
accomplished in the appearance there of the Messiah, the
king and priest of a spiritual Israel, who has abolished
the distinction between Jew and Gentile, and, having of¬
fered up himself as a sacrifice for sin, is gone into heaven
itself, now to appear in the presence of God for his
people, till they also be introduced into the same presence
as “ kings and priests.” (u* u‘ Yv
Mosaic, or Mosaic Work, an assemblage of little pieces
of glass, marble, precious stones, and other substances, of
various colours, cut square, and cemented on a ground of
stucco, in such a manner as to imitate the colouis and gra¬
dations of painting. The critics are divided as to the ori¬
gin and reason of the name. Some derive it from mosax-
cum, a corruption of mmaicum, as that is of musicum.
Scaliger derives it from the Greek fiovtu, and imagines that
the name was given to this sort of works, as being very fine
and ingenious. Nibricensis is of opinion that it was so
called because ex Mis picturis ornabatur musca.
MOSALSK, a circle of the Russian province of Kaluga,
extending in east longitude from 36. 13. to 37. 3., and in
north latitude from 53. 58. to 54. 48. The soil is gene¬
rally poor; and though the circle comprehends 2310 square
miles, the inhabitants are only 170,500. It contains seve¬
ral lakes, some of them extensive. The capital, of the
same name, 614 miles distant from St Petersburg, is situ¬
ated on the river Mosalka, and has 343 houses, and 1640
inhabitants. Long. 34. 45. E. Lat. 53. 35. N.
MOSCHUS, a Grecian poet of antiquity, usually cou¬
pled with Bion, and both of them contemporaries with The¬
ocritus. In later times, all the ancient idyllia were col¬
lected and attributed to Theocritus; but the claims of
Moschus and Bion to some few little pieces have been ad¬
mitted, and this is sufficient to make us inquisitive about
their characters and story ; yet all that can now be known
about them must be collected from their own remains.
M O S
Moschus, by composing his delicate elegy on Bion, has Most
given the best memorials of Bion’s life. Moschus and'*—y
Theocritus have by some critics been supposed to be the
same person; but there are irrefragable evidences against
such an hypothesis. Others, proceeding upon the autho¬
rity of Suidas, maintain that he as well as Bion lived later
than Theocritus, whilst others again suppose him to have
been the scholar of Bion, and probably his successoi in the
government of the poetical school; which, fiom the elegy
of Moschus, does not seem unlikely. Their remains are to
be found in all the editions ot the Poetcc Minoves. Of the
separate editions, some are very valuable, particularly the
rare and curious one of Mekerchus, printed at Bruges,
1565, in 4to ; and those of Schwebelius, Venice, 1746, in
4to, of Heskin, Oxford, 1748, in 8vo, and of Gilbert
Wakefield, 1795, in 8vo.
MOSCOW, a city of European Russia, the capital of
the circle and of the government of that name, and one of
the two capitals of the vast Russian empire. It was long
the only capital, and is still the place where the splendid
ceremony of the coronation of each empei or is performed.
It was first founded by Prince George I. in 1147, and
vastly extended by Prince Daniel in 1300. It continued
to increase till the year 1383, when it was captured by
the Tartars, and nearly destroyed. It was, however, again
rebuilt, and had attained some degree ot prosperity, when,
in 1571, it was again taken and destroyed by the same
people. It soon arose from this disaster with more than
its former splendour, when, in 1611, it was seized by the
Poles, and almost wholly burned down ; the houses being
then, as at the former period, almost exclusively built ot
wood. It recovered from this disaster, and again became
a city of vast extent, population, and wealth, all of which
had made great progress under the reign of the Empress
Catharine. In 1812, when Bonaparte invaded Russia, at
the head of an army composed of men of nearly all the
European nations, Moscow, in a circle of twenty-four
miles, contained five divisions, viz. 1st, the Kremlin, con¬
taining the citadel, the imperial palace, and many other
public and private buildings; 2d, Kitaigorod; 3d, Belego-
rod ; 4th, Semlanoigorod ; and 5th, the thirty Slobodes or
suburbs. The whole contained 288 churches, and 10,UUU
houses, besides booths of wood, with a population ol
350,000 persons. After the French had defeated the Kus-
sians at Borodino, it appeared necessary to the latter to
offer up their capital in order to save that empire, 0
which it formed but an inconsiderable part. Whether
the fires which broke out after the French had entered the
city were kindled by that people or by the Russians them¬
selves, has been a subject of animated contest. Die ta
is notorious that the Russian governor had, two days belo
the entrance of the enemy, removed all the fire engine,
and withdrawn the firemen ; and it is no less certain tna
a whole street, filled with magazines of carriages o
kinds, was fired by the owners of them the night atte
the carriages had been put in requisition by the commis¬
saries of the French army. On the other hand, t
the testimony of many eye-witnesses that numerous
and wooden booths were.set on fire by the French troops,
from the love of plunder, from revenge, from neghgenc ,
from not knowing how to cook their food in the intncacy
the stoves and flues of the Russian houses, which mau
many fires even amongst those accustomed to i ieir ^
use. But from whichever cause it arose, more than
were kindled, and burning at the same time. ic ^
continued from the evening of the 15th ttll the 20th ot
September, during which time 7932 houses were
ashes. The Kremlin was designed to have been blow p
1 Numb. xvi. 3.
M O S
by the French on their evacuation of Moscow; but the
—'plan adopted succeeded only partially. The loss of pro¬
perty occasioned by this catastrophe was estimated, by com¬
missioners appointed to value it, at the sum of L.14,500,000
sterling, although many of those whose losses had been the
greatest preferred no claims for indemnification.
Ihe rapidity with which Moscow has recovered from its
calamity is almost as surprising as the extent of the losses
it sustained. It has been again rebuilt, and within ten
years there were 11,000 houses and 25,000 inhabitants.
It has continued to advance since that time, and the po¬
pulation in 1831 was calculated to exceed by 50,000 per¬
sons that of the year 1812, when it was .destroyed. In
1826, most of the public buildings had been re-constructed.
There were then in the city six cathedrals, twenty-one
monasteries, 270 Greek churches, and eight for other re¬
ligious sects. The Kremlin has been repaired and beau¬
tified, at an expense of 500,000 roubles; and it is improved
in its appearance by the greater regularity it now presents.
Ihe university has been re-established, and the collections,
especially of natural history and of anatomy, have been
rendered more select and are much better arranged than
formerly. Ihe foundling hospital has been again built, and
filled with several thousand children. A new and extraor¬
dinary building has been erected, and ornaments the city;
it is used as a house of exercise for troops in the very se¬
vere weather. It exhibits a front of 580 feet, is forty-five
feet in height, and 170 feet in breadth, and is sufficiently
capacious for 2000 foot and 1000 horse soldiers to be re¬
viewed. The foundation of a new church was laid in 1817
on the anniversary of the retreat of the French, to be de¬
dicated to the Saviour, and which, when finished, will be
the largest place of worship in Europe.
The new city being built on a regular plan, has wider and
straighter streets than before; and the private buildings of
stone bear a greater proportion to the whole, and exhibit
more correct taste. Moscow is in winter the residence of
a the great and rich noble families, and whatever splendour
they may display is exhibited there. Their palaces are
arge, surrounded with gardens, in some cases with parks,
and have now received more an Asiatic than an European
appearance. Abundant amusements are to be found for the
ngher classes, in theatres, balls,, concerts, clubs, casinos,
treemasons lodges, icebergs, sledge races, and, though last
not least, at various gambling tables. There are 163 ta¬
verns and 120 other public houses, for the reception of
travellers; and no less than 607 public baths.
1 here are manufactures of silk, linen, woollen, and cot-
on, and of all the various articles of luxury which are re¬
quire by the higher classes, when so rich as many are in
Russia, and when but one place in a vast extent of coun-
ry can supply them. There is a considerable trade car¬
ed on, first with the towns on the Baltic Sea; secondly,
ere is the intercourse by land with Germany; thirdly,
*eXch™fF commodities with Persia; fourthly, the
1 ,e Wlt^ -^urkey; fifthly, the commerce with China by
«ivfmCaiTled 01! al°ng the frontiers of that empire; and,
firm f f116 w.ith Central Asia. These branches, when
ratir51 t0 f ^ocus ’n Moscow, create great mercantile ope-
•,i ns’ ? , account in some measure for the rapidity
itn whlch the re_establishment of thig ital of Russ/
lat! 55.e45aC4C5OI^llshed- Tt 18 in l0ng' 37’ 27' 40- E- and
It ^ c^C0Vn’ ^os^wa> a government in European Russia,
most rmf1- ied ui0m tlle river of that name, which is the
WitiidAS1q<rao 6 Stoeam *n t^le Province. It extends from
to 56 qn ?' t0 east’ anci fr°m latitude 54. 40.
two fim!'on?!u and ®ccuPies 10,436 square miles. About
pronortinn ^ i 6 rUr{a,ce 18 wood-land, nearly the same
morassps 18 P ouSiJeti iantl) and the remainder consists of
vol. x’v ad°WS’ Sardens> and the sites of the cities,
M O S
rnnnS ^d VillageS*. , .AccordinS to the best Russian ac-
unts, there aie within the government 15 cities, 3450
vilhi?’ S°?1?,0o/hilC!1 maj be denominated towns, 3058
iages, and 13^4 noblemen’s mansions and estates. The
inhabitants were, in the year 1816, 1,289,823; since that
period there has been a rapid increase of population, and,
on a fan calculation, it amounted in 1832 to 2,600,000 in-
CWifrl’ { hT pe!’sons are almost all adherents of the
G eek church, though some exceptions may be made in
t e capital, where there are Catholics, Lutherans, Calvin¬
ists, and Jews, who are all tolerated, and have their seve¬
ral religious temples. The whole of the province may be
enominated a plain, though it is occasionally interspersed
mth gentle elevations, or with groups of hills, few of which
exceed 200 feet in height. It contains abundance of lakes •
according to Storch there are no less than 190, but none of
these is of any considerable extent. The principal river, the
Moskvva, is navigable for barges and boats. It is usually
frozen from the middle of November till the end of March
Ihe greater part of the rivulets, whether issuing from
springs or from the lakes, contribute to form the stream of
that river. The> Volga passes through a small part of the
north of the province, and the Oka through a portion of the
south. Although the soil is of moderate fertility, yet as the
population, thin as it is, is more dense than in any of the
other provinces, it does not produce corn sufficient for the
consumption, but must every year draw a supply from the
adjoining districts. The came is the case with animal food,
which is brought to the capital in the winter in a frozen
state in great quantities. There are no mines worked in
the province. The chief natural productions exported are
wood and potash, but the manufactured goods are consi¬
derable. These are almost exclusively furnished by the
capital, and are noticed under that head. The climate is
severely cold in winter, which extends through nearly half
the year. It is, however, not unhealthy'. The govern¬
ment is divided into thirteen circles.
MOSELLE, a department in the north-east of France,
formed out of the district of Messin, of French Luxem¬
bourg, and of a part of German Lorraine. It extends in
east longitude from 5. 20. to 7. 45, and in north latitude
from 48. 55. to 49. 30. It is bounded on the north by the
department of the Lower Rhine and the duchy of Luxem-
bourg, on the east by that duchy and the Bavarian circle of
the Rhine, on the south by the department of the Meurthe,
aad ori t^ie west by that of the Meuse. It extends over
24/3 square miles, or 609,000 hectares, which are appor¬
tioned in the following manner, viz. 278,920 arable, 48,490
meadows and pastures, 151,365 woods and forests, 4940
vineyards, 10,216 gardens, and the remainder consisting
of the course of rivers and roads, the site of towns and vil-
lages, and utterly uncultivated land, which latter constitutes
nearly one fourth of the whole department. The subsoil is
generally calcareous, often covered with a heavy clay dif¬
ficult to plough, but in some parts mixed with sand or
stone; and its power of production varies from moderate
fertility to absolute barrenness. It produces some good
wheat and rye, but the corn does not equal the consump¬
tion, though the culture of potatoes has been much ex¬
tended of late years. The chief river, the Moselle, which
begins to be navigable at Metz, and falls into the Rhine at
Coblentz, receives the waters of the smaller streams. It is
a rapid river, often causing great damage by the over¬
flowing of its banks. Besides the common grain, much
flax and some hemp are grown. The vine is much cultivat¬
ed, but the wine is not of a good flavour, as most of that
known by the name of Moselle wine throughout Europe
grows on the banks of that river after it has quitted the
French territory. The hills around Metz have their sides
covered with vines, but the grapes are more used for the pur¬
poses of making vinegar and brandy than wine. There are
4 c
56^
Moselle.
570
M O S
Moses.
some mines of iron worked, and the material is converted
' into heavy articles for the use of ships, and for casting ca ¬
non. Some linen and woollen cloths are made, and there a e
fabrics of paper, glass, and earthenware. The f
amounts to 350,000 persons, who are mosdy of the Catho
lie religion, though there are some few Calvinists, Ana
baptist!, and Jew^, mostly in Metz. The French language
is commonly spoken only in the cities. In the villages a
patois called Lorraine is most prevalent; but in the east
ern part a corrupted German prevails, and the inhabitants
havePthe marks of that nation in their dress, countenances,
and manners. The department sends four deputies to the
legislative body. It is divided into four arrondissements,
27 cantons, and 834 communes.
MOSES, the son of Amram and Jochebed, was bo™ in
the year 1571 before Christ. Pharaoh king of Egypt, per¬
ceiving that the Hebrews had become a formidable na¬
tion, issued an edict commanding all the male cb'Wren
be put to death. To avoid this cruel decree, Jochebed
the mother of Moses, having concealed her so" for three
months, at length made an ark or basket of bulrushes,
daubed it with pitch, laid the child in it, and exposed him
on the banks of the Nile. Thermuthis, the king s daugh¬
ter, who happened to be walking by the rlver s side, per¬
ceived the floating cradle, commanded it to be brought to
her, and, being struck with the beauty of the child, deter¬
mined to preserve his life. In three years afterwards the
princess adopted him as her own son, called his name Moses,
and caused him to be diligently instructed in all the learm g
of the Egyptians. But his father and mother, to whom he
was restored by a fortunate accident were at still greater
pains to teach him the history and religion of his ■
Many things have been related by historians concern g
first period of Moses’s life, which are not to be found in the
Old Testament. According to Josephus and Eusebius,
made war upon the Ethiopians, and completely defeated
Them; and they add, that the city Saba, in which the ene¬
my had been forced to take refuge, was betrayed into Is
hands by the king’s daughter, who became deeply en¬
amoured of him, when she beheld from the top of the walls
Ts valorous exploits at the head of the Egyptian army*
But as the truth of this expedition is more than doubtfu ,
we shall confine ourselves to the ^
which commences at the fortieth year of Moses s life. He
then left the court of Pharaoh, and went to visit his coun¬
trymen the Hebrews, who groaned under the tyranny and
Oppression of their unfeeling masters. Having perceived
anPEgvptian smiting a Hebrew, he killed the Egyptian,
and buried him in the sand. But he was obhged, inconse¬
quence of this murder, to fly into the land of Midian,
where he married Zipporah, daughter of the priest Jethro,
by whom he had two sons, Gershom and Ehezar. Here
he lived forty years, during which time he employed him¬
self in tending the flocks of his father-in-law. Having one
day led his flock towards Mount Horeb, God appeared to
him in the midst of a bush which burned with hre but was
not consumed, and commanded him to go and deliver his
brethren from their bondage. Moses at first refused to go,
but was at length prevailed on by two miracles, which the
Almighty wrought for his conviction. Upon his return to
Egypt, he, together with his brother Aaron, went to the
court of Pharaoh, and told him that God commanded him
tn let the Hebrews go to offer sacrifices in the desert of
Arabia. But the impious monarch disregarded this com¬
mand, and caused the labour of the Israelites to be dou¬
bled. The messengers of the Almighty again returned
the king, and wrought a miracle in his sight, that they
might move his heart, and induce him to let the peop e
depart. Aaron having cast down his miraculous rod, it was
immediately converted into a serpent; but the same thing
being performed by the magicians, the king s heart was
M O S
more and more hardened, and his obstinacy at last drew Mose,
down the judgments of the Almighty upon his kingdom,
which was afflicted with ten dreadful plagues. rhe first
was the changing of the waters of the Nile and of all the
rivers into blood, so that the Egyptians died of thirst. In
consequence of the second plague, the land was covered
with innumerable swarms of frogs, which entered even in¬
to Pharaoh’s palace. By the third plague the dust was
converted into lice, which cruelly tormented both man and
beast. The fourth plague consisted of a multitude of de¬
structive flies which spread throughout Egypt, and infest¬
ed the whole country. The fifth was a sudden pestilence,
which destroyed all the cattle of the Egyptians, without in-
luring those of the Israelites. The sixth produced number¬
less ulcers and fiery boils both upon man and upon beast.
The seventh was a dreadful storm of hail, accompanied
with thunder and lightning, which destroyed every thing
that was in the field, whether man or beast, and spared
only the land of Goshen, where the children of Israel dwelt.
By the eighth plague swarms of locusts were brought into
the country, which devoured every green herb, the fruit
of the trees, and the produce of the harvest. By the ninth
plague thick darkness covered all the land of Egypt, ex¬
cepting the dwellings of the children of Israel. I he tenth
and last plague was the death of the first-born in Egyp,
who were all in one night cut off by the destroying angel,
from the first-born of the king to the first-born of the slaves
and of the cattle. This dreadful calamity moved the heart
of the hardened Pharaoh, and he at length consented to
allow the people of Israel to depart from his kingdom.
ProfaneP authors who have spoken of Moses appear to
have been in part acquainted with these mighty wonders.
That he performed miracles, has been allowed by many,
by whom he was considered as a famous magician ; and e
could scarcely appear in any other light “ "
not acknowledge him as the messenger of the Almighty.
Both Diodorus and Herodotus mention the Jisfressed sta
to which Egypt was reduced by these terrible ca amifies.
The Hebrews, amounting to the number of six hundred
thousand men, without reckoning women and child ,
left E^ypt on the fifteenth day of the month Nisan, which, m
memoryof this deliverance, was thenceforth reckoned he
firstTmonth of their year. Scarcely had they reached the
shore of the Red Sea, when Pharaoh with a PJ^erfu army
set out in pursuit of them. On this occasion Moses stretch
ed forth Ws rod upon the sea; and ‘he.wa^*5e£bH"•
divided, remained suspended on both sides t ^
brews passed through dry footed. The Egyp
termined to follow the same course; but God cause
violent wind to blow, which brought back t ie w
their bed, and the whole army of Pharaoh perished in the
^Aft'er the miraculous passage of the Red Sea, the^army
proceeded towards Mount Sinai, and arrive
where the waters were bitter; but by castmg
tree into them, rendered them fit for drinking.^ ^
tenth encampment was at Rephidim, whe o ^ ^
water from the rock in Horeb, by smiting t ^
Here likewise Amalek attacked Israel. , t0Dof
fought against the Amalekites, Moses stood upon fl P
a hill, and lifted up his hands in consequence of*^^
Israelites prevailed, and cut tbeir ene«ii I ^ tlie
at length arrived at the foot of Mount
day of the ninth month after their departme bomfiglP _
Moses having ascended several times nto t the nlidst
ceived the law from the hand of God nmseu ^
of thunders and lightnings, and concluded n
venant between the Lord and the children of sraeh tad
he descended from Sinai, h\fou"dlh‘ha'Se,. calf. The
fallen into the idolatrous worship o 8 “ de_ brokc in
messenger of God, shocked at sue i g
M O S
M i. pieces the tables of the law which he carried in his hands,
^ and put twenty-three thousand of the transgressors to the
sword. He afterwards re-ascended the mountain, and
there obtained new tables of stone, upon which the law was
inscribed. But when he descended, his face shone so that
the Israelites dared not to come nigh unto him, and he
was obliged to cover it with a veil. The Israelites were
here employed in constructing the tabernacle, according
to a pattern shown them by God. It was erected and con¬
secrated at the foot of Mount Sinai, on the first day of
the first month of the second year after their departure
from Egypt; and it served the Israelites instead of a tem¬
ple till the time of Solomon, who built a house for the God
of his fathers, after a model shown him by David.
Moses having dedicated the tabernacle, consecrated Aaron
and his sons to be its ministers, and appointed the Le-
vites to its service. He likewise gave various command¬
ments concerning the worship of God and the political go¬
vernment of the Jews. This w'as a theocracy in the fullest
extent of the word. God himself governed them imme¬
diately by means of his servant Moses, whom he had chosen
to be the interpreter of his will to the people; and he re¬
quired all the honours belonging to their king to be paid
to himself. He dwelt in his tabernacle, which was situ¬
ated in the middle of the camp, like a monarch in his
palace; he gave answers to those who consulted him, and
himself denounced punishment against the transgressors
of his laws. This was properly the time of the theocracy,
taken in its full extent; for God was not only considered
as the divinity who formed the object of their religious wor¬
ship, but as the sovereign to whom the honours of supreme
majesty were paid. The case was nearly the same under
Joshua, who, being filled with the spirit of Moses, under-
. took nothing without consulting God. Every measure,
both of the leader and of the people, was regulated by the
direction of the Almighty, who rewarded their fidelity and
obedience by a series of miracles, victories, and successes.
After Moses had regulated every thing regarding the civil
administration and the marching of the troops, he led the
Israelites to the confines of Canaan, to the foot of Mount
Nebo; and here the Lord commanded him to ascend into
the mountain, whence he showed him the promised land,
into which he was not permitted to enter. He immediately
afterwards yielded up the ghost, without sickness or pain,
in the one hundred and twentieth year of his age, and 1451
years before Jesus Christ.
Moses is incontestably the author of the first five books
of the Old Testament, which go by the name of the Pen¬
tateuch, and which are acknowledged to be inspired, by
the Jews, and by Christians of every persuasion. Some,
however, have denied that Moses was the author of these
books, and have founded their opinion on this, that he al¬
ways speaks of himself in the third person. But this man¬
ner of writing is by no means peculiar to Moses; it occurs
a so in several ancient historians, such as Xenophon, Caesar,
osephus, and others, who, possessed of more modesty or
good sense than some modern historians, whose egotism is
a together disgusting, have not, like them, left to posterity a
spectacle of ridiculous vanity and self-conceit. After all,
1 18 P£°Per to observe, that profane authors have related
inany falsehoods and absurdities concerning Moses, and
a so concerning the origin and the religion of the Jews,
1 which they were in fact but little acquainted. Plu-
arc , in his book concerning Isis and Osiris, says, that
f.U a,n(^ Hierosolymus were brothers, and descended
orn Syphon; and that the former gave his name to the
ountry and its inhabitants, and the latter to the capital
pi^' .Others allege that they came from Mount Ida in
1 ryg'a. Strabo is the only author who speaks anything
save Jfason .and truth concerning them ; although he too
) at they were descended from the Egyptians, and
M 0 S
571
considers Moses their legislator to have been an Egyptian Moshaisk
priest. He acknowledges, however, that they were a people II
strictly just and sincerely religious. Other authors by M°s<lue-
whom they are mentioned appear not to have had the small-
est acquaintance either with their laws or with their wor¬
ship; and frequently confound them with the Christians,
as is the case with Juvenal, lacitus, and Quintilian.
MOSHAISK, a circle of the province of Moscow, in
Russia, extending over 630 square miles, and compre-
bending, one city, one market-town, and 264i villages, with
56,530 inhabitants. The capital is the city of the same
name, situated on the Moshaiska. It is fortified, and has a
strong citadel. It was burned down on the retreat of the
French in 1812, but has been since rebuilt and improved.
It contains seven churches, a monastery, 670 houses, and
4240 inhabitants. Long. 27. 50. E. Lat. 55. 40. N.
MOSHEIM, John Laurence, an illustrious German
divine, was born in 1695. He was descended of a noble
family, which might seem to open to his ambition a fair
path to civil promotion; but his zeal for the interests of
religion, his thirst of knowledge, and particularly his taste
for sacred literature, induced him to consecrate his talents
to the service of the church. The German universities
loaded him with literary honours; the king of Denmark
induced him to settle at Copenhagen; and the Duke of
Brunswick called him thence to Helmstadt, where he filled
the academical chair of divinity, was honoured with the
character of ecclesiastical counsellor to the court, and pre¬
sided over the seminaries of learning in the duchy of Wol-
fenbuttel and in the principality of Blackenburg. When a
design was formed of giving an uncommon degree of lustre
to the university of Gottingen, by filling it with men of
the first rank in letters, Dr Mosheim was deemed worthy
to appear at the head of it, in quality of chancellor; and
here he died, in the year 1755, universally lamented. In
depth of judgment, in extent of learning, in purity of taste,
in power of eloquence, and in laborious application to all
the various branches of erudition and philosophy, he had
certainly few superiors. His Latin translation of Cud-
worth’s Intellectual System, enriched with large annota¬
tions, discovered a profound acquaintance with ancient
learning and philosophy. His illustrations of the Scrip¬
tures, his labours in defence of Christianity, and the light
he threw upon religion and philosophy, appear in many
volumes of sacred and profane literature; whilst his Ec¬
clesiastical History, from the birth of Christ to the begin¬
ning of the eighteenth century, is unquestionably the best
that has yet appeared. This work, written in Latin, has
been translated into English, and accompanied with notes
and chronological tables by Dr Archibald Maclaine; and
from the translator’s preface to the second edition, 1758,
in five vols. 8vo, this short account is taken.
MOSQUE, a temple or place of religious worship amongst
the Mahommedans. All mosques are square buildings, ge¬
nerally constructed of stone. Before the chief gate there
is a square court paved with white marble, and low gal¬
leries round it, the roof of which is supported by marble
pillars. In these galleries the Turks wash themselves be¬
fore they go into the mosque. In each mosque there is a
great number of lamps ; and between these are suspended
many’’ crystal rings, ostrich eggs, and other curiosities,
which, when the lamps are lighted, make a fine show. As
it is not lawful to enter the mosque with stockings or shoes
on, the pavements are covered with pieces of stuff sewed
together, each being wide enough to hold a row of men
kneeling, sitting, or prostrate. The women are not allowed
to enter the mosque, but remain in the porches without.
About every mosque there are six high towers, called mi¬
narets, each of which has three little open galleries, one
above another; these towers, as well as the mosques, are
covered with lead, and adorned with gilding and other or-
1
572
M O S
M O S
Moss.
naments; and from them the people are summoned to
' prayers bv certain officers appointed for the purpose, called
muezzins.' Most of the mosques have a kind ot hospital be¬
longing to them, in which travellers, of whatsoever re i-
gion they may be, are entertained three days. Each mosque
has also a place called tarbe, which is the burying-place of
its founders; within it there is a tomb six or seven tee
long, covered with green velvet or satin; at the ends are
two tapers, and round it several seats for those who read
the Koran and offer up prayers for the souls of the deceasec.
MOSQUITO Shore. See the articles Guatemala
anMOSS? a name given to swampy ground, which is other¬
wise called a/era or bog. . „ . , , t
In many of these grounds, as well in Ungtend and Ire
land as in other parts of the world, there are found wa
numbers of trees with their stumps erect, and their roots
niercino- the ground in a natural posture, as when giowi g.
Sanv ol- thefe trees are broken or cut off near the roots,
and He along, for the most part in a north-eas direct,on.
Some persons, in attempting to account for this ^ e
solved it into the effect of the Deluge ; but this is a very
wild coniecture, and is proved to be groundless by many
unanswerable arguments. The waters of 'fis ^luge nnght
indeed have washed together a great number ot trees, and
buried them under loads of earth; but then they would
have lain irregularly and at random, whereas they all he
lengthwise from south-west to north-east, and the roo s U
stand in their natural perpendicular posture, as close as the
^rid^e^are not all in their natural state.
Many of them bear evident marks of human workmanship,
some being cut down with an axe, others split, and t e
wedges still remaining in them; some burued m different
parts, and others bored through with hoies. These th g
are also proved to be of a later date than the Deluge, by
other mauers found amongst them, such as utensils ot an¬
cient people, and coins of the Homan emperors.
It appears from the whole, that all the trees which we
find in'this fossil state grew originally in the very places
where we now find them, and have been only thrown
down and buried there, not brought from eEewhere. lt
may indeed appear an objection to this op^on, that
of these fossil trees are of the fir kmd, and that C^sar say
expressly that no firs grew in Britain m his time, but this
is easilymiswered, by observing, that these tree^thougi
of the fir kind, are not of the species usually called the fi,
but pitch-tree; and Caesar has nowhere said that pitch
trees did not grow in England. Norway and Sweden
abound with thlse trees; and there are still forests of them
in many parts of Scotland, and a number ot them upon a
hill in Staffordshire to this day.
It is also objected by some to the system of the fiis hav¬
ing grown where they are found fossil, that these countries
are all bogs and moors, whereas such trees grow only in
mountainous places. But this is founded on an error ; for
although in Norway and Sweden, and some other cold coun¬
tries, the fir kinds all grow upon barren and dry rocky
mountains, yet in warmer countries they are found to thrive
as well upon wet plains. They are found plentifully in I o-
merania, Livonia, and Courland; and in the western parts
of New England there are vast numbers ot fine stately
trees of this kind in low grounds. The truth seems to be,
that these trees love a sandy soil, such as is found at the
bottoms of all the mosses where they are found fossil. I he
roots of the fir kind are almost always founu fixed in
these; and those of oaks, where they are discovered fossil in
this manner, are usually found fixed in clay; so that each
kind of tree is always found rooted in the places where they
stand in their proper soil; and there is no doubt but that
they originally grew there. Having thus found that all
the fossil trees which we meet with once grew in the places
where they are now buried, we may conclude that in these
places there were once noble forests, which have, by some
accident, been destroyed ; and the only question that re¬
mains is, how and by whom this was effected. We have
reason to believe, from the Roman coins found amongst
them, that it was done by the people of that empire, at
the time when they were established or establishing them¬
selves here.
Their own historians tell us, that when their armies pur¬
sued the wild Britons, these people always sheltered them¬
selves in the boggy woods and low watery foiests. Csesar
expressly mentions this, observing, that Cassibelaunus and
his Britons, after their defeat, passed the Thames, and fled
into such low morasses and woods that there was no pur¬
suing them ; and we are informed that the Silures secured
themselves in the same manner when attacked by Ostorius
and Agricola. The same thing is recorded of Venutius king
of the Brigantes, who, to secure himself, fled into the boggy
forests of the midland part of this kingdom; and Herodian
expressly states, that in the time when the Romans were
pushing their conquests in these islands, it was the custom
of the Britons to secure themselves in the thick forests which
grew in boggy and wet places, and, when opportunity oi-
fered, to issue out thence and fall upon the invaders. The
consequence of all this was the destruction of these forests.
The Romans, finding themselves so plagued with parties of
the natives issuing out upon them at all times from these
forests, gave orders for cutting down and destroying all the
forests in Britain which grew on boggy and wet grounds.
These orders were punctually executed; and to this it is
owing that at the present day we can hardly be brought
to believe that such forests ever grew in our country as are
now found buried in morasses.
The Roman historians all agree, that when Suetonius
Paulinus conquered Anglesey, he ordered all the woods to be
cut down there, in the same manner as the Roman generals
had done in England ; and Galen tells us, that the Romans,
after their conquest in Britain, kept their soldiers constantly
employed in cutting down forests, draining marshes, and
paving bogs. And not only were the Roman soldiers em¬
ployed in this manner, but all the native Britons made cap¬
tives in the wars were obliged to assist in it; and Dion tassms
informs us, that the Emperor Severus lost no fewer than
fifty thousand men in a short time in cutting down the
woods and in draining the bogs of this island. It is not o
be wondered at that such numbers executed the immOT
destruction of which we find evidence in these buried to-
rests. One of the greatest subterranean treasures of wood
is that near Hatfield; and it is easy to prove that the peo
pie to whom this havock has been attributed were upon U
spot where these trees now lie buried. I he common r
of the Romans from the south to the north proceedc
Lindum or Lincoln to Segelochumox Little Burro
Trent, and thence to Danum or Doncaster, whe e they
kept a standing garrison of Crispiman horse. A httl
on the east and north-east of their road, between ^he t
last-named towns, lay the borders of the great
swarmed with wild Britons, who were continually sa 7,^
out, and retreating to it again; intercepting Ptlieir
sions, taking and destroying their carriages, killing ^
allies and passengers, and disturbing their garrl*onV de.
at length exasperated the Romans so nmc , efectu-
termined to destroy it; and to do this safely a ^
ally, they marched against it with a great army, a ^
camped on a great moor not far from Finning y>
evident from their fortifications yet remaining. ^
There is a small town in the neighbomhoo
terjield ; and as the terminationseems t^l ^6 townS
given only in remembrance of battles lougl . imDrobable
whose names have this termination, it is not improba
Mosfi
M O S
ra. that a battle was fought here between all the Britons who
—^inhabited this forest and the Roman troops under Osto-
rius. The Romans slew many of the Britons, and drove
the rest back into the forest, which at that time over¬
spread all the low country. On this the conquerors, tak¬
ing advantage of a strong south-west wind, set fire to the
pitch-trees, of which the forest was principally composed;
and when the greater part of the trees were thus destroy¬
ed, the Roman soldiers and captive Britons cut down the re¬
mainder, excepting a few large ones, which they left stand¬
ing as memorials of the destruction of the rest. These
single trees, however, could not stand long against the
winds, but falling into the rivers which run through the
country, interrupted their currents; and the water then
overspreading the level country, formed one great lake, and
gave origin to the mosses or moory bogs, which were af¬
terwards formed there by the workings of the waters, the
precipitation of earthy matter from them, the putrefaction
of rotten boughs and branches of trees, and the vast in¬
crease of water-moss and other such plants which grow in
prodigious abundance in all these sorts of places.° Thus
were these burned and felled trees buried under a newly-
formed spongy and watery earth, and afterwards found on
draining and digging through this deposit.
Hence it need not appear strange that Roman weapons
and Roman coins are found amongst these buried trees ;
and hence also it is that amongst the buried trees some are
found burned, some chopped and hewn ; that the bodies of
the trees all lie by their proper roots, and with their tops
lying north-east, that is, in the direction in which a south¬
west wind would have blown them down; and that some
of the trees are found with their roots lying flat, these
being not cut nor burned down, but blown*up by the roots
afterwards when left single. It is not wonderful, that such
tiees as these should have continued to grow even after
their fall, and to shoot up branches from their sides which
might easily grow into high trees.
By this system it is also easily explained why the moor-
land soil in the country is in some places two or three yards
thicker than in others, or higher than it formerly was,
since the growing up of peat-earth or bog-ground is well
known, and the soil added by the overflowing of waters is
by no means inconsiderable.
As the Romans destroyed this great and noble forest,
so they probably also destroyed several other ancient fo¬
rests, the ruins of which furnish the bog-wood of Stafford¬
shire, Lancashire, Yorkshire, and other counties. But as
tlie Romans were not much in Wales, in the Isle of Man,
or in Ireland, it is not to be supposed that forests cut
down by these people gave origin to the fossil wood found
there; but although they did not cut down these forests,
others did, and the origin of the bog-wood is the same with
hem as it is with us. Holingshed informs us, that Ed¬
ward I. being unable to get at the Welsh because of their
hiding m boggy woods, gave orders that these should all
he destroyed by fire and by the axe ; and doubtless the
roots and bodies of trees found in Pembrokeshire under
ground are the remains of the execution of this order,
the fossil wood in the bogs of the Isle of Man is doubt-
ess 0 ^ same origin, although we have not any account
x ant of the time nor the occasion of the forests there
eing destroyed ; but as to the fossil trees of the bogs of
1 e and’ are expressly told that Henry II. when he
onquered that country, ordered all the woods to be cut
own t at grew in the low parts of it, in order to secure his
cuttinS awaY t^e Peaces of resort for rebels,
i: RA, in the Italian music, a mark at the end of a
is in0^8^3^6’ t0 s^ow .^iat first note °f the next line
or fl i ^ P ace’ ^ n°te be accompanied with a sharp
the mo 18 place these characters along with
M O T
57
Mosul1
MOSUL, a large city of Asiatic Turkey, which, al¬
though lying almost in the very heart of the pachalik of n
Bagdad, forms of itself, with a small territory, not extending Motion,
more than two miles on each side of the town, an inde- ''■"’"'v'1'—'
pendent government, under the order of a pasha of two
tails. It is situated on the western bank of the Tigris, on
ground so low that the river, which is nearly 100 yards wide,
and flows with great rapidity, often rises to the level of the
houses. The houses are built partly of brick and partly
o stone; and the roofs and even the ceilings of the apart¬
ments are vaulted, owing to the scarcity and dearness of
timber. It is surrounded by a wall, which has seven gates,
and which is broken down in many places. The castle, which
m in a decayed condition, occupies a small artificial island in
the Tigris. The coffee-houses, baths, khans, and bazaars,
are handsome buddings; and the latter are well supplied
with provisions from Kurdistan. The black palace being
now in ruins, the pasha resides in a cluster of insignificant
buildings, in the dirtiest quarter of the town. The prin¬
cipal ornaments of Mosul are a college, the tomb of Sheikh
Abdul Cassim, and the remains of a beautiful mosque, the
minaret of which, seen from a distance, has a fine effect.
Like all the other towns of the Turkish empire, it is in a
declining state, and the greater part of the best buildings
are crumbling into ruins. On the west the country is in
an uncultivated state, which, along with the extensive bury-
ing ground under the walls, gives the city a gloomy aspect.
A trifling commerce is carried on with Bagdad and Asia
Minor, to which gall-nuts are exported, and copper from
Armenia, which is floated down the Tigris on rafts; and
in leturn Indian commodities are received, which are for¬
warded to Diarbekr, Orfa, locat, and other places. The
population amounts to 35,000, consisting of Turks, Kurds,
Jews, Armenians, Nestorians, and Arabs. Lat. 36. 21. N.
MOTAPA (sometimes called Moxomotapa, but im¬
properly, as Mono is here a general name for kingdom), is
dignified in the early narratives with the title of empire.
Accounts disagree so much regarding the limits which
ought to be assigned to Motapa, that it is impossible to
derive from them a consistent result. It is uncertain whe¬
ther it ever deserved the name of empire ; at all events,
at the present day, it appears to be but a geographical di¬
vision, comprising several kingdoms independent of each
other, and regarding which little or nothing is known.
MOTION is now generally considered as incapable of de- Tn„„mW
finition, being merely a simple idea or notion received by the 0f beirur ^
senses. The ancients, however, thought differently. Some defined^
of them defined it to be a passage out of one state into
another, which conveys no idea to him who is ignorant of
the nature of motion. The Peripatetic definition has been
mentioned elsewhere, and shown to be wholly unintelligible,
as well as the celebrated division, by the same sect, of mo¬
tion into four classes belonging to the three categories, qua¬
lity, quantity, and where (see Metaphysics). The Cartesi¬
ans, too, amongst the moderns, pretend to define motion by
calling it a passage or removal of one part of matter, out
of the neighbourhood of those parts to which it is imme¬
diately contiguous, into the neighbourhood of others. Bo-
relli defines motion to be the successive passage of a body
from place to place. Others say that it is the application
of a body to different parts of infinite and immoveable space;
and Mr Young, in his Essay on the Powers of Nature, has
given as a definition of motion, change of place.
We have elsewhere offered our opinion of every possible
attempt to define motion; but as the author of the last-
quoted definition has endeavoured to obviate such objec¬
tions as ours, candour requires that he be heard for him¬
self. “ It is said,” he observes, “ by some, that change im¬
plies motion, and therefore cannot be a part of its defini¬
tion, being the very thing defined. To this I answer, We
are speaking of the sensible idea of motion, as it appears
j
574
MOTION.
Motion, to our sight; now changes do appear to our view, and to
* 'all 0Ur senses, which give us no idea of motion. Changes
in heat or cold ; in colour, flavour, smell, sound, hard¬
ness, softness, pain, pleasure; in these, and many other
ideas, changes do not produce ideas like that produced by
a ball rolling or a stone falling. We may perhaps ulti¬
mately trace them to motion, but to insensible motions;
to motions which arise only in reflection, and constitute
no part of the actual idea of change. We can therefore
conceive of change without conceiving at the same time
of motion. Change is a generic idea, including many spe¬
cies ; motion, as a sensible idea, is a species of that genus.
Change is therefore a necessary part of the detinition ot
motion ; it marks the genus of the thing defined. Motion
is a' change; but as there are many species of change,
which of those species is motion ? The answer is, it is a
change of place. This marks the species, and distin¬
guishes it from change of colour, of temperament, and
figure.” . c
This is the ablest defence of an attempt to define mo¬
tion that we have ever seen ; and at first view the defini¬
tion itself appears to be perfect. Aristotle, the prince ot
definers, considers a definition1 as “ a speech declaring w at
a thing is.” Every thing essential to the thing defined,
and nothing more, must be contained in the definition.
Now the essence of a thing consists of these two parts.
first, what is common to it with other things of the same
kind; and secondly, what distinguishes it from other
things of the same kind. The first is called the gejws of
the thing; the second, its specific difference. Ihe defini¬
tion, therefore, consists of these two parts.
In obedience to this rule, the definition under considera¬
tion seems to consist of the genus, signified by the word
change, and of the specific difference, denoted by the
words of place. But does the speech change of place really
declare what motion is ? We cannot admit that it does ?
as, in our apprehension, a change of place is the effect of
motion, and not motion itself. Suppose a lover of dialec¬
tic undertaking to define the stroke by which he saw his
neighbour wounded with a bludgeon ; what should vve think
of his art were he to call it a contusion on the head? .He
might say that contusion is a general term, as contusions
may be produced on the arms, on the legs, and on various
parts of the body; and as there are many species of con¬
tusion, if he were asked which of those species was the
stroke to be defined, he might answer, “ a contusion on the
head.” Here would be apparently the genus and specific
difference ; the former denoted by contusion, and the lat¬
ter by the words on the head. But would this be a defini¬
tion of a stroke? No, surely. A contusion on the head
may be the effect of a stroke, but it can no more be the
stroke itself, than a blow can be a bludgeon, or a flesh
wound the point of a sword. Equally evident it is, that a
change of place cannot be motion ; because every body
must have been actually moved before we can discern, or
even conceive, a change of its place.
The act of changing the place would perhaps come nearer
to a definition of motion ; but so far would it be from “ a
speech declaring what motion is,” that we are confident a
man who had never by any of his senses perceived a body
in actual motion, would acquire no ideas whatever from
the words “ act of changing place.” He might have expe¬
rienced changes in heat, cold, smell, and sound; but he
could not possibly combine the ideas of such changes with
the signification of the word place, were he even capable
of understanding that word, which to us appears to be more
than doubtful. See Metaphysics.
The distinctions of motion into different kinds have been
no less various, and no less insignificant, than the several
definitions of it. The moderns who reject the Peripatetic Mo
division of motion into four classes, yet consider it them-'’—''
selves as either absolute or relative. Thus we are told,
that absolute motion is the change of absolute place, and
that its celerity must be measured by the quantity of ab¬
solute space which the moving body passes through in a
given time. Relative motion, on the other hand, is a mu¬
tation of the relative or vulgar place of the moving body,
and has its celerity estimated by the quantity of relative
space passed through.
Now it is obvious, that this distinction conveys no ideas
without a further explanation of the terms by which it is
expressed; but that explanation is impossible to be given.
Thus, before we can understand what absolute motion is,
we must understand what is meant by absolute place. But
absolute place is a contradiction ; for all place is relative,
and consists in the positions of different bodies with regard
to one another. Were a globe in the regions of empty
space to be put in motion by Almighty Power, and all the
rest of the corporeal world to be soon afterwards annihi¬
lated, the motion would undoubtedly continue unchanged;
and yet, according to this distinction, it would be at first
relative, and afterwards absolute. That the beginning of
such a motion would be perceptible, and the remainder of
it imperceptible, is readily granted ; but on this account
to consider it as of two kinds, is as absurd as to suppose
the motion of the minute hand of a clock to be affected
by our looking at it.
Leaving these unintelligible distinctions, therefore, weOpm
now come to consider a question of a very abstruse na-«™
ture, but much agitated^amongst philosophers, namely, jj™
What is the original source of motion in the creation ?
The dis¬
tinctions
of motion.
it natural to matter, or are we to ascribe it to the imme¬
diate and continual agency of some immaterial being.
The former has been strenuously argued by the Cartesians,
and the latter by the Newtonians. The arguments of the
former, founded upon the chimerical hypothesis of vortices
and the original construction of matter, were evidently in¬
conclusive ; and the hypothesis of Sir Isaac Newton, who
asserted that it was naturally incapable of motion, appear¬
ed more probable. To account for the quantity of motion
in the universe, therefore, it became necessary to have re¬
course either to the Deity, or to some subordinate spiritual
agent; and this became the more necessary, as the doc¬
trine of an absolute vacuum in the celestial spaces, that
is, throughout the incomparably greatest part of the crea¬
tion, was one of the fundamental maxims of the system.
As it was absolutely denied that matter existed in these
spaces, and as it was plain that the celestial bodies affected
one another at immense distances, the powers of attrac¬
tion and repulsion were naturally called in as the sources
of motion by their impulse upon inert and sluggish matter.
And these being admitted, a speculation ensued concerning
their nature. Spiritual, it was confessed, they were; but
whether they were to be accounted the immediate actio
of the Divine Spirit himself, or that of some subordinate
and inferior spirit, was a matter of no little P18!™16-
Isaac Newton, towards the latter part of his h^bega
to relax somewhat of the rigidity of his former doctnne,
and allowed that a very subtile medium, Yhlch b?nncal‘\j
ether, might be the cause of attraction and repulsion, an^
thus of all the phenomena of nature. Sin.ce..hlS.f that
multitude of discoveries in electricity, the sirall?r,ty
fluid to fire and light, with the vast influence it exert
every part of the creation with which we are acquam >
have7rendered it extremely probable that the ethe^fmfirej
tioned by Sir Isaac is no other than the elemen
“ the most subtile2 and elastic of all bodies, which seem
to pervade and expand itself throughout the whol
ans.
See Dr Reid’s account of Aristotle’s logic, in Lord Karnes’ Sketches of Man.
? Sxru, No. 153, &c.
!
MOTION.
}fo I
Opin
ofthi n
dent a
this i
ject.
Imme
cause
the p]
tary i
tions.
verse. Electrical experiments show that this mighty agent
is everywhere present, ready to break forth into action, if
not restrained and governed with the greatest wisdom. Be¬
ing always restless and in motion, it actuates and enlivens
the whole visible mass; is equally fitted to produce and to
destroy; distinguishes the various stages of nature, and
keeps up the perpetual round of generations and corrup¬
tions, pregnant with forms which it constantly sends forth
and re-absorbs. So quick in its motions, so subtile and pene¬
trating in its nature, so extensive in its effects, it seemeth
no other than the vegetative soul or vital spirit of the world.
“ The animal spirit in man is the instrument both of
sense and motion. To suppose sense in the corporeal world
would be gross and unwarranted ; but locomotive faculties
■ are evident in all its parts. The Pythagoreans, Platonists,
and Stoics, held the world to be an animal; though some
of them have chosen to consider it as a vegetable. How¬
ever, the phenomena do plainly show, that there is a spirit
that moves, and a mind or providence that presides. This
providence, Plutarch saith, was thought to be in regard to
the world what the soul is in regard to man. The order
and course of things, and the experiments we daily make,
show that there is a mind which governs and actuates this
mundane system as the proper and real agent and cause;
and that the inferior instrumental cause is pure ether, fire,
or the substance of light, which is applied and determined
by an infinite mind in the macrocosm or universe, with
unlimited power, and according to stated rules, as it is in
the microcosm with limited power and skill by the human
mind. We have no proof, either from experiment or rea¬
son, of any other agent or efficient cause than the mind or
spirit. When, therefore, we speak of corporeal agents or
corporeal causes, this is to be understood in a different,
subordinate, and improper sense; and such an agent we
know light or elementary fire to be.”
te That this elementary fire, absorbed and fixed in all bo¬
dies, may be the cause of the universal principle of gravi-
ty, is made sufficiently evident by numberless experiments.
Homberg having calcined in the focus of a burning glass
some regulus of antimony, found that it had gained one
tenth in weight, though the regulus, during the whole time
of the operation, sent up a thick smoke, and thereby lost
a considerable part of its own substance. It is vain to al¬
lege that any heterogeneous matter floating in the air, or
that the air itself, may have been hurried into the mass by
the action of the fire, and that by this additional matter
the weight was increased ; for it is known experimentally,
that if a quantity of metal be even hermetically secured
within a vessel of glass to keep off the air and all foreign
matter, and the vessel be placed for some time in a strong
fire, it will exhibit the same effect. “ I have seen the ope¬
ration performed, ’ says Mr Jones,1 “on two ounces of pew¬
ter filings, hermetically sealed up in a Florence flask, which
in two hours gained fifty-five grains, that is, nearly a seven¬
teenth. Had it remained longer in the fire, it might pro¬
bably have gained something more; as, in one of Mr
Boyle’s experiments, steel filings were found to have gain¬
ed a fourth.
“ Of accounting for these effects there are but two pos¬
sible ways. 1. If the quantity of matter be the same, or,
in the case of calcination, be somewhat less, after being
exposed to the action of the fire, while the gravity of the
whole is become greater; then does it follow that gravity
^ not according to the quantity of matter, and of course is
not one of its properties. 2. If there be an increase of the
mass, it can be imputed to nothing but the matter of light
°r nre entangled in its passage through the substance, and
80 in its pores, or combined with its solid parts, as to
575
gravitate together with it. Yet it is certain, from the phe- Motion,
nomenon of light darting from the sun, that this elementary
fire does not gravitate till it is fixed in metal, or some other
solid substance. Here then we have a fluid which gravi¬
tates, if it gravitate at all, in some cases and not in others ;
so that which way soever the experiment be interpreted,
we are forced to conclude that elementary or solar fire may
be the cause of the law of gravitation.”
That it is likewise in many cases the cause of repulsion,
is known to every one who has seen it fuse metals, and
convert water and mercury into elastic vapour. But there
is a fact recorded by Mr Jones, which seems to evince that
the same fluid, which, as it issues from the sun, exhibits it¬
self in the form of light and heat, is in other circumstances
converted into a very fine air, or cold ether, which rushes
very forcibly towards the body of that luminary. “ As a
sequel to what has been observed,” says he, “ concerning
the impregnation of solid substances with the particles of
fire, give me leave to subjoin an experiment of M. de Stair.
He tells us, that upon heating red lead in a glass whence
the air was exhausted, by the rays of the sun collected in a
burning glass, the vessel in which the said red lead was
contained burst in pieces with a great noise. Now, as all
explosions in general must be ascribed either to an admis¬
sion of the air into a rarefied space, or to what is called the
generation of it, and as air was not admitted upon this oc¬
casion, it must have been generated from the calx within
the vessel; and certainly was so, because Dr Hales has
made it appear that this substance, like crude tartar, and
many others, will yield a considerable quantity of air in dis¬
tillation. What went into the metal therefore as Jire, came
out of it again as air; which in a manner forces upon us
conclusions of inestimable value in natural philosophy, and
such as may carry us very far into the most sublime part
of it.”
One of the conclusions which the ingenious author thinks
thus forced upon us is, that the motions of the planets
round the sun, as well as round their own axes, are to be
attributed to the continual agency of this fluid, under its
two forms of elementary fire and pure air. As fire and
light, we know that it rushes with inconceivable rapidity
from the body of the sun, and penetrates every corporeal
substance, exerting itself sometimes with such force as no¬
thing with which we are acquainted is able to resist. If it
be indeed a fact, that this elementary fire, or principle of
light and heat, afterwards cools, and becomes pure air,
there cannot be a doubt but that under such a form it will
return with great force, though surely in a somewhat dif¬
ferent direction, towards the sun, forming a vortex, in which
the planets are included, and by which they must of course
be carried round the centre. Mr Jones does not suppose
that the air into which the principle of light and heat is
converted, is of so gross a nature as our atmosphere. He
rather considers it as cool ether, just as he represents light
to be ether heated; but he maintains that this ether, in
its aerial form, though not fit for human respiration, is a
better pabulum of fire than the air which we breathe.
This theory seems exceedingly plausible; and the author
supports it by many experiments. He has not, indeed,
convinced us that the solar light is converted or convertible
into pure air ; but he has, by just reasoning from undoubted
facts, proved that the whole expanse of heaven, as far as
comets wander, is filled not only with light, which is in¬
deed obvious to the senses, but also with a fluid, which,
whatever it may be called, supplies the place of the air in
feeding the fire of these ignited bodies.
That the motion of the heavenly bodies should result
from the perpetual agency of such a medium, appears to us
Essay on the First Principles of Natural Philosophy.
576
MOTION.
Motion, a much more rational hypothesis than that which makes
v—them act upon each other at immense distances through
empty space. But the hypothesis is by no means so com¬
plete a solution of the phenomena as some of its fond ad¬
mirers pretend to think it. This fluid, whether called ether,
heat, light, or air, is still material; and the question re¬
turns upon him who imagines that it is sufficient to account
for gravitation, repulsion, magnetism, cohesion, and the like,
What moves the fluid itself, and makes the parts of which
it is composed cohere together ? However widely it may
be extended, it is incapable of positive infinity, and there¬
fore may be divided into parts separated from each other;
so that it must be held together by a foreign force, as well
as a ball of lead or a piece of wax. As matter is not es¬
sentially active, the motion of this ether, under both its
forms, must likewise be considered as an effect, for which
we do not think that any propelling power in the body of
the sun can be admitted as a sufficient cause. For how
comes the sun to possess that power, and what makes the
fluid return to the sun ? We have no notion of power in
the proper sense of the word, but as intelligence and voli¬
tion ; and, like the pious and excellent author of the Essay
on the First Principles of Natural Philosophy, we are cer¬
tain that the sun was never supposed to be intelligent. .
It is there- Bishop Berkeley, who admits of light or ether as the in-
fore by . strumental cause of all corporeal motion, gets rid of this
some sup- difficulty by supposing, with the ancients, that this power-
posed to be ful a^ent ig animateti. « According to the Pythagoreans
animated. ^ p]atonists^ says lordship,1 “ there is a life infused
throughout all things; the me mgov, me rs^v/xov, an intel¬
lectual and artificial fire, an inward principle, animal spirit,
or natural life, producing and forming within, as art doth
without; regulating, moderating, and reconciling the vari¬
ous motions, qualities, and parts of the mundane system.
By virtue of this life, the great masses are held together
in their ordinary courses, as well as the minutest particles
governed in their natural motions, according to the several
laws of attraction, gravity, electricity, magnetism, and the
rest. It is this gives instincts, teaches the spider her web,
and the bee her honey. This it is that directs the roots
of plants to draw forth juices from the earth, and the leaves
and the cortical vessels to separate and attract such parti¬
cles of air and elementary fire as suit their respective na¬
tures.”
This life or animal spirit seems to be the same thing which
Cudworth calls plastic nature, and which has been con¬
sidered elsewhere. (See Metaphysics.) We shall there¬
fore dismiss it at present, with just admitting the truth of
the bishop’s position, “ that if nature be supposed the life
of the world, animated by one soul, compacted into one
frame, and directed or governed in all its parts by one su¬
preme and distinct intelligence, this system cannot be ac¬
cused of atheism, though perhaps it may of mistake or im¬
propriety.”
A new the- A theory of motion somewhat similar to that of Berkeley,
ory of mo- though in several respects different from it, was not very
tion. jong ag0 stated with great clearness, and supported with
much ingenuity, in an Essay on the Powers and Mechanism
of Nature, intended to improve, and more firmly establish,
the grand superstructure of the Newtonian system. Mr
Young, the author of the essay, admits, with most other
philosophers of the present age, that body is composed of
atoms which are impenetrable to each other, and may be
denominated solid. These atoms, however, he does not
consider as primary and simple elements, incapable of re¬
solution into principles; but thinks that they are formed by
certain motions of the parts of a substance immaterial and
essentially active.
As this notion is uncommon, and the offspring of a vi- jM:
gorous mind, we shall consider it more attentively here- s-‘ ~
after. It is mentioned at present as a necessary introduc¬
tion to the author’s theory of motion, of which he attri¬
butes both the origin and the continuance to the agency
of this elementary substance pervading the most solid
atoms of the densest bodies. Of every body and every
atom he holds the constituent principles to be essentially
active; but those principles act in such a manner as to
counterbalance each other, so that the atom or body con¬
sidered as a whole is inert, unless in so far as it resists the
compression or separation of its parts. No body or atom
can of itself begin to move, or continue in motion for a
single instant; but, being pervious to the active substance,
and coalescing with it, that substance, when it enters any
body, carries it along with it, till, meeting some other
body in the way, either the whole of the active substance
lodged in the former body passes into the obstacle, in which
case the impelling body instantly ceases to move; or else
part of that substance passes into the obstacle, and part
remains in the impelling body ; and in this case both bo¬
dies are moved with a velocity in proportion to the quan¬
tity of matter which each contains, combined with the
quantity of active substance by which they are respectively
penetrated.
In order to pave the way for his proof of the existence
of one uniform active substance, he observes, that “change
being an essentially constituent part of motion, and change
implying action, it follow’s that all motion implies action,
and depends on an active cause. Every motion,” he con¬
tinues, “ has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The be¬
ginning is a change from rest to motion; the middle is a
continuance in motion ; the end is a change from motion
to rest.” He then proceeds to show, that the beginning
of motion is by an action begun ; the continuance of mo¬
tion by an action continued ; and the end of motion by a
cessation of action.
“ The first of these positions is admitted by every body.
That the continuance of motion is by an action continued,
will be proved, if it shall be shown that the continuance
of a motion is nothing different from its beginning, in re¬
gard to any point of time assumed in the continued mo¬
tion. Now the beginning of motion,” he says, “ consists
in the beginning of change of place. But if any given
portions of time and of space are assumed, a body begin¬
ning to move in the commencement of that time, and m
the first portion of the space assumed, then and there be¬
gins that particular motion : And whether before the body
began to move in that space it wms moving in other spaces
and times, has no relation to the motion in question; for
this being in a space and time altogether distinct, is a dis¬
tinct motion from any which might have preceded it im¬
mediately, as much as from a motion which preceded it a
thousand years before. It is therefore a new motion be¬
gun ; and so it may be said of every assumable point in the
continued motion. The term continued serves only to con
nect any two distinct motions, the end of one with the begin
ning of the other, but does not destroy their distinctness.
He then proceeds to combat, which he does v®ry.suc
cessfully, the arguments by which the more rigid New
tonians endeavour to prove that a body in motion will con
tinue to be moved by its own inertia, till stopped by som
opposite force. Having done this, he establishes the con
trary conclusion by the following syllogisms: _
“ I. Whatever requires an active force to stop its mo 10 >
is disposed to move; • r to
But every body in motion requires an active force
stop its motion ;
1 Siris, No. 277-
MOTION.
i. Therefore every body in motion is disposed to move.
“ II. Whatever is disposed to motion is possessed of ac¬
tion;
But a body in motion is disposed to continue in motion ;
Therefore a body in motion is possessed of action.
Thus it appears that the middle part of any motion is ac¬
tion equally with the beginning.
“ The last part of motion is its termination. It is ad¬
mitted that all motion is terminated by an action contrary
to the direction of the motion. It is admitted, too, that
the moving body acts at the time its motion is destroyed.
Thus the beginning and the end of any uniform motion
are confessed to be actions ; but all the intermediate con¬
tinuation which connects the beginning with the end is
denied to be action. What can be more unaccountable
than this denial ? Is it not more consonant to reason and
analogy, to ascribe to the whole continued motion one un¬
interrupted action ? Such a conclusion true philosophy,
we think, requires us to make.
“ To move or act, is an attribute which cannot be con¬
ceived to exist without a substance. The action of a bo¬
dy in motion is indeed the attribute of the body, and the
body relatively to its own motion is truly a substance, hav¬
ing the attribute or quality of motion. But the body be¬
ing a name signifying a combination of certain ideas, which
ideas are found to arise from action, that action which is
productive of those ideas the combination of which we deno¬
minate body, is of the nature of an attribute as long as it is
considered as constituted of action. To this attribute we
must necessarily assign its substance. The actions which
constitute body must be actions of something, or there
must be something which acts. Whence, then, is this active
something, from whose agency we get the idea of body,
or whose actions constitute body ? Is it not sufficient that
it is something active ? A name might be surely given
it, but a name would not render the idea more clear. Its
description may be found in every sensation ; it is colour
to the eye, flavour to the palate, odour to the nose, sound
to the ear, and feeling to the touch ; for all our sensations
are but so many ways in which this active something is
manifested to us. A substratum of solidity philosophers
have imagined to exist, and have in vain sought to find.
Our active substance is the substratum so long sought for,
and with so little success. We give it a quality by which
it may be perceived ; it acts. One modification of action
produces matter, another generates motion. These modi¬
fications of action are modes of the active substance, whose
presence is action. Matter and motion constitute the whole
or nature. There is therefore throughout nature an active
substance, the constituent essence of matter, and immedi¬
ate natural agent in all effects.”
By an argument which we do not think very conclusive,
our author determines this active substance to be unintel¬
ligent. “ In our sensations individually, not discovering,”
says he, “ the traces, not seeing the characters of intelli¬
gence, but finding only action present and necessary, our
inferences go no farther than our observations warrant us
to do; and we conclude in all these things an action only,
and that action unintelligent.” Having given our opinion
of real agency elsewhere (see Metaphysics), we shall
not here stop to examine this reasoning. We may, how-
ever, ask, whether all our sensations individually be not
oxcited for a certain end. If they be, according to our
author’s mode of arguing in another place, then the exciting
agent should be an intelligent being. By this we are far
rom meaning to deny the reality of a secondary or instru¬
mental cause of sensation which is destitute of intelligence.
, ear® strongly inclined to think that there is such a cause,
ough our persuasion results not from this argument of
°ur author s. In our opinion, he reasons better when he
says, “ that a subordinate agent constructed as the matter
VOL. xv.
577
of creation, invested with perpetual laws, and producing Motion,
agreeably to those laws all the forms of being, through the v'—
varieties of which inferior intelligences can, by progressive
steps, arrive ultimately at the Supreme Contriver, is more
agreeable to our ideas of dignity, and tends to impress us
with more exalted sentiments, than viewing the Deity di¬
rectly in all the individual impressions we receive, divided
in the infinity of particular events, and unawful, by his
continual piesence in operations to our view insignificant
and mean.”
This active substance, or secondary cause, our author
concludes to be neither matter nor mind. “ Matter,” says
he, “ is a being, as a whole quiescent and inactive, but con¬
stituted of active parts, which resist separation, or cohere,
giving what is usually denominated solidity to the mass!
Mind is a substance which thinks. A being which should
answer to neither of these definitions, would be neither
matter nor mind, but an immaterial, and, if I may so say,
an immental substance.” Such is the active substance of
Mr Young, which, considered as the cause of motion, seems
not to differ greatly from the plastic nature, hylarchical
principle, or vis genitrix, of others. The manner in which
it operates is indeed much more minutely detailed by our
author than by any other philosopher, ancient or modern,
with whose writings we have any acquaintance.
“ Every thing,” he says, “ must be in its own nature
either disposed to rest or motion; consequently the active
substance must be considered as a being naturally either
quiescent or motive. But it cannot be naturally quiescent,
for then it could not be active, because activity, which is a
tendency to motion, cannot originate in a tendency to rest.
Therefore the active substance is by nature motive, that
is, tending to motion. The active substance is not solid,
and does not resist penetration. It is, therefore, incapable
of impelling or of sustaining impulse. Whence it follows,
that as it tends to move, and is incapable of having its
motion impeded by impulse, it must actually and continu¬
ally move; in other words, motion is essential to the ac¬
tive substance.
“ In order that this substance may act, some other thing
upon which it may produce a change is necessary; for
whatever suffers an action, receives some change. The
active substance, in acting on some other thing, must im¬
part and unite itself thereto ; for its action is communicat¬
ing its activity. But it cannot communicate its activity
without imparting its substance; because it is the sub¬
stance alone which possesses activity, and the quality can¬
not be separated from the substance. Therefore the ac¬
tive substance acts by uniting itself with the substance on
which it acts. The union of this substance with bodies
is not to be conceived of as a junction of small parts inti¬
mately blended together and attached at their surfaces;
but as an entire diffusion and incorporation of one sub¬
stance with another in perfect coalescence. As bodies are
not naturally active, whenever they become so, as they al¬
ways do in motion, it must be by the accession of some
part of the active substance. The active substance being
imparted to a body, penetrates the most solid or resisting
parts, and does not reside in the pores without, and at the
surfaces of the solid parts. For the activity is imparted
to the body itself, and not to its pores, which are no parts
of the body; therefore, if the active substance remained
within the pores, the cause would not be present with its
effect, but the cause would be in one place and the effect
in another, which is impossible.
“ Bodies, by their impulse on others, lose their activity
in proportion to the impulse. This is matter of observa¬
tion. Bodies which suffer impulse acquire activity in pro¬
portion to the impulse. This also is matter of observation.
In impulse, therefore, the active substance passes out of
the impelling body into the body impelled. For since bo-
4 D
MOTION.
578
Motion, dies in motion are active, and activity consists in the pre-
sence of the active substance, and by impulse bodies lose
their activity, therefore they lose their active substance,
and the loss is proportional to the impulse. Bodies im¬
pelled acquire activity ; therefore acquire active substance,
and the acquisition is proportioned to the impulse. But
the active substance lost by the impelling body ought to
be concluded to be that found in the other ; because there
is no other receptacle than the impelled body to which the
substance parted from Can be traced, nor any other source
than the active body whence that which is found can be
derived. Therefore, in impulse, the active substance
ought to be concluded to pass from the impelling body to
the body impelled. The flowing of such a substance is a
sufficient cause of the communication of activity, and no
other rational cause can be assigned.
“ The continued motion of a body depends not upon its
inertia, but upon the continuance of the active substance
within the body. The motion of a body is produced
by the motion of the active substance in union with
the body. It being evident, that since the active sub¬
stance itself does always move, whatever it is united to
will be moved along with it, if no obstacle prevent. In
mere motion, the body moved is the patient, and the ac¬
tive substance the agent. In impulse, the body in motion
may be considered as an agent, as it is made active by its
active substance. While the active substance is flowing
out of the active body into the obstacle or impelled body,
the active body will press or impel the obstacle. For
while the active substance is yet within the body, al¬
though flowing through it, it does not cease to impart to
the body its own nature, nor can the body cease to be
active because not yet deprived of the active substance.
Therefore, during its passing out of the body, such portion
of the active substance as is yet within, is urging and
disposing the body to move, in like manner as if the ac¬
tive substance were continuing in the body ; and the body
being thus urged to move, but impeded from moving,
presses or impels the obstacle.
“We see here,” says our author, “ an obvious explana¬
tion of impulse; it consists in the flowing of the motive
substance from a source into a receptacle and he thinks,
that although the existence of such a substance had not
been established on any previous grounds, the communica¬
tion of motion by impulse does alone afford a sufficient
proof of its reality.
He employs the agency of the same substance to ac¬
count for many other apparent activities in bodies, such
as those of fire, electricity, attraction, repulsion, elasticity,
&c. All the apparent origins of corporeal activity serve,
he says, to impart the active substance to bodies ; “ and
where activity is without any manifest origin, the active
substance is derived from an invisible source.”
Our limits will not permit us to attend him in his solu¬
tion of all the apparent activities in bodies; but the orbi¬
cular motions of the planets have been accounted for in
so many different ways by philosophers ancient and mo¬
dern, and each account has been so little satisfactory to
him who can think, and wishes to trace effects from ade¬
quate causes, that we consider it as our duty to furnish
our readers with the account of this phenomenon which is
given by Mr Young.
The question which has been so long agitated, “ Whence
is the origin of motion ?” our author considers as implying
an absurdity. “ It supposes,” says he, “ that rest was the
primitive state of matter, and that motion was produced
by a subsequent act. But this supposition must ever be
rejected, as it is giving precedency to the inferior, and in¬
verting the order of nature.” The substance which he
holds to be the basis of matter is essentially active, and
its action is motion. This motion, however, in the ori¬
ginal element, was power without direction, agency with- Mol,
out order, activity to no end. To this power it was ne-v>—*
cessary that a law should be superadded; that its agency
should be guided to some regular purpose, and its motion
conspire to the production of some uniform effects. Our
author shows, or endeavours to show, by a process of rea¬
soning which shall be examined elsewhere, that the pri¬
mary atoms of matter are produced by the circular motion
of the parts of this substance round a centre ; and that a
similar motion of a number of these atoms around another
centre common to them all, produces what in common lan¬
guage is called a solid body ; a cannon ball, for instance,
the terrestrial globe, and the body of the sun, &c. In a
word, he labours to prove, and with no small success, that
a principle of union is implied in the revolving or circu¬
lating movements of the active substance.
“ But we may also assume,” he says, “ a priori, that a
principle of union is a general law of nature ; because we
see in fact all the component parts of the universe are
united systems, which successively combine into larger
unions, and ultimately form one whole.” Let us then sup¬
pose the sun, with all his planets, primary and secondary,
to be already formed for the purpose of making one sys¬
tem, and the orbits of all of them, as well as these great
bodies themselves, to be pervaded by the active substance,
which necessarily exists in a state of motion, and is the
cause of the motion of every thing corporeal. “ If to this
motion a principle of union be added, the effect of such a
principle would be a determination of all the parts of the
active substance, and of course all the bodies to which it
is united, towards a common centre, which would be at
rest, and void of any tendency in any direction. But this
determination of all the parts of the system towards a
common centre tends to the destruction both of the mo¬
tion of the active substance and of the system ; for should
all the parts continually approximate from a circumference
towards a centre, the sun and planets would at last meet,
and form one solid and quiescent mass. But to preserve
existence, and consequently motion, is the first law of the
active substance, as of all being; and it cannot be doubt¬
ed, that to preserve distinct the several parts of the solar
system, is the first law given to the substance actuating
that system. The union of the system is a subsequent
law.
“ When the direct tendency of any hiferior law is ob¬
viated by a higher law, the inferior law will operate indi¬
rectly in the manner the nearest to its direct tendency
that the superior law will permit. If a body in motion be
obliquely obstructed, it will move on in a direction oblique
to its first motion. Now the law of union, which pervades
the solar system, being continually obstructed by the law
of self-preservation, the motion of the active substance,
and of the bodies to which it is united, can be no other
than a revolving motion about the common centre of ap¬
proach, towards which all the parts have a determination.
But when this revolution has actually taken place, it gives
birth to a new tendency, which supersedes the operation
of the law of self-preservation. It has been shown, that
the motion essential to the active substance required to
be governed by some law, to give being to an orderly state
of things. Now, there are motions simple and motions
complex ; the more simple is in all things first in order,
and out of the more simple the more complex arises in
order posterior. The most simple motion is rectilineal;
therefore a rectilineal motion is to be considered as that
which is the original and natural state of things, and con¬
sequently that to which all things tend. It will follow
from hence, that when any portion of active substance in
which the law of union operates, has in the manner above
explained been compelled to assume a revolving motion,
that is, a motion in some curve, a tendency to a recti i-
MOTION.
neal motion will continually exist in every part of the re¬
volving portion, and in every point of the curve which it
describes during its revolution. And this rectilineal ten¬
dency will be a tendency to recede from the centre in
every point of the revolving orbit, and to proceed in a
tangent to the orbit at each point. These two tendencies,
if not originally equal, must necessarily in all cases arrive
at an equality. For the tendency towards the centre,
called the centripetal tendency, that is, the law of union,
operating first, it we suppose the motion approaches the
centre, the tendency to recede from it, called the centri¬
fugal tendency, will have its proportion to the centripetal
continually increased as the qrbit of revolution grows less,
so as ultimately to equal the centripetal tendency, and re¬
strain the motion from its central course, at which point it
will no longer seek the centre, but revolve round it.”
As our author holds that every atom of matter is formed
by the motion of parts of the active substance, and every
body formed by the motion of atoms ; so he maintains, not
only that the sun, moon, earth, planets, and stars, are pene¬
trated by the same substance, but that each is the centre
of a vortex of that substance, and that of these vortices
some are included within others. “ The subtile revolving
fluid, the centre of whose vortex the earth occupies, not
only surrounds, but pervades the earth, and other vortices
their earths, to their centres ; and the earth and planets
are by its revolutions carried around on their own axes.
The earth is an active mass, and all its component masses
are severally as well as collectively inactive ; but the earth
and all its parts have various collective and separate move¬
ments, imparted from the fluid which surrounds, pervades,
and constitutes it. Being immersed together with its pro¬
per surrounding sphere or vortex in the larger sphere or
vortex of the sun, it is carried thereby in a larger orbit
about the sun, at the same time that by the revolution of
its proper sphere it rotates on its own axis.”
Objij tons Such is the most complete view which our limits will
permit us to give of Mr Young’s theory of motion. To
the philosopher who considers experiment as the only test
of truth, and who in all his inquiries employs his hands
more than his head, we are fully aware that it will appear
in no better light than as “ the baseless fabric of a vision.”
Even to the intellectual philosopher who is not frightened
at the word metaphysics, we are afraid that such an ac¬
tive substance as'the author contends for, will appear as
inadequate to the production of the phenomena of gravita¬
tion and repulsion as the material ether of Mr Jones and
his followers. A being void of intelligence, whether it be
material or immaterial, quiescent or motive, cannot be the
subject of law, in the proper sense of the word. The laws
of which Mr Young speaks as necessary to regulate the
motions of the active substance, must be mere forces, ap¬
plied by some extrinsic and superior power. And since
motion, as it is essential to the active substance, is power
without direction, agency without order, activity to no
end; since it is of such a nature, that from its unguided
agitations there could result neither connection, order, nor
harmony; it follows that those extrinsic forces must be per¬
petually applied, because what is essential to any substance
can never be destroyed or changed as long as the substance
itself remains.
Forces producing order out of confusion can be applied
only by a being possessed of intelligence ; and if the im¬
mediate and perpetual agency of an intelligent being be
necessary to regulate the motions of the active substance,
at substance itself may be thought superfluous, and its
very existence may be denied. Entia non sunt multipli-
can a absque necessitate, is a rule of philosophizing which
every man of science acknowledges to be just. And it will
ar y be denied that the immediate and perpetual agen-
,y o an intelligent being upon Mr Jones’s ethereal fluid,
579
to tl
theo
or even upon the matter of solid bodies themselves, would Motion,
be capable of producing every kind of motion, wdthout the “v'-’-*
instrumentality ot a substance which is neither mind nor
matter.
Such, we conceive, are the objections which our meta- Other
physical readers may make to this theory. Part of their theories,
force, however, will perhaps be removed by the ingenious
manner in which our author analyzes matter into an im¬
material principle. But so much of it remains that the
writer of this article is inclined to believe that no mecha¬
nical account can be given of the motions of the heavenly
bodies, the growth of plants, and various other phenome¬
na which are usually solved by attraction and repulsion.
In the present age, philosophers in general are strangely
averse to admitting on any occasion the agency of mind;
yet as every effect must have a cause, it is surely not ir¬
rational to attribute such effects as mechanism cannot pro¬
duce to the operation either of intelligence or instinct. To
suppose the Deity the immediate agent in the great mo¬
tions of the universe, has been deemed impious; and it
must be confessed that very impious conclusions have been
deduced from that principle. But there is surely no im¬
piety in supposing, with the excellent Bishop of Cloyne,
that the fluid which is known to pervade the solar system,
and to operate with resistless force, may be animated by
a powerful mind, which acts instinctively for ends of which
itself knows nothing. For the existence of such a mind,
no other evidence, indeed, can be brought than what is
afforded by a very ancient and very general tradition, and
by the impossibility of accounting for the phenomena upon
principles of mere mechanism. Perhaps some of our more
pious readers may be inclined to think that the Supreme
Being has committed the immediate government of the
various planetary systems to powerful intelligences, or an¬
gels, who, as his ministers, direct their motions with wis¬
dom and foresight. Such an opinion i§ certainly not ab¬
surd in itself; and it seems to be countenanced by an an¬
cient writer, who, though not known by the name of a
philosopher, knew as much of the matter as any founder
of the most celebrated school.
To object to either of these hypotheses, as has some¬
times been done, that it represents the government of the
world as a perpetual miracle, betrays the grossest igno¬
rance ; for we might as well call the movements of the
bodies of men and brutes, which are certainly produced by
minds, miraculous. We do not affirm that either hypo¬
thesis is certainly true ; but they are both as probable and
as satisfactory as the hypothesis which attributes agency
to attraction and repulsion, to a subtile ether, or to a sub¬
stance which is neither mind nor matter. Were the im¬
mediate agency of intellect to be admitted, there would
be no room for many of those disputes which have been
agitated amongst philosophers, about the increase or dimi¬
nution of motion in the universe; because an intelligent
agent, which could begin motion as well as carry it on,
might increase or diminish it as he should judge proper.
If instinctive agency, or something similar to it, be adopt¬
ed, there is the same room for investigation as upon the
principles of mechanism ; because instinct works blindly,
according to steady laws imposed by a superior mind,
which may be discovered by observation of their effects.
As we consider this as by far the more probable hypo¬
thesis of the two, we find ourselves involved in the follow¬
ing question : If a certain quantity of motion was original¬
ly communicated to the matter of the universe, how comes
it to pass that the original quantity still remains ? Con¬
sidering the many opposite and contradictory motions which
since the creation have taken place in the universe, and
which have undoubtedly destroyed a great part of the
original quantity, by what means has that quantity been
restored ?
580
MOTION.
Motion. If this question can be resolved by natural means, it
'must be upon the principles of Newton ; for, in every case
where quantities and relations of quantities are required,
it is the province of mathematics to supply the information
sought; and all philosophers agree that Sir Isaac’s doc¬
trine of the composition and resolution of motion, though
in what respects the heavenly bodies it may have no phy¬
sical reality, is so mathematically just, as to be the only
principle from which the quantity of motion, or the force
of powers, can in any case be computed. If we choose to
answer the question, by saying that the motion left is
restored by the interposition of the Deity, then we might
as well have had recourse to him at first, and say that he
alone is the true principle of motion throughout the uni¬
verse.
Before we are reduced to this dilemma, however, it is ne¬
cessary, in the first place, to inquire whether there is or can
be any real diminution of the quantity of motion through¬
out the universe ? In this question the Cartesians take the
negative side, and maintain that the Creator at the begin-
burn and shine, and the sun himself burns and shines, and Mo:
with his light warms and cheers all things.
Elasticity is another cause of the renovation of motion
mentioned by Sir Isaac. “ We find but little motion in the
world,” says he, “ except what plainly flows either from
these active principles, or from the command of the wil-
ler”
With regard to the destruction or positive loss of motion, No p,
however, we must observe, that, notwithstanding the highofm S
authority of Sir Isaac Newton, it is altogether impossible®™ >
that any such thing can happen. All moving bodies which desh
come under the cognizance of our senses are merely pas¬
sive, and acted upon by something which we call powers
or fluids, and which are to us totally invisible. Motion,
therefore, cannot be lost without a destruction or diminu¬
tion of one of these powers, which we have no reason to
think can ever happen. When two pendulums rush against
each other, the motion is the mere effect of the action of
gravity ; and that action, which in this case is the power,
continues to be the very same whether the pendulum
Power, therefore, which is the cause of
motion, is absolutely indestructible. Powers may indeed
counteract one another, or they may be made to counter¬
act themselves; but the moment that the obstacle is re¬
moved, they show themselves in their pristine vigour, with¬
out the least symptom of abatement or decay.
Whether, therefore, we reckon the ultimate source of
motion to be spiritual or material, it is plain that it must
be to our conceptions infinite ; neither will the phenomena
nin0- impressed a certain quantity of motion on bodies, and moves or not. Could motion, therefore, be exhausted in
that under such laws that no part of it could be lost, but this case, we must suppose, that by separating two pendu-
the same portion of motion would be constantly preserved in lums to the same distance from each other, and then let-
matter ; and hence they conclude, that if any moving body ting them come together, for a great number of times, they
should strike on any other body, the former would lose would at last meet with less force than before. But there
no more of its motion than it communicated to the latter, is certainly not the least foundation for this supposition;
Sir Isaac Newton takes the contrary side, and argues in and no rational person will take it into his head, that sup-
the following manner : From the various compositions of posing the whole human race had employed themselves in
two motions, it is manifest there is not always the same nothing else from the creation to the present day but in se-
quantity of motion in the world ; for if two balls, joined to- parating pendulums and letting them stop each other’s mo¬
o-ether by a slender wire, revolve with a uniform motion tion, they would now come together with less force than
about their common centre of gravity, and at the same they did at first. 'WW. whirh is the cause of
time that centre be carried uniformly in a right line drawn
in the plane of their circular motion, the sum of the mo¬
tions of the two balls, as often as they are in a right line,
drawn from their common centre of gravity, wall be great¬
er than the sum of their motions when they are in a line
perpendicular to that other. Hence it appears, that mo¬
tion may be both generated and lost. But by reason of
the tenacity of fluid bodies, and the friction of their parts, ^
with the weakness of the elastic power in solid bodies, na- of nature allow us to give any other explanation than we
ture seems to incline much rather to the destruction than have done ; for no power whatever can lose more than its
the production of motion; and, in reality, motion becomes own quantity, and it seems absurd to think that the Deity
continually less and less. For bodies which are either so would create the world in such a manner that it should ul-
perfectly hard or so soft as to have no elastic power, will timately become immoveable, and then have recourse to
not rebound from each other; and their impenetrability will unknown principles to remedy the supposed defect. On
only stop their motion. And if two such bodies equal to the principle we have just now laid down, however, the
one another be carried with equal but opposite motions, matter becomes exceedingly plain and obvious. The ^ea-
so as to meet in a void space, by the laws of motion they tor at first formed two opposite powers, the action of w ic
must stop in the very place of concourse, lose all their mo- is varied according to the circumstances of the bodies up
tion, and be at rest for ever, unless they have an elastic on which they act; and these circumstances are again va
power to give them a new motion. If they have elasticity ried by the action of the powers themselves in innume
enough to make them rebound with one fourth, one half, rable ways upon one another, and the approach o one
or three fourths, of the force they meet with, they will body to another, or their receding to a greater distance,
lose three fourths, one half, or one fourth, of their mo- Where these powers happen to oppose each other direc
tion. And this is confirmed by experiments ; for if two ly, the body upon which they act is at rest; when they ac
equal pendulums be let fall from equal heights, so as to obliquely, it moves in the diagonal; or if the force acting
strike full upon each other ; if those pendulums be of lead upon one side is by any means lessened, the body certain
or soft clay, they will lose all, or almost all, their motion ; ly must move towards that side, as is evident from t e
and if they be of any elastic matter, they will only retain case of the atmosphere, the pressure of which, when re
so much motion as they receive from their elastic power, moved from one side of a body, will make it move very
Motion, therefore, being thus, in the opinion of this ce- violently towards that side, and if we could continua y
lebrated author, lost or absolutely destroyed, it is neces- keep off the pressure in this manner, the motion wou
sary to find some cause by which it may be renewed. Such
renovation Sir Isaac attributes to active principles; for in¬
stance, the cause of gravity, whereby the planets and co¬
mets preserve their motions in their orbits, and all bodies
acquire a great degree of motion in falling ; and the cause
of fermentation, whereby the heart and blood of animals
suredly be perpetual. We must not imagine that motion
is destroyed because it is counteracted; for it is impos¬
sible to destroy motion by any means but removing t e
cause; counteracting the effect is only a temporary o -
stacle, and must cease whenever the obstacle is remove •
Nature, therefore, having in itself an infinite quantity
preserve a perpetual warmth and motion, the inner parts motion, produces greater or lesser motions, 1 ».
of the earth are kept perpetually warmed, many bodies the various action of the moving powers upon difieren
M O U
ir dies or upon one another, without a possibility of the ge¬
neral stock being either augmented or diminished ; unless
^ one of the moving powers were withdrawn by the Creator,
in which case the other would destroy the whole system in
an instant. As to the nature of these great original powers,
we must confess ourselves totally ignorant; nor do we per¬
ceive any data from which the nature of them can be in¬
vestigated. The elements of light, air, &c. are the agents ;
but in what manner they act, or in what manner they re¬
ceived their action, can be known only to the Creator
himself.
Perpetual Motion, in Mechanics, a motion which is sup¬
plied and renewed from itself, without the intervention of
any external cause; or it is an uninterrupted communica¬
tion of the same degree of motion from one part of matter
to another, in a circle or other curve returning into itself,
so that the same momentum still returns undiminished up¬
on the first mover.
The celebrated problem of a perpetual motion consists in
the inventing of a machine which shall have the principles
of its motion within itself. M. de la Hire has demonstrated
the impossibility of any such machine, and shown that it
amounts to this, namely, to find a body which is both
heavier and lighter at the same time, or to find a body
which is heavier than itself.
MOTIR, an island in the Eastern Seas, of a triangular
form, about twenty-four miles south from Ternate. Long.
127. 19. E. Lat. 0. 26. N.
MOTIVE is sometimes applied to that faculty of the
human mind by which we voluntarily pursue good and
avoid evil. Thus Hobbes distinguishes the faculties of
the mind into two sorts, the cognitive and motive.
MOfOUALIS, a small nation of Syria, living to the
east of the country of the Druses, in the valley wThich se¬
parates their mountains from those of Damascus.
MOTTO, in armoury, a short sentence or phrase car¬
ried in a scroll, generally under, but sometimes over, the
arms, sometimes alluding to the bearing, sometimes to the
name of the bearer, and sometimes containing whatever
pleases the fancy of the deviser.
MOVEABLE, in general, denotes any thing capable of
being moved. Moveable feasts are such as are not always
held on the same day of the year or month, though they
be on the same day of the week. Thus Easter is a move-
able feast, being always held on the Sunday which falls
upon or next after the first full moon following the 21st of
March. All the other moveable feasts follow Easter, that
is, they keep their distance from it, so that they are fixed
with respect thereto. Such are Septuagesima, Sexagesima,
Ash Wednesday, Ascension Day, Pentecost, Trinity Sun¬
day, and the rest.
MOUFE1, Thomas, a celebrated English physician, was
orn at London, and practised medicine with great repu¬
tation. lowards the close of his life he retired to the coun¬
try, and died about the year 1600. This physician is known
by a work which w-as begun by Edward Wotton, and print¬
ed at London in 1634;, folio, under the title of Theatrum In-
sectorum. A translation of it into English was published
at London in 1658, folio. Martin Lister gives a very un-
Javourable opinion of this book. “ As Moufet,” says he,
made use of Wotton, Gesner, and others, an excellent
work might have been expected from him; and yet his
eatrum is full of confusion, and he has made a very bad
U,S t u- rnater*als with which these authors have fur-
msie him. He is ignorant of the subject of which he
ea s, and his manner of expression is altogether barba-
ous. Besides this, he is extremely arrogant, to say no
raki86 ’i ^as copied Aldrovandus in innume-
th' £ P aces> he never once mentions his name.” But Lay
h»«n S * j Lister, by expressing himself in this manner,
no done justice to Moufet; and he maintains that
M O U 581
the latter has rendered an essential service to the repub- Mouimir
he of letters. 1 jj
MOUJGUR, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Ai- Moulds-
meer. It is surrounded with a high wall and towers, and
has a conspicuous mosque, which stands over the gateway,
and a tomb with a cupola ornamented with painted tiles.
Its situation is in the middle of the desert of Bicaneer ; but
it has several good wells, and reservoirs of rain water. It
belongs to a Mahommedan chief, whose capital, Bahawul-
pore, stands on the bank of the Gharra or Hyphasis River
and who is tributary to the king of Afghanistan. The in-
habitants are partly Hindus and partly Mahommedans.
Mr Elphinstone, on his embassy to Cabul in 1808, visited
this place, and was hospitably entertained. Lone. 72 20 E
Lat. 28. 57. N. 6
MOULD, or Mold, in the mechanical arts, is a cavity
artificially cut, with a design to give its form or impression
to some softer matter applied therein. Moulds are im¬
plements of great use in sculpture, foundery, and other
arts. The workmen employed in melting the mineral or
metallic ore dug out of mines have their several moulds to
receive the melted metal as it comes out of the furnace;
but these are different according to the diversity of me¬
tals and works. In gold mines they have moulds for in¬
gots, in silver mines for bars, in copper and lead mines for
pigs or salmons, in tin mines for pigs and ingots, and in
iron mines for sows, chimney backs, anvils, caldrons, pots,
and other large utensils and merchandises of iron, which
are here cast, as it were, at first hand.
Moulds of founders of large works, as statues, bells,
guns, and other brazen works, are of wax, supported with-
in-side by what we call a core, and covered without-side
with a cape or case. It is in the space occupied by the
wax, which is afterwards melted away to leave it free, that
the liquid metal runs, and the work is formed, being car¬
ried thither through a great number of little canals, which
cover the whole mould.
Moulds of moneyers are frames full of sand, in which
the plates of metal are cast which are intended to serve for
striking species of gold and silver.
A sort of concave moulds made of clay, having within
them the figures and inscriptions of ancient Roman coins,
are found in many parts of England, and supposed to have
been used for casting money. Mr Baker having been fa¬
voured with a sight of some of these moulds discovered
in Shropshire, bearing the same types and inscriptions with
some of the Roman coins, gave an account of them to the
Royal Society. They were found in digging for sand, at a
place called Ryton in Shropshire, about a mile from the
great Watling-street Road. They are all of the size of the
Roman denarius, and of little more than the thickness of
our halfpenny. They are made of a smooth pot or brick
clay, which seems to have been first well cleansed from
dirt and sand, and well beaten or kneaded, to render it fit
for taking a fair impression. There were a great many of
them found together, and some have not unfrequently been
found in Yorkshire ; but they do not seem to have been met
with in any other place, except at Lyons, where several are
said to have been discovered. They have been some¬
times found in great numbers joined together side by side,
on one flat piece of clay, as if intended for the casting
of a great number of coins at once; and both these,
and all the others that have been found, seem to have been
of the Emperor Severus. They are sometimes found im¬
pressed on both sides, and several have the head of Severus
on one side and a well-known reverse of his on the other.
They seem plainly to have been intended for the coinage
of money, though it is not easy to say in what manner they
can have been employed for that purpose, especially those
which have impressions on both sides, unless it may be
supposed that they coined two pieces at the same time by
582
M O U
M O U
Moulds.
the help of three moulds, of which this was to be the mid¬
dle one. If, by disposing these into some sort of iron frame
or case, as our letter-founders do the brass moulds for cast¬
ing their types, the melted metal could be easily poured
into them, it would certainly be a very easy method of
coining, as such moulds require little time or expense to
make them, and therefore new ones might be supplied as
often as the old ones happened to break.
These moulds seem to have been burned or baked suf¬
ficiently to make them hard; but not so as to render them
porous like our bricks, whereby they would have lost their
smooth and even surface, which in these is plainly so close,
that whatever metal should be formed in them would have
no appearance like the sandholes by which counterfeit coins
and metals are usually detected.
Moulds of founders of small works are like the frames
of coiners. It is in these frames, which are likewise filled
with sand, that their several works are fashioned; and
when the two frames of which the mould is composed are
rejoined, the melted brass is run.
Moulds of letter-founders are partly of steel and partly
of wood. The wood, properly speaking, serves only to
cover the real mould which is within, and to prevent the
workman, who holds it in his hand, from being incommod¬
ed by the heat of the melted metal. Only one letter or
type can be formed at once in each mould.
Moulds, in the manufacture of paper, are little frames
composed of several brass or iron wires, fastened together
by another wire still finer. Each mould is of the dimen¬
sions of the sheet of paper to be made, and has a rim or
ledge of wood to which the wires are fastened. These
moulds are more usually called frames or forms.
Moulds, with furnace and crucible makers, are made of
wood, of the same form with the crucibles, that is, in the form
of a truncated cone ; they have handles of wood to hold and
turn them with, when, being covered with the earth, the
workman has a mind to round or flatten his vessel.
Moulds for leaden bullets are little iron pincers, each
branch of which terminates in a hemispherical concave, and
these when shut form an entire sphere. In the lips or sides
where the branches meet is a little jet or hole, through
which the melted lead is conveyed.
Laboratory Moulds are made of wood, for filling and
driving all sorts of rockets, cartridges, and fuses.
Glaziers' Moulds. The glaziers have two kinds of moulds
for casting their lead in. In the one, they cast the lead into
long rods or canes fit to be drawn through the vice, and
the grooves formed therein; and this they sometimes call in¬
got-mould. In the other, they mould those little pieces of
lead a line thick and two lines broad, fastened to the iron
bars. These may also be cast in the vice.
Goldsmiths’ Moulds. The goldsmiths use the bones of
the cuttle fish to make moulds for their small works, which
they do by pressing the pattern between two bones, and
leaving a jet or hole to convey the metal through, after the
pattern has been taken out.
Moulds, amongst masons, are pieces of hard wood or iron
hollowed within-side, corresponding to the contours of the
mouldings or cornices to be formed.
Moulds, amongst plumbers, are the tables upon which
they cast sheets of lead, and which they sometimes call
simply tables. Besides these, they have other real moulds,
with which they cast pipes without soldering.
Moulds, amongst the glass-grinders, are wooden frames,
on which they make the tubes wherewith they fit their per¬
spectives, telescopes, and other optic machines. These
moulds are cylinders, of a length and diameter according
to the use they are to be applied to, but always thicker at
one end than the other, to facilitate the sliding. The tubes
made on these moulds are of two kinds; the one simply of
pasteboard and paper, and the other of thin leaves of wood
joined to the pasteboard. To make these tubes to draw out, Mt
the last or innermost only is formed on the mould; each
tube made afterwards serving as a mould to that which is to v
go over it, but without taking out the mould from the first.
Moulds used in basket-making are very simple, con¬
sisting ordinarily of a willow or osier turned or bent into
an oval, circle, square, or other figure, according to the
baskets, panniers, hampers, and other utensils intended.
On these moulds they make, or more properly measure,
all their work; and accordingly they have them of all sizes
and shapes.
Mould, in ship-building, a thin, flexible piece of timber,
used by shipwrights as a pattern whereby to form the dif¬
ferent curves of the timbers, and other compassing pieces
in a ship’s frame. There are two sorts of these, viz. the
bend mould and hollow mould. The former of these de¬
termines the convexity of the timbers, and the latter their
concavity on the outside, where they approach the heel,
particularly towards the extremities of the vessel. The
figure given to the timbers by this pattern is called their
bevelling.
Moulds, amongst tallow-chandlers, are of two kinds.
The one for the common dipped candles, being the vessel
in which the melted tallow is disposed, and the wick dipped,
is of wood, of a triangular form, and supported on one of
its angles, so that it has an opening of near a foot a-top.
The other, used in the fabric of mould candles, is of brass,
pewter, or tin.
Mould, amongst gold-beaters, a certain number of leaves
of vellum or pieces of gut, cut square of a certain size, and
laid over one another, between which they put the leaves
of gold and silver which they beat on the marble with the
hammer.
MOULDING, any thing cast in a mould, or which seems
to have been so, although in reality it were cut with a chisel
or the axe.
Mouldings, in Architecture, projections beyond the
naked wall, column, or wainscot, the assemblage of vvhich
forms cornices, door-cases, and other decorations of archi¬
tecture.
MOULINET is used, in Mechanics, to signify a roller,
which being crossed with two levers, is usually applied to
cranes, capstans, and other sorts of engines, to draw ropes,
heave up stones, and the like.
Moulinex is also a kind of turnstile or wooden cross,
which turns horizontally upon a stake fixed in the ground.
It is usually placed in passages, to keep out horses, and to
oblige passengers to pass one by one. These moulinets
are often set near the outworks of fortified places at the
sides of the barriers, through which people pass on foot.
MOULINS, an arrondissement in the department of the
Allier, in France, 932 square miles in extent. It is divided
into nine cantons and ninety-four communes, and contains
a population of 82,300 persons. The capital is the city
of that name, situated on the left bank of the Allier, over
which there is a fine stone bridge 1080 feet in length. It has
good streets, regularly built, and is surrounded with pleasing
promenades. It contains 1500 houses, and 13,800 inhabi¬
tants, who carry on the trades of making jewellery, cutlery
of the finer kinds, and some linen and cotton goods. Bong.
2. 14. E. Eat. 46. 34. N.
MOULTING, or Molting, the falling off or change ot
hair, feathers, skins, horns, or other parts of animals, hap¬
pening in some annually, and in others only at certain
stages* of life. The generality of animals moult *nri‘’e
spring. The moulting of a hawk is called mewing. The
moulting of a deer is the shedding of his horns in Febru¬
ary or March. The moulting of a serpent is the peeling
oft' of his skin. ,
MOUND, a term used for a bank, rampart, or otne
fence, particularly that of earth.
v V
M O U
und
Mound, in Heraldry, a ball or globe with a cross upon
.tain.!;’ SU?h,,af 0U,r kinf are usually drawn with, holding it in
    their hand, as they do the sceptre in the ridit.
^ MOUNT EDGECUMBE, a prodigiously hifh peak, at
the entrance of Cook s Strait, in New Zealand, on the west
side. Its height is supposed not to be much inferior to
that of the Peak of Teneriffe.
Mount Sorrel, a town of the county of Leicester, in
the hundred of West Goscote, 105 miles from London, on
the great north-west road by Manchester to Scotland It
stands in two parishes, Barrow and Rothley, on a rugged
hill overlooking the river Soar. It had a castle of Jreat
strength, which was destroyed by the country people in
1217, on account of the depredations committed by the
f«riri1S?n'iKnile P?Pulation amounted in 1801 to 1233, in
1811 to 1502, in 1821 to 1422, and in 1831 to 1602.
Mounts of Piety, certain funds or establishments in
Italy, where money is lent out on some small security.
There were also mounts of piety in England, raised by
contribution for the benefit of people ruined by the extor¬
tions of the Jews. J
MOUN FAIN, a considerable eminence of land, elevat¬
ed above the surrounding country. It is commonly full of
covered^685 C£mtieS more or less exP°sed, and strata un-
The Atfracftorco/*Mountains is a comparatively recent
discovery and affords a very considerable confirmation of
tniJflV N<IWt.on 8 theory of universal gravity. According
lilt ^tonianastern, an attractive power is not only
exerted between those large masses of matter which constL
* e sun and planets, but likewise between all compa-
tfcles nVT 0dleS’ and even betvveen the smallest par-
c es of which they are composed. Agreeably to this hy¬
pothesis, a heavy body, which ought to gravitate or tend
towards the centre of the earth, in a direction perpendicu-
to its surface, supposing the said surface to be perfectly
even and spherical, ought likewise, though in a less degree,
tend,t0wards a mountain placed upon
a Quadrant 1 Ce 5 S° 4 lat the Plumb-Iine> for ^stance of
Lin n t4’ liauglnF in the neighbourhood of such a moun-
consennfn, b/^rawn from a perpendicular situation, in
matte? nf v,-°if — attractive power of the quantity of
ferent ffom H V4 18 C0™P°se?> acting m a direction dif-
theearrhT ,tba4f,exerted by tbe whole mass of matter in
Thnnl «d Wrh a P^ePortl°nally inferior degree of force,
iiiough Sir Isaac Newton had long ago hinted at an
xpenment °f kjHd, and had remarkedrthat ^a mln-
broad win mi? riCal figUre’ .three miles high and six
twn ’■ U d n0t’ lts attractlon, draw the plumb-line
°Ut 4ht PerPend-uI- ^ Yet no attempt to
about Z h ™er ^ aCtual experiment was made till
ticularlv MmIj738, When the French academicians, par-
Peru t/mMM' Bou^uer and Condamine, who were sent to
disc?verleaSle a degree Under the e(luator’ attempted to
the proving3 frn -Ve POW*er °f Cllimbora?o, a mountain in
which I °f QUI4°' According to their observations,
Leans ?flTVeKiWere n,ade Under eircumstances by no
2b ! mbIe 1 30 aCCUrate solution of so "ice and
atSionPr w ’ 4 1 mountain of Chimborazo exerted an
perim4 ° 6qUal t0 abaut e,ght seconds. Though this ex¬
even the r,"04 PerhaPs sufficient to prove satisfactorily
quanlv of'b 7 attraction, much less the precise
bL, takert„ repea* T that StepS ',ave
Royafetf116 n^unificence of his Britannic majesty, the
this delicate enab ed t0 undertake the execution of
r°yal was rhnse ln;PortantexP.eriment; and the astronomer
ya' was chosen to conduct it. After various inquiries,
M O U
583
of different fixed stars near the zenith, by means of a ze!
null sector of ten feet radius; first on tile south, and after
wards on the north side of the hill, the greatestTenirtl of
which extended in an easterly and westerly directiom
IS evident, that if the mass of matter in the hill ex
erted any sensible attraction, it would cause the plumb-
ine 0 the sector, through which an observer viewed a star
n the meridian, to deviate from its perpendicular JZ
tion, and would attract it contrariwise at die two stations
thereby doubling the effect. On the south side the nZ
met would be drawn to the northward by the attractive
power of the hill placed to the northward o^f it; and on the
orth side, a contrary and equal deflection of the plumb-
hThilTr? ^ ^ ln1conse<3uence of the attraction of
the hill, now to the southward of it. The apparent zenith
distances of the stars would be affected contrariwise • those
afufeotheT-Lf ^ S4a4i°n which were diminished
t the other , and the correspondent quantities of the de-
flection of the plumb-line would give the observer the sum
met Lt tl" ^ attractlons of the h'U> acting on the plum¬
met at the two stations; so that the half would of course
indicate the attractive power of the hill.
The various operations requisite fo’r performing this
appears^that riited abo,Ut1four Inonths i and from them it
m rnmin b q 4he ;W° contrai7 ^tractions of the
mountain of Schehalhen, in the two temporary observations
w nc 1 were successively made half way up the hill (where
to lU-L From attraC4,°un W°uld be latest), was equal
known iL, Z ■ r°Ugh computation, founded on the
density of the |g.^yitatlon’ and on an assumption that the
densuy of the hill is equal to the mean density of the earth,
aboSnhe'doLhl efaHt-raCti°n °f 4he hil1 shoidd amount
?ecl h ,f fli |b e °! f From this k was infer-
densk? of rim"8 J the lnH is only about half the mean
density of the earth. It does not appear, however that
holloT^sT- ?heha!Hen haS ever been a voIcano? or is
hoflow, as it is extremely solid and dense, and seemino-ly
composed of an entire rock. The inferences drawn from
these experiments may be reduced to the following.
1. It appears that the mountain of Schehallien exerts asen-
sible attracuon ; therefore, by the rules of philosophizing,
we aie warranted to conclude, that every mountain, and iS
deed every particle of the earth, is endowed with the same
property, m proportion to its quantity of matter.
ratio nf?h!'! °f the TZZ °f this force’in the inverse
T?! NT 4 . squares1 of the distances, as laid down by Sir
Isaac Newton, was also confirmed by this experiment. * For
if the force of attraction of the hill had been only to that
of the earth, as the matter in the hill to that of the earth,
and had not been greatly increased by the near approach
to its centre, the attraction thereof must have been wholly
insensible. But now, by only supposing the mean density
of the earth to be double that of the hill, which seems
very probable from other considerations, the attraction of
the hill will be reconciled to the general law of the varia¬
tion of attraction in the inverse duplicate ratio of the dis¬
tances, as deduced by Sir Isaac Newton from the compa¬
rison of the motion of the heavenly bodies with the force
of gravity at the surface of the earth ; and the analogy of
nature will be preserved.
3. We may now, therefore, be allowed to admit this
Jaw, and to acknowledge that the mean density of the
earth is at least double of that at the surface, and conse¬
quently that the density of the internal parts of the earth
a ver, eas, cakulalto, it is fouml that such a mountain would attract the plumb-line 1- 18" from the perpendicular.
584
M O U
M O U
Mountain is much greater than near the surface. Hence, also, the
of Forty whole quantity of matter in the earth will be at least a
Days. reat again as if it had been all composed of matter ot
' the same density with that at the surface, or will be about
four or five times as great as if it were all composed of
water. This conclusion, Dr Maskelyne adds, is tota y
contrary to the hypothesis of some naturalists, “ who sup¬
pose the earth to be only a great hollow shell of mattei,
supporting itself from the property of an arch, with an im¬
mense vacuity in the midst of it.” But were that the case,
the attraction of mountains, and even smaller inequalities
in the earth’s surface, would, contrary to experiment, be
Mountains of the Lions, also in Africa, divide NigritiaMoui
from Guinea, and extend as far as Ethiopia. They were of'.
styled by the ancients the Mountains of God, on account
of their being greatly subject to thunder and lightning.
Mountains of the Moon, a chain of mountains in Africa,s,
extending between Abyssinia and Monomotapa, and so
called from their great height.
Marble Mountains. Of these there are great numbers
in Egypt, from which, although immense quantities have
been carried off for the multitudinous works erected by
the ancient Egyptians, yet, in the opinion of Bruce, there
is still a sufficient supply to build Rome, Athens, Corinth,
wtfd afct themSres 72 degiees Syracuse, Memphis, Alexandria, and half a dozen more of
7theTeridian much more than we find they do; and the such ct.es.  1
MOURNING, a particular dress or habit worn to sig¬
nify grief upon some melancholy occasion, particularly the
death of friends or of great public characters. The modes
of mourning are various in different countries, as are also
the colours used for that purpose. In Europe, the ordi¬
nary colour for mourning is black ; in China, it is white;
in Turkey, blue or violet; in Egypt, yellow ; in Ethiopia,
OT int; ineiiuicui niwiv.     „
variation of gravity, in different latitudes, in going from
equator to the poles, as found by pendulums, would not be
near so regular as it has been found by experiment to be.
4. As mountains are by these experiments found ca¬
pable of producing sensible deflections of the plumb-lines
of astronomical instruments, it becomes a matter ot great
importance, in the mensuration of degrees in the meridian ’b'taine^ *in Castille on the death
either to choose places where the irregular attraction of the brown. W bite tor y that the last time it
elevated patta may be small; or »^re by them sttua 'on, ^ on the death of prince John. Each
they may compensate or counteract the effects o • , pretend to have their reasons for the particular co-
T, ff^Cmourningtwhiteissupposedtodeno^rit,.
cording to the Abb£ Mariti’s description, the summit of it is
covered neither with shrubs, nor turf, nor earth ; it consists
of a solid mass of white marble, the surface of which has
become yellow by the injuries of the air. “ |he Path PJ
which you ascend to it,” says this writer, fills one with
terror, as it rises with a winding course between two
abysses, which the eye dares scarcely behold. Ihis path
is at first pretty broad, but it at length becomes so con¬
fined, that one can with difficulty place both feet upon it
at the same time. When we had ascended a little higher,
we found an Arab stretched out on the path, who made us
pay a certain toll for our passage. Here the traveller re-
quires courage. One of the parapets of the path being off** hair and beards,
broken, we clung to the part which remained until we had f“' ’tPhat isf barefooted, lying upon the ground.
unall grotto, situated very commodiousl, as it ' a 8 J the xh ke,)t themselM
people preienu 10 imvc men , 
lour of their mourning ; white is supposed to denote purity;
yellow indicates that death is the end of human hopes, be¬
cause leaves when they fall, and flowers when they fade,
become yellow ; brown denotes the earth, whither the dead
return ; black signifies the privation of life, as being the
privationof light; blue expresses the happiness which it is
hoped the deceased enjoys ; and purple or violet betokens
sorrow on the one side, and hope on the other, as being a
mixture of black and blue. . , ,
Mourning, amongst the ancients, was, as might be ex¬
pected, expressed in a great variety of ways.
Amongst the Jew^s, on the death of their relations or in¬
timate friends, grief or mourning was signified by weeping,
tearing their clothes, smiting their breasts « tearmg the™
reached a small
fasting, or eating upon the ground. They kept themselves
closely shut up in their houses, covered their faces, an
abstained from all work, even reading the law and saying
their usual prayers. They neither dressed, nor made thei
beds, nor shaved themselves, nor cut their nails, nor v
into the bath, nor saluted any body; so that sulkmess ap
pears to have been an indication of sorrow, and dirtiness o
distress. The time of mourning amongst the
generally seven days, though this was lengthened or short
ened according to circumstances; but thirty y ^
gave us an opportunity of recovering our breath. When
we had rested ourselves a little, we pursued our course,
which became still more dangerous. Suspended almost
from the rock, and having before our eyes all the horror ot
the precipice, we could advance only by dragging one
foot after the other; so that had the smallest fragments
given way under us, we should have been hurried to t e
bottom of this frightful abyss. ,
“ This mountain is one of the highest m the province,
and one of its most sacred places. It takes its name rom “pYiffirient unon the severest occasions. The cw-
the rigorous fast which Christ observed here after having S Deriods of the time of mourning required different
triumphed over the vanities of the world and the power of ferent periods ot ti e t me o
hell. In remembrance of this miracle, a chapel was for- de^es o gne ^ ^ offriendS) shoWed their sor-
merly constructed on the summit of the mountain. It may cprlndirur^themselves from all gaiety, especially en-
be seen from the plain, but we could not approach tt as the enjoyment of
the path was almost entirely destroyed. It, however, may ond the delishts of music. They sat in gloomy and so-
be accessible on the other side of the mountain, which we wme an^e dd gh * ^ of ^ exter^al ornaments,
did not visit. A great many scattered grottos are seen l»tory places s pp of mourning, tore their
here ; in one of which, according to auaresmius, were de- ^ ^X^heads, rolled themselves in the dust and
posited the bodies of several anchorets, which are stlen- hair, shaved t^ ^ ’ their headSj smote their breas
tire. I have heard the same thing asserted in the cou t y, ’ P tore faceg) and frequently cried out
but I could never meet with any person who had seen t tie. lamentable voice and drawling tone, reiterating the
Here we enjoyed the most beautiful prospect imaginab e. with a lamentab Hence funeral Mentations were called
This part of the Mountain of Forty Days overlooks the 1"terJectl01V, y appeared in public during the time of
mountains of Arabia, the country of Gilead, the country EXr/o/. y PP j P their faces and heads.
oftheAmmonUes,theplainS ofMoab,.he p amof Jencho, sion, certain person, called .5'
the river Jordan, and the whole extent of the Dead bea.
It was here that the devil said to the Son of God, All
these kingdoms will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down an
worship me.”’
mourning, uiey nau a vc #
During the funeral procession, certain perso
w, marched before, and Sung ncholy^
These vocal mourners sung thrice during t P use(i
round the pile and round the grave. Flutes were
M O Z
i yre to heighten the solemnity. At the funerals of soldiers,
their fellow-soldiers who attended, as a testimony of their
fm‘ affliction, held their shields, their spears, and the rest of
^ their armour, inverted.
The tokens of private grief amongst the Romans were
nearly the same as those already observed as customary
amongst the Greeks. Black or dark brown were the colours
of the mourning habits worn by the men ; and they were
also common to the women. The mourning of the empe¬
rors at first was black. In the time of Augustus, the women
wore white veils, but the rest of their dress was black. From
the time of Domitian they wore nothing but white habits,
without any ornaments of gold, jewels, or pearls. The men
let their hair and beards grow, and wore no wreaths of
flowers on their heads whilst the days of mourning conti¬
nued. The longest time of mourning was ten months.
This was Numa’s establishment, and included his whole
year. During this time it was infamous for a widow to
marry. Mourning was not used for children who died
under three years of age. From this age to ten they
mourned as many months as the child was years old. A
remarkable victory, or other happy event, occasioned the
shortening of the time of mourning. The birth of a child,
or the attainment of any remarkable honour in the family,
certain feasts in honour of the gods, or the consecration of
a temple, had the same effect. After the battle of Cannee,
the commonwealth decreed that mourning should not be
worn for more than thirty days, that the loss sustained
might be forgotten as soon as possible. When public
magistrates or persons of great note died, also when any
remarkable calamity happened, all public meetings were
intermitted, the schools of exercise, baths, shops, temples,
and all places of concourse, were shut up, and the whole city
put on an appearance of sorrow; the senators laid aside
the laticlave, and the consuls sat in a lower seat than
ordinary. This was also the custom of Athens, and was
observed upon the death of Socrates, not long after he had
been sentenced to death by their judges.
Prafica, or mourning women, went about the streets.
This was customary amongst the Jews as well as the Greeks
and Romans (Jerem. ix. 17).
MOURZOUK, the capital of Fezzan, see that ar¬
ticle.
MOUSSYRE, one of the Kurile Islands, resorted to
by the Russians for sea-birds and aquatic animals.
MOUZILLON, a town of France, in the department of
the Lower Loire, and arrondissement of Nantes. It is situ¬
ated on the river Gaugueise, and, including the parish, con¬
tains 3100 inhabitants, who chiefly cultivate the vine, and
produce the best wine of the department.
MOW is the name of several towns in Hindustan, the
principal of which is in the province of Agra, and district
ofFurukabad. Long. 79. 18. E. Lat. 27. 34. N. This
is also the name of a town in the district of Allahabad,
fifty-three miles north-east from Benares; and of another
seventy-six miles from Benares.
MOXA, or Mugwort of China, is a soft lanuginous sub¬
stance, prepared in Japan from the young leaves of a spe¬
cies of artemisia, by beating them together when thorough-
y dried, and rubbing them between the hands till only the
fine fibres are left. The down upon the leaves of mullein,
cotton, hemp, &c. answers the same purpose.
In the eastern countries it is used by burning it on the
skm. A little cone of the moxa is laid upon the part, pre¬
viously moistened, and set on fire at the top; it burns
own with a temperate glowing heat, and produces a dark-
co oured spot, the exulceration of which is promoted by
applying a little garlic; and the ulcer is left to discharge,
moxa80011 according to the intention in using the
MOZAMBIQUE, or Mosambique, a portion of the east-
vol. xv. 1
M O Z 585
ern coast of Africa, of which the limits are not very well Mozart,
defined, and about which little is known. It is sometimes
called a kingdom, and was doubtless once entitled to that
designation ; but it is now a Portuguese colony. It takes
its name from the capital, which is built on an island, the
principal of three islands forming a part of the territory.
The roadstead is good, and the pier commodious, but the
situation is by no means either healthy or convenient.
This city is said to have been once very handsome, but no
recent traveller ascribes to it this characteristic. Although
it dei ives its importance from being the emporium of the
gold, ivory, and slaves brought down the Tambeze, it lies
about three hundred miles from the mouth of that river,
and tlm trade is in a great measure transferred to Quilli-
mane. The principal inhabitants have their houses at Me-
suril, on the continent, at the extremity of the peninsula
of Caboceiro. There is a fort, of strength sufficient to de¬
fend it against pirates, but not against the attack of a re¬
gular force. The government-house still retains vestiges
of its former splendour when in possession of the viceroys.
Like the custom-house, and almost all the other public
structures, it is spacious, and built of stone, but is fast fall¬
ing into decay. The trade in slaves, once most extensive,
has considerably declined since the British obtained posses¬
sion of Madagascar and the Cape, into which colonies they
prohibit their importation. In 1818 the number exported
was estimated at above eight thousand, but no recent au¬
thorities inform us how much it has decreased. The other
chief branches of commerce are gold and ivory. The go¬
vernor, and even his negro attendants, are richly loaded
with golden ornaments; and household utensils, made of
that precious metal, are used in his establishment. The
dominion of the Portuguese scarcely extends beyond the
peninsula of Caboceiro; and they are with difficulty able,
by alliance with the chiefs of Quintangone and Sereime,
to make head against the Makooa, a populous and warlike
tribe, occupying a great extent of the coast. According
to the narrative of Captain Owen, the population amounts
to about 6000.
MOZART, John Chrysostom-Wolfgang-Theophi-
lus, the illustrious musical composer, was born at Salz¬
burg, on the 27th of January 1756. He was the son of
Leopold Mozart, a musician in the employment of the
Prince-archbishop of Salzburg, and Anna Maria Perth
Both parents were noted for their uncommon beauty. Mo¬
zart was scarcely three years old when he manifested the
most astonishing disposition for music. With an instinc¬
tive perception of beauty, his great delight was to seek for
thirds on the piano, and nothing could equal his joy when
he found this harmonious chord. At the age of four his
father taught him some minuets, and other pieces of mu¬
sic. Mozart would learn a minuet in half an hour, and a
longer piece in less than twice that time ; and immediately
afterwards, he played them with remarkable clearness, and
perfectly in time. Before he was six, he had invented seve¬
ral small pieces himself, and even attempted compositions
of some extent and intricacy. The vivacity of his mind
led him to attach himself easily to every new object that
was presented to him. He pursued the usual tasks of
childhood with ardour ; and when learning arithmetic, co¬
vered the tables, chairs, and walls with figures which he had
chalked upon them. Music, however, soon became his
favourite study, and in his juvenile efforts in composition,
he showed a consistency of thought and a symmetry of de¬
sign which promised a maturity of the highest genius.
One day, his father returning from church with a friend,
found his son busy writing. “ What are you doing there,
my little fellow ?” he asked. “ I am composing a concerto
for the harpsichord, and have almost got to the end of the
first part.” “ Let us see this fine scrawl.” “ No, I have
not yet finished it.” The father, however, took the paper,
4 E
586
MOZART.
Mozart.
and showed his friend a sheet full of notes, which could
scarcely be deciphered for the blots of ink. The two
friends at first laughed at this heap of scribbling ; but after
regarding it a little more seriously, the father’s eyes over¬
flowed with tears of joy and wonder. “ Look, my friend,”
said he, with a smile of delight, “ every thing is composed
according to rule. It is a pity the piece cannot be made
any use of; but it is too difficult; nobody would be able
to play it.” “ It is a concerto,” replied the son, “ and
must be studied till it can be properly played. This is the
style in which it ought to be executed.” He accordingly
began to play, but succeeded only so far as to give them
an idea of what he intended.
The extraordinary precocity of his son’s genius induced
Leopold Mozart to exhibit him at the different courts in
Germany. As soon therefore as Wolfgang had attained
his sixth year, the Mozart family, consisting of the father,
mother, a young daughter who had made very consider¬
able proficiency on the harpsichord, and Wolfgang, took a
journey to Munich. This expedition succeeded in every
respect. The young artists, delighted at the reception which
they had met with, redoubled their application, and ac¬
quired a degree of execution on the piano, which no longer
required the consideration of their youth to render it re¬
markable. During the autumn of the year 1762, the whole
family repaired to Vienna, where the children performed
before the court. Here they met with the celebrated Wa-
genseil. When Mozart, who knew already how to esteem
the approbation of a great master, sat down to play before
the Emperor Francis, he asked his majesty, “ Is not M.
Wagenseil here ? we must send for him ; he understands
these tilings.” The emperor sent for Wagenseil, and gave
up his place to him at the side of the piano. “ Sir,” said
Mozart to the composer, “ I am going to play one of your
concertos; you must turn over the leaves for me.”
Hitherto the young Mozart had only played upon the
harpsichord. On his return from Vienna to Salzburg, he
brought with him a small violin, and amused himself with
it. Wenzl, a skilful violin player, came to consult Leopold
Mozart about some trios he had written. It was proposed
to try the music. The father played the bass, Wenzl the
first violin, and Schachtner,the archbishop’s trumpeter, was
to have played the second; but Wolfang insisted so much
on being allowed to take this part, that his. father at last
consented to his playing it on his little violin. It was the
first time he had heard his son seriously attempt this in¬
strument, which, to the astonishment and delight of the
party, he played with marvellous precision.
Every day afforded fresh proofs of Mozart’s exquisite
organization for music. He could distinguish and point
out the slightest differences of sound; and every false or
even rough note, not softened by some chord, was a tor¬
ture to him. It was from this cause that, during the early
part of his childhood, and even till he had attained his
tenth year, he had an insurmountable horror for the trum¬
pet when it was not used merely as an accompaniment.
The sight of this instrument produced upon him much the
same impression as that of a loaded pistol does upon other
children when pointed at them in sport. His father
thought he could cure him of this fear by causing the
trumpet to be blown in his presence, notwithstanding his
son’s entreaties to be spared that torment; but at the first
blast the boy turned pale, fell upon the floor, and would
probably have been in convulsions if they had not imme¬
diately ceased.
In 1763, when Mozart was in his seventh year, his fa¬
mily set out upon their first expedition beyond the boun¬
daries of Germany; and it is from this period that the
celebrity of the name of Mozart in Europe is to be dated.
They visited Paris and many other cities on the Continent;
and in the year 1764< came to London, where the children
played before the king. Mozart also played the organ at Mlrt
the Chapel Royal; and with this the king was even morev'-w
pleased than with his performance on the harpsichord.
During this visit, he composed six sonatas, which he de¬
dicated to the queen. He afterwards returned to France,
whence he proceeded to Holland and Switzerland; and
on his arrival at his native place in 1766, he composed, at
the request of the Emperor Joseph, the music of an opera-
buffa called the Finta Semplice, which was approved of
by Hasse and Metastasio. At the dedication of the Church
of the Orphans he composed the music of the mass, and
directed this solemn service, in the presence of the impe¬
rial court, although he was at that period only twelve
years old.
In the month of December 1769, his father took him to
Italy, and in every city met with an enthusiastic recep¬
tion. Young Mozart had not as yet ventured out of the
beaten track of composers ; but, preserving the old forms
of melody and harmony, he wrote in a style which was
particularly learned and correct. His operas at this pe¬
riod were thought to have an air of stiffness, from the con¬
trapuntal knowledge which they exhibited. What prin¬
cipally distinguished him from other composers, was the
facility with which he scored, and the extraordinary flu¬
ency of his ideas. It was probably, too, from reading Me¬
tastasio at this period that Mozart’s taste in lyric poetry
was formed; for in maturer life he was fastidious in the
choice of the words he set to music, and the uninterrupt¬
ed flow of melody and versification distinguished his airs
from those of any other composer. Another circumstance
of the Italian tour, which proved influential upon the af¬
ter life of Mozart, was the daily hearing of the highest and
most pathetic style of church music, Italy having in the
latter part of the last century produced some of her great¬
est ecclesiastical works. In the celebrated Requiem, which
was composed purely from love of the expressive in sacred
music, we may discover the result of the author’s young
devotion to this branch of the art, the consequence of lis¬
tening to choral effects in the cathedrals of Italy.
Mozart having engaged to produce the first opera for
the carnival of Milan, our travellers proceeded to Bologna,
where Wolfgang found an enthusiastic admirer in Padre
Martini, who was astonished to find a boy of fourteen
years old capable of giving answers instantly in the rigore
modi, to any subject of fugue laid before him. In Rome
Mozart gave a miraculous attestation of his quickness of
ear and extensive memory, by bringing away from the
Sistine Chapel the Miserere of Allegri, a work full of imi¬
tation and repercussion, mostly for a double choir, and
continually changing in the combination and relation of
the parts. He drew out a sketch of this celebrated com¬
position upon the first hearing, and filled it up from recol¬
lection at home. He then repaired to the second and last
performance with his manuscript in his hat, and correct¬
ed it. He afterwards produced his copy at a concert in
Rome, and one of the singers who sang at the performance
of the Miserere pronounced it perfect. Mozart thus be¬
came famous in Rome, a city where it was most difficult to
excite attention in any thing relating to the fine arts, on
account of the numerous productions of art which were
then every day presented, and formed subjects of constant
and familiar contemplation.
In December 1770, the first representation of his opera,
Mitridate Re di Ponto, took place at Milan. It met wit i
remarkable favour, and was performed twenty nights i
succession. He afterwards wrote several other operas,
one of which, entitled Lucio Silla, was likewise represente
twenty times. But the epoch at which Mozarts gem
ripened may be dated from his twentieth year. Lons
study and practice had given him ease in composition, a
ideas came thicker with his early manhood. The fare,
MOZART.
. melodiousness, the boldness of harmony, the inexhaustible
" invention, which characterize his works, were at this time
apparent. He began to think in a manner entirely inde¬
pendent, and to perform what he had promised as a rege¬
nerator of the musical art.
Mozart produced his first great opera, Idoineneo, in his
twenty-fifth year. He was then enamoured of Mademoi¬
selle Constance Weber, a celebrated actress, whom he af¬
terwards married. The family of his mistress having op¬
posed the match, on account of his unsettled habits and si¬
tuation, he was desirous of showing them that, although
he had no recognised rank in society, he nevertheless pos¬
sessed the means of obtaining consideration; and his at¬
tachment to Constance supplied him with the subjects of
the impassioned airs which his work required. The love
and vanity of the young composer, thus stimulated to the
highest pitch, enabled him to produce the opera of Ido-
meneo, which he always regarded as one of his best, and
from which he has frequently borrowed ideas for his sub¬
sequent works.
Mozart being now happily married and settled, gave
himself up to his profession. In 1787 he produced Le
Nozze di digaro, and II Don Giovanni, and afterwards
his Cosi fan lutte, and La Clemenza di Tito, an opera of
Metastasio, which was performed for the first time in
1792. He wrote only three German operas, Die Zauber-
jldte, Die Enlfuhrung aus dem Serail, and Der Schauspiel-
director.
His works composed for the stage consist altogether of
twelve operas. He left seventeen symphonies and instru¬
mental pieces of all kinds, besides masses and other church
compositions. He was one of the first piano-forte perform¬
ers in Europe. He played with extraordinary rapidity,
and the execution of his left hand was especially admired.
Haydn said, “ I never can forget Mozart’s playing; it went
to the heart.”
Entirely absorbed in music, this great man was a child
in almost every other respect. His hands were so wed¬
ded to the piano, that he could use them for nothing else.
At table his wife carved for him; and in every thing re¬
lating to money, or to the management of his domestic af¬
fairs, or even the choice and arrangement of his amuse¬
ments, he was entirely under her guidance. But, seated
at the piano-forte, he appeared a being of another order.
His mind then took wing, and his whole attention was
directed to the development of his art. His health was
very delicate, and during the latter part of his too short
life it declined rapidly. At times he laboured under a
profound melancholy, and in this state he wrote Die Zau-
oerflote, the Clemenza di Tito, and his celebrated mass in
H minor, commonly known by the name of his Requiem.
Ihe circumstances which attended the composition of the
last of these works are too remarkable to be omitted in
any notice of the life of Mozart. T
One day, when his spirits were unusually oppressed, a
granger, of a tall dignified appearance, was introduced.
a he manners of this stranger were grave and impressive,
and he told Mozart that he came from a person who did
not wish to be known, to request he would compose a so-
emn mass, as a requiem for the soul of a friend whom he
!a recently lost, and whose memory he was desirous of
commemorating by this solemn service. Mozart undertook
ie task, and engaged to have it completed in a month.
^ stranger begged to know what price he set upon his
^av*nS, immediately paid him a hundred ducats,
oo his leave, ihe mystery of this visit seemed to have a
ery strong effect upon the mind of the musician. He brood-
over it for some time, and then suddenly calling for wri-
*ng materials, began to compose with extraordinary ardour,
is application, however, was more than his strength could
Pport, it brought on fainting fits, and his increasing ill-
587
ness obliged him to suspend his work. “ I am writing this Mozart.
Kequiem for myself” said he abruptly to his wife one day ;v 
.11 W1 serve for my own funeral service;” and this impres¬
sion never afterwards left him. At the expiration of the
month, the mysterious stranger appeared, and demanded
t ie Requiem. “ I have found it impossible,” said Mozart,
to keep my word; the work has interested me more than I
expected, and I have extended it beyond my first design.
1 shall require another month to finish it.” The stranger
made no objection ; but observing, that for this additional
trouble it was but just to increase the premium, laid down
fifty ducats more, and promised to return at the time ap¬
pointed. Astonished at the whole proceedings, Mozart
ordered a servant to follow this singular personage, and if
possible find out who he was ; the man, however, lost sight
of him, and was obliged to return as he went. Mozart,
now more than ever persuaded that he was a messenger
from the other world sent to warm him that his end was
approaching, applied with fresh zeal to the Requiem, and,
in spite of the exhausted state both of his mind and body,
completed it before the end of the month. At the ap¬
pointed day the stranger returned ; but Mozart was no
more. He died on the 5th of December 1791, before he
had completed his thirty-sixth year.
The distinguishing characteristic of the music of Mo¬
zart is its power of touching the deepest feelings of the
soul. He has been justly styled the Raffaelle of music.
He had many of the fine qualities and modest perfections
of the great painter, whom he also resembled in the fer¬
tility and variety of his genius. Mozart embraced his art in
its whole extent, and excelled in all its departments. When,
indeed, we bring into view all his qualifications as a com¬
poser and a practical musician, the result is astonishing.
The same man, under the age of thirty-six, was at the
head of dramatic, sinfonia, and piano-forte music ; he was
eminent in the sacred style, and equally at his ease in
every variety, from the elaborate concerto to the simplest
pieces of music. He put forth about eight hundred com¬
positions, including masses, motetts, operas, and fragments
of different kinds; at the same time supporting himself by
teaching and giving public performances, at which he exe¬
cuted concertos on the piano-forte, the violin, the organ, or
played extempore.
Of his operas, he esteemed most highly II Don Gio¬
vanni and Idomeneo. He seldom spoke of his own works ;
but of the Don Giovanni he one day observed, “ This opera
was not composed for the public of Vienna; it is better
suited to Prague : but, to say the truth, I wrote it only for
myself and my friends.” In this extraordinary production,
so remarkable for exquisite melodies and profound har¬
monies, the playful, the tender, the pathetic, the mys¬
terious, the sublime, and the terrible, may be distinctly
traced. The composer exhibits throughout the work the
most romantic imagination ; and in the awful accompani¬
ment to the reply of the statue, we have a specimen of
composition replete with terrific expression, but at the
same time perfectly free from inflation or bombast. The
ghost scene in the last act may be considered as the greatest
effort of dramatic composition. Well has the style of
Mozart been described as that of Shakspeare in music.
Ihe fear of Leporello is painted with true comic spirit; a
thing rather unusual with Mozart. But melancholy is the
prevailing passion in this masterpiece; and so strong, so
distinct, so real, is the imagery in which it is presented to
the soul, that minds possessed of the least enthusiasm are
sure to be moved.
We have already seen that the Idomeneo was the first work
produced by Mozart that raised his name to celebrity as a
dramatic composer. This opera, and the Clemenza di
Tito, are, in the opinion of judges, considered as the two
best serious operas extant. His opera of Le Nozze di Fi-
588
M U C
M U E
Mozgur- garo is also much admired. In this piece, it must be ad-
rah
Muckud.
mitted that Mozart has changed the picture of Beaumar¬
chais. The spirit of the original is preserved only in the
, situations ; all the characters are altered to the tender and
impassioned. But although the brilliant wit of the French
author has not been conveyed, yet, as a work of pure ten¬
derness and melancholy, entirely divested of any unsuit¬
able admixture of the majestic and the tragical, \he Nozze
di Figaro is unrivalled. It is difficult to form any idea of
the Zauberflote, without having seen it. The story, which
is like the wandering of a delirious imagination, harmonizes
admirably with the genius of the musician. Ihe subject
of Cost fan Tutte is unsuitable to Mozart, who could not
trifle with love. The tender parts of the characters in this
opera are the best.
The sacred compositions of Mozart are celebrated all
over Europe, and frequently performed in the Catholic
churches. Of these works the most sublime is the Re¬
quiem ; but several of his other masses and motetts are
noted for their grandeur and beauty. His symphonies,
quartetts, and other works for the orchestra and stringed
instruments, rank in estimation with those of Haydn and
Beethoven. His piano-forte writings are also justly es¬
teemed. Mozart’s sympathy was most extensive ; he par¬
ticipated with Sebastian Bach in the beauty of the fugue,
with Handel in the grandeur of church music, with Gluck
in the serious opera, with Haydn in instrumental music,
and in the universality of his genius surpassed them all.
In the exterior of Mozart there was nothing remark¬
able; he was diminutive in person, and had a very agree¬
able countenance, which, however, did not at the first glance
discover the greatness of his genius. His eyes were to¬
lerably large and well shaped, more heavy than fiery in the
expression; and when he was thin they were rather pio-
minent. His sight was quick and strong ; but he had an
unsteady, abstracted look, except when seated at the pia¬
no-forte, and then the whole form of his visage changed.
His hands were small and beautiful, and he used them so
softly and naturally upon the piano-forte, that the eye was
no less delighted than the ear. His head was rather large
in proportion to his body, but his hands and feet were in
perfect symmetry. The stunted growth of Mozart’s body
may have arisen from the efforts of his mind. He was
always good humoured, but very absent, and in answering
questions seemed to be thinking of something else. Mozart
had six children, but two sons only survived him. His wi¬
dow married M. von Nissen, at Vienna, who published, in
1829, a full and excellent biographical account of the com¬
poser. (z* z*)
MOZGURRAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Moultan, sixty-five miles south-east from the town ot
Moultan. Long. 71. 51. E. Eat. 29. 48. N.
MUCHOO River, the largest river in the Gujerat pe¬
ninsula, having its source in Sirdar, a few miles from W an-
kaneer, which it passes, and afterwards empties itself, by
many mouths, into the Run.
MUCILAGE, in Pharmacy, is in general any viscid or
glutinous liquor.
Mucilage also means the liquorwhich principally serves
to moisten the ligaments and cartilages of the articulations,
and is supplied by the mucilaginous glands.
MUCKEALAH, a town of Hindustan, and province of
Lahore, belonging to the Sikhs. The neighbourhood is
noted for the abundance of fossil salt. It is eighty-three
miles north-west from the city of Lahore. Long. 72. 43.
E. Lat. 32. 33. N.
MUCKONDABAD, a town of Hindustan, possessed by
some independent chiefs, in the province of Gundwana,
and twenty-five miles south from Reerah. Long. 81. 24. E.
Lat. 24. 15. N.
MUCKUD, a town of Hindustan, belonging to the Af¬
ghans, in the province of Lahore, on the Indus. Long.Mui n(]
70. 51. E. Lat. 32. 22. N. ”4
MUCKUNDNAUTH, a town of Northern Hindustan, M
district of Lamjungh, and tributary to the Ghoorkali ra-^;^
jah of Nepaul. Long. 93. 50. E. Lat. 29. 38. N.
MUCKUNDRA, a village of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Malwah, thirty miles south-south-east from Ko-
tah, being situated in a circular valley at Chundkairy. Four¬
teen miles from this place is held one of the largest fairs
in Hindustan. Long. 76. 12. E. Lat. 24. 48. N.
MUCUS, a mucilaginous liquor, secreted by certain
glands, and serving to lubricate many of the internal cavi¬
ties of the body. In its natural state it is generally limpid
and colourless ; but, from certain causes, it assumes a thick
consistence and a whitish colour like pus.
MUDDIE, a fortified town of Hindustan, in the province
of Gujerat, situated near the morass called the Run. The
surrounding country is much infested with robbers. Long.
69. 22. E. Lat. 22. 5. N.
MUELLER, Johannes von, the only author whom
Germany can oppose to the illustrious historians of Italy
and Britain, was born at Schaffhausen in 1752, of which
town his father was a pastor. In 1769, he commenced his
academical life at Gottingen, where he applied himself
principally to theology ; a study and a profession which he
soon deserted. In 1772, he was appointed professor of
the Greek language in the gymnasium of his native town.
In 1774, he removed to Geneva, where he principally re¬
sided till 1781. Here he delivered his lectures on Uni¬
versal History, which were written originally in French ;
and here he formed the plan and commenced the investi¬
gations towards his History of the Helvetic Confederacy.
In 1781 he was called, as professor of history, to the Ca-
rolinum of Brunswick, an appointment which he soon aban¬
doned ; and, the following year, he returned to Switzer¬
land. By Heyne’s recommendation, he was, in 1786, called
as librarian, with the title of aulic counsellor, to Mentz. In
1800, he was appointed librarian to the imperial library at
Vienna; in 1804, he was called as historiographer and
counsellor of war to Berlin ; and, in 1807, he was appointed
minister, counsellor of state, and general director of pub¬
lic instruction in Cassel, where he died in 1809.
To enter into any detail regarding the history of Muel¬
ler’s life is here the less requisite, as there perhaps never
existed an author whose internal character was more inde¬
pendent of outward circumstances, or in whom the writer
was in a more remarkable manner distinguished from the
man ; whilst, at the same time, his writings breathe the
whole energy of the deep feelings of his ardent disposi¬
tion. An honest enthusiasm for truth and virtue was com¬
bined in him with an ambition which could be satis¬
fied only with the renown of a great author. No exer¬
tion of intellect was for him too painful; and no perseve¬
rance in industry surpassed his endurance. Of a cheerful
disposition, even amidst the adversities of life, he pursuec ,
without faultering, his determined object. From the le -
ters which, in his youth, he wrote to his friend De 6o -
stetten, we see him at the beginning the same as at tn
termination of his course. But this very consistency ren¬
ders the contrast between the two characters whicn n
united in his person only the more remarkable. By nature
amiable, but soft even to weakness; open and libera»
though without one conspicuous trait of magnanimity 5 a •
commodating himself to circumstances with I ® Pia .
of a courtier, and yielding to the seduction o is pa
in a point where morality condemns him without app >
yet no sooner had he seized his pen, no sooner ha
begun to narrate the great events of former ,tir;ieS’inn.
this man became a hero at once in firmness and eley ’
and this not by any artificial discipline of his imagm ’
but from a genuine and resistless enthusiasm in n s
M U E
:ieller.
moral delineations. It then became a necessity of his na-
ture to think and write as if he himself had been one of
the mighty warriors or statesmen, to glorify whose names it
was his chief delight; now a Roman, now a Switzer of the
ancient time, and now some other illustrious personage,
whose character he superinduced upon his own in the mo¬
ment of description. Moral and political grandeur had in¬
deed for him so strong a charm, that he frequently de¬
ceived himself in his estimate of their amount.
With such a character of mind, Mueller could never be
an historian who wrote only for the intellect, and still less
an historian who wrote only for the memory. All that he
read of remarkable persons and events became, in his ima¬
gination, a series of animated pictures. He must repre¬
sent and paint, and he painted with few strokes, and hap¬
pily, as if from life; whilst truth, as far as this could be
discovered by historical research, was of greater value in
his eyes than all the ornaments of rhetoric. His imagi¬
nation was only active to place what he read before him
in a living form. His historical delineations were inspired
with the warmth of his peculiar temperament, but not mis¬
represented. As he himself was animated by whatever
was good, and generous, and great, so he wished also to
animate his reader by a sympathy with his portraits, and
through the instructions which history conveys. But in
Mueller’s view, history must be instructive in a degree of
which few historians have any conception. His free and
clear intellect, adhering to no philosophical system, and
with little inclination towards the abstract sciences in ge¬
neral, but penetrating deeply into the internal connection
of historical events, was able to extract from this connec¬
tion political and moral principles, which, though manifest
even to the unlearned reader when placed before him, are
overlooked even by the enlightened thinker when his ob¬
servation is not guided by the legitimate deduction of
causes and effects. And in this historical deduction, if we
except Thucydides and Tacitus, Mueller has no superior.
Not that he is equal to these great originals, nor even to
some modern historians, in the detailed development of
events, and in the arrangement of circumstances in the
order of their absolute and relative importance. For the
adequate attainment of this great end, Mueller was dis¬
qualified by a certain deficiency in the powers of abstrac¬
tion and combination. The ideas, in his representation,
display no regular subordination ; and they are frequently
crowded together, transposed, or dragged behind. In this
respect he is more peculiarly opposed to Tacitus, although
the Germans have fondly styled him the twin brother of
that great historian, who, in the distinction of what is
principal and accessory, has no equal, and almost no like¬
ness, amongst the historians either of ancient or modern
times. Thucydides and Tacitus he more nearly resembles
in the energy and laconic brevity of his style. Pleased
only with a strength and fulness of thought, he abhors all
that is empty, or trivial, or redundant. Being impelled by
youthful enthusiasm to write the history of his native
Switzerland, and dwelling, as it were, for years amongst the
original documents from which his materials were compil¬
ed, his powerful style insensibly contracted a certain an¬
tique colouring from the language of the ancient chro¬
nicles ; and thus it is that his diction more vividly ex¬
presses the character of that peculiar period which, du¬
ring the interval of composition, was then living in his own
imagination. What was tasteless and offensive in the style
of the old chronicles became softened down in Mueller’s
cultivated mind; but whilst his intellect was engrossed
with the connection of events, a laconic brevity had for
11s individual taste an irresistible charm, even when pur-
chased at the expense of easy and natural expression.
Mueller s History of the Helvetic Confederacy, the work
on which he laboured longest, and to which he applied the
MUG
589
whole force of his industry and talents, is the book in Muffle
which we may best discover the spirit of his historical II
composition, in all its qualities both of comprehension and Mugana-
detail. But this work, one of the most singular productions v yana;
ot great historical intellect, requires so close an attention
to a multitude of small matters of fact, the details of which
might easily have been omitted, and, from the continued
brevity, combined with the antiquated costume of the ex¬
pression, exacts from the reader, unaccustomed to such a
sty e, so vehement a stretch of thought, that we are ever
and anon compelled to lay aside the book and breathe, in
order to collect new strength for the perusal. Indeed, no
book has, perhaps, been so much praised, and so little
read, as the Helvetic History of our author. Mueller, who,
from youth till death, and amidst literary and political occu¬
pations of another kind, always considered the history of
his native country as the principal object of his life, had
so accustomed himself to that character of composition
which he thought accommodated to a history of Switzer¬
land, that, in his other writings, he is not wholly able to
divest himself of its peculiarities. His Universal History,
first drawn up in French, for a society of young persons
who were his pupils at Geneva, afterwards with greater
care re-written in the German tongue, and first published
after the author’s death, though comprising, in abridg¬
ment, all ancient and modern ages, is, however, far infe¬
rior in historical value to the History of Switzerland ; but
the nature of its subject is more agreeable to the majority
of readers; and in the condensation of the matter, the
Style has a certain facility, in which we easily recognise
the man to whom French was in his youth a second mo¬
ther tongue.
Of the other writings of Mueller, the most remarkable
are the Letters, which were not written for the world, but
published after his death in the collection of his works, of
which they occupy several volumes. In these letters we
discover the character of the man on its fairest and most
honourable side; and we likewise see how far his style is
removed from the affectation with which he has so often
been reproached. Written rapidly, without premeditation,
and addressed to confidential friends, the historian of the
Helvetic Confederacy is recognised in every sentence of
these letters; and the absence of a smooth and polished
diction is in itself an excellence, when contrasted with the
paint of letters written for admiration and display.
MUFFLE, in Chemistry, a vessel employed in some me¬
tallurgy operations. In figure it represents an oblong arch
or vault, the hinder part of which is closed by a semicir¬
cular plane, whilst the lower part or floor is a rectangular
plane. It is a little oven, which is placed horizontally in
assay and enamelling furnaces, so that its open side corre¬
sponds with the door of the fire-place of the furnace. Un¬
der this arched oven small cupels or crucibles are placed ;
and the substances contained are thus exposed to intense
heat, without contact of fuel, smoke, crashes.
MUI 11, the chief of the ecclesiastical order, or primate
of the Mussulman religion. The authority of the mufti is
very great in the Ottoman empire ; for even the sultan
himself, if he would preserve any appearance of religion,
cannot, without hearing his opinion, put any person to
death, or so much as inflict any corporal punishment. In
all actions, especially criminal ones, his opinion is requir¬
ed, by giving him a writing, in which the case is stated
under feigned names, and which he subscribes with the
words, He shall, or shall not, be punished. Such outward
honour is paid to the mufti, that the grand signior him¬
self rises up to him, and advances seven steps to meet him
when he comes into his presence.
MUGANAYANA, a town of the south of India, in the
province of Mysore. It contains about 200 houses, and is
fortified with a mud wall. Long. 76. 58. E. Lat. 13. 8. N.
590
M U Li
Muggle- MUGGLETONIANS, a religious sect which arose in
tonians England about the year 1657, and were so denominated
. from their leader Lodowick Muggleton, a journeyman tai-
aiulheum hig associate Reeves, set up for great pro-
phets, pretending, as it is said, to have an absolute power
of saving and damning whomsoever they pleased ; and giv¬
ing out that they were the two last witnesses of God who
should appear before the end of the world.
MUGLITZ, a city of the circle of Olmutz, in the Aus¬
trian province of Moravia. It stands on the river March,
is surrounded with walls, and is the see of an archbishop,
whose cathedral is there. It contains 368 houses, and 3013
inhabitants, some of whom are occupied in woollen manu-
file til 1*6 S*
MUGLEE, a town of Hindustan, in the Eastern Ghauts,
ninety-five miles west from Madras. Long. /9. o. E. Lat.
13. 10. N. , ,
MUHLHAUSEN, a city of France, in the department
of the Upper Rhine, and the arrondissement of Aldkirch.
It stands on an island formed by the river 111, which emp¬
ties itself into the Rhine. It is the most considerable
manufacturing place of the industrious department in
which it stands, and is situated in a district of peculiar fer-
tility. It contains 940 houses, and 10,100 inhabitants, who
produce vast quantities of cotton goods of all kinds, and
whose printed calicoes, both for design and colouring, fai
excel those of any other part of France. It produces also
some valuable chemical preparations. It formed part of the
Swiss confederacy till it was united to France in 1 /98. It
is the birthplace of the celebrated mathematician Lam¬
bert. Long. 7. 22. E. Lat. 47. 50. N.
MULATTO, a name given in the Indies to those who
are begotten by a negro man on an Indian or white wo¬
man, or by an Indian or white man on a negro woman.
MULCT, a fine of money laid upon a man who has
committed some fault or misdemeanour.
MULE, a mongrel kind of quadruped, usually generat¬
ed between an ass and a mare, and sometimes between a
horse and a she-ass; but the signification of the word is
commonly extended to every kind of animal produced by
a mixture of two different species.
Mules, amongst gardeners, denote a sort of vegetable
monsters produced by putting t\\e farina fcecundans of one
species of plant into the pistil or utricle of another. The
carnation and sweet-william being somewhat alike in their
parts, particularly their flowers, the farina of the one will
impregnate the other, and the seed so enlivened will pro¬
duce a plant differing from either.
MULHARA, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Allahabad, five miles north-north-east from Chatterpoor.
Long. 79. 55. E. Lat. 25. N.
MULHAUSEN, a city of Prussia, in the government
of Erfurt, the capital of the circle of the same name. It
stands on the rivers Unstruth and Schw'emotte, is sur¬
rounded with walls, and is divided into the upper and lower
city, which, with the suburbs, contains 1672 houses, and
10,450 inhabitants. It has manufactories for various kinds
of woollen goods, many breweries and distilleries, and se¬
veral oil-mills. Long. 10. 23. 25. E. Lat. 51. 12. 59. N.
MULHEIM, a town of the Prussian government of Co¬
logne, the capital of a circle of the same name. It has a
church for each of the three religions, and a synagogue
for the Jews, and contains 523 houses, and 3950 inhabitants.
There is here a considerable manufactory of silks and vel¬
vets, and a good deal of traffic on the Rhine.
Mulheim, a city of the Prussian government of Dus-
seldorf, in the circle of Essen. It stands on the river Ruhr,
and contains 700 houses, and 5650 inhabitants, who make
much cotton-twist, woollen cloths, and paper, and carry on
a considerable trade on the Rhine, ihcre are several es¬
tablishments for building vessels.
M U L
MULIER, \n Law, signifies the lawful issue born in Mujj
wedlock, though begotten before. The mulier is prefer¬
red to an older brother born out of matrimony ; as, for in- M'll
stance, if a man has a son by a woman before marriage,
which issue is a bastard, and afterwards marries the mo¬
ther of the bastard, and they have another son, this se¬
cond is mulier and lawful, and becomes heir of the father;
but the other can be heir to no person. By the civil law,
where a man has issue by a woman, and after that marries
her, the issue is mulier.
MULL, an island of the Hebrides, the third in size, be¬
longing to Argyleshire, and separated from the mainland
by the narrow gut of sea called the Sound of Mull. It is
situated in longitude 5.18. west, and latitude 56. 27. north.
Its figure is very irregular, being deeply indented by arms
of the sea. Its extreme length is about thirty miles, and
its greatest breadth twenty-five. The superficial area is
estimated at 425 square miles. The climate is humid, and
heavy falls of rain are frequent from the west, being proba*
bly caused by the high hills which form the mountainous
tract in the district ofTorosay; and, on the whole, this
island is considered as the most boisterous of all the He¬
brides. Winter, however, is much milder than on the main¬
land; less snow falls, and the frost is of short continuance.
There are on the island several lakes, from which the brooks
mostly descend. The island is for the most part rugged and
mountainous, rising to upwards of 2000 feet in height; and
almost every part of its shore is rocky and precipitous, ex¬
hibiting scenery which awes by its natural#rudeness, as
well as deep recesses and shrubby ravines, which delight
the mind with their fairy beauty. Benmore, situated near
the head of Loch-na-Keal, is the highest mountain, and is
elevated 3097 feet above the level of the sea; it commands
a view of nearly all the Hebrides, and its ascent is neither
very difficult nor tedious. Bientalindh, the highest hill next
to this, is 2294 feet, and also commands an extensive pros¬
pect. The island is, with slender exceptions, an entire
mass of trap-rock. Limestone is found in the southern
cliffs; but on the north-west side, near Inch Kenneth, a
green sandstone appears ; indeed Inch Kenneth is formed
of it. The red granite of Mull is of admirable quality. On
the northern shore of the Ross, in particular, it is distri¬
buted in such a manner, and in masses so large and free
from fissures, that it would be easy to extract from it co¬
lumns of twenty, thirty, forty, and even fifty feet or up-
wards. . . ,
Coal has been wrought in several parts of the island,
but without a successful result. There are many caves in
the island, but those on the western coast, in the district
of Gribon, are the most remarkable. They are called Mac-
kinnon’s Cave and the Ladder Cave. The soil of Mull is both
deep and fertile. The island is very bare of trees, although
at one time it was celebrated for its woods. I he uncom¬
mon moisture and ready drainage of the island are condu¬
cive to the production of verdure in places which migh
otherwise be covered with useless bog and heath. _ The land
is therefore well fitted for grazing ; and the proprietors an
tenants having turned their attention to that object, have
materially improved the breed of black cattle, and consi¬
derably increased their number. The Tweeddale bree
of sheep has been substituted for the ancient Highiana
one. A few of the Cheviot race are also to be found
in the low farms, but the boisterous climate has prevented
their general adoption. The breed of horses is peculiar to
the island, and they have been long noted for hardine .
They are now greatly reduced, in consequence ot tne
lotment of farms, the introduction of green crops, and im¬
provements in farming. A few are still exported
Irish market. Mull, in consequence of the actum o
sea, is not very productive of kelp, yet about 60
are manufactured annually. Ihe inhabitants are nat Y
Hah-
ire
I
.Her.
M U L
• indolent: they follow no branch of industry; rearing cattle,
agriculture, fishing, and making kelp, being their only em¬
ployments.
✓ The antiquities of Mull are uninteresting. There are a
few Danish remains, and ruins of some of the ancient
strongholds. The most striking of these is Castle Duart,
placed at the entrance of the Sound of Mull. At Balphe-
trish is the famous ringing stone. Mull is divided into the
three parochial districts of Kilfinichen, Kilninian, and To-
rosay, which also comprehends several of the adjacent
islets within its pastoral cure. There are several villages
in the island, but the only one of note is Tobermory,
situated near the head of the Sound. It was built in
1789, by the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement
of the Fisheries, and comprises an upper and lower town,
the former consisting of very dingy streets; the latter is
built in the form of a crescent, and contains the cus¬
tom-house, an inn, a post office, and from fifty to sixty
slated houses. The town has remained almost stationary
since it was built, partly in consequence of the peculiar
habits of the people, and partly owing to the unfavourable
position of the town, and its distance from the fishing-
grounds. The number of boats employed at this station in
the year ending the 5th of April 1836 was 642, yielding
employment, in fishing, gutting, and packing, to 4552 per¬
sons. The number of cod, and of ling or hake, brought
into this port during that year, amounted to 43,090; of
these, 1338 hundredweights were cured ; as also 705 bar¬
rels of white herrings. The number of men and boats
employed do not belong to Tobermory, but come from
all quarters at the fishing season. In 1831 the inhabited
houses in the island were 1817, and the families 2031.
The families employed in agriculture were 1297; in trades,
284; not included in either of these classes, 450. The
total number of males was 5265, and that of females 5273,
making in all 10,538. The actual population of Tober¬
mory amounts to about 1500.
MULLAHPORE, a town of Flindustan, in the nabob
of Glide’s territories, situated on the south-west side of
the Goggrah River. Long. 81. 16. E. Lat. 27. 40. N.
MULLENBACH, a city of Hungary, in the province
of the Siebenbergen, in the part distinguished as the land
of the Saxons. It is the capital of a circle extending over
116 square miles, with a population of about 22,000 per¬
sons.^ It stands on a river of the same name, is surround¬
ed with walls, and has two extensive suburbs. It contains
a Catholic, a Greek, a Calvinist, and a Unitarian church,
with 600 houses, and 4115 inhabitants, employed in agri¬
culture and in the cultivation of vineyards. Long. 22. 30.
15. E. Lat. 45. 57. 48. N.
MULLER, or Regiomontanus, John, a celebrated
astronomer of the fifteenth century, was born atKonings-
hoven, in Franconia, in 1,436, and acquired great reputation
by publishing an abridgment of Ptolemy’s Almagest, which
bad been commenced by Purbach. He went to Rome to
perfect himself in the Greek tongue, and to visit Cardinal
ffassanon; but finding some faults in the Latin transla¬
tion of George de Trebizond, the translator’s son assassi-
i^c i ln a seconi1 journey which he made to Rome in
la!-u Cr? ■^°Pe Sixtus IV. had provided for him the
arc ibishopric of Ratisbon, and had sent for him to reform
tne calendar. But others state that he died of the plague.
Muller, or Mullar, denotes a stone flat and even at the
o om, but round at the top, being used for grinding sub-
ances on.a marble. The apothecaries use mullers to pre
pare many of their testaceous powders; and painters for
M C° our?’ either dry or in oil.
uller is also an instrument used by the glass-grinders,
eing a piece of wood, to one end of which is cemented
e glass to be ground, whether convex in a bason, or
cave in a sphere or bowl. The muller is commonly
M U N
591
about six inches long, and rounded by turning; the cement Mullingar
used is composed of ashes and pitch. |j
MULLINGAR, the county town of Westmeath, in the^undatta*
province of Leinster, in Ireland, is forty-eight miles from. faL
Dublin. Long.7. 19. W. Lat. 53.32. N. It is situated on ^   
nt r ^0£ e’ a?d t^le Royal Canal passes by the town,
it holds fairs four times a year, in which a considerable trade
is earned on in cattle. The living is a vicarage in the dio¬
cese of Meath, with a church and parsonage upon a glebe
of two acres, built in 1812. In the year 1227 the priory of
Si former]y known by the name of The House of God
of Mullingar, was founded by Ralph de Petyt, bishop of
Meath, for regular canons of the order of St Augustinf A
Dominican friary was also founded here in 1237, by the
V^Jy i°f ^uSent '■> and. some ruins of it still remain. In
1622 the friars of Multifarnham began to erect a house
for friars of the order of St Francis, but it was never
completed. The population of the parish in 1831 was
8869.
MUL PAPPY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Berar, sixty miles N.N. E. from Ellichpoor. Long. 78. 28
E. Lat. 22. 19. N. S
MULTIPLE, ,n Arithmetic, a number which compre¬
hends some other several times. Thus 6 is a multiple of
2, and 12 is a multiple of 6, 4, and 3, comprehending the
twice, the second thrice, and the third four times.
MUL IIPLICAND, the number to be multiplied by
another. r J
MULTIPLICATION, in general, the act of increasing
the number of any thing.
Multiplication is a rule by which any given number
may be increased, according to any number of times pro¬
posed. See Arithmetic.
MULTTPLICATOR, or Multiplier, in Arithmetic,
the number by which any other is multiplied, or the num¬
ber of times it is supposed to be taken.
ATTyM’ a k*nd °f malt liquor much drunk in Germany.
MUMMIUS, Lucius, a Roman consul sent against the
Achaeans, whom he conquered in the year 147 before Christ
He destroyed Corinth, Thebes, and Chalcis, by order of
the senate, and obtained the surname of Achaicus, from his
victories. He did not enrich himself with the spoils of
the enemy, but returned home without any increase of
fortune. He was so little acquainted with the value of
the paintings and works of the most celebrated artists of
Greece which were found in the plunder of Corinth, that
he said to those who conveyed them to Rome, that if tliey
lost or injured them they should make others in their stead.
MUMMY, a body embalmed, or dried and preserved in
the manner used by the ancient Egyptians. There are two
kinds of bodies denominated mummies. The first are only
carcasses dried by the heat of the sun, and by that means
preserved from putrefaction. Some imagine that these are
the bodies of deceased people buried in the desert on pur¬
pose to keep them entire without embalming; but others
think they are the carcasses of travellers who have been
overwhelmed by the clouds of sand raised by the hurri¬
canes frequent in those deserts. The second kind of mum¬
mies are bodies taken out of the catacombs near Cairo, in
which the Egyptians deposited their dead after embalming.
See Embalming.
MUNDEN, a city of the province of Gottingen, in the
kingdom of Flanover. It is situated at the junction of the
rivers Fulda and Werra, which together form the Weser.
It is in a most picturesque spot, and has an ancient castle
and three churches, but no walls. The inhabitants are
about 5000, and have considerable trade by the rivers which
unite near them.
MUNDATTAFAL, a town of Hindustan, in the Mah-
ratta territories, in the province of Khandesh, being situat¬
ed on a small island formed by the Nerbuddah, sixty-five
592
M U N
M U N
Munich.
Mundium miles south-south-east from Oojain. Long. 76. 17. E. Lat.
22. 25. N.
MUNDINGOES, or Mandingoes. See Mandingo.
MUNDIUM, a village of Hindustan, in the territory of
Mysore, fortified with a mud wall. Long. 77. 4. E. Lat.
12. 31. N.
MUNGULHAUT, a large manufacturing town of Hin¬
dustan, in the province of Bengal, and district of Rungpoor,
twenty miles north of Rungpoor. Long. 89. 20. E. Lat.
25. 59. N.
~ MUNGULORE, a town of Afghanistan, in the province
of Cabul, and formerly the capital of a district now decayed.
Long. 71. 15. E. Lat. 34. 13. N.
MUNGULWARA, a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Bejapore. It is fortified with a stone wall, has a
good market, and is sixteen miles south-east from Pander-
poor.
MUNDUS Patens, the open world, in Roman antiqui¬
ty, a solemnity performed in a small temple, of a round
form like the world, dedicated to Dis or Pluto and the rest
of the infernal gods. This temple was opened but three
times in the year, viz. on the 24th of August, the 4th of Oc¬
tober, and the 7th of November. During these days the
Romans believed that hell was open, and on these days
therefore they never offered battle, enlisted soldiers, put
to sea, nor married.
MUNICH, a city, the capital of the kingdom of Bava¬
ria, as well as of the circle of the Iser, in which, on the banks
of the river of that name, it is situated. It is in longitude 12.
28. 25. east, and in latitude 48. 8. 20. north. It is situated
on a plain nearly surrounded by the river, and is enclosed
with walls, although they afford but a slight military de¬
fence. The streets are wide, and the houses well built,
whilst the public edifices are some of them of a degree of
magnificence rather surpassing the extent and wealth of
the kingdom. The private dwellings are for the most part
large, there being (in 1825) in the city and suburbs 57,623
inhabitants, occupying 3664 houses. In this the military,
amounting with their families to 4667, are not included.
The royal palace is a magnificent pile, extending to 550 feet
in length, with beautiful Doric gates and pillars. The inte¬
rior, besides elegant suites of apartments, contains a beau¬
tiful chapel, in which is an altar said to have belonged to
Mary Queen of Scotland during her imprisonment, the an-
tiquarium, and the schatzkammer or treasury of the crown
jewels. The picture-gallery is a noble building, well cal¬
culated for exhibiting to advantage the finest collection
of works of art in Germany. It has been formed out of
the galleries of Manheim, of Dusseldorf, and of Deux Fonts,
with additions purchased by the late king in Italy, Vienna,
and Paris. The royal library is a valuable assemblage of
books, but particularly rich in numerous curious manu¬
scripts. The antique gallery, erected by the present king
when crown prince, is a most elegant edifice. It is in front
225 feet, and has a peristyle of twenty-two Ionic pillars ; it
is built of marble, and contains an excellent collection of
ancient and modern statuary. The elegance of the exterior
of this building, called the glypthothek, is very imposing.
There are several other objects of curiosity which render
Munich a city worth visiting. The English garden, with
a rapid stream conducted through it, is well arranged, and
forms a delightful promenade. The patronage of the fine
arts is extensively exercised, and the societies for the en¬
couragement of them, as well as of the useful arts, are ex¬
tensive and liberal. The observatory is furnished with the
best optical instruments, all fabricated by native workmen.
The telescopes, whose lenses were ground by Fraunhofer,
are of great celebrity, and have rarely been equalled. The
manufactures, though numerous, are upon a small scale;
the most remarkable being those of philosophical instru¬
ments, jewellery, gold and silver articles, musical instru¬
ments, watches, and some smaller articles. The lithogra-Muuipaj
phic art is carried on with more skill and success at Mu¬
nich than in any other place. The churches are numerous, ^ «•
handsome, and well attended by a population apparently
more devout than is commonly the case in Germany. The
Protestants are not more than one tenth of the inhabitants.
Though the city is 1900 feet above the level of the sea,
and consequently cold in winter, it is generally considered
as healthy.
MUNICIPAL, in the Roman civil law, an epithet which
signifies being invested with the rights and privileges of
Roman citizens.
MUNICIPES, an appellation given by the Romans to
the inhabitants of the municipia or enfranchised cities.
MUNICIPIUM, in Roman antiquity, a corporation bo¬
rough, or enfranchised city or town, where the inhabitants
enjoyed their own laws and customs, and at the same time
were honoured with the privileges of Roman citizens. But
this privilege generally extended no farther than the bare
title. Some indeed, by particular merit, obtained the li¬
berty of votes, which occasioned the distinction of muni-
cipium sine suffragio, and municipium cum suffragio. The
inhabitants of the municipium sine suffragio were called
barely Romani, but those of the municipium cum suffraow
were called Cives Romani.
The difference between proper citizens of Rome and the
inhabitants of the municipium or free town may be thus
expressed. The proper citizens of Rome were registered
in the census, had the right of suffrage and of bearing ho¬
nours, were assessed in the poll-tax, served in the legions,
used the Roman laws and religion, and were called Quiriks
and Populus Romanus; whereas the municipes enjoyed the
first three of these privileges, but were denied the last three.
MUNITION, the provisions with which a place is fur¬
nished for defence, or that which follows a camp for its
subsistence.
Munition Ships are those which have stores on board
in order to supply a fleet of men-of-war at sea. In an en¬
gagement, all the munition ships and victuallers attending
the fleet take their station in the rear of the others; they
do not engage in the fight, but attend to such directions
only as are sent to them by the admiral.
MUNKACS, a market-town of the circle of Unghvar,
in the province of Hither Theiss, in Hungary. It stands
on the river Latorcza, and contains a Catholic, a Calvinist,
and a Unitarian church, with 730 houses, and 5008 inhabi¬
tants, who refine much common salt and saltpetre. Near
to it is a celebrated fortress. Long. 22. 16. 58. E. Lat.
48. 25. 48. N.
MUNNIPORE, a town of the Burman empire, and ca¬
pital of the province of Cassay. It was formerly a Hindu
state, but was conquered by the Burmans in 1774, and has
since that period continued tributary to them. Long. 94.
30. E. Lat. 24. 20. N.
MUNSTER, the most southern of the four provinces
of Ireland, is bounded on the north by Connaught, on the
east by Leinster, and on the south and west by the Atlan¬
tic Ocean. It measures 150 miles in its greatest length,
from Brow-Head, the most southern point of Ireland, to
Meelick, the northern extremity of Tipperary, and about
the same breadth in an eastern and western direction, from
Dunmore Head in Kerry to Waterford harbour, extending
over a superficies of 5,879,872 acres, of which 3,929,8 -
are capable of cultivation, 1,905,368 are bog or unprofit¬
able mountain land, and 44,652 are covered with standing
water. . .
The ancient name of the province was Mumhan, in Latin
Momonia. According to the older geographers, lts
time regions were peopled, commencing eastwardly, by the
Brigantes, the Velabori, the Ibernii, the Lucenii, the \ odn,
and the Cangani; whilst its interior was occupied by the
M U N
1 ster. Scoti. At <i later period it contained the eie^ht following
^principalities: 1. Hy Breoghan, now the county of Wate£
ford ; 2. Osragii, afterwards Ossory, and now forming parts
of the Queen’s County and of Tipperary ; 3. Oir-Mumhan,
East Munster, now Oimond, comprehending the baronies of
Ormond and of Owney and Arra in Tipperary ; 4. Tuath-
Mumhan, 1 homond, or North Munster, now the county of
Clare; 5. Aine-Cliach, or Eoganach Aine-Cliach, now Li¬
merick ; 6. Ciar or Cerrigia, now Kerry; 7. Aoibh-Liathain,
containing the northern part of the county of Cork ; and, 8.
Corcaluighe, the southern part of the same county, and the
ancient kingdom of Cork. The principal toparchs or heads
of septs in those divisions, several of whom assumed the
title of king, but acknowledged the supremacy of the king
of Munster, were the O’Briens, the Barrys, the M'Arthys,
and the O’Sullivans. After the arrival of the English, the
greater part of the province became the property of the
Butlers, and of different branches of the Fitzgerald family,
amongst the latter of whom the Earl of Desmond long ruled
the whole of its southern portion with an authority almost
independent of that of the English crown. On the death
of the last earl of that name, and the subsequent confisca¬
tion of his immense estates by Elizabeth in consequence of
his rebellion, the greatest part of it was parcelled out amongst
English adventurers, amongst whom was the celebrated Six-
Waiter Raleigh. The descendants of these adventurers,
or “ undertakers,” as they were styled in the phraseology
of those days, have, for the most part, melted away from
observation in a manner altogether unaccountable and sur¬
prising. The province is now divided into the six coun¬
ties of Clare, formerly included in Connaught, Cork, Ker¬
ry, Limerick, Tipperary, and Waterford.
According to the ecclesiastical ax-rangements of Ireland,
Munstei constituted the province of Cashel, consisting of
the archbishopric of the same name, with which were
united the diocese of Emly; the bishopric of Limerick,
Ardfert, and Aghadoe ; the bishopric of Waterford and
Lismore ; the bishopric of Cork and Ross; the bishopric
of Cloyne; and the bishopric of Killaloe and Kilfenora.
fins arrangement has been lately altered by the legisla¬
ture. The archbishopric of Cashel is, on the demise of
the present holder thereof, to be reduced to the rank of a
bishopric, subordinate to the archiepiscopal see of Dub¬
lin, and the whole province is to be consolidated into four
dioceses, in the following manner: Cashel is to be holden
with Emly, Waterford, and Lismore; Cloyne with Cork
and Ross ; Killaloe with Kilfenora, and with these are also
to be united the sees of Clonfert and Kilmacduagh, hitherto
orming part of the archiepiscopal province of Tuam ; and
iumerick with Ardfert and Aghadoe, as hitherto.
1 , e 1^rtiiern parts of Munster are, generally speaking,
Jevel. Towards the south and south-west the land rises
into elevations of considerable height, Macgillicuddy’s
1 SV‘n KenT’ being the highest mountain range in Ire-
Garrantual, the most elevated of its peaks, is nearly
eet above the level of the sea. The mountains in
Th C10llnt^ of Fork stretch in the direction of east and west.
e lofty range of Slieve-Bloom forms the eastern boun-
my of the province. The river Shannon passes through
s northern part, separating the county of Clare from those
w iipperary, Limerick, and Kerry. The Suir, Black-
a ei, Lee, and Bandon, water the southern districts,
e only lakes of note are those of Killarney, in Kerry,
ic owe their celebrity much more to the pictux-esque
r autl£? °f ^bcir scenery than to the extent of their sur-
e< he bays, creeks, headlands, and islands, which are
M U N
593
lla^eK0US, a, most instances worthy of special notice,
i eG? a reaciy mentioned in the general description of
the island. See Ireland.
vaili^6 C^mate’ though moist from its exposure to the pre-
ng south-western winds, which pass over itloaded with
XV.
t ie humid exhalations of the Atlantic, is peculiarly mild. Munster.
I he severity of winter is but slightly felt even in its more s  —
elevated regions, whilst in its more level parts, along its
southern shores, the myrtle blooms richly and unsheltered ;
and the arbutus, indigenous in Kerry, attains an unusual
size. 8uch is the prevailing opinion of the genial tempe¬
rature of the atmosphere, that an attempt was lately made
to introduce the rearing of the silk-worm on a great scale,
in the hope of establishing the silk manufacture on a per¬
manent basis in this part of Ireland, by having the raw
material at the mere price of its production ; and though
the experiment has failed as to its main object, the growth
of the mulberry trees, which were planted in large num¬
bers for the sustenance of the insect, has proved that they
were not fixed in an ungenial climate.
The soil throughout the level parts is peculiarly fertile,
producing abundantly rich crops of every kind of grain
and many species of fruits, which, in other parts of the
island, are capable of being ripened only by means of an
artificial atmosphere. The tract of land stretching across
the counties of Limerick and Tipperary, from Askeaton
to the limits of Kilkenny, has long been distinguished by
the name of the Golden Yale, an appellation justly be¬
stowed upon it from its singular fertility. Even in the
ess favoured climate of the elevated parts of Kerry, tillage
has been carried upwards along the mountain sides to
heights unexampled elsewhere.
As to its geological relations, the northern parts of Mun¬
ster are included within the limits of the great plain of
ficetz limestone, which constitutes the central formation of
Ireland. The southern parts are mostly of the sandstone
and clay-slate formation; the former being more deve¬
loped in the mountains, the latter in the more level parts.
Bog is abundant and very generally distributed, although
the province lies without the great central band, which
embraces most of the soil of this description. Coal is
found in large quantities in the interior; but its use is
much limited by the rugged character of the region with¬
in which it lies, and the consequent difficulty of carriage.
There are two fields of this mineral; one, the larger, in
the centre of Cork county ; the other in Tipperary, where
a branch of the great Leinster coal-field stretches into the
province. In both places the -mineral is of the carbona¬
ceous or stone-coal species, the slate glantz-coal of Wer¬
ner. . Several mines of copper, lead, and iron, were work¬
ed with profit until stopped by the failure of timber for
fuel ; notwithstanding which a few are still carried on suc¬
cessfully. Mineral springs are numerous ; that of Mallow,
which is of the same nature with the hot wells near Bris¬
tol, maintaining a high character for its medical efficacy.
Transparent crystals are frequently found in Kerry. Some
caves producing stalactites have been lately discovered in
the county of Cork, and the precipitous fissures in the cliffs
upon the western and southern shores, where the surface
soil has been washed away by the workings of the ocean,
present many objects of great interest to the geologist.
The population of Munster amounted in 1821 to 1,935,612
souls, and in 1831 to2,]6o,193. The peasantry are a large,
athletic, and handsome race, exhibiting, in their oval faces
and dark hair, strong traces of similarity with the Span¬
iards. Their occupation is chiefly agricultural. The rais-
ing of grain and the pasturage of cattle, which are export¬
ed in great numbers from Cork, Limerick, and Waterford,
form their chief employment. The manufacture of frizes
and coarse woollens, as also of coarse linen cloth for do¬
mestic consumption, is carried on very generally. For¬
merly the country round Carrick-on-Suir was the seat of
an extensive woollen trade.
The province contains several of the largest cities in
Ireland : Cork, the next in size and population to Dublin,
containing a population of upwards of 100,000; Limerick’
4 r
594
MUR
Munster having 65,000; and Waterford, nearly 30,000. Each of
U these is the seat of a good export trade, chiefly in provi-
Murat- sions. .
^ ^ * Munster, one of the governments into which the rrus-
sian province of Westphalia is divided. It is formed out
of the ancient bishopric of that name, and several sove¬
reignties which have been at different times secularized or
mediatized, viz. Salm-Ahaus, Salm-Bocholt, Rheina-Wol-
bech, Horstmar, Dulmen, Steinfurt, Anhalt-Pulmen, (Rie.‘
men, and Gronau. It extends over 2228 square miles, is di¬
vided into ten circles, and comprehends thirty-eight cities
or walled places, fifteen market-towns, and 732 villages,
with 57,577 houses, inhabited by 382,540 individuals. _ It
is for the most part a poor and heathy district, excepting
near the rivers. It produces barley-corn equal to the con¬
sumption, but is very deficient in fuel.
Munster, a city, the capital of the Prussian govern¬
ment of that name. It is situated on the river Aa, which,
by means of a canal, communicates with the Ems. It was
formerly fortified; but its walls have recently been convert¬
ed into elegant promenades. It has a fine palace, and a
castle near it; and the cathedral is an ancient building,
surrounded by rows of trees. It contains six parish
churches, one of which is Lutheran, the others Catholic.
It is the seat of a Catholic bishop, and of a college for¬
merly belonging to the Jesuits, for the education of Ca¬
tholic priests. On the tower of one of the churches are
affixed the three iron cages in which Knipperdoling and
his companions, the leaders of the Anabaptists, were sus¬
pended, after their revolutionary movements were sup¬
pressed, in 1535. The place is remarkable for the peace
of Westphalia, concluded at it, after many years of delibera¬
tion, in 1648. It now contains 1500 houses, and 18,260
inhabitants, exclusive of the military. In the town-hall is
a curious collection of ancient armour, and many other an¬
tiquities. There are only some small manufactories of linen
and woollen goods; but there is considerable trade in the
exchange of internal commodities, especially in Rhine
wine and wool, and there are several breweries. Long.
7. 31. 2. E. Lat. 51. 58. 10. N.
MUNYCHIO, an anniversary solemnity observed at
Athens, in honour of Diana, on the 16th of the month
Munychion. Cakes were offered on the occasion, called
UfMpitpWVTii.
MUNYCHION, the tenth month of the Athenian year,
containing twenty-nine days, and answering to the latter
part of our March and the beginning of April. It was so
called from the festival Munychia, which was observed in
this month.
MURAL, something belonging to a wall, which the La¬
tins call mums.
Mural Arch, is a wall, or walled arch, placed exactly
in the plane of the meridian, that is, upon the meridian
line, for the fixing of a large quadrant, sextant, or other
instrument, to observe the meridian altitudes, &c. of the
heavenly bodies. Tycho Brahe was the first who used a
mural arch in his observations; after him Hevelius, Mr
Flamsteed, De la Hire, and others, employed the same
means.
MURANO, a town of the province Calabria Citeriore,
in the kingdom of Naples, on the river Coscile. It is an
ill-built place, containing 4200 inhabitants, who make silk
goods, and grow some excellent wine.
Murano, a city of Italy, in the delegation and govern¬
ment of Venice. It is situated on a lagoon to the north
of that city. It contains fifteen churches, but only 3690
inhabitants. It was formerly very celebrated for its various
fabrics of glass, but these have greatly declined, and the
population has also diminished. Some looking glasses are
still made. It is in latitude 45. 27. 1. N.
MURAT, Joachim, one of the lieutenants of Napoleon,
MUR
was born on the 25th of March 1771, at La Bastide, near M t,
Cahors, where his father was an innkeeper. Being sent to ^ ^
school at Toulouse, he there acquired some slight degree
of elementary instruction; but his taste for dissipation
and adventure soon drew him away from his studies,
which he appears to have entirely neglected. Having re¬
turned to the hostelry of his father, he engaged in the
service of the house along with the domestics, and then
enlisted in the chasseurs of the Ardennes. But, in conse¬
quence of some misconduct, he soon afterwards deserted,
and having gone to Paris, fell into such distress that he
was obliged to serve at the table of a restaurateur. Being
remarked for his activity and bearing, and his father hav¬
ing resolved to send him some assistance, he was admit¬
ted into the constitutional guard of Louis XVI.; and, on
the disbanding of that body, which followed soon after its
formation, he obtained a sub-lieutenancy in the eleventh
regiment of chasseurs a cheval. Here he showed himself
a furious revolutionist, and in consequence obtained rapid
promotion. He was already lieutenant-colonel, and one
of the most fervent adherents of Marat, when, upon the
death of that ferocious tribune of the people, he wrote
from Abbeville, where he was then in garrison, requesting
the society of the Jacobins at Paris to grant him permis¬
sion to change his name into that of Marat. It is not known
whether his request was positively complied with; but it
is certain that, after the fall of Robespierre, he was, like
Bonaparte, dismissed as a terrorist, and, like him also, found
himself at Paris, nearly without resources, in expectation
of some change which might prove favourable to his pros¬
pects. Nor were his hopes in this respect disappointed.
Being restored to his rank at the epoch of the 13th Ven-
demiaire (5th October 1795), he served under the orders
of Bonaparte, when the latter was employed to disperse the
Parisians who had armed against the Convention. Attach-
ing himself more and more to this young general, Murat
showed much intelligence and bravery at the opening o
the campaign of Italy in 1796, and became the confidentia
aide-de-camp of Bonaparte. In consequence of a mission
to the court of Turin, which had made overtures of peace,
he set out for Paris with despatches relative to the nego-
ciations; and, in the month of June, he accompanied
Faypoult to Genoa, with instructions to demand of the
doge the expulsion of the imperial minister. On his re¬
turn to the army, Murat directed several attacks with suc¬
cess ; and during all that campaign, and the subsequent
one of 1797, he signalised himself by his bravery, in
March 1798, he proceeded at the head of a column to the
confines of the Valteline, and united that province to the
new Cisalpine republic. He likewise preceded Bonaparte
when, after the peace of Campo Formio, that general tra¬
versed Switzerland and Alsace on his way to Rastadt.
Being sent to Rome with Berthier, he marched against
the insurgents of Marino, Albano, and Gastello, killed a
great many of them, and caused to be arrested a consi¬
derable number of monks and prelates, reputed enemies o
France. When the expedition to Egypt had been resolved
on, he declared, that being attached by gratitude t° ljona'
parte, he would follow him through the world; m fact, ne
never quitted his chief, and throughout the whole course o
that expedition distinguished himself, particularly at J) ou
Tabor, where, by a series of brilliant charges, he complete
the dispersion of the Turkish army, and was rewarded w
the rank of general of division. On his return to Ira
with Napoleon, Murat rendered him effectual service
Saint-Cloud, when he changed the form of the governrM,
and took possession of power. It was Murat who, a
head of sixty grenadiers, dispersed the Council 0
Hundred. Fie was immediately named commandan
consular guard, and henceforth enjoyed unlimited •
To draw still closer the ties which united them, r [
jrat.
MUR
leon gave Murat his sister Caroline in marriage. He also
employed him as one of his lieutenants in the army of re¬
serve, and in this capacity Murat entered Milan, occupied
Piacenza, and commanded the cavalry at the battle of
Marengo. In the following year he commanded the army
of observation, and, along with Micheroux, signed at Fo-
ligno an armistice between the French government and
the king of the Two Sicilies. He then governed, with
the title of general, the Cisalpine republic, and repaired
to the Consulta at Lyons, in virtue of which he installed
the new authorities in 1802. On the 1st of January 1804,
he was appointed governor of Paris, with the rank of ge¬
neral-in-chief, and directed the military force when Na¬
poleon was proclaimed emperor. A*, few days after this
event, he was elevated to the rank of marshal of the em¬
pire, and in the following year he was raised to the dignity
of prince and of high admiral.
On the breaking out of hostilities with Austria in 1806,
he passed the Rhine at Kehl with the reserve of cavalry,
advanced into Suabia, and, at the moment of the capture
of Ulm and the capitulation of Mack, pursued vigorously
the Austrian corps under the orders of the Archduke Fer¬
dinand, in their retreat through Franconia towards Bohe¬
mia. Having overtaken the corps of Werneck, he forced
it to lay down its arms, and, taking the road to Vienna,
entered that capital on the 11th of November. He then
marched against the Russians in Moravia, and by differ¬
ent charges of cavalry contributed to the victory of Aus-
terlitz. Being invested with the grand duchy of Berg, he
assumed the style of a sovereign; figured in the two sub¬
sequent campaigns, particularly at the battle of lena;
made his public entry into Warsaw on the 28th of No¬
vember 1807; and commanded the cavalry at the battle
of Eylau, and also at that of Friedland.
In April 1808, he entered Spain at the head of a nume¬
rous army, and employed all sorts of artifices to exasperate
the differences which already existed in the royal family.
Having, by a mixture of intimidation and cajolery, induced
them to set out for Bayonne, where Napoleon waited to re¬
ceive them, he provoked an insurrection in the capital,
which, though speedily extinguished, spread the flame of
discontent throughout the whole of Spain, and gave the first
impulse to that spirit of resistance which, encouraged and
supported by Britain, ultimately effected the deliverance of
the Peninsula. Being recalled from Spain, where his im¬
prudence had proved so detrimental to the interests of his
master, he was, on the 1st of August 1808, proclaimed
king of the Two Sicilies, under the name of Joachim-Na-
poleon. As he succeeded Joseph Bonaparte, whom the
Neapolitans despised, the comparison was to his advan¬
tage ; whilst, by the pomp he displayed, and his martial air
and bearing, he won the favour of the people, who are al¬
ways ready to be caught by appearances. The invasion of
Russia in 1812 recalled him under the banners of his
former master. Being placed at the head of the cavalry,
he took part in all the operations which preceded the cap¬
ture of Moscow; he also commanded a separate corps at
Kaluga, where at first he obtained some advantages, but
subsequently experienced great reverses; and after the
departure of Napoleon from the army, he was intrusted
with the command of it in its disastrous retreat from
^ morgoni. Fatigued and discontented, however, he also
abandoned the army, and took the road to Naples, in the
hope of yet supporting a throne which seemed destined to
crumble into pieces along with the colossal fabric of the
rench empire. His whole subsequent conduct betrays
ie inherent weakness and instability of his character. On
yS return to his capital, he made overtures to the court of
•enna, with a view to the formation of an alliance with
ustria; but the campaign of 1813 soon afterwards opened ;
an as the first events proved favourable to Napoleon, Mu-
M U R
rat quitted Naples, and once more repaired to the head¬
quarters of the French army, though with less zeal and pa-
rade than formerly, and as if constrained to appear there.
After the loss of the battle of Leipzig, he withdrew to his
states, and, considering the star?of Napoleon as for ever
eclipsed, he opened his ports to the English, and renewed
the negociations for the accession of Naples to the Euro¬
pean alliance against France. As the price of this defec¬
tion, he obtained the recognition of his political existence
and of his right of conquest to the city of Ancona and the
pontifical marches; but his sincerity was justly doubted by
the allies, wLom he had joined from necessity, whilst Na¬
poleon naturally reproached him with conduct at variance
with every principle of loyalty and gratitude.
It is unnecessary to give details of his subsequent pro¬
ceedings, the account of which belongs properly to the
history of the country at the head of which the for¬
tune of war and of conquest had placed him. Though
brave as a lion in the held of battle, he showed him¬
self one of the weakest of men when not in presence of
the enemy. He had no moral courage. His title of king
had turned his head, and he incurred the double reproach
of treachery and ingratitude, without deriving the slight¬
est advantage from his dereliction of principle. His in¬
vasion of Italy after the return of Napoleon from Elba was
in every view a most headlong and irrational proceeding,
inasmuch as all the chances were against him, and de¬
feat was certain to be followed by destruction. After
the failure of this absurd attempt, he lived for some time
in retirement at Plaisance, a country-house near Toulon,
where he first learned the tidings of the battle of Wa¬
terloo. The new's of this disaster sounded as the death-
knell of all his hopes. In the space of two months, he
had lost his army, his fleet, part of his treasures, his crown,
and even his field equipage; and now', after the second
abdication of the man in whose fortune alone he could
repose any hope for the future, all seemed irrecoverably
lost. He escaped to the island of Corsica, where he had
many partizans, and began to form new projects. An asy¬
lum was offered him in Bohemia, Moravia, or Austria, on
condition of his renouncing the title of king, submitting
to the laws of the country, and consenting not to quit his
residence without the permission of the emperor. But
having resolved to make an attempt to recover his power by
effecting a landing in Italy, he sailed from Corsica on the
28th of September 1815, with seven transports, containing
250 men, and, on the 8th of October, reached the Gulf of
St Euphemia, where one only of his barks had rejoined
him, the rest being separated in a gale of wind. When he
landed at Pizzo, he was accompanied by only thirty men,
and knew not what course to follow. To wait for the other
barks, or to make an attempt to raise the country, seem¬
ed equally dangerous. He at length decided in favour of
the latter course ; but all his efforts were vain. The inha¬
bitants flew to arms, and attacked his troop, upon which
the two small vessels immediately stood out to sea. Murat
attempted to launch a fishing-boat which he found upon
the beach ; but the task exceeded his strength, and escape
was impossible. Having been made prisoner, he was lodged
in the castle of Pizzo, tried by a military commission, con¬
demned, and sentenced to be shot. The judgment of the
court was carried into execution on the 13th of October,
when this singular man, whom death had spared in a hun¬
dred battles, fell ingloriously in an obscure town of Calabria,
the victim of his own folly and ambition. He appears to
have died in a manner worthy of his reputation for courage.
He refused to allow his eyes to be bandaged, saw the arms
charged, placed himself so as to receive the concentrated
fire of the soldiers, and, exclaiming “ Sauvez le visage,
visez au coeur,” instantly fell dead under the discharge.
Murat perished in the forty-eighth year of his age, after
595
Murat.
596 MUR MUR
Murat having experienced every variety of fortune ; indeed he different departments of literature paid him the homage of MuJ
II was a man whose destiny may, in some respects, be con- inscribing to him their works. But, amidst all these flatter-
Muratori. as j-^g most extraordinary in modern times. Sprung ing distinctions, he was sometimes the object of injurious
from the lowest class of society, and raised to supreme criticisms, and on one occasion found himself called upon
rank, his elevation was the more surprising that he had to repel unjust accusations. A rumour having been cir-
neither the great qualities nor the great vices which seem culated that Benedict X1Y. had discovered, in the works
to command events. Fortune had so blinded him, that he of Muratori, propositions contrary to the truths of religion,
neither perceived the inevitable dangers with which the fall and that the supreme pontiff had specified these in a brief
of Bonaparte and the restoration of the Bourbons had sur- directed to the inquisitor-general of Spain, the learned
rounded him, nor could he turn to account the resources librarian, confident of his innocence, addressed a. letter to
which circumstances still placed in his power. (a.) the pope full of respect and submission, in which he at
Murat, an arrondissement of the department of Can- once explained his disquietude, and repudiated the impu-
tal, in France, 343 square miles in extent. It is divided tation cast upon his writings. The sovereign pontiff lost no
into three cantons, and subdivided into thirty-one com- time in setting his mind at ease, by explaining to him the
munes, containing 34,250 inhabitants. The capital, a city cause of the rumour which had been circulated. His ho¬
of the same name, stands at the foot of the mountain Can- liness declared that he had seen nothing reprehensible in
tal, on the river Alagnon. It contains 530 houses, and his works, except certain passages concerning temporal ju-
2640 inhabitants, who are chiefly employed as copper- risdiction ; but that he had never had the intention of
smiths, but also make some thread lace. causing them to be formally censured, persuaded that a
MURATORI, Louis Antony, a learned Italian scho- man of honour should not be annoyed on the pretext that
lar and antiquary, was born at Vignola, in the duchy of Mo- he had erred in matters which have no relation either to
dena, on the 21st of October 1672. He received his ele- doctrine or to discipline. The health of Muratori, enfeebled
mentary education at the college of Modena, where he by excessive labour, at length declined, and having by the
sio-nalized himself by his application, and the rapidity of advice of his physicians discontinued his occupations, he
his progress in the ancient languages and in literature. He went to breathe the air of the country.. On his return he
then entered the university, where he passed through the hastened to complete some writings which he proposed to
ordinary curriculum, applying himself with equal ardour publish; but the unfavourable symptoms which had pre*
to the study of philosophy, jurisprudence, and theology, viously excited the apprehensions of his friends soon ic-
Father Bacchini, the learned librarian of the Duke of Mo- appeared in a more dangerous form, and, after languishing
dena, inspired him with a taste for historical researches, for some months, he died on the 23d of January 1750, at the
and taught him to read manuscripts ; and so much did he age of seventy-seven. He was buried with much pomp in
profit by his advantages, that, at the age of twenty, he was the church of Santa Maria di Pomposa, whence his re¬
considered as a prodigy of talent and erudition. In 1694 mains were, in the year 1//4, transported to that of Saint
he was called to Milan by Count Carlo Borromeo, who had Augustin. Muratori never possessed any other benefice
appointed him a keeper of the Ambrosian Library. But than that of Santa Maria, which, though exceedingly small,
before quitting Modena, he wished to take his degree of appears to have satisfied all his wishes,
doctor in utroquejure; and the theses which he maintain- Of the works of Muratori, sixty-foui in numbei, a de¬
ed on this occasion were universally applauded. Having tailed list will be found in the Biblioteca Modenese of
established himself at Milan, and taken sacred orders, Mu- Tiraboschi (tom. iii. pp. 326-346). Ihe principal are,
ratori entered upon a course of study and research ealeu- 1. Anecdota ex Ambrosianae Bibliothecae codicibus nunc
lated to justify the hopes which his talents had inspired; primum eruta, notis et dissertationibus illustrata, Milan,
and having made a selection from the numerous manu- 1697, 1698, Padua, 1713, in two vols. 4to; 2. Vita e Rime
scripts intrusted to his care, he published them with dis- di Maggi, Milan, 1/00 ; 3. Della Perfetta Poesia Itahana,
sertations, intended to throw light upon various disputed Modena, 1706, in two vols. 4to ; 4. Anecdota Graeca ex ma-
points in archaeology. The reputation he thus acquired was nuscriptis codicibus eruta, Latine donata, notis et disquisi
great, and the Duke of Modena, regretting that he had part- tionibus aucta, Padua, 1709, in 4to ; 5. De Ingeniorum
ed with a man who seemed destined to attain such distinc- Moderatione in Religionis negotio, Paris, 1714, ir^4to,
tion, offered him, as an inducement to return, the situation Delle Antichita Estensi ed Italiane, Modena, 1717, in two
of conservator of the public archives of the duchy, together vols. folio; 7. Rerum Italicarum Scriptores pnecipuia
with that of keeper of his library, vacant by the resignation anno 500 ad 1500, quorum potissima pars nunc pro at,
of Father Bacchini. Muratori returned in 1700 to Modena, Milan, 1723—1751, in twenty-nine vols. folio; r" e
which he never quitted, except to visit the public collec- forze dell’ Intendimento Umano, Venice, 1735 and a,
tions of the principal cities of Italy. In 1734 Apostolo in 8vo; 9. De Paradiso Regnique Ccelestis glona i eq
Zeno offered him the chair of belles-lettres in the univer- Verona, 1738, in 4to ; 10. Antiquitates Italics: mean cevi,
sity of Padua ; but Muratori declined accepting a situation sive Dissertationes de moribus Italici Populi ab inchnatmne
which would have withdrawn him from his favourite pur- Romani imperii usque ad annum 1500, Milan, 1/38-1/ ,
suits. The publication of a number of valuable tracts on in six vols. folio; 11. Novus Ihesaurus Veterum Inscnp-
the history of Italy during the middle ages, besides vari- tionum in prsecipuis earundem Collectionibus hacterms
ous learned dissertations, added every year to his growing praetermissarum, Milan, 1739-1742, in six vols. folio,
reputation ; and this indefatigable writer also found leisure De Superstitione vitanda adversus Votum Sanguinarium
to cultivate polite literature, nay, even to take part in the pro immaculata Deiparse conceptione, Venice, 1740 an
theological discussions which then occupied so much of the 1742, in 4to ; 13. Cristianesimo felice nelle missiom e
public attention. Indeed all the journals and all the lite- Paraguai, Venice, 1743, in 4to ; 14. Annali d Italia dall eia
rary collections of the time were enriched with some of volgare sino all’ anno 1749, Venice, 1744-1749, in twe ye
his productions, the constant aim of which was utility, vols. 4to; 15. Liturgia Romana V etus tria Sacramentana
The complaisance with which he communicated the result complectens, Venice, 1748, in tvyo vols. folio; 16. ^
of his researches had put him in communication with the Publica Felicita oggetto de’ buoni principi, Lucca, 1 »
most distinguislied scholars of Italy, France, and Germany, 17. Lives of Segneri, Ligonius, Orsi, Tassoni, and others,
who had recourse to him on all subjects of difficulty ; lite- 18. Dissertations, in various collections ; 19. Letters, e-
rary societies vied with one another in sending him diplo- nice, 1783, in two vols., preceded by a life of Muratori rom
mas of admission ; and many who had attained eminence in the pen of Lazzari, professor of eloquence in the Academ}
'<
M U R
of Pesaro. The Works of Muratori have been published
''at Arezzo, 1769-1780, in thirty-six vols. 4to; and at Ve¬
nice, 1790-1810, in forty-eight vols. 8vo. (a.)
MURCIA, one of the provinces into which Spain is di¬
vided, and usually, on account of its ancient independence,
denominated a kingdom. Its extent is 659 square leagues,
and its population, at the census in 1804, amounted to
383,226 souls. It is bounded on the north by Valencia,
on the east by the Mediterranean Sea, on the south by
Granada, and on the west by New Castille. It produces
wheat and barley, but not in quantities sufficient to feed
its population. It has abundance of cattle on its pastures.
Its rivers and coasts are well stored with every kind offish,
and it produces the most delicious fruits. It has more of
the articles of commerce to spare than are required to bar¬
ter in exchange for corn. It produces wines, oil, silk,
hemp, barilla, kelp, and esparto, which are sent in consi¬
derable quantities to the other provinces of the Peninsula,
or to foreign ports. The mountainous parts of the district
are covered with trees, which furnish the different kinds
of timber fit for ship-building, and for constructions on
shore. In a very considerable part to the south, called
El Campo, the evil of excessive drought is often experi¬
enced. In the whole of Murcia, indeed, in ordinary years,
there is a scarcity of rain, which induces the cultivation
of kelp and barilla, for which a very small portion of mois¬
ture is requisite. In those years in which the showers are
copious, the produce of the fields is most profuse, and then
the grain sown has been known to yield an increase of a
hundred for one.
The principal river, and that to which Murcia is indebt¬
ed for its fertility, is the Segura, which in the first part of
its course crosses the sterile and rocky district of Catas-
parra, and then receiving the stream of the Munda, ferti¬
lizes the fruit-gardens and orange-groves of Hellin. It
then passes through the delicious valley of Ricoti, which
is a continued garden of oranges, lemons, citrons, pome¬
granates, and other fruits, the abundant crops of which
exceed those of every other part of Spain. The natural
productions of this province are a species of fine red earth,
without any mixture of sand, which is used to polish crys¬
tals, and is mixed with the snuff in the royal manufactories.
Ihere is a large lake of salt water in the north-east part
of Murcia, from which salt is refined for the use of the
province. There are some very extensive manufactories
or silk, though not sufficient to consume the whole quan¬
tity which the worms of the province yield. The hemp
and flax grown are converted within the province into
cordage and sail-cloth. Murcia has not much foreign com-
toerce; the little which it has being carried on either by
tie vessels of other nations, or by those of the neighbour¬
ing provinces, particularly of Catalonia.
Though all Spanish writers describe Murcia as a most
uxuriant and delightful country, their descriptions must
be received with considerable abatement. Near the river
begura their representations are accurate ; but when ad¬
vancing on either side beyond its influence, the country
presents a barren and almost uninhabited tract of land up
to the mountains, scarcely a tree being anywhere to be
seen. The climate is mild and warm, and, like the whole
coast of the Mediterranean, has been frequently visited
WlMepi^em*C ^evers’ which have thinned the population.
* URciA, a city in Spain, the capital of the province or
mg om of the same name. It is an inland place, and has
ie muddy but fertilizing river Segura passing through it.
>ear the city the Segura takes a turn to the north, and
en to the eastward, in its way to the sea, thus enclosing
rich plain on whose produce the prosperity of the city
ftfPeijs* though Murcia is on elevated ground, being 450
e a ove the level of the sea, yet it is by no means free
b1 agues, which are supposed to be brought on by the
MUR
miasmata from the marshes. The city contains a popula¬
tion of 34,000 souls, vyho depend principally on the agricul-
ture of the surrounding province, though the manufacto¬
ries of silk afford employment and yield subsistence to a
considerable portion of them. It is the see of a bishop,
w ° .fj.a splendid palace. The cathedral is a massive pile
o building, and the steeple lofty, commanding an exten¬
sive prospect over a luxuriant country. The ascent to the
top, hke that of some other towers in Spain, is not by steps,
but by an inclined plane winding round it, which al-
ows the visitor, if disposed, to ascend on horseback to the
top. In this church are preserved, without any remorse
or reprobation, the names of the different Jews who have
been executed here by the Inquisition. These are inscrib¬
ed on banners, and hung up as trophies, as if the exercise
of inhumanity were honourable to religion. Some other
buildings deserve notice. The seminary of St Fulgentius,
destined to prepare youth for the ecclesiastical profession,
is a pile of considerable magnitude, and of some taste;
but the most striking is the edifice belonging to the ore-
mios mayores of Madrid, which is filled with very ingenious
machinery for throwing, spinning, and dyeing the silk.
I he most important of all the works of man are, however,
the numerous canals cut from the river, by which its fer¬
tilizing waters are distributed to the gardens and planta¬
tions surrounding the city. It contains two colleges and
two open libraries. It is situated in lat. 37. 58. 42. N.
Murcia, the Pagan goddess of idleness. The name
is taken from murcus, or murcidus, an obsolete word, sig¬
nifying a dull, slothful, or lazy person. The statues of
this goddess were always covered with dust and moss, to
express idleness and negligence. She had a temple at
Rome, at the foot of the Aventine Mount.
MURDER, or Murther, the act of killing another
with violence and injustice. The word comes from the
Saxon morth, death, or, according to some persons, a vio¬
lent death; and hence the barbarous Latin murdrum and
modrum.
Murderers, or Murdering Pieces, in a ship, are certain
small pieces of ordnance, either of brass or iron, which
have chambers put in at their breeches. They are used at
the bulk-heads of the forecastle, half-deck, or steerage, in
order to clear the deck upon the ship’s being boarded
by an enemy.
MURENGERS, two officers of great antiquity in the
city of Chester, annually chosen from the aldermen, to
see the walls kept in repair, and to receive a certain toll
for the purpose.
MURET, an arrondissement in the department of the
Upper Garonne, in France, and 618 square miles in extent.
It comprises nine cantons, divided into 130 communes, and
peopled by 77,500 inhabitants. The capital is the city of
the same name on the left bank of the Garonne. It con¬
tains 3200 inhabitants, who carry on the trades of wool¬
len weavers, potters, and tanners. Long. 1. 20. E. Lat.
43. 30. N. 6
MURGHAUB, a village of Persia, in the province of
Irak, on the road from Shiraz to Yezdikhast. Near it is
a remarkable pillar called Tuckt Soliman, apparently of as
great antiquity as the city of Persepolis. Fraser mentions,
that the fort of Murghaub, a place of little strength, and
surrounded by hills, is the chief village of this district.
There is also a considerable river of the same name on the
frontier of Khorassan, forming the boundary between it
and Independent Tartary. It rises in the mountains of
Goor, and is generally thought to join the Oxus.
MURICHOM, a village of Northern Hindustan, con¬
sisting of only twenty-four houses, which are of a superior
structure to any in the country, and several stories in
height. Long. 89. 28. E. Lat. 27. 6. N.
MURKUTCHOE, a town of Hindustan, in the pro-
597
Murcia
II
Murkut-
choe.
598
Muro
Murray.
M U R
MUR
vince of Baliar, ninety miles south by east from Patna.
Long. 85. 45. E. Lat. 24. 23. N.
MURO, a city, the seat of a bishop, in the province of
Basilicata, in the kingdom of Naples. It contains a castle,
a cathedral, four parochial and three conventual churches,
and 5100 inhabitants. , .
MUROM, a circle of the Russian province of Wladimir,
extending from 41. 25. to 42. 33. east longitude, and horn
55. 15. to 56. 10. north latitude. The chief place is the
city of the same name, 640 miles from St Petersburg, on
the river Muromka. It is an ancient city, formerly the resi¬
dence of the Russian princes, and at present contains
eighteen churches, three monasteries, and about 1000
houses. It is chiefly built of wood, and contains 6500 in¬
habitants, who carry on much trade in leather and tallow
on the Wolga. Long. 38. 45. E. Lat. 53. 33. N.
MURRAY, Alexander, a distinguished orientalist, was
born at a place called Dunkitterick, in the county of Gal¬
loway, on the 22d of October 1775. His father, Robert
Murray, had been a shepherd all his days, and his mother,
Mary Cochrane, was the daughter of a person in the same
humble condition of life. From the circumstances of his
parents, therefore, it may be inferred that their means of
educating their offspring were extremely limited; indeed
it appears that the subject of this notice was in a great
measure self-taught, having learned the alphabet by copy¬
ing the printed letters, and thus acquired simultaneously
the elements both of reading and writing. In 1784, he
was put to school at New Galloway, where he made rapid
proficiency; but in a short time he was seized with an ill¬
ness which obliged him to leave school, and he saw no
more of it for four years. He continued, however, to pur¬
sue irregularly the process of self-tuition, devouring every¬
thing that came in his way, including ballads and penny
histories; and, in the course of the year 1788, he was
engaged by the heads of two families in the parish of
Kirkowen to teach their children to read and write, an
employment which he rendered subservient to his own im¬
provement. He afterwards went to school at the village
of Minigaff, where he extended his acquisitions, chiefly by
his own indefatigable exertions, learned a little French,
and in a short time mastered the rudiments of Latin. He
compared French and Latin, and by this piactice he rivet¬
ed in his memory the words of both languages. His
reading now became extremely various ; but he con-,
fesses that, although he certainly knew “ a great deal of
words and matters,” his prosody was bad, and his English
neither fluent nor elegant. Indulging uncontrolled his ap¬
petite for knowledge, accuracy was scarcely to be expect¬
ed ; he always strove to seize the sense, yet did not weary
himself by analysing every sentence he read ; and thus he
ranged through a multitude of authors, sufficient, if care¬
fully studied, to have occupied a considerable portion of a
lifetime. To such a knowledge of Latin as might be ac¬
quired in this desultory manner, he added a smattering of
Greek, and at length set about learning Hebrew, the al¬
phabet of which he already knew. He also amused him¬
self with writing songs and pieces of poetry, some of which,
particularly a ballad, “ excited more admiration than it
really merited.” After several years spent in the same
course of vigorous but irregular application, he came to
Edinburgh, where he was kindly received by Dr Baird, to
whom he had brought a letter of introduction. On the
day after his arrival in town, he underwent an examination
in the presence of Dr Baird, Dr Finlayson, and Dr Moodie,
and, on this occasion, read and explained a passage of a
French author, an ode of Horace, a page ot the Iliad, and
a Flebrew psalm. His uncommon acquirements excited
admiration, and not only procured him the direct advan¬
tages of academical instruction, but likewise obtained for
him such pecuniary aid as seemed necessary for the pro¬
secution of his studies. At the end of two years he oh- M. aT.
tained a bursary from the town ; and about the same time
he engaged in private teaching, which he looked to as a chief
source of support. His views being directed to the church,
he of course applied himself to those particular studies
which are prescribed to candidates for the sacred office;
but, whilst thus occupied, he devoted every leisure moment
to the prosecution of his favourite studies, investigating
every language to which he had access, and not only mak¬
ing himself acquainted with the dialects of Europe, but even
extending his researches into the languages of Asia, par¬
ticularly Sanscrit. Nor was his attention confined to words
merely. He studied antiquities, and the philosophy of
grammar. Conceiving it to be impossible to investigate
the history of any one language without a competent
knowledge of all the idioms directly or collaterally con¬
nected with it, he sought to discover the source and ele¬
ments of all the modern dialects of Europe by an analyti¬
cal examination of the languages which had prevailed in
that quarter of the globe, and thus attempted to throw
light on the origin, early history, and affiliation of the va¬
rious nations by which it is inhabited. “ I have been gra¬
tified,” says he, “ to find, what has often been vaguely as¬
serted, that the Greek and Latin are only dialects of a lan¬
guage much more simple, elegant, and ancient, which forms
the basis of almost all the tongues of Europe, and, as I
hope to demonstrate on some future occasion, of Sanskrit
itself.”
At this time Murray was not known beyond the circle
of a few select friends, by far the most eminent of whom
was John Leyden, a man of the same age, and of conge¬
nial habits and pursuits. Indeed there was no one in
Edinburgh with whom Murray felt so much afraid to con¬
tend in languages and philosophy as Leyden; and it is
not a little remarkable, that the latter was heard to ex¬
press a similar apprehension of Murray. Leyden, who
had already a high reputation, closed his bright and briet
career in the island of Java, where he died of fever in
August 1811. Murray had yet to lay the foundation of his
renown, and an opportunity was ere long afforded him of
bringing his great and various acquirements into public nc-
tice. Flaving been for some time an occasional contributor
to the Scots Magazine, he was at length appointed editor
of that work, and had also an opportunity afforded him of
contributing several articles to the Edinburgh Review.
He was engaged by Mr Constable to superintend a new im¬
pression of Bruce’s Travels to discover the Source of the
Nile ; an undertaking for which his previous acquisitions
had singularly qualified him, inasmuch as he not only un¬
derstood Abyssinian, but had even mastered the two prin¬
cipal dialects of that language as actually spoken in the
country. He commenced his labours in September IbO'-,
and the work appeared in July 1805. During this interval,
he resided chiefly at Kinnaird House, where he had ac¬
cess to Bruce’s papers and manuscripts, and devoted him¬
self with unremitting assiduity to the completion ot his
task. This edition, consisting of seven large octavo vo¬
lumes, was enriched by Murray with a life of the travel¬
ler, together with notes and an appendix containing ca¬
rious and learned discussions on philology, antiquities, ant
a variety of other subjects illustrative of the author s nar¬
rative. In the meanwhile Murray had been licensed as a
preacher, though without any prospect of obtaining a liv¬
ing in the church. But having been strongly recommen ¬
ce! to Dr James Muirhead, minister of Urr, who .
have an assistant and successor, he was appointed to t is
charge in 1806, and, on the death of Dr Muirhead tw
years afterwards, became minister of the parish.. In 18
he published separately his Life of Bruce; and, in lot >
was applied to, at the suggestion of Mr Salt, to trans a r
a letter in Geez, from the governor Tygre to the King
MURRAY.
rray. Great Britain, a task which he performed in a very satisfac-
vw'tory manner. He continued to perform his clerical du¬
ties and prosecute his literary researches till 1812, when,
the professorship of oriental languages in the University
of Edinburgh having become vacant by the death of Dr
Hoodie, he was proposed as a candidate for the chair, and,
after a keen contest, elected by a majority of two votes.
The other candidates were Dr Alexander Brunton, Dr
David Dickson, and Dr David Scot. In consequence of
this appointment, he removed to Edinburgh in November
1811, and immediately entered on the duties of his class,
for the use of which he had published Outlines of Oriental
Philology, a small work, containing a meagre epitome of
the grammatical principles of the Hebrew language and
its cognate dialects. His class was attended not only by
theological students, of whom some knowledge of Hebrew
is required, or at least expected, but also by several lite¬
rary men, who were anxious to cultivate or renew an ac¬
quaintance with that ancient language under the guidance
of so celebrated an orientalist. Dr Murray, however, was
not destined long to enjoy his preferment. His constitution
was not robust, and a pulmonary complaint, with which he
had previously been affected, becoming aggravated by the
exertion required in preparing his academical lectures, at
length assumed a dangerous character, and, on the 15th of
-Api’il ISIS, terminated his existence, in the thirty-seventh
year of his age.
Dr Murray was an estimable, and, in several respects, a
remarkable man. Born in a humble station, he had been
indebted for his advancement in life not less to the strict
propriety of his conduct than to the extent and variety of
his literary attainments. Being in a great measure self-
taught, especially in early life, he had ranged through a vast
field, without perhaps being thoroughly master of any sub¬
ject, and had become more remarkable for the diversity
than the accuracy or precision of his acquisitions. If he
had been spared, he would no doubt have rectified the
defects inseparable from such a desultory course of appli¬
cation, and narrowed the sphere of his labours, in order to
proceed with greater certainty of ultimate success ; but it
cannot be doubted, by persons conversant with philology
in its more improved and scientific form, that he often mis¬
took fanciful speculation for inductive reasoning, and erect¬
ed premature generalizations upon the uncertain basis of
an arbitrary analysis.
Dr Murray left behind him in manuscript a work en¬
titled History of the European Languages, or Researches
into the Affinities of the Teutonic, Greek, Celtic, Sclavonic,
and Indian Nations, which was published in 1823, in two
vols. 8vo, under the auspices of Sir Henry Moncrieff, who
enriched it with a life of the author, whilst Dr Scot of
Urstorphine performed the duties of editor, and contri¬
buted a preface. The task undertaken in this work is truly
gigantic, and, in prosecuting it, the author labours to prove,
or rather states as the result of his researches, that all the
anguages of Europe may be traced to a single radical dia-
lect; and that this dialect, again, may be analytically re-
solved into a few monosyllables, nine in number, some of
w“ich> according to the author, may even be considered
as variations of the others; indeed he is of opinion that
and wag were probably the first articulate sounds.
a ow tins, to say the least, is a very bold generalization;
and, if it were inductively deduced from a rigid analysis of
8 the languages which the author attempts to resolve
into nine monosyllabic elements, it would unquestionably
e a more wonderful triumph of human ingenuity than
even the discovery of an alphabet. But it is impossible not
o eo that such an analysis is completely beyond the reach
t an/®ln8le nnind, even supposing its practicability, ab-
hanl • y/0nsidered’ Were admitted; and, on the other
ana, in following the author through what he considers
599
as his inductive method of reasoning, it is equally difficult Murray,
to avoid the conviction, which is forced upon us at every'
step, that his assumptions are gratuitous, his deductions
fanciful, and his results altogether hypothetical and ima¬
ginary. In inductive reasoning analysis precedes and mi¬
nisters to synthesis, furnishing those elements which, by
composition, may be arranged into something that is dis¬
tinct and demonstrable. But it cannot for a moment be
maintained that this may be truly predicated of Dr Mur¬
ray s investigations. His results, even if they were true, are
such as admit of no general conclusion being deduced from
t em, because it is impossible, by any known process of
reasoning, to produce synthetically out of his nine elemen¬
tary monosyllables any definite or recognised form of hu¬
man speech ; and, by the known laws of permutation, it may
be proved that the rudest and the poorest dialect ever
found amongst mankind could not, by any process of art
or ingenuity, be generated out of such elements. So far,
therefore, is “ Dr Murray’s system’’ from being “ demon¬
strated truth,” or even “ looking very like it,” as his edi¬
tor has fondly imagined, that it appears to be equally absurd,
fanciful, and visionary,—a sort of solemn, though of course
unintentional, burlesque on the extravagancies of etymolo¬
gists ; and, independently of all other considerations, it is
liable to this insuperable objection, that it proceeds upon an
assumption of identity amongst languages which differ en¬
tirely in their grammatical structure and composition, as
well as in their vocabularies, and which have nothing in
common except some few terms which have been inter-
changed in the course of war, conquest, and commercial
relations. A posthumous work, however, ought not to be
judged too severely ; and it may readily be believed that,
if the author had lived to prepare it definitively for the
press, he would have seen cause, as his views enlarged, to
modify and improve much that now appears exaggerated
or defective, and to impart to his system that method and
unity which are altogether indispensable in such investi¬
gations. (A\
Murray, William, Earl of Mansfield, a celebrated Eng¬
lish lawyer, was the fourth son of David earl of Stormont,
and born at Perth on the 2d of March 1705. At the age
of three years he was carried to England for his education,
and at fourteen admitted a king’s scholar at Westminster
School. At this seminary he evinced a taste for poetry,
and excelled in declamation and other exercises. In June
1723, he was entered of Christ-Church College, Oxford,
where he took the degree of bachelor of arts in 1727, and
that of master in 1730. Having completed his academi¬
cal studies, he made a tour on the Continent, and on his
return became a member of Lincoln’s Inn. Being called
to the bar, Mr Murray early acquired reputation and ob¬
tained practice in his profession. This was, no doubt, part¬
ly owing to his talent for public speaking, in which he was
allowed to excel both old and young; but there is evi¬
dent injustice in the impression created by his success,
that he was more of a speaker than a lawyer, and that a de¬
cided talent for oratory implies a species of disqualifica¬
tion for legal research. At the same time his attachment
to literature, and his intercourse with Pope and other wits
of the day, gave countenance to the idea that he loved
poetry better than plodding, and cultivated letters when
he should have been immersed in the depths of legal study.
But time and experience, as they developed his powers and
matured his faculties, disabused the world of this most er¬
roneous impression, and showed that his mind was equally
formed for cultivating jurisprudence, and for excelling in
oratory.
As early as 1736, we find him professionally employed
against the bill of pains and penalties which afterwards
passed into a law against the city of Edinburgh on account
of the riotous murder of Captain Porteous. In 1738, he
600
Murray.
M U R
married Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl of Winchilsea;
and in 1742 he was appointed solicitor-general, and chosen
representative of Boroughbridge, for which place he was
afterwards returned in 1747, and again in 1754. In 1748,
he acted as one of the managers for the impeachment of
Lord Lovat by the Commons, and, in his observations on
the evidence, in reply to the prisoner, displayed so much
candour and ability'that he was complimented by the
accused no less than by the Lord Chancellor Talbot, who
presided at the trial. In 1753, a most injurious attack
was made upon his character as a public man. It had
been alleged that Dr Johnson, a person then thought of
for preferment, and an intimate friend of Murray, was of
Jacobitical principles, and had some twenty years
drank the pretender’s health in a public company. Mr
Pelham, then minister, considered the story as of sufficient
importance to deserve investigation, and accordingly wrote
to the author of it, Fawcett, the recorder of Newcastle, to
learn the truth. Fawcett returned an evasive answer to
the inquiry, but afterwards stated, in a conversation with
Lord Ravensworth, that Mr Murray, and Mr Stone, a gen¬
tleman holding an office about the prince, had done so seve¬
ral times. Lord Ravensworth, thinking the statement of
Fawcett not to be slighted, as impeaching the loyalty and
principles of persons in official stations, made it the sub¬
ject of such frequent remark in conversation that the mi¬
nistry took it up, and advised the king to have the whole
matter examined. His majesty acquiesced, and, after some
proceedings in the council, a committee of the House of
Lords was appointed to investigate the affair. When Mr
Murray heard of this, he sent a message to the king, hum¬
bly acquainting his majesty, that if called before such a
tribunal upon so trivial and scandalous a matter, he would
resign his office, and decline to answer any questions. In
the beginning of 1753, however, it was brought before the
Lords upon the motion of the Duke of Bedford ; but al¬
though the House divided it was not told, and thus end¬
ed an affair which, according to Doddington, was “ the
worst judged, the worst executed, and the worst supported
point he ever saw of such expectation.”
In 1754, Mr Murray was appointed attorney-general in
the room of Sir Dudley Ryder; and, in 1 /56, he succeeded
the same person as chief justice of the King’s Bench. He
took his seat on the bench on the 11th of November, and
was immediately afterwards raised to the peerage by the
title of Baron Mansfield, to himself and to the heirs male
of his body. His first care was to introduce regularity,
punctuality, and despatch in carrying through the business
of the court; his next, to prevent delay and expenses in
the disposal of causes where the court entertained no doubt.
These and other reforms equally necessary gave general
satisfaction, and the business of the court increased to an
extent never before known, yet continued to be despatched
with exemplary regularity. It is stated by Sir James Bur¬
row, in the preface to his Reports, that at the sitting for
London and Middlesex, there were as many as eight hun¬
dred causes set down in a year, “ and all disposed of.” In
consequence of method, and a few distinct rules laid down
to prevent delay, even where the parties themselves would
have willingly consented to it, the business in banco, not¬
withstanding its immensity, was carried through with equal
despatch, nothing being allowed to hang in court or accumu¬
late, and upon the last day of term there was rarely a single
matter of any kind that remained undetermined. It ap¬
pears, indeed, that excepting in the case of Perrin and
Blake, and in that relating to literary property, there had
not been a final difference of opinion in the court upon any
point whatsoever, from the 6th of November 1756 to the
26th of May 1776 ; and it is not less remarkable that, ex¬
cepting these two cases, no judgment given during this
period had been reversed either in the exchequer cham-
R A Y.
ber or in parliament, whilst, even in respect to these rever- Mw,
sals, great difference of opinion existed amongst the judges.
During the very unsettled state of the ministry in 1757,
Lord Mansfield accepted the office of chancellor of the ex¬
chequer, and was the means of effecting a coalition of par¬
ties, out of which was formed a strong and successful ad¬
ministration. In the same year he was offered the great
seal, on the retirement of Lord Hardwicke, but declined
it. At the commencement of the reign of George III., he
was marked out as an object of party rancour, and conti¬
nued for many years exposed to violent and unsparing in¬
vective, the most vigorous specimens of which have come
down to us in the Letters of Junius. But the virulence
of party libels occasioned no interruption in the attention
which he uniformly paid to the business of his court.
During the Rockingham administration, in 1765, he op¬
posed the bill for repealing the stamp act, and is believed
to have had some share in framing the protests recorded
against it, although he did not sign them. The affair of
Mr Wilkes’ outlawry served to rekindle the animosity with
which he had been regarded by the popular party, and ex¬
posed him to renewed attacks. The question, whether this
outlawry should be reversed or not, was a dry point of law,
upon the wording of the record, and nothing could possi¬
bly be more remote from considerations of expediency or
reasons of a political character. Yet, though merely a mat¬
ter of special pleading, it was rendered an occasion of
much popular excitement; and upon the day when judg¬
ment was to be given, not only the court, but the whole
of Westminster Hall and Palace Yard, were crowded with
anxious spectators. The court had made up their minds to
reverse the outlawry, and thus place Mr Wilkes in a situa¬
tion to receive judgment on the conviction. Upon this oc¬
casion, Lord Mansfield took notice of the popular excite¬
ment which had been directed against the judges of the
court, particularly himself; he declared his contempt for all
the threats which had been employed to deter the court from
doing their duty; and he described such attempts as calcu¬
lated to have no effect at all, or only one contrary to that
which they were intended to produce, though he believed
and knew that he had fortitude enough to resist even that
weakness. “ No libels, no threats, nothing that has hap¬
pened, nothing that can happen,” said he, “ will weigh a
feather against allowing the defendant, on this and every
other question, not only the whole advantage he is entitled
to from substantial law and justice, but every benefit from
the most critical nicety of form, which any other defend¬
ant could claim under the like objection. The only eftect
I feel,” he adds, “ is an anxiety to be able to explain the
grounds upon which we proceed, so as to satisfy all man¬
kind, that a flaw of form, given way to in this case, could not
have been got over in any other.” Upon the same occa¬
sion he gave expression to a very striking sentiment. f
honour the king,” said he, “ and respect the people; but
many things acquired by the favour of either are, in my
account, objects not worth ambition. I wish popularity ;
but it is that popularity which follows, not that which is
run after.”
In the beginning of 1770 Lord Mansfield was once more
offered the great seal, which he again declined ; and a si¬
milar offer, renewed the following year, found bun equal Y
inflexible. About the same time he was attacked, in hot
bouses of parliament, on account of his direction to the jury
in the caseof Woodfall the printer, who had been prosecute
fora libel. But as his lordship’s doctrine, however dangerou
in point of general principle, seemed to be correctly e-
duced from preceding decisions, and in accordance wi
the law as it then stood, and as the whole court concurr
in sanctioning it, his opinion stood its ground, notwi-
standing the powerful arguments with which it had
assailed. The direction which he gave to the jury w >
MUR
•ay. effect, that the question of law belonged exclusively to the
* Jcourt, and that the only point competent for the jury to
try was merely the fact of publication, leaving it to the
judges afterwards to decide whether the matter published
did or did not amount to a libel. In 1776 his lordship was
raised to the dignity of earl, with remainder to Louisa
Viscountess Stormont, and to her heirs male by David Vis¬
count Stormont her husband.
In June 1780, when the metropolis of the kingdom was,
for several days, exposed to all the fury of lawless ban¬
ditti, which took advantage of the tumultuous assemblages
brought together by the Protestant Association, Lord
Mansfield was marked out as an object of popular ven¬
geance, and his house in Bloomsbury Square, with every
thing it contained, including his library and manuscripts,
was burned to the ground. This occurred on the night of
Tuesday the 7th of June; and he did not appear in court
until the 14th, which was the last day of term. When he
took his seat on the bench, a reverential silence prevailed,
expressive of sentiments of condolence and respect more
affecting than the most eloquent address which the occa¬
sion could have suggested. His lordship submitted to his
loss with calmness and dignity. At one moment, however,
his feelings almost overpowered him. Having entered the
House of Lords whilst the capital was still in the hands of
the mob, now maddened by intoxication, and being loudly
called for as soon as he had taken his seat, he rose and
said, “ My Lords, on the present occasion I shall not ex¬
press my opinion from books; God knows, I have none.”
This touch of natural eloquence, delivered with suppress¬
ed emotion, had a powerful effect on the house. His lord-
ship was entitled, amongst others, to recover the amount
of his loss from the hundred, but he preferred no claim of
compensation. Further, in consequence of a vote of the
House of Commons, the treasury directed the surveyor of
the Board of Works to apply to Lord Mansfield, as one of
the principal sufferers, requesting him to specify the na¬
ture and amount of his loss ; but he declined the proposed
indemnification. “ It does not become me,” said he, “ how¬
ever great the loss may be, to claim or expect reparation
from the state.”
From this time it seemed as if popular hatred had spent
its force. Party animosity appeared to be mitigated by the
dignity with which he bore his heavy loss ; and, during
the remainder of his life, all parties united in a common
feeling of respect and reverence for his character and vir-
a^vanced age, he continued un-
1 j .to discharge his judicial functions with his wonted
regularity; but from that time his infirmities increased so
rapidly, that, in June 1788, he came to the resolution of re¬
signing his office, and withdrawing into the shade of retire¬
ment. On this occasion the gentlemen who practised in the
court where his lordship had so long presided, addressed to
am an eloquent letter expressive of their admiration and re-
jjret, and at the same time consoling themselves with the re-
nection that his lordship was not cut off by the sudden stroke
a painful distemper, or incapacitated by the ebb of those
x raordinary faculties which had so long distinguished
im, ut that it had pleased God to allow to the evening
an useful and illustrious life the unclouded reflections
■ind ^Upef10r ani^ unfading mind over its varied events,
La • hapPy consciousness that it had been faithfully
7 devo,;ed t0 the highest duties of human so-
v y‘ ,, .‘t etter was drawn up and transmitted to the
e2:ab ej,Ud?e’ by.Mr’ afterwards Lord Erskine, and eli- ,
anv coVc • m ^hlch he declared, that if he had given
of tliA K aCt!°n,,.!t wa? owing t0 the learning and candour
freed rif hherality antj integrity 0g wi10se practiCe
facilitlf a ?i!fficii ty tbejudicial investigation of truth, and
tinupfi *„ ,thc administration of justice. His health con-
vol xy 6C ine’ bu^ b‘s mental faculties remained unim-
M U R
paired almost to the last. He was happy to receive intel¬
ligent visitors, and conversed freely upon the events of the
time. Of the French revolution he is said to have observ¬
ed, that it was an extraordinary event, and that, as it was
without example, so it was without a prognostic. He died
on the 20th of March 1793, in the eighty-ninth year of his
age, leaving his immense fortune to his nephew Lord Stor¬
mont, who also, in virtue of a new patent granted in 1792,
succeeded to his title.
The character of this noble and learned person has been
ably delineated by Dr Hurd in his preface to the works of
Bishop VVarburton. That he was, in many respects, an
extraordinary man, and that his name will go down to pos¬
terity with distinguished honour in the public records of the
nation, cannot reasonably be doubted. His shining talents
displayed themselves in every department of the state, as
well as in the supreme court of justice, his peculiar province,
which he filled with a reputation not exceeded by any of
his predecessors. As a politician, he had too little coura°-e
to be the leader, and too much ability to be the dupe, of
any party. He was believed to speak his own sense of
public measures; and the authority of his judgment was so
high, that, in ordinary times, the house was usually guided
by it. He was not a forward nor a frequent speaker, but
reserved himself for occasions worthy of himself, and never
spoke except on subjects which he had carefully consider¬
ed. In debate he was eloquent as well as judicious; or
rather he became eloquent by his wisdom and good sense,
flowing in apt terms, and in the clearest method. He af¬
fected no sallies of imagination, no bursts of passion, no
mere tours deforce; much less did he condescend to per¬
sonal abuse or virulent altercation. All was clear and
apparently candid reason, instilling itself so easily into the
minds of his hearers, as at once to convey information and
to carry conviction along with it. He shrunk from direct
contention with Chatham, when Chatham came forth in
his might; and he is even said to have been overawed by
the ascendency of that great man’s powers, or at least re¬
strained by his fierce and unsparing invective. But this
may, with some reason, be doubted. He knew that such
triumphs are always temporary, often momentary; that it
is not by sudden coruscations of genius or eloquence that
a deliberative assembly is permanently or effectually in¬
fluenced ; that to effect such an object, genius must ally
itself with reason, enlightened by knowledge, and directed
by judgment; and that it is by the force of persuasion alone
that the decisions of such a body can ultimately be deter¬
mined. In this conviction he seems to have formed him¬
self to the truest and best manner of speaking. His powers
of genius and invention were confessedly of the first order;
but he owed less to them, perhaps, than to the diligent and'
studious cultivation of his judgment. In private life Lord
Mansfield was easy, friendly, and engaging; extremely sen¬
sible of worth in other men, and ready upon all occasions
to countenance and patronize it. /A \
MURRAY. See Morayshire.
MURRAY’S Islands, three small islands in the East¬
ern Seas, in Torres Straits, between the coast of New
Guinea and New Holland. Long, of the largest 144 2 F
Lat. 9. 54. S.
MURRHINE, Murrhinus, Moppim, in Antiquity, an ap¬
pellation given to a delicate sort of ware brought from the
East, of which were made cups and vases, that added not a
little to the splendour of the Roman banquets. Critics are
divided concerning the matter of \he pocula or rather vasa
murrhina, murrina, or murrea. Certain persons conceive
them to have been the same with our porcelain or china ware.
But the commonly received opinion is, that they were made
of some precious kind of stone, which, according to Pliny
was found chiefly in Parthia, but more especially in Cara-
mania. Arrian tells us, that there was a great quantity of
4 G
601
Murray’s
Islands
II
Murrhine.
602
M U S
M U S
Murten
II
Musseus.
them made at DIospolis, in Egypt. This he considers as
another sort of murrhine work ; and it is evident, from all
accounts, that the murrhine of Diospolis was a sort of glass
ware, made in imitation of the porcelain or murrha of In¬
dia. There is some difference in the accounts given by
Pliny and Martial of the murrhina vasa. The former says,
that they would not bear hot liquors, and that only cold
ones were drank out of them. The latter, on the other
hand, tells us that they bore hot liquors very well. If we
credit Pliny’s account, their porcelain was much inferior
to ours in this particular. Some conjecture them to have
been of agate, others of onyx, and others of coral. Baro-
nius, doubtless, was farthest out of the way, when he took
them to be of myrrh congealed and hardened. Some sup¬
pose these vessels to have been made of crystal, but this is
contrary to the account of all the ancients. Pompey was
the first who brought from the East murrhine vessels,
which he exhibited in his triumph, and dedicated to Jupi¬
ter Capitolinus. But private persons were not long with¬
out them ; and so fond did the Roman gentry become of
these vessels, that a cup which held three sextaries was
sold for seventy talents.
MURTEN, usually by the French called Morat, is a
city of Switzerland, in the canton of Friburg, situated on a
lake of the same name, in a very fertile district. It con¬
tains 1500 inhabitants, who, from their position on the
great road between Basil and Berne, have a little trade.
It is celebrated for the defeat of the army of Charles the
Bold, duke of Brunswick, by the Swiss, in the year 1476,
after the long and unavailing siege of the place by that
prince. The bones of the slain in that combat were long
preserved in a house built for the purpose, but it was de¬
stroyed by some French invaders in 1798. A new memo¬
rial of the event has been constructed, consisting of a fine
obelisk, with the simple inscription, “ Victoriam xxn Jun.
mcccclxxvi. patrum concordia partam novo signal lapide
respublica Friburgensis mdcccxxii.”
MURVIEDRO, a celebrated town of Spain, in the pro¬
vince of Valencia. It is at the foot of a mountain of black
marble, on the ruins of the famous city of Saguntum,
whose ancient theatre still exists and attests its former
grandeur. It is an exact semicircle, about two hundred
and fifty feet in diameter; the inner diameter, or orchestra,
is twenty-four feet; the seats for the auditors, the stair¬
cases, the passages, arched porticos, and entrances, may
still be accurately traced. This theatre was calculated to
contain 10,000 spectators, and is the most imposing of all
the monuments of very high antiquity that are left in Spain.
The view' from the hill behind the theatre is represented
by all travellers as most delightful. The country it over¬
looks is fertile and verdant, being covered with trees, and
studded with houses, whilst the streams of the river Palancia
are diverted into numerous channels to irrigate and fruc¬
tify the whole plain. The castle of Saguntum is by re¬
cent observation in east longitude from London 0. 12. 45.,
and in north latitude 39. 40. 36. The city now contains
6810 inhabitants, a church, a castle, and three monasteries.
MUSA, or Moosa, a village of Arabia, in the province
of Yemen, about twenty miles to the east of Mocha. It
is surrounded with walls, and is still populous, though the
trade is now transferred to Mocha.
MUSA2US, an ancient Greek poet, was, according to
Plato and Diodorus Siculus, an Athenian, the son of Or¬
pheus, and chief of the Eleusinian mysteries instituted at
Athens in honour of Ceres. According to others, he was
only the disciple of Orpheus, though, from the great re¬
semblance between his character and talents and those
of his master, he was called his son, as those w'ere styled
the children of Apollo who cultivated the arts of which he
was the tutelar god. Musseus is allowed to have been one
of the first poets who versified the oracles. He is placed
in the Arundelian marbles, in epoch fifteen, 1426 b. c. at Mi ^
which time his hymns are there said to have been received
in the celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries. Laertius
tells us, that Musaeus not only composed a theogony, but^-
formed a sphere for the use of his companions; yet as this
honour is generally given to Chiron, it is more natural to
suppose, with Sir Isaac Newton, that, after the conquest
of the golden fleece, he enlarged it with the addition of
several constellations. The sphere itself shows that it was
delineated after the Argonautic expedition, which is de¬
scribed in the asterisms, together with several other more
ancient histories of the Greeks. Musaeus is celebrated by
Virgil in the character of hierophant, or priest of Ceres, at
the head of those illustrious mortals who had merited a
place in Elysium.
A hill near the citadel of Athens was called Musceum,
according to Pausanias, from Musaeus, who used to retire
thither to meditate and compose his religious hymns, and
in which place, also, the poet was afterwards buried. The
works which went under his name, like those of Orpheus,
were by many attributed to Onomacritus. Nothing now
remains of this poet, nor were any of his writings extant
in the time of Pausanias, except a hymn to Ceres, which
he made for the Lycomides; and as these hymns were
likewise set to music, and sung in the mysteries by Musseus
himself in the character of priest, he thence perhaps ac¬
quired the title of musician, as well as of poet, the perform¬
ance of sacred music being probably at first confined to
the priesthood in these celebrations, as it had before been
in Egypt, where they originated. He, however, is not
enumerated by Plutarch amongst the ancient musicians;
nor does it appear that he merited the title of son and suc¬
cessor to Orpheus so much on account of musical abilities,
as of his poetry, piety, and profound knowledge in religious
mysteries.
MUSCULUS, a military machine, made use of by the
Romans to cover and protect the soldiers whilst they ap¬
proached and undermined the walls of besieged places, or
filled the ditches. It seems to have resembled the testu-
do in form, but to have been smaller in size.
MUSEIA were Grecian festivals in honour of the Mu¬
ses, celebrated with games every fifth year, particularly
by the Thespians. The Macedonians also observed a
festival of the same name in honour of Jupiter and the
Muses.
MUSES, certain fabulous deities amongst the Pagans,
who were supposed to preside over the arts and sciences.
The Muses were originally mere singers and musicians in
the service of Osiris, or the great Egyptian Bacchus, under
the instruction and guidance of his son Horus; but in suc¬
ceeding times they were denominated the “ daughters ol
Jupiter and Mnemosyne.” Sir Isaac Newton tells us, that
the singing women of Osiris w'ere celebrated in 1 brace
by the name of the Muses; and that the daughters ot
Pierius, a Thracian, who imitated them, were celebrated
by the same name. Diodorus Siculus informs us, that
Aleman of Messene, a lyric poet who flourished in the
27th Olympiad, or 670 years before Christ, makes them the
daughters of Uranus and Terra. It has been asserted by
some ancient writers, that at first they were only three in
number; but Homer, Hesiod, and other profound mytho-
logists, admit of nine. In his hymn to Apollo, Homer
says, “ By turns the nine delight to singand Hesiod,
in his Theogony, names them all. They are said to pre"
side severally over some art or science, as music, poetryj
dancing, astronomy. By certain authors they are calle
virgins, because the virtues of education appear unalterable,
they are called Muses, from a Greek word which signifies o
explain mysteries, because they have taught things the mos
curious and important to be known, but which are abov
the comprehensionof vulgar minds. Each of their name
M U S
um is said to include some particular allegory. Clio, for in-
stance, was so called, because those who are praised in
^verse acquire immortal fame; Euterpe, on account of
the pleasure accruing to those who hear learned poetry;
Thalia implies for ever flourishing; Melpomene indicates
that her melody insinuates itself into the inmost recesses
of the soul; Terpsichore marks the pleasure which those
receive who are versed in the liberal arts; Erato seems
to signify that the learned command the esteem and
friendship of all mankind; Polyhymnia intimates that
many poets are become immortal by the number of hymns
which they have addressed to the gods; Urania means
that those whom she instructs elevate their contemplations
and celebrity to the heavens and the stars; and, lastly,
the exquisite voice of Calliope has acquired her that ap¬
pellation, as the inventress and guardian of eloquence and
rhetoric. Concerning the Muses, the ancients had num¬
berless ingenious and fanciful ideas, on which it would be
useless to expatiate. It seems as if the first poets, en¬
chanted with the beauties ot nature, were occasionally
led to invoke the nymphs of the woods, hills, and foun¬
tains ; and that, yielding to the prevailing taste for alle¬
gory, they gave to these, names relative to the influence
which they might he supposed to have over the produc¬
tions of the mind. At first three Muses only were ad¬
mitted ; but in proportion as improvement was made in
the art of versification, its characters and effects were
personified, the number of the Muses increased, and the
names they now received referred to the charms of poetry,
its celestial origin, the beauty of its language, the plea¬
sure and gaiety it inspires, the song and dance which add
to it new charms, and the glory with which it is crowned.
MUSEUM, a name that originally signified a part of the
palace of Alexandria, which occupied at least one fourth
of the city. This quarter was called the Museum, on ac¬
count of its being set apart for the worship of the Muses
and the study of the sciences. Here were lodged and enter¬
tained the men of learning, who were divided into many
companies or colleges, according to the sciences of which
they were the professors; and to each of these houses or
colleges was allotted a handsome revenue. The founda¬
tion of this establishment is attributed to Ptolemy Phila-
delphus, who here placed his library. Hence the word
museum is now applied to any place set apart as a reposi-
ory tor things which have an immediate relation to the
arts.
MUSHED, or Mesched, a city of Persia, the capital of
the province of Khorassan, surrounded by a wall, and said
by some to be twelve miles in circuit, but by Fraser esti¬
mated at not more than six miles. The greatest length to
which the town extends is not above two miles, and the en-
cosed space presents a sad picture of desolation ; the ap¬
proach to the centre of the city, where the inhabitants ex¬
clusively reside, being through masses of ruins. There are
iirty-two divisions in the city, each being nominally go¬
verned by its own magistrate ; but of these many are to-
a y devoid of either houses or inhabitants, and the great¬
er part of the rest are very thinly tenanted. The city
ppears to have been built of sun-dried bricks or mud, so
a 1 e whole aspect of the place presents the monoton-
s gray earthy colour common to all Persian towns; and
,n ^ e Rouses which remain entire are miserably poor
h in t^e*r outward appearance, nor are they much
v r ,uinished within. The approach to these houses
nart °mzesiwi]th all the other details, being for the most
vpn- rouSodark lanes and narrow alleys, extremely incon-
0„.‘^ filthy- Fraser informs us, that in his walks he
whpr 'T3 ^ stumbled upon the strangest holes and corners,
ruhhfc^u8 P?ered out that were half hid in filth and
timpc u * adds> ^at the path among such places some-
urrows under the earth, or beneath a heap of build-
M U S
603
mgs which have been raised over it, upon a floor of beams Mushed,
and mats ; and that, after thus descending, as it seemed,'
into the bowels of the earth, a door was opened into a
small parterre, surrounded with various apartments, and
htted up with reservoirs and fountains of water, trees, and
flowers. There is only one street worthy of the name,
which extends throughout the whole length of the town,
running north-west and south-east. In the centre is a
canal, which serves as a receptacle for all the filth of the
town, and is in a state of great disrepair. A row of shops
extends along the pathway on either side; and there is a
bazaar in another quarter, which extends from 500 to 600
yards in one direction. The public buildings of Mushed
are very splendid, and highly celebrated for their sanc¬
tity. I he tomb in which repose the ashes of the Imam
Iteza and of the Kaliph Haroun A1 Raschid, is an exten-
sive and most magnificent structure, which has been em¬
bellished and enriched by different princes. This mag¬
nificent cluster of domes and minarets is situated in the
centre of the city, where there is a noble oblong square,
lo0 yards in length by 75 in breadth, with gateways at
either end, and forms a splendid specimen of the style of
eastern architecture. The mausoleum itself comprises a
mass of buildings which appear to be of the octagon form ;
and a silver gate, the gift of Nadir Shah, admits into the
passage to the chief apartment, beneath a gilded cupola
of magnificent dimensions, rising loftily into a fine'dome,
from the centre of which depends a huge branched can¬
dlestick of solid silver. There are numerous other apart¬
ments, a description of which will be found in Fraser’s ac¬
count ot his journey to Khorassan. Mushed contains no
other religious shrine worthy of notice. There is a large
ruined mosque with two minarets; and there are numerous
other smaller ones to be found in all quarters of the city.
There are also sixteen schools or colleges, ten or twelve
public baths, and at least twenty-five or thirty caravanse¬
rais ; many of them spacious and handsome establishments,
whilst others are in ruins. The palace of the prince is a
poor fabric, scarcely deserving of notice. Mushed contains
the tombs of Nadir Shah and his son, though not their dust;
their remains having been dug up by their bitter enemy
Mahommed Khan, and carried to "leheran. This city rose
into importance during the contests between the Mahom-
medan sects of the Soonies and the Sheahs, under the pa¬
tronage of Tahmareb, a zealous Sheah, and a prince of the
Suffanean dynasty, who decorated the tomb oflmam Reza.
It was taken and pillaged by the Tartar tribes; and it was
again utterly ruined by the Afghans, and scarcely restored
to its former magnificence by all the favours which were
lavished on it by Nadir Shah. Its commerce is considerable,,
being an entrepot for that of the surrounding countries, and’
rich caravans daily arriving from Bockhara, Khyvah, Herat,
Kerman, Yezd, Cashan, Ispahan, and other cities. There
are in Mushed many merchants, with a considerable num¬
ber of shopkeepers and tradesmen; and one quarter of
the city is appropriated to the Jews, who are here tolerably
numerous, and exercise their customary profession of scrap
sellers. Of travellers, whether in the way of religion or of
commerce, numbers are to be seen from all the surround¬
ing countries, such as Arabs, Turks, Afghans, Turcomans,
Usbecks, in the different caravanserais and bazaars of Mu¬
shed. It is famed for the manufacture of velvets, which
are esteemed the best in Persia; and of sword-blades,
which sell, many of them, at from fifteen to a hundred reals
a piece, or from L.l to between L.6 and L.7. Those of
them made by the old workmen sell as high as 2000 reals;
and even more is sometimes demanded for a blade of
known antiquity and goodness. The vicinity of the tur¬
quoise mines gives employment to numerous stone-cutters.
The population is estimated by Fraser at 31,000. Lon°-.
57. E. Lat. 37. 35. N.
604
MUSIC.
Music.
Introduc¬
tion.
Within the limits necessarily prescribed to this article,
it is impossible to do more than touch upon a few points
belonging to the subject. A complete treatise upon the
theory and practice of music, according to the received
doctrines, would contain about six thousand articles, and
would fill several volumes. In writing this article, we
have frequently availed ourselves of materials offered by
the best and latest musical authorities. When so many
works have been published by skilful professional musi¬
cians upon their art, we have not the presumption to sup¬
pose that we can add much that is new; more especially
as we have no new theory to propose, and to maintain with
Quixotic zeal and recklessness. Whenever we differ from
authorities generally followed, we express our dissent, and
give our reasons for it. Our main purpose is to direct at¬
tention to some useful musical objects, hitherto in general
too much overlooked; to point out some errors in the
theory and practice of music; and to show the utter use¬
lessness of pursuing the old routine of building up false
theories of music, and spending years in the vain study
of what is called thorough bass, and is even still consi¬
dered, by too many persons, as comprehending the whole
art and science of music. To attempt to make any one a
composer of music by means only of dry treatises upon in¬
tervals and chords, is just as absurd as to attempt to make
a poet by means of Bysshe’s Art of Poetry, or other books
of the kind. Genius and observation, and a careful study
of the best models, are really the only things that can ever
make a good poet, or a good painter, or a good composer
of music. The aid of a skilful master will be of great im¬
portance, if he is not wrapped up in a theory. In the ab¬
sence of a master, two or three of the best modern trea¬
tises, such as Reicha’s and Cherubini’s, may help the stu¬
dent to understand the construction of those models of
composition which he ought to have constantly before
him. We suppose the reader to understand musical nota¬
tion, and to be able to sing, or to play upon some musical
instrument. If this should be the organ, or piano-forte,
so much the better for his more easy attainment of a know¬
ledge of harmony; although he must always remember
that both these instruments are out of tune, and do not
produce perfect intervals or perfect harmony. If the stu¬
dent of musical composition would acquire a real dominion
over the materials of his art, he must not trust entirely to
his organ or piano-forte. He must learn to read, in si¬
lence, any piece of music in score (in partition), and to
hear, “ in his mind’s ear,” the effect of the whole; and he
must learn to compose in silence, and without the aid of
any instrument. All great composers have acquired these
powers. This seems, to the vulgar musician, impossible. To
mention only one instance of such powers among living ar¬
tists ; Cherubini composes all his music with the aid of no
other instruments but pen, ink, and paper. We have seen
him at work. An accomplished composer is able to form in
his mind, with no aid from any instrument, the whole plan
and details of a complicated piece of harmony, before he
writes a note of it. In his “ mind’s eye” he sees the whole
score ; in his “ mind’s ear” he hears the effect which the
piece would produce if performed. Until the student ac¬
quires this power of abstraction, he must consider himself
as only on a par with those every-day musicians whom
the “ fatal facilities” of the organ or piano-forte raise into
the ephemeral class of pseudo-composers.
Some persons consider music as a frivolous and useless
art. They do not feel nor understand music, and they are
not to be blamed for this when nature has denied them a
musical ear, any more than a blind man is to be blamed''—-,
for not admiring painting or sculpture, or a blind and deaf
man for not admiring poetry. But really, when musical
compositions are frivolous and useless, the fault is in the
artist, not in the art. If men choose to write bad poetry, to
paint bad pictures, to chisel bad sculptures, this can never
prove that poetry, painting, and sculpture, are frivolous
and useless arts. Every one of the fine arts may be ren¬
dered frivolous and useless by misapplication of its means;
nay, some of them may be made highly dangerous and mis¬
chievous, as has often happened. No doubt all the fine
arts may be considered in one point of view as superfluous
things, not at all contributing to the necessaries of human
existence. Food, clothing, fire, and shelter, are really all
that man’s mere animal existence requires to keep him
alive. But if poetry and music, and painting and sculp¬
ture, cannot till the earth, nor build hovels, nor make cloth¬
ing, nor kindle coal-fires, they can at least add ornaments
to the structure of civilized society, and contribute to the
innocent pleasures and happiness of man’s transitory life.
And it seems to be proved by experience, that the cultiva¬
tion of these arts, how unimportant soever they may be
to mere animal existence, has always tended to divert the
attention of mankind from the sole indulgence of their ani¬
mal appetites, and of their more dangerous passions. If
so, it would not be wise to deprive man of such sources of
innocent and pleasing occupation, or rather relaxation, and
to reduce him to the merely animal state of the savage,
who enjoys and admires nothing beyond his animal com¬
forts, and his murderous triumphs over his rivals or his
enemies.
Many persons are so constituted, or so trained, as to
have no relish for poetry, or painting, or music. So much
the worse for them, perhaps, since their want of feeling or
imagination deprives them of sources of innocent pleasure
open to others. If a mere mathematician should be dis¬
satisfied with the works of a great poet, because these
works prove nothing mathematically, a lover of poetry
must not take offence at the mathematician. The lover
of poetry, perhaps himself a poet, may be totally insen¬
sible to the beauties of the most profound mathematical
reasonings, or the finest musical compositions. This often
happens. But it rarely happens that the real lover of
music is not also a lover of poetry and of painting. « e
have known men high in the literary and scientific world,
upon whom the best music produced no other impression
than that of an agreeable or a disagreeable noise., but
this never made us respect them the less for their own
peculiar powers of feeling and thinking. They were not
so organized as to feel and think as we did. That was all.
The wiser and more philosophical plan is, not to be angry
with any of our fellow-creatures for not feeling and ad¬
miring as we do; but to regret that they cannot feel and
admire with us, because such communion of feeling am
admiration would serve to draw those persons closer 0
us in human fellowship. To call a man a blockhead, pe-
cause he does not, or cannot, feel and think in every thing
exactly like ourselves, is merely to be at once ill natlirec’
uncharitable, and unphilosophical. It is, “ not to «
ourselves? Non omnia possumus omnes, We find no r
with men who cannot perceive the beauties of music,
find fault with the perversions of an art which we ou-
selves feel to be a fine and expressive one, too often
formed and perverted.
MUSIC.
isic. Most treatises on this subject begin with a definition of
music. To persons who already understand music tho-
lUon roughly, any attempt at such a definition is unnecessary.
lslt' They have already formed their own ideas of music as an
art. To persons ignorant of music, any such definition is
quite unintelligible. The extent, the complexity, and the
mutability of the art, render all such definitions imperfect
and objectionable. The best way in this, as in all others
of the fine arts, is to leave the student to form his own de¬
finition, after he has thoroughly studied the art. We fol¬
low this plan.
In some of the latest and best works on music, we find
a definition of it attempted in this manner: “ The art
of expressing an agreeable play of feelings by means of
sounds.” But music often expresses the most painful and
tragical feelings. Another is, “ The art of expressing de¬
terminate feelings by means of regulated sounds.” And
then follows a long description of the nature of all the va¬
rious branches of music; which is just tantamount to a
confession that the definition is unintelligible and useless
without the lengthy description.
Leibnitz had a strange metaphysical notion of music,
which he thus expressed : “ Musica est exercitium arith¬
metics occultum nescientis se numerare animi; multa
enim facit in perceptionibus confusis seu insensibilibus,
quae distincta, apperceptione notare nequit. Errant enim,
qui nihil in anima fieri putant, cujus ipsa non sit conscia.
Anima igitur etsi se numerare non sentiat, sentit tamen
hujus numerationis insensibilis effectum, seu voluptatem in
consonantiis, molestiam in dissonantiis inde resultantem.
Ex multis enim congruentiis insensibilibus oritur volup-
tas,” &c. Descartes entertained similar notions; and Euler,
in his Tentamen Novae Theoriae Musicae, assures us that
the ear is pleasingly or unpleasingly affected by musical
intervals, according to its perception of the simplicity or
of the complexity of their ratios of vibration. His mea¬
sures of these ratios do not agree with practice. But the
absurdity consists in supposing such an auricular arith¬
metic, by which the ear judges of the ratios of intervals.
Does the milk-maid calculate the ratios of the intervals in
her untutored song, and take pleasure in it, or the reverse,
according to her perception of their simplicity or complexi-
ty ? In Italy we may hear persons who cannot read music,
singing very agreeably in two, or three, or four parts, in
harmony. Do such persons know any thing of the harmo¬
nic ratios of the sounds they combine together in this way?
They have no more idea that even an octave is in the ratio
of 1:2, than they have of the distance between the earth
and the moon. Similar false applications of rhathematics
have tended greatly to produce that mysterious obscurity
which has hitherto been artificially thrown over the beau¬
tiful and inviting regions of musical melody and harmony.
There, genius and perseverance have culled the sweetest
flowers; while mathematical investigationshave, asyet, only
groped among the soil from which these blossoms sprang.
605
The state of our.knowledge of acoustics, one of the most
subtile and difficult of sciences, is still too incomplete to
permit of the formation of a perfect theory of music, even
were music, as a fine art, entirely dependent upon the phy-
sico-mathematical science of acoustics, which it is not.
at6- •Wars’ however, the beautiful experiments of Dr
Lhladni, M. Oersted, Monsieur Savart, Professor Faraday,
and Professor C. Wheatstone, have thrown much light upon
some of the obscurer parts of acoustics.
In another work, we have expressed ourselves in the
«°TuWln^ ^er.ms fegarding proposed theories of music.
e mischievous effects of false principles have been
experienced in every branch of physical science. The
in rashness of premature generalization has operated
Wl 38 §reat absurdity in music as in any other branch of
human knowledge. While music was in its infancy, and Music,
while the observations and experiments which had been
made respecting it were confined within limits by much
too narrow to permit the formation of just and compre¬
hensive general principles, musicians, both practical and
speculative, misled by a false philosophy, and by erroneous
ideas of simplicity, attempted to establish one single prin-'
ciple as the sole basis of musical harmony and composition.
Confounding together the essentially distinct methods
proper to physical and to mathematical science, they seiz¬
ed upon a particular phenomenon belonging to acoustics,
and endeavoured to torture it into a principle which might
apply to, and explain, the whole phenomena belonging5to
musical composition. From a particular fact, which had
no necessary connection w ith musical composition, they
attempted, with some ingenuity, and with much sophistry
and ineffectual labour, to deduce the whole system of that
art; while they were not aware either of the imperfection
and incompleteness of the system which then existed, or
of the improper method of induction which they had adopt¬
ed. They employed the synthetical method of induction
proper to mathematics, instead of the analytical method
of induction, which is the true guide to physical investi¬
gation. In mathematics, we make discoveries by reason¬
ing from definitions, axioms, and postulates; in other
words, by reasoning from generals to particulars; but in
physics, w'e extend our views and consolidate our know¬
ledge by the opposite method of reasoning from particu¬
lars to generals. In physical science, when our observa¬
tions and experiments have been sufficiently numerous
and extensive, we may then, but not till then, establish
general laws, or first principles, and reason from these syn¬
thetically ; but if, on the contrary, the facts from which we
generalize have been gathered from a narrow and unen¬
lightened survey of the field of physical science, w^e shall
almost inevitably draw false conclusions, and form prin¬
ciples which involve error and absurdity in relative pro¬
portion to the obscurity and contraction belonging to our
investigation of particulars.
“ D was long ago observed, that a musical string, or wire,
capable of rendering a grave and powerful sound when
thrown into a state of vibration, produced, in that state,
not only a principal sound, corresponding to its length,
tension, thickness, &c., but also two audible, concomitant,
and accessory sounds, related to the principal sound by
the intervals of a twelfth, or double (replicate) fifth, and
seventeenth major, or second replicate major third. For
example, the fourth string, or largest string of the violon¬
cello, when strongly vibrating, may produce these acces¬
sory sounds, or harmonics ; which, although feeble in com¬
parison with the principal sound, may, however, be heard
by a delicate and attentive musical ear.
“ Upon this acoustical phenomenon, Rameau, a French
musician, attempted to found his theory of harmony. We
shall afterwards quote the opinions of some of the highest
authorities in Europe upon this theory, and also upon that
of Tartini, to which we now proceed.
“ Tartini, in his Trattato di Musica, published at Padua in
1754s informs us, that if two sustained sounds (forming, for
example, a third or a fifth) are produced at once from two
violins, two trumpets, &c. the result will be the generation
of a harmonic third sound, distinctly perceivable by the
ear. This phenomenon was observed by Rameau in 1753.
Tartini seems to have mistaken the pitch of the third
sound, or grave harmonic, produced in this experiment,
since M. Serre of Geneva, in his Principles of Harmony,
tells us that the grave harmonic sounds produced by ma¬
jor and minor thirds are each an octave lower than those
mentioned by Tartini. This phenomenon gave rise to
Tartini’s theory of harmony. We now make the quota¬
tions which we promised. The first is from the works of
606
Music.
MUSIC.
the late Professor Robison, whose authority, on such a been attempted to deduce the' laws of succession from the M j
1 point, is of indubitable weight. He is writing of Rameau’s multiple! resonance, or from the sub-multiple resonance.v—*
theory. ‘ Rameau has made this,’ the generation of acute Tartini had hardly discovered this last phenomenon, when
harmonics, ‘ the foundation of his system of music, assert- he hastened, in order to satisfy the taste of his time, to
ing that the pleasure of harmony results from the success^ rear up upon it a system, which he gave to the world in a
ful imitation of this harmony of nature. But a little logic very unintelligible work. J. J. Rousseau, who was almost
should convince these theorists that they must be mis- equally a stranger to geometry and to the science of corn-
taken. A little mathematics, too, or mechanics, would position, produced, without having even comprehended it,
have convinced them. His theory is a very forced accom- a very imperfect analysis of it (Tartini’s system) in his
modation of this principle to the practice of musicians and shapeless dictionary, and exalted it to the utmost of his
taste of the public.’ Speaking further of Rameau’s theory, power, for the pleasure of mortifying Rameau, with whom
he says, ‘ It is a mere whim, proceeding on a false as- he had some quarrel.
sumption, namely, that a musical sound is essentially ac- “ ‘ With the phenomenon of the multiple resonance, of
companied by its octave, twelfth, and seventeenth, in alto, which he had considered no more than the three first
This is not true, though such accompaniment be very fre- terms, Rameau had propped up his system of the funda-
quent,&c. Are these acute harmonics musical sounds or not? mental bass. Without entering more into detail, I shall
He surely will not deny this. Therefore they too are es- remark, that this phenomenon has no connection with the
sentially accompanied by their harmonics, and this abso
lutely and necessarily ad infinitum! Of Tartini’s theory
he says, ‘ Tartini prized this observation,’ the generation
of grave harmonics, ‘ as a most important discovery, and
considered it as affording a foundation for the whole science
of music.’ After some farther remarks, he adds, ‘ The
system of harmonious composition which Tartini has, with
wonderful labour and address, founded on it, has, there¬
fore, no solidity.’
laws of harmony. That if one absolutely would apply it to
them, it would be necessary,in order to be consist¬
ent, to suppose, at least implicitly, that the sounds of the
system are those of the series of aliquots: first absurdity.
Second, That all the notes of the bass ought to be accom¬
panied by all their aliquots, moving in a parallel manner
with each other: second absurdity. Every other conse¬
quence is illegitimate, and tends, not to give a foundation
in nature to the rules of harmony, but to reconcile, as one
“ Dr Chladni, in his celebrated work Trade d'Acous- best can, the phenomena with the rules of harmony, which
tique, expresses himself as follows regarding the theories is a very indifferent matter.’ ”
which we have just mentioned: ‘ It is not conformable to In 1753, M. Serre, a miniature painter at Geneva, pub-
nature to desire, like many authors, to derive all harmony lished his Essais sur les Principes de XHarmonic. Heas-
from the vibrations of a string, and especially from the co- sumed three essential fundamentals in the scale ; the to-
existence of several sounds with the fundamental sound, nic, the fifth, and the fourth. He described the nature and
A string is only one species of sonorous body. use of what he termed diacommatic intervals, or slides ne-
“ ‘ In many other sonorous bodies the general laws of vi- cessary to perfect intonation in various modulations; and
brations, which were not known, are differently modified, he laid down as a principle, that it depended upon the na-
consequently the laws of one sonorous body cannot be ap- ture of the intervals of a chord whether that chord should
plied to that which ought to be common to all. A mono- have one or two, or even three fundamentals. These opi-
chord cannot serve to establish the principles of harmony, nions of M. Serre’s have been of late years, and with some
but only to give an idea of the effect of ratios.’ ‘ Many modifications, reproduced as new. In some works recently
authors have regarded the co-existence of sounds com- published, we have observed an analogy pointed out, as
prised in the natural series of numbers (which, according new, between the harmonics above mentioned and the cu-
to true principles, is nothing but a particular phenomenon) rious phenomena of complementary colours. In Black-
as an essential difference between a distinct sound and a wood’s Edinburgh Magazine for February 1823 (pp. 159-
noise. They have taken this quality for the basis of all 162), will be found a letter of ours in Italian, in which this
harmony, believing that an interval is consonant, because analogy is particularly noticed, and a short description of
the acute sound may be heard along with the fundamental some of the phenomena given. In the same letter there
sound. They do not know that, if more than one sound is are some remarks upon the analogy between the harmo-
heard at the same time, this is nothing more than a con- nic series 1, 3, 5, 7, &c. and the progression of numbers
sequence of the existence of many species of vibrations ; 1, 3, 5, 7, ascribed by Newton to the squares of the dia-
that in many sonorous bodies the series of possible sounds meters of the coloured circles produced by him on apply-
is very different from the natural series of numbers ; and ing to the plane side of a plano-convex lens one of the con-
that we may produce each manner of vibrations, where vex sides of a double convex lens,
there are nodes, without any mixture of other sounds, by
touching the nodal points, or lines, which ought to be in
motion in other manners of vibrating.
“ ‘ According to their principles, the perfect minor chord—
if one does not make use of sophisms—would not be con¬
sonant ; and, on the bell of the harmonica, the ninth
A strange error has long prevailed regarding the co-ex¬
istent vibrations of a musical string. The total vibration
which gives the gravest sound of the string, can by no
means co-exist with the vibrations of the aliquot parts of
the same string. The thing is physically impossible, as
could be easily demonstrated. In fact, to assert that a
(4 : 9) would be the first consonance, since it is the first vibrating string can move in a number of different and op-
sound which can mingle itself with the fundamental sound, posite directions at the same instant of time, is as absurd
&c. Daniel Bernouilli and Lagrange have sufficiently re- as to maintain that a man can run backwards and forwards,
futed these false principles.’
“ With respect to Tartini’s theory in particular, he says,
‘ Tartini pretended that this third sound was more acute
by an octave than it really is. He regarded this pheno¬
menon, combined with the pretended co-existence of the
series of sounds 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c. in each fundamental
sound, as the basis of harmony. Mr Mercadier de Belesta
has very well refuted some false assertions of Tartini, in
his Systeme de Musique, Paris, 1776.’
“ Choron, in his work upon composition, says, ‘ It has
to the right and to the left, &c. all at the same moment.
The following diagrams represent the three primary curves
of the harmonic series 1, 2, 3.
1.
MUSIC.
iic.
The co-existence of all these curves ha. physical impos¬
sibility, For how can ACB coincide with Ac/eB, or with
A/^B ? It is needless to go farther. There may be
many co-existent vibrations of traction and torsion in the
string, but not any co-existent vibrations in directions quite
opposite to each other.
The musical treatises of Choron, Catel, and Momigny, &c.
among the French, and of Reicha and others among the
Germans, are still too much tinctured with peculiar and
arbitrary theories and systems, for which there are no suf¬
ficient grounds in either acoustics or aesthetics. By this
last term the Germans have long chosen to designate, not
very appropriately, the theory of taste in the fine arts. It
is indeed impossible, by any purely mechanical and ma¬
thematical theories, or even by any metaphysical ones, to
explain all the varieties of human sensations, affections,
passions, that enter into our perceptions of beauty, sub¬
limity, &c. in poetry, painting, or music. It cannot be too
often repeated, that all the rules laid down by theorists for
the construction of works belonging to the fine arts, are
drawn from models of art previously in existence, and re¬
late merely to the mechanical portions of these arts.
Had the rigid rules formed for (and from) the ancient
Greek drama been always adhered to, we should never
have possessed Shakspeare’s plays. The magnificent mu¬
sical works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, not to speak
of many other great German and Italian composers, were not
produced by blind adherence to old rules of art, but by an
enlightened view of things, far beyond what the authors
of these rules contemplated. Biihle has remarked, that
the mechanical rules laid down in treatises on the fine arts
may be compared to telescopes, which assist the vision of
those persons who already see. A remarkable instance of
this is found in the case of Beethoven, who happened to
be placed under a master destitute of genius for melody ;
but a profound harmonist, and a learned writer of fugues
and canons, &c. Under this man, Beethoven laboured
most industriously, and went through the whole drudgery
of thorough bass, and all the rigid ancient rules of compo-
sition; but evidently with frequent misgivings as to the
general truth and application of what was taught to him.
But the result was, that these lessons and rules served him
as a “ telescope,’’ to enable him to perceive a wide field
ot composition far beyond them all. In short, he was a
man of first-rate musical genius, and therefore by nature a
great melodist; and, fortunately for the world, his inju-
icious training could not extinguish his passionate feel-
ing for melody, and his charming expression of it in his best
works. In some of his works, especially among his last,
we find unpleasing traces of the predominance of his early
raining over his native genius. But his latest works
were composed when he had been for many years perfect-
various parts that compose the human ear are by no means
well understood. s
The perceptive powers of the ear differ considerably
among mankind, especially as regards the perception of
the various qualities and relations of musical sounds. In
ike manner, we find that the perceptions of form, propor¬
tion, colour, &c. are by no means always the same in every
mman eye. Perfection of the eye is requisite to the pain¬
ter; perfection of the ear to the musician. Sometimes
persons are found who cannot distinguish colours, or shades
of colour, from each other. Perhaps more frequently in-
stances are met with of persons whose perceptions of the
differences between musical sounds are very imperfect
We have been informed that Mr Pond, the late astrono¬
mer royal, though a real lover of music, and capable of
hearing distinctly sounds of a grave pitch, or of a middle
pitch, was incapable of hearing very acute sounds, whether
musical or not, which were perfectly audible to other per¬
sons; for example, the loud chirping of a number of
crickets in a room, and the very piercing sound produced
by turning round the ground-glass stopper of a bottle con-
taining calomel. The stopper was turned round close to
Mr Pond s ear without producing any sensation. All this
clearly proved that Mr Pond’s ear, however perfect in other
respects, was incapable of conveying any perception of
very acute sounds.
All vibrations sufficiently rapid and powerful to act up¬
on the auditive organs produce the sensation of sound.
To enable us to hear slow vibrations as well as more rapid
ones, it would be necessary, according to Riccati, that the
intensity of each simple vibration should be in proportion
to its duration. For this reason, says Chladni, and on ac¬
count of the different organization of each individual, and
each kind of animal, there exist no absolute limits to the
perceptibility of sounds.
The ear does not distinguish the very small differences
of the exact ratios between sounds. Were it not for this
illusion, music would have no existence. But this is not
to make us seek the less for true intonation, wherever it
can be obtained. Few persons are aware how great is the
difference between the true intonations of a fine voice, or
a violin, &c. and the false intonations of such instruments
of fixed sounds as the organ, piano-forte, &c. Many sing¬
ers, trained to the intonation of a piano-forte, have their
ear and voice so misled that they can never afterwards
learn to sing in tune. The famous Madame Mara con¬
demned the use of the piano-forte in learning to sing. She
said every singer ought to learn to play on the violin, in or¬
der to know what true intonation is.
The different quality (timbre) of a musical sound and its
articulations, says Chladni, are among the most remark¬
able objects of audition. They do not appear to depend
on the manner of vibration, nor (or very little) upon the
form of the sonorous body; but rather on the matter of
the sonorous body, and that of the body by which it is
rubbed or struck, as well as on the mattev which propa¬
gates the sound. We have not the least idea of the na¬
ture of these different characters of sound, nor of their
propagation.
The limits usually assigned to musical sounds, reckoning
from grave to acute, or the contrary, are as follows:
607
_Q_
Two octaves higher
than written.
a?
otwithstanding the laborious investigations of many
eminent anatomists and physiologists, from Comparetti
ownwards to Magendie, the uses and functions of all the
Two octaves lower
than written.
Music.
The lowest of these sounds will be such as is produced
by an open organ-pipe of 32 feet in length, and the num-
608
MUSI C.
Music, ber of vibrations of the reed will be 32 in a second of
—v 'time The next octave above will be produced by an
open organ-pipe of 16 feet, and the number of vibrations
in a second will be 64; the next octave above that, pipe
8 feet and 128 vibrations; and so on. The highest sound
above5noted will have 16,384 vibrations in a second. Inis
last sound is not to be taken absolutely as indicating the
extreme limit of acute sounds that may be used in music,
and may be appreciated by the human ear ; for it has been
calculated that a sound produced by 24,000 vibrations in a
second is appreciable. We shall give, in a wood cut, p.
618, a copy of a very useful table of the compass of voices
and instruments, published by Monsieur Choron, in his large
and expensive work upon composition. As all the plates
of that work were destroyed some years ago, copies are
now extremely rare and valuable.
Production If we take a vibrating musical string or wire, perfectly
of series of unif0rni in thickness, and homogeneous throughout, ana
musical divide it into its aliquot parts, its half, its third, its tourt ,
sounds. .ts fifll and go onj we shall obtain, by this division ot the
monochord, as it is called, a great many ot the sounds be¬
longing to our musical system. A number of these sounds
can be obtained from it by lightly touching it at these di¬
visions, as happens when we produce harmonics on the
open string of a violin, &c.; and all these sounds are
true, or nearly true, if the string is perfect ; otherwise
they are not. This frequent imperfection in the uni¬
formity and homogeneity of strings is one great obstacle
to perfect intonation. Again, if we take an organ-pipe,
or a French horn, &c., and blow into it in such a man¬
ner as to produce its natural series of sounds, w^e shall
have, beginning with the lowest, a series corresponding (m
ratio of vibrations of the column of air contained in it)
to the arithmetical series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, &c. thus:
performers on instruments of the violin kind. In France, ^
a number of experiments were tried with \ lotti s perform¬
ance, and it was ascertained that he employed a vast num¬
ber of very minute intervals, in order to play perfectly in
tune in all keys.
Music;
:o:
□ZE
i
■&-
zo:
&c.
These sounds also are /nie harmonics, supposing the sono¬
rous tube properly constructed, and the force of the blast
suitably regulated. If we push this harmonic generation
of sounds still farther, we may obtain a number of other
sounds, some of which, though apparently/afoe as regards
our artificial temperament on instruments of fixed sounds
(such as the organ, piano-forte, &c.), are jet true, or nearly
so, as regards the intervals which occur in true intonation.
There is no room here to enter into a discussion of this
curious and intricate subject. We shall content ourselves
with giving a table of the harmonics obtainable from an
open cylindrical glass tube furnished with a suitable mouth¬
piece, and fitted to an organ-bellows. This table show's
that the gravest sounds obtainable from the tube are re¬
moved from each other by wide intervals. Thus the two
first sounds, Ci and C2 are separated by the interval of
an octave. G2 is a fifth above C2, and C3 is a fourth
above G2, and so on. This is the series followed by the
natural sounds of such instruments as the horn, trumpet,
serpent, &c.; but it is extremely difficult, or nearly im¬
possible, to produce on these instruments the sound cor¬
responding to Cr Even C2 is very difficult to produce ;
and the first sound that usually occurs corresponds with
G2. As the sounds become more acute, that is, as the
column of air divides itself into a greater number of parts,
they approximate each other more and more. By and by,
chromatic intervals occur, represented by flats and sharps ;
and, at last, intervals so small that they cannot be repre¬
sented by any of the common signs of musical notation.
But these smaller intervals are necessary to perfect musi¬
cal intonation, and are employed by the best singers and
In treating of the musical sounds produced by sonorous
bodies, such as vibrating strings, or wires, or springs, or
columns of air in tubes, &c., it is rarely kept in view tha
in these, as in all mechanical phenomena, al owance must
be made for the mechanical conditions which may render
the actual phenomena not exactly correspondent to the
mathematically calculated results. From want of atten-
tion to this, many false theories of musical intonation have
been adopted. It is quite true, mathematically speaking,
that if all the hypothetical conditions of a sonorous body
were, as they are assumed to be, in the course ot a mathe¬
matical reasoning regarding them, the physico-mathema-
tical result deduced by such reasoning, supposing this rea¬
soning accurate, must be perfectly correct. But, m gene¬
ral, such reasoning and deduction are carried on with ab¬
straction made of some of the inevitable physical circum¬
stances which attend the real phenomena. In this way,
pure mathematical reasoning is often, in some degree, a
variance with mechanical phenomena. A badly formed
string, or wire, &c. will not conform to the mathematical
calculations as to the sounds that it must produce when
divided in such and such ways. N either will its real
brations agree with those mathematically calculated, m
like manner, the friction, and inequalities and imperfec-
tions^of any piece of machinery, will, in the real operations
of the latter, produce results in some respects contradic
tory to the abstract mathematical theory of what the ope
rations of the mechanism ought to be.
A musical interval consists in the difference kel:''^*'j|nterva
two given sounds, in respect to their relative acuteness anu
gravity. Thus it is evident that the unison is not an >
terval, although it is often improperly so called. Anstot ,
in the tenth section of his thirty-ninth pr.oblem, y
rectly designates the unison as being “ only the same
multiplied? But the slightest departure from
one of the sounds becoming a little more acute,
other a little more grave, forms an interval, >
be so very small as not to belong to those ^"terva g
rally recognised in melody and harmony. Thenieasu
the relative lengths, or vibrations, of two nmsica g_
producing an interval, will be the d^remie of Am „
spective logarithms, as has been remarked by Dr Smh ^
his “ Harmonics,” and by various othe[.subse(l?epd. bur„h
Among these, the late Professor Robison, of Edinburg
MUSIC.
pic. University, pointed out some useful applications of the lo-
"'garithmic subdivision of the circumference of a pasteboard
circle, fitted with a moveable concentric circle, &c. as de¬
scribed in his article Temperament, in the present work.
He adds: “ Or a straight line may be so divided, and re¬
peated thrice; then a sliding ruler, divided in the same
manner, and applied to it, will answer the same purpose.”
We may remark, that these suggestions of Professor Ro¬
bison have been employed in the construction of similar in¬
struments, without any acknowledgment; and also, that
Professor Robison’s experiment, by applying a stop-cock to
an organ-pipe, and producing various sounds from the re¬
gular and rapid opening and shutting of the stop-cock,
bears great analogy to the syren instrument recently con¬
structed by M. Cagniard de la Tour. Professor Robison,
speaking of his stop-cock apparatus, says, “ The intelligent
reader will see here an opening made to great additions
to practical music, and the means of producing musical
sounds, of which we have at present scarcely any concep¬
tion,” &c. We have already mentioned, very briefly, how
intervals are produced by the subdivisions of a sonorous
string or wire, &c. or of the column of air in a wind-instru¬
ment, or in the glass tube before described.
If we suppose such a tube to produce, as its gravest
and so on. If to the last of these series we add
at the top, we shall have the major diatonic scale of C.
By carrying farther the series of harmonic products of these
three tubes, we shall obtain a number of other intervals
(see the table), and among these the ones suitable to the
scale of C minor: j
I
Id
dr
dl
id;
sound,
3E
, its primary harmonics will be
~rr
viz. octave, replicate of fifth, and replicate of third. Car¬
rying the series farther, we shall have one similar to that
already given in the table of harmonics. Supposing two
other such tubes, the one having for its gravest sound
, and the other , the harmonics re-
, and
■&, and so on, as in the case of the first.
By bringing closer together these dispersed primary har-
Table of Intervals in general use.
Diminished , . .
Second. Third. F°“rth. or Flat A^™f^ted Fifth.
UI rirtL r.”
Fifth. Fourth-
Augmented Major
Sixth. Seventh.
609
monies, by means of their octaves above or below, we shall Music,
obtain the following series of sounds : v
The subject of intervals has been involved in frightful
confusion by the number and complexity of names intro¬
duced, and the contradictory statements of various writers
upon music. We have no space to devote to the clearing
up of this chaos ; but we may remark, in general, that in
this matter, as well as in many others connected with mu¬
sic, there is great need of a reformation in terminology.
To glance at only three or four of the misnomers in daily
use, without meddling with the more abstruse terms: the
fifth diatonic sound of an ascending scale is called the do¬
minant of the scale, which signifies the ruling or governing
sound; while, in fact, the tonic, or key-note, and no other,
is the chief and ruling sound of the scale, the sound from
which, as a common centre, all the others of the scale may
diverge, or to which they may converge, like the radii of
a circle. This use of the term dominant seems to have
arisen from the predominance of the fifth of the key in an¬
cient church-chants. The term subdominant is improper,
too, as applied to the diatonic fourth of a scale. The terms
double octave, double third, double fourth, &c. are wron as
applied to intervals, because they imply that these inter¬
vals are doubled in the unison, while it is meant to express
only the acuter or graver replicates of these intervals in the
octave. The same with regard to triple octave, &c. When
we read of diminished or augmented unisons, false fifths, su¬
perfluous fifths, seconds, &c. &c. we must regret the obscu¬
rity of such terms ; but meantime we shall use the common
terms as we find them, because to introduce new ones
abruptly would only add to the confusion already existing.
Eighth.
Inversions of the above Intervals.
sac ««*• *-»■ sr “ksp gs
Major Diminished Minor TT .
Second. Third. Second. Un,son-
Inversion of an interval takes place when the graver
soun is carried an octave higher, or the acuter an octave
ower. Ihe effect of inversion of intervals may be repre¬
sented by the following two rows of figures, where it will
)e seen that 1 or unison, becomes 8 or octave ; 2, or se¬
cond, becomes 7 or seventh, and so on.
J2345678
87654321
By looking at the above table of intervals, and their in-
VOL. XV.
versions, we perceive that intervals inverted become
major, and major, minor; diminished intervals become aug¬
mented, and augmented, diminished. We have placed Dt>
before GU, and Eb before DJJ, and so on ; because, contrary
to the common opinion, the Db in the above series is a
graver sound than the Cit, and the Eb than the Dj|, and so
of the others. This is not easily understood by a mere
player on the organ or piano-forte, but can be exemplified
by any accomplished singer or violinist.
In writing for voices, especially in the strict or serious
4 H
Music, style, many of these intervals are not used. The follow-
ing are generally prohibited in that style: Augmented
second, diminished fourth, augmented fourth, diminished
fifth, augmented fifth, major sixth, diminished seventh,
minor seventh, major seventh, augmented third.
Musical Scale is the more comprehensive of these terms, since
scales, all appreciable musical sounds between the extremes of
modes, grave and acute form the general scale or system of sounds
ke^3, employed in melody and harmony. A mode is a certain
arrangement of tones and semitones, &c. between a given
sound and its octave above or below. Key properly sig- Mi*,
nifies a character employed at the beginning of the staff,>
to fix the names of the notes; but it has long been used
as nearly synonymous with scale or mode, since these
terms are often employed the one for the other. What is
called the key-note, or tonic, is the principal sound of a
mode, or that from which we begin to reckon its degrees
upwards or downwards. Suppose we take the note C as
tonic, or key-note. The arrangement of notes No. 1 will
form the mode or key of C major, and the arrangement of
No. 2 the mode or key of C minor.
No. 1.
No. 2.
b
£
1^=
No. 3.
No. 4.
gESjaEilijE
Both these are called Diatonic scales, although they are
not strictly such, since they contain other intervals be¬
sides tones. The chromatic scales formed from these
consist of a semitonic (or so-called semitonic) series be¬
tween the key-note and its octave above or below, ascend¬
ing or descending. These two modes, major and minor,
and their respective chromatic scales, may be considered
as the types or representatives of all other major and minor
modes and chromatic scales. No. 3 and No. 4 are two
forms of the major and minor mode not generally adverted
to, but which are very effective when skilfully used, as,
for example, by Haydn in the andantino in C minor of
his symphony in E flat. As an octave series or scale
may be formed anywhere within the limits of appreciable
musical sounds, we thus obtain a variety of scales, diato¬
nic and chromatic, all of which, however, are to be consi¬
dered as only so many fragmentary formulae, comprehend¬
ed within, and belonging to the whole series of the gene¬
ral system. Thus we shall have the modes or scales of C
flat, C sharp, major and minor; D major and minor, D
flat and D sharp, major and minor, and so on with E, F,
G, A, B, and their chromatic alterations, flat or sharp.
The term key is usually applied to these. Thus we speak
of the key of C major, of C minor, of C sharp major or
minor, and so on. As concert-pitch is not one and the
same in all countries, keys of the same name do not every¬
where correspond exactly. The production of what is called
the sharp series of keys arises from a regular succession of
perfect fifths taken in ascending, or fourths in descending,
beginning with C for the major ones, or A for the minor
ones. Thus the first step of a 5th ascending from C brings
us to G as a new key-note. G major, with one & at the
clef. The first step of a 5th ascending from A brings us
to E as a new key-note E minor, with one Ji at the clef.
A 5th, again, ascending from G brings us to D major with
two sharps at the clef; and a 5th ascending from E brings
us to B minor, also with two sharps at the clef; and so on
progressively with the major keys of A, E, B, with 3, 4, 5
sharps at the clef, till at last, at the twelfth 5th from C,
we reach B sharp, which, when brought down by octaves to¬
wards the original C, will be found not to correspond with
that C in unison or octave, but to be too sharp. The same
thing will occur after a similar series of twelve perfect
5ths from A, as tonic of A minor, up to G double sharp,
which last will not be in unison or octave with the original
A, but will be too sharp in the same proportion as the
other extreme of the series of twelve ascending 5ths from
C to B sharp. We may mention here, that composers sel¬
dom go beyond the keys of Ffl or Ctl major or minor, in
their notation of a piece of music, on account of the mul¬
tiplicity of sharps and double sharps in the subsequent
keys of G#, Dtt, A a, EB, Bfl, and the difficulty of reading
these, and of playing in tune in such keys upon musical
instruments even of the most perfect kind.
What is called the flat series of keys, arises from a suc¬
cession of perfect 5ths, the converse of the former. That
is to say, when, beginning with C, or with A, for the ma¬
jor or for the minor series, each key-note, in regular suc¬
cession, is a 5th in descending below, or a 4th in ascend¬
ing above the key-note immediately preceding. Thus,
from C to F in descending, F major with one flat at the
clef; from this F to Bb in descending, Bb major with
two flats at the clef; and so on with Eb, Ab, Db, major,
and with 3, 4, 5 flats, &c. at the clef. Then, again, the
minor flat series, beginning from A as tonic of minor,
D minor with one flat at the clef; from D tonic to G
tonic of G minor, with two flats at the clef; and so on with
C minor, F minor, B flat minor, &c. with 3, 4, 5 flats,
&c. at the clef. We may here remark, that what is com¬
monly called the relative minor key of a major key, has
its tonic at the interval of a minor third below the tonic of
that major key, and bears at the clef the same number of
sharps or of flats. Thus the relative minor of C is A,
without any sharps or flats at the clef; the relative mi¬
nor of G is E, with one sharp at the clef; and so on with
D major and B minor, A major and F sharp minor, &c. with
2, 3 sharps, &c. The same kind of relation occurs in the flat
series of relative major and minor keys. Thus C major, A
minor; F major, D minor ; each of the latter two with one
flat at the clef; B flat major, G minor, each with two flats
at the clef; and so on with the rest, 3 flats, 4 flats, &c.
The remoter flat keys beyond D flat are rarely used, for
reasons similar to those assigned for the infrequent use of
sharp keys beyond C sharp. To render more intelligib e
what has been said regarding the production of the sharp
and the flat series of keys, we subjoin the following exp a-
nations. Suppose a musical string to render a sound
equal to the lowest C of the violoncello, and to be nume¬
rically represented by 1. If this string be divided mto
three equal parts, any one of these parts will (tension an
other circumstances remaining the same) render a
equal to the first octave of the 5th above that C, and will
expressed by —. Two of these parts taken together will
render the 5th above that C, and such 5th will be ex
pressed by |, and will be equivalent to the lowest G of
O
41
MUSIC.
the violoncello. Taking, again, the length of the string
1 2
represented by and dividing it into three equal parts,
two of these parts will render a sound equivalent to D of
second open string of violoncello, and this D will be ex-
22
pressed by By proceeding in the same manner, we
shall obtain the series represented in the following dia¬
gram. With regard to the numerical expressions placed
under the 5ths, it will be remarked, that at each suc¬
cessive 5th, the exponent of the number 3 increases
by one, while that of the number 2 sometimes increases
by one, sometimes by two, according as the new term
is in the 5th above, or in the 4th below, the preceding
611
Music.
We shall find that the B#, the twelfth 5th of this series,
will not be in unison with c|, the octave above the original
Cl, but will be more acute than that c|. If we suppose
the whole string Cl divided into a number of parts equal
to 2X531541, the B$ in question will have 524,288 of
these, while the C- will have 531,541; and therefore the
B# will be the acuter sound of the two. In reversing the
process above described, that is to say, in reckoning a se¬
ries of 5ths from acute to grave, the numerical expression
3
of the 5th will be -. If, then, we set out from the C re¬
presented by i, and carry on, from acute to grave, a series
of operations similar to the former, we shall obtain the fol¬
lowing expressions for the flat series of keys by descend¬
ing 5ths.
The Dbb, the twelfth 5th from C—, will be found to be
a graver sound than C1, the octave below that ; for, sup¬
posing the whole string = Cl divided into 524,288 equal
parts, the Dbb would require 531,541 of these parts,
which exceeds the whole length of the string, and would
therefore produce a graver sound than Cl. The follow¬
ing diagram of the scales by 5ths ascending (sharp series),
and by 5ths descending (flat series), will show the rela¬
tive differences in pitch between the sounds of the one
series and of the other.
Scale of Ascending Fifths.
C
il
3°
G
il
31
D
32
A
_2_*
33
E
—
34
B
27
35
F&
29
36
C11
2ii
37
G&
212
38
D*
214
39
A»
215
310
E#
217
3"
B»
218
312
Scale of Descending Fifths.
312
215
Abb
311
218
Ebb
310
2le
Bbb
S9
215
Ph
3^
W3
Cb
37_
212
Gb
36
21(5
Db
28
Ab
51
27
Eb
51
2s
Bb
51
24
F
51
22
C
51
21
f we compare with each other the corresponding terms
0 these two scales or series, we perceive that the sounds
0 the sharp series are more acute than those which cor-
respond with them in the flat series, because the strings
w ich produce the latter surpass the others in length by
the difference between 524,288 and 531,541, = 7253. A
8 Consideration of these processes, and their results,
"1 show the necessity of what is called temperament
instrument as the organ, the piano-forte, &c. By
1 he fifths are rendered a little false, in order to obtain all
the octaves true.
What are called the ancient ecclesiastical scales or modes,
being, in reality, nothing but certain conventional scales
or modifications of the common major and minor scales,
and differing from these in nothing but the disposition of
their semitones, it is not necessary here to notice them very
particularly. The four most ancient of these were the Do¬
rian, the Phrygian, the Lydian, and the Myxo-Lydian. The
first of these was equivalent to the series d, e,f, g, a, b,c,
d; the second to e,f, g, a, b, c, d, e; the third to/ g, a, b, c,
d, e,f; and the fourth to g, a, b, c, d, e,f g. The dif-
1
612
MUSIC.
Music.
ferent positions of the semitones is indicated by the curved
' line The reader will find a full explanation of all the
ecclesiastical modes, authentic and plagal, in the first part
of the first volume of Padre Martini’s Saggio diContrap-
punto. A good many years ago, a Frenchman, Blainville,
pretended to have discovered a new scale or mode, whic i
was really nothing more than the Phrygian mode above
indicated. Reicha, in his volume of thirty-six fugues, pro¬
posed what he considered as a new system of scales, harmo¬
nies, and cadences, which he considered as relative to the
usual major and minor scales, &c. These relative scales,
however, were merely the Dorian and others above men¬
tioned, with the addition of the series a, b, c, d, e, fi g, a.
The relative cadences were those that might be used be¬
tween the assumed dominant and tonic of such scales, there
being no. chromatic alteration made in the sounds of the
scale. For example:
Mm
J.
m
3
— I p I —
=0-
r
? \ —
Reicha says, enthusiastically, “ according to this sys¬
tem, we should have two primitive scales, a major and a
minor, and five relative ones ; and, by transposition, twelve
primitive minor scales, and sixty relative scales; in a l
eighty-four scales, and as many cadences. What resources
unknown till now !” We cannot join Reicha in this burst
of enthusiasm. The formulae of these scales and cadences
are to be found in a great many old church chants, and
even national melodies. We must not mistake these tiag-
mentary formulae for entire and peculiar scales, indepen¬
dent of the general system of musical sounds. Reicha
adds, “ It remains for philosophers and men of genius at a
future period to deduce all the consequences from this im¬
portant system, as well as from the compound measures, and
their use. But the subtilty of a conventional taste, the
ignorance and the prejudices so fatal to the progress of the
arts, and which are peculiar to narrow minds, will be long
opposed to such deduction.” We should rejoice if Reicha s
anticipated deductions could be verified in our day ; but,
with all respect for that excellent musician, we rather think
that he has too often suffered his reason to be led asti ay by
the incomprehensible idealism and metaphysics, so general
in Germany upon almost all subjects of art, science, and
literature.
Some peculiarities that have been observed in certain
national tunes, such as the omission, in some instances, of the
fourth and seventh of the key, have been referred to scales
of a particular kind, while it seems more reasonable to refer
them merely to the imperfections of some of the musical
instruments employed ; for instance, the ancient flageo¬
let, and the chalumeau, &c. Scales, seemingly anomalous,
may arise from such causes, or from caprice, or conven¬
tional usage ; but all such scales are only fragments of that
general system of sounds which comprehends all manner
of appreciable intervals, many of which last are much smal¬
ler than is commonly believed. It has been denied that the
ancient Scotish music contained any semitones; but that
this is an error, is proved by the Skene manuscript in
the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh. In the ten Indian
scales given by Sir William Jones, we find two that want
the fourth and seventh of the key note, and one that wants
the third and seventh. 1 he former are the scales called
Mdravi and Gaudi, equivalent to c, d, e, g, a, and g, a, b, d,
e ; the latter is the one called Saindhavi, equivalent to a,
b, d, e, fi The Asdveri, Bahairava, and Malava, corre¬
spond exactly with the Dorian, the Lydian, and the nlyxo-
Lydian modes above mentioned. The Friraga is the same
as the Malava, the Todi is the same as our scale of C major,
and the Varati and Bengali correspond with our scale of
A minor with minor seventh. As to the Hindu, Persian,
and Chinese scales, and the use of quarter tones, or other
minute intervals, we refer the reader to what we publish¬
ed on that subject in No. iv. of the New Edinburgh Re¬
view, April 1822, pp. 521-528. We have examined a num¬
ber of Chinese wind and stringed instrviments brought
home in June 1837, and have found semitones in all of
them. Professional musicians who followed Napoleon into
Egypt, remarked the frequent and dexterous use of very
small intervals by some singers in that country. Dr Bur¬
ney, in the second volume of his history, p. 424*, mentions
that the Arabian scale of music is divided into quarter
tones, and that each of the twenty-four of these, into which
the octave is divided, has a particular denomination.
At the head of these must be placed the human voice.Music*
The nearer any artificial instrument approaches to it in qua-strumu
lity and power of expression, the more excellent it is.
Much controversy has arisen regarding the mechanism of
the vocal organs which effect the modulations or inflexions
of the human voice in singing. Some physiologists have
considered this mechanism as similar to that of a reed in¬
strument; others as similar to that of a stringed instrument.
It is indeed neither, according to our artificial instruments,
but a mechanism of wonderful delicacy and complexity,
infinitely surpassing all artificial instruments in variety of
timbre, in delicacy of intonation, and in power of melodic
expression. Some of the most curious inquiries into this
subject were made by the late Dr Francesco Bennati, an Ita¬
lian physician and surgeon, and an accomplished amateur
singer, who died a very few years ago in the prime of his life.
He says that phonation has hitherto been confounded with
modulation; the sounds of the voice in speaking, &c.
with those of the voice in singing. We would observe,
that the ancient Greeks, in their writings on music, made
a marked distinction in this. Dr Bennati says that the
muscles of the larynx are by no means, as hitherto assert¬
ed, the only ones employed in the production of the sounds
of the human voice in singing; and that from leaving out
of view a number of elements which belong to the real me¬
chanism in such production, the theories of the whole mat¬
ter that have been proposed and received are erroneous.
Among these omissions of real elements, he instances tie
muscles of the os hydides, of the tongue, of the upper ante¬
rior and posterior part ofithe vocal tube, besides other ana¬
tomical parts that contribute to modify the voice. Me can¬
not here enter into the curious details given by Dr Uenna-
ti; but may add, that he rejects the received terms of note
di testa and note di petto, as conveying false ideas ; and pro
poses to substitute for them the terms supra-laryngean an
laryngean notes or sounds. His proofs of all that he as¬
serts are drawn from his own frequent observation of tn
actual functions of the whole mechanism of the voice i
the cases of u number of the most celebrated male and te
the cases oi a uumuci ui     .
male singers, his contemporaries. Stretched strings g
or silk, either plain or spirally covered with wire, are
sonorous bodies employed to produce musical sounds ^
instruments of the violin kind, or of the gul!jar in ’ . or
the harp. Stretched wires of brass or steel, Pja >
spirally covered with wire, produce the sounds of the P
forte &c. Other instruments are constructed ot g
beHs or rods, &c. made to sound by friction or percuss-;
others, again, of metal springs, made to sound y _
volving toothed barrel, as in the Geneva music ^
or by a current of air directed against them, as m l e ,
man toy called the mouth harmonica, or in the A .P^
or the Accordion and Symphomon. Several °the ' It
meats of a similar kind were invented before the
MUSIC.
J ic.
may be mentioned, that Professor Robison of Edinburgh
■^University gave the hint for constructing instruments of
this last kind.
In the year 1785, the Abbate Gattoni constructed at Co¬
mo a most singular iEolian harp. He stretched fifteen iron
wires, of different thicknesses, from the top of a tower fifty-
two braccia in height (about ninety feet), to his dwelling-
house, about 150 paces distant. This giant-harp, by its
mysterious sounds while the air was calm, indicated changes
of the weather. This was ascribed to electric influence.
The same phenomena occurred in a similar harp construct¬
ed by Captain Haas of Basle. The effect of the vibrations
of the wires in each of these giant-harps, prior to changes
of weather, or during storms, is said to have been quite in¬
describable. The sounds swelling and dying, and combin¬
ing in the wildest harmonies, were sometimes heard for
miles around. Wind instruments are tubes of wood or
metal, in which the vibrating body is the column of air
contained in them. Ihey are sounded either by a pecu¬
liar mouth-piece, like that of the old flute or the flageolet;
or by blowing into an aperture on one side of the tube, as
in the fife, german flute, &c.; or by means of a reed, as in
the oboe, clarinet, bassoon, &c.; or, as in the case of the
horn, the trumpet, &c. by means of a cup-shaped mouth¬
piece, to which the lips are applied in a particular manner,
and the sounds produced by compressions and dilatations of
the lips, and the regulated force of the breath, and, in some
circumstances, by introducing the hand within the bell¬
shaped end of the instrument. Other instruments are
merely pulsatile, such as triangles, cymbals, bells, gongs,
drums, &c., and have their sounds fixed. The harsh and
unmusical tone of the gong seems to be owing to its pecu¬
liar shape, as well as to the numerous abrupt inequalities
in its thickness and density.
With refeience to Choron s table of compass of voices
and instruments, we have to remark in general, that the
best sounds of voices and instruments are their medium
sounds, and that this ought to be carefully attended to by
the composer. The frequent neglect of this in modern
compositions produces a detestable chaos of screaming,
squeaking, and grumbling. We add the following supple¬
mentary and explanatory information, which is of import¬
ance to the student. The medium compass of voices is as
613
Soprano. Contr’ Alto. Tenor.
Bass.
$
iese restrictions are, of course, not intended to apply
o so o singers, who have voices of great compass, but to
ar s wiitten in songs, duetts, trios, &c. for voices of or-
mary compass. It should be kept in view, that in writing
or voices of the same compass and quality, we can hardly
go beyond a trio or a quartett without producing a poor
ec . uetts, or at most trios, of this kind, are therefore
oest when circumstances require such combinations. But,
tin Van^y effects, and freedom of harmonic combina-
n"S> three’ f°ur> or more voices of different compass and
mm U, ought almost always to be preferred in vocal trios,
! r e ^.c- ^or duetts of this contrasted kind, see the
wrt m Clma!Losa’ Mozart, Cherubini, Himmel, &c. To
gUji] elfc-tlve Parts in harmony for voices, requires great
wp ft,30 -l111 In a vocal quartett, for example, if
row any of the voices out of their best medium com¬
pass, and do not carry them all on in correspondence with Music,
that compass, we shall produce poor and ineffective har-'''—'v—
monies; for instance, if we place the tenor Part too low
and too near the bass, while the treble and contr’ alto re¬
main in their best medium compass. Again, we may ren¬
der the principal Part in a soprano a secondary Part (to
the ear), by bringing it and the contr’ alto too close to the
tenor and bass ; and may thus render the tenor, or even
the bass, the most prominent Part, when we intended the
contrary. In vocal Parts for many voices, such as choruses,
&c. great simplicity of structure and oSperformance is re¬
quired to produce any good effect. In 1819 we witnessed
the famous Crescentini’s training of a chorus at Bologna.
His ear caught in an instant the slightest defect of intona¬
tion in any of the voices ; the slightest excess of dispro¬
portionate piano or forte; the slightest attempt at any em¬
bellishment, even an appoggiatura. He stopped the whole
performers immediately, pointed out the fault, and made
them repeat the music over and over again till he was sa¬
tisfied. This was the true way to train a perfect choral
band; it would be well if his example were followed in all
such cases.
Its powers and compass as a solo instrument are very Violin,
great, although too often misused. In orchestra music it
is seldom carried above F in alt.
In writing for an orchestra, the viola is rarely used Viola
above G, two octaves and a fifth above its lowest sound
C. Not unfrequently, in modern music, it crosses the
second violin, and rises above it for a short time in the
harmony of a quartett, even where it is not performing a
solo Part. But this generally occurs for the sake of pre¬
serving a melodious progression of the Parts, or of produ¬
cing some particular effect from the interweaving of the
different timbres of the stringed instruments.
We must keep in view, that the German double basses Double
have generally four strings, and that some are tuned E, A,bassbs.
D, G, upwards, while others have D for their lowest note.
In Italy and France the double basses have only three
strings, and are tuned A, D, G. In writing for the double
bass, rapid passages ought to be avoided, because they pro¬
duce no effect, but only a confused noise. In music for a
full orchestra, the double basses are reinforced by the te¬
nor violins and violoncellos, or by the bassoons ; or by
the trombones, serpent, &c; sometimes by the horns and
trumpets, by the lower notes of the clarinet or of the
oboe, even by the flute in its upper octaves, or by the
octave^ flute, though the latter combinations are often
abused by some living composers. Sometimes, in a florid
passage for the double bass, a good effect is produced by
reinforcing it by the second violins. In orchestra music, Violon-
the violoncello generally goes (an octave above) with the cello,
double bass Part: but beautiful effects are often produced
by giving the violoncello a principal melody, accompanied
by other instruments. When the treble clef is used in
passages for the violoncello, care must be taken to write
them according to the real pitch of the sounds, and not an
octave higher, as is too often done.
In writing for the German flute, all rapid passages in Flutes
keys having more than one or two sharps or flats should
be avoided, as they are very difficult of execution. We
have corrected Choron’s table, by extending the compass of
the flute to C downwards, as most flutes now have the C
finger-key. _ Its compass upwards is to B flat on the fifth
ledger line in alt. In modern orchestra music, the octave
flute, or piccolo, is too much employed. Its shrill and
piercing sounds ought to be reserved for particular effects.
In military music there are other kinds of flutes used,
mUn,this anicle’ we use the word Part.
P rticular voice or instrument.
beginning with a capital, to signify that portion of a musical composition assigned to a
614
Music.
Flageolets
Oboe.
English
horn.
Clarinet.
the piccolo in E flat, and the piccoh in F; the former
being a semitone higher, and the latter a minor third
higher, than the octave flute. There are also what are
called third and fourth flutes, the former being a minor
third, and the latter a fourth, higher than the common
German flute in D. Parts for these flutes are written in
D There are five sorts of flageolets, in L, D, h. Hat, r,
and G, for the sake of facilitating their performance in
different keys. Double and even triple flageolets have
been contrived in London by Mr Bainbridge. On the
former, two parts can be played at once ; on the latter,
three. The oboe requires attention in writing for it. Ihe
easiest scales for it are C major, F major, G major, an
D maior. In some modern oboes, there are, in the upper
part of the instrument, finger-keys for F and A flat; and,
in the middle part, for F sharp, E flat, and C. Some have
a finger-key for the lowest C sharp. Some players have
two or three upper and middle pieces, to serve for altering
the pitch of the instrument to different keys, on the same
principle as flutes and clarinets, &c. are made of different
lengths to avoid difficulties of fingering. In orchestra
music the oboe is not used beyond E flat in git.
The English horn, or vox humana, is an instrument ot
the oboe kind, having the same relation to the oboe that
the viola has to the violin. It has the same number of
sounds as the oboe, only the scale is a fifth lower ; so
that pieces of music in F are written in C for the English
horn, pieces in E flat are written for it in B flat, and so
The clarinet, or clarionet as it is often called, is an in¬
strument of great power and compass. We have correct¬
ed Choron’s table, by extending its compass upwards to L
above fifth ledger line in alt. The sweetest sounds of the
MUSIC.
clarinet are comprised between -
and
  Mus:
•• O •
"O’
The sounds between B on third line of treble clef and Cj(
on second ledger line above are the most penetrating and
brilliant. The sounds above that Clt are very difficult to
produce without harshness of tone. It requires great skill
to play in tune on this instrument, particularly in the
lower part of its compass. On this account, as well as to
avoid difficult fingering, clarinets of different sizes are used
to suit different keys. The most common used in orches¬
tras are those in C, in Bb, and in A. Besides these, there
are used, in military bands, clarinets in D, Eb, F, and G.
These changes alter the pitch of the instrument, but the
fingering remains as before. Thus the pitch of a B^ cla¬
rinet becomes in its lowest sound :QZ_.£
that is, a
tone lower than the C clarinet. ’Ihe pitch of the A cla¬
rinet in its lowest sound becomes and 80 on-
It is the custom to consider the principal key of
clarinet, whatever that may be, as if it were C. The
composer must attend to this in writing for the clarinet.
The Bb clarinet serves to lessen the number of flats at
the clef, and the A clarinet to lessen the number of sharps,
and so of the others. When the piece of music is in E? ,
the Bb clarinet plays in F. The A clarinet plays in C
when the piece is in A. If the piece is in Ab the 13 fiat
clarinet plays in , and so on. An example or two will
make this rather puzzling matter more clear.
Basset-
horn.
A few years ago, a German instrument-maker invented
a bass clarinet and a double-bass clarinet. The former is
an octave lower than the C clarinet, and reaches B?, the
lowest note of the bassoon. The double bass clarinet has
a compass of two octaves and a half upwards from the
lowest F in bass clef. It therefore extends to a fourth
below the bassoon. The union of these with common clari¬
nets permits the formation of a clarinet quaitett, and, of
course, new orchestral effects.
The basset-horn is an instrument of the clarinet kind,
although differing in form from a clarinet. Choron has
omitted it in his table. As it is sounded and fingered like
a clarirtet, any clarinet-player can play upon it also. It
Some authors give it a compass of four octaves from
J2_
:ze= to
others a compass from
As it is an instrument difficult to manage; it
a clarintet, any clarinet-player can play upon it also. It in the kevs of C F, Bb,andG.
holds a middle place between the clarinet and the bassoon, is generally confined to the keys
Mu-
MUSIC.
> ic.
Bas m.
Bass-
kssoo
Serpi
sic for the basset-horn is written in the treble clef, and a
''fourth or a fifth higher than the real sounds, except in the
case of arpeggios, &c. in its lower octave, which are ex¬
pressed in the bass clef. For instance, if the music is in
G or in F, the part for the basset-horn will be written in
C. For examples of its use, see Mozart’s Requiem, his
Figaro, his Clemenza di Tito, and his Die Enjuhrung aus
dem Serail. It is too much neglected in orchestra music.
The bassoon is an instrument of the oboe kind, though it
differs from the oboe in shape and construction. It holds the
same place among the oboe class of instruments as the vio¬
loncello does among the violin class. jSome writers state its
compass to be from
615
to
IeSEEiz!:’
i
or even to
nJ
among solo-players. Music for the bassoon is
written in the bass clef for the lower sounds, and in the
tenor clef for the higher ones. The easiest keys for it
are C, F, Bb, and G. In general it wants the sound
$
and the sounds
at
^ or
are very bad,
tr°"
and must be avoided.
Of late years, some bassoon-players and instrument-
makers have facilitated the execution of certain passages
on that instrument by a new disposition of the finger-holes
and the finger-keys. In orchestra music, bassoons are
important instruments. They serve as a bass to the flutes,
oboes, clarinets, and horns; they may fill up and enrich
the harmony of the middle parts; they may go along with
(in the octave or the unison, as may suit) and reinforce the
double bass, the violoncello, the viola, the violin, the cla¬
rinet, the oboe, the flute, the horn; or they may perform
so o passages of their own with great effect. Composers
seldom put the bassoons to their proper and effective use,
but too often make them a mere reinforcement to the
other bass instruments.
The bass-bassoon (fagottone or contra fagotto) is an
octave lower than the common bassoon. It is not men¬
tioned by Choron in his table. The first bass-bassoon seen
m England was made by Handel’s orders, for the use of
Eampe, an excellent bassoon-player, and author of the
music of the Dragon of Wantley. Being an unwieldy in¬
strument, sixteen feet long, it was necessary to fix it in a
frame like a telescope.
The serpent is chiefly used in military music, but has
of late been introduced into orchestra music to reinforce
the basses. Mersenne says that a serpent played by a
ooy was sufficient to sustain the voices of twenty stout
monks. Of late years some improvements have been made
?n it by the addition of keys, though it is still an imperfect
instrument. Writers differ in the compass assigned to it.
some give it a compass from the lowest B flat of the piano¬
forte, up to G on the second line of the treble clef, with all
e semitones. Others state its compass to be from lowest
^ ot violoncello, up to C in third space of the treble clef.
Une eminent writer says that its compass is four complete
octaves; that is, from C an octave below the lowest C of
violoncello, up to C in the third space of the treble clef.
d'ffiSafS l°'ver notes> i’n this last compass, are very
i jmcult to produce, and their intervals not easily apprecia-
e. Keicha assigns to it a compass of three octaves, viz.
rom lowest C of violoncello, up to C in third space of tre-
tw6 ^ " r 16 sa^es*: compass for ordinary players is the
tlipfli^1 these octaves only, leaving out the highest of
e Ulree- Xt is a singular fact, that there exists at this
day, even among many professional musicians, a great deal Music,
o misconception regarding the real compass of a number'''T——'
of musical instruments of the wind kind. We have often
been surprised to find that a performer upon a horn, for
instance, did not know its real pitch or comnass, and that
he even supposed these to be just what appeared from the
notation in the treble clef. Now, a C horn, for example,
is a tube of eight feet or so in length ; and, when played
upon, becomes a tube stopped at one end by the lips, and
therefore may render, as its lowest possible sound, one equi¬
valent to that produced by an organ-pipe of sixteen feet
open at both ends; that is to say, - C an octave below
the lowest C of the violoncello. The serpent, if a tube
of the same length, will, when played on with all the finger-
holes stopped, be in a condition to render (but, like the
horn, with great difficulty) the same low C as the horn.
The name of this powerful brass instrument (from tbeOphicleide.
Greek op/s and xXs/'s) signifies a keyed serpent. The ophi¬
cleide was invented a few years ago in Germany. It was
at first used in military music only, but of late years has
been introduced into orchestras. It is too noisy an instru-
ment for any place but a large locality. There are seve¬
ral kinds of ophicleides, as of trombones, and music for
the former is written in the same manner as for the latter.
Examples of the judicious use of the ophicleide may be
seen in the Gloria and subsequent movements, and Marche
Religieuse of Cherubini’s third solemn mass performed at
the consecration of Charles X.
Whatever may be the key of the piece of music inHorn(Ital.
which horns are employed, their Parts are always written Como.)
in the key of C. liie following is the harmonic progres¬
sion of sounds producible by the horn, without any assist¬
ance from the hand introduced into the bell.
ii
+
_®—
The sounds marked + are, successively, =: to B flat,
harmonic ; G flat, ditto; and G sharp, ditto. See preced¬
ing section, Musical Sounds and Intervals* We may here
remaik, once for all, that the sounds called false and bad
on the horn, trumpet, &c. such as the pseudo fourth and
sixth and flat seventh of the scale, are true as chromatic
harmonics, but do not correspond with the sounds found
in the same nominal places in the diatonic scale. In treat¬
ing of harmony, it will be seen that these same chromatic
harmonics—called false sounds from their not belonging
to the diatonic series—are frequently employed in modern
harmony and melody. The dominant seventh continually
occurs, and less frequently the diminished fifth and the aug¬
mented fifth, which are the other two harmonics in ques¬
tion. It must be observed, that if a horn in C, of eight feet
tube, performs the above notes, the real sound of each is
an octave lower than the notation indicates. Of late
years it has been attempted to remedy the imperfections
of the horn, and to render it capable of playing in a va¬
riety of different keys without difficulty. This was so
far none in Italy in 1822, by means of eight finger-keys,
and a sliding tube to regulate the pitch ; but this improve¬
ment has not been generally adopted. Some German in¬
strument-makers have also contrived stops, to be pressed
down by the fingers, which are said to answer much bet¬
ter than keys. They have also applied these stops to
trumpets and trombones. Ibis has also been done in Eng¬
land. We shall consider only the common horns, as they
are still used in some orchestras. The method generally
adopted to alter the pitch of a horn, is to shorten or
lengthen its tube by means of moveable bent tubes called
crooks. In some few cases, horns of different sizes are
used instead. Thus there are horns in C, in D, in E flat,
«
616
MUSIC.
Music, in E, in F, in G, in A flat, in A in B flat, and even in C l
^rr;.,a^^rTL^rBl\hLrg«S0ar: ^^^wotd^^isgene^nsad ,t
lower than the lowest C of the C horn. In writing for in partitions.
Corn! in D
Corni in Et>
Corni in A.
Brffgt
.Ditto.
T?t/trr
In general, in writing for an orchestra, there are two S0Un(jS};:
horn Parts, the first of which does not (by notation) go
lower than the lowest C in the treble notation, and the
second one not higher than E in the fourth space of treble
clef. The compass is generally limited to the following
But in solo Parts
+
—EjEEIi
for the horn, the compass is as follows, a number of the
semitones being produced by a dexterous use of the hand
within the bell of the instrument.
birtp'
Trumpet
The notes marked + may be used in passages of some
quickness, but should never be sustained. 1 he sounds of
the middle part of this compass, or at least from Cj on
second line of treble clef to G above the fifth line, are
the best. In modern orchestra music, the proper use ot
the horns is too often lost sight of. They are either too
much employed, or used in passages quite unsuitable to
their character and powers. Their best effect lies in sus¬
tained sounds, not in rapid passages. They should be
used to enrich the harmony in proper places, or to sus¬
tain a principal melody, or to produce contrast by their
solos judiciously introduced. By using at once three or
four horns tuned to different keys, a number of rich and
beautiful harmonic effects have been produced by modern
composers. As the sounds of the middle compass of the
horn are the best, judicious composers for that reason of¬
ten make use of horns in a key different from that of the
piece of music in which these take part. Sometimes, but
rarely, we find horn Parts written in the bass clef, as more
trulv representing the compass of the instrument; but it
is better to avoid difficulty in reading such notation, by
conforming to the usual practice of writing horn Parts in
the treble clef. Skilful horn players expend but little
breath on their instrument, and thus produce its finest
tone. Others not only exhaust themselves by strong
blowing, but produce a harsh tone, and fill the tube with
water from their condensed breath. This water contri¬
butes to spoil the quality of the tone, and to break it into
gurgling sounds.
Trumpets in the keys of C, D, and Eb are those most
commonly used ; but there are also trumpets in A, Bj>,
E, F, and G. It must be observed, that in some of these,
F and G, for example, the gravest sounds are very diffi¬
cult to produce. Some very skilful performers execute
all sorts of passages on the trumpet; but, in writing for an
orchestra, we ought not to go beyond rapid passages ot
double or triple tongueing upon a reiterated sound, or cer¬
tain arpeggio passages. The trumpet may be either
played softly, like the horn, or loudly with tongued pas¬
sages, as in military music. To perfect the trumpet,
finp-er-kevs have been applied to it by some makers, and
a sliding ‘tube by others. Whatever the key of the music,
the trumpet Part is written in C. The pitch of the trum¬
pet is an octave higher than that of the horn. Its natu¬
ral scale is
The notes marked +, like those of the horn, do mt
correspond with the diatonic series, and should not »e
used in sostenuto passages. The best notes a
up to
I, and those higher had better be
Trumpets in D.
avoided.
Trumpets in E.
M U S I C.
617
Trumpets, as well as horns, may be muted by introdu-
'cing a pasteboard tube into the bell of the instrument.
The sound then becomes extremely feeble, and the pitch
is lowered a semitone. By using two trumpets in differ¬
ent keys (as in the case of horns), a number of harmonic
combinations in minor keys may be introduced which
could not otherwise be effected ; also by combining to¬
gether two or more horns in one key, with two or more
trumpets in another. Ihe penetrating and warlike sound
of the trumpet renders it very effective in pieces of mili¬
tary music, and in music expressive of heroic or exulting
feelings.
The trombone is a most powerful and effective instru¬
ment, but very difficult to manage correctly. In Italy the
bass-trombone only is used; but in France, Germany, and
England, there are three kinds of trombones, the bass, the Music,
tenor, and the counter-tenor. There is also a double-bass^—
trombone, which goes a fifth lower than the common bass-
trombone, but is not much used. The treble trombone is
very rarely used ; and it is better to add to the three
former another counter-tenor trombone when four trom¬
bones are to be employed, than to add a treble one. In
the performance of solemn, religious, or warlike music, the
combination of three or four trombones produces a great
effect ; for instance, in the statue scene in Mozart’s Don
Giovanni, where the supernatural voice is accompanied by
three trombones, two bassoons, two clarinets, and two oboes.
The effect of the chant so accompanied is terrific. M^ozart
borrowed the idea from that passage in Gluck’s Alceste, where
the voice of the oracle of Apollo is heard in the temple.
Scales of 13ass, Tenor, and Countertenor Trombones.
Bass, with semitones up to
SI
ZZ Tenor, with semitones up to
fhrt
.31
Countertenor, with semitones up to ~
++tH
Parts for trombones are written in the above clefs ; and,
as in the case of bassoon Farts, the key is marked at the
beginning, or accidental sharps or flats introduced when
required. It is to be noticed, that there are trombones in
different keys, for different purposes : in F, C, G. Sus¬
tained sounds are most suitable to the trombone, espe¬
cially in orchestral combinations. A very few players are
so skilful as to be able to execute very difficult solos on
the trombone; such as Schmidt, who performed on it in
London in 1829. The trombone can be muted, like the
horn or the trumpet, and then its effect in funereal music
becomes very striking. Chromatic passages ought, in
general, to be avoided on this instrument.
Kettle-drums, called Timpani in Italian, are tuned to
various keys, as occasion requires. They are generally
in pairs ; one of them sounding the key-note of the music,
and the other the 4th below, as — [ tz>-ZIz| &c.
 —izuzszl
The Part for them is always written in the key of C, whether
the key of the music be C or not; but if it be another key,
this is marked at the beginning, as
Drums in D. Drums in Eb.
-CL.
&c. It has been pro¬
posed to introduce into orchestras three drums tuned to
different sounds ; and perhaps there might often be advan¬
tage in this. *We have seen a vocal and orchestral com¬
position for forty voices and forty-two instruments, in which
eight kettle-drums were employed. They were to be play¬
ed by four persons, and were tuned thus: from G upwards,
A flat; A, B flat; C, D flat; D, E flat.
The roll of these drums, when executed piano, has
a sombre and mysterious effect. It is usually marked
tr^.— or tt over the notes. Clarinets, horns, trumpets,
and drums, may be changed for others in the course of a
piece of music, provided a sufficient number of bars of rest
are given.
Tamburone in Italian, or vulgarly cassa grande. This
is a very large drum, of the usual cylindrical shape, and is
used chiefly in military bands, but occasionally in great,
orchestras. In Haydn s symphony, called the Surprise,
it is used with startling effect. Its Part is written in the
7 ' V •
bass-clef thus: Za_; —.
The gong is occasionally used in theatrical music, to Gong,
add to the effect of scenes whefe terror and confusion pre-
dominate.
Ihe Chinese pavilion, the triangle, the common drum, Chinese
and cymbals, are almost entirely confined to military mu-pavilion,
sic, though they are sometimes used in theatrical orches- &c*
tras. In Mozart’s Die Entfiihrung aus dem Serail, the or¬
chestra Parts of the duett “ Vivat Bacchus" contain bass-
drum (tamburo grande), triangle, and cymbals {piatti).
Parts for the triangle, Chinese pavilion, and cymbals, are
written in the treble-clef upon C the third space.
lo point out all the difficulties of the wind-instruments
above mentioned, and all the particular passages that should
be avoided in writing for them, would occupy a volume.
We shall merely notice, that in the flute, oboe, clarinet,
and bassoon, the finger-keys of these instruments often
render the performance of certain legato passages imprac¬
ticable, and that therefore the composer ought to make
himself acquainted with all these niceties. If he do not,
his music, however excellent in other respects, can never
produce the effects that he intended. We have dwelt
more at length upon these matters regarding voices and
instruments, because they are really of great importance
to the musician and the composer, and because they have
been hitherto too much neglected in our British treatises
upon music. What we have stated in our general view of
voices and instruments will preclude the necessity of en¬
tering into details regarding most instruments under their
alphabetic heads in other articles of this Encyclopredia.
The guitar, the harmonica, the harp, the organ, and the
piano-forte, are mentioned in Choron’s table; but we have
no particular remarks to make upon them in this place.
We shall have something to say of the organ and the
piano-forte in speaking of accompaniment, in the course of
the present article.
4 i
VOL. XV.
618
MUSIC.
Table of Hie Compasses of Voices and Instruments.
_ \Piano-Forte.,
<D >-<
14 to
a tn rMandoline...
-2 § I Cistrum   
2 S -!
*n 5 I Guitar 
N I
15 ” l Harp
1 | rAlto 
< Tenor 
2 (Bass 
H
Serpent 
Trumpet 
to C in Ey (8cc..
S 1
O 2
S J in D 
*6„c 
Clarinet 
Bassoon 
English Horn.
Oboe 
Flutet 
I’ Flageolet 
Octave Flute.
L Flute 
rViolin 
Viola, or Te-\
nor Violin... J
Violoncello 
Organ Pipes.
Octaves 
.Double Basses... I——I— —
j- (1st Soprano,
g -< 2d Soprano
^ (contr* alto,
J /-Tenor....
S J Baryton....
^ 1 Bass 
MUSIC.
Jrsid
v—v.,—
Meplj.
Melody may be considered in relation to a single voice
or instrument, or as accompanied by one or more voices or
instruments. In the latter case it is called the principal
melody. There are many simple and expressive melodies,
of such a kind that they will hardly bear any accompani¬
ment without injury to their effect. Too often such me¬
lodies are spoiled by the addition of crowded and elaborate
accompaniments, having nothing in common with the me¬
lody in style or character. This is one of the great mis¬
takes of the modern schools of music, though we have no
doubt that a better taste will prevail when more study is
bestowed upon melody as the most important part of mu¬
sical composition. We cannot too often repeat, that har¬
mony ought always to be considered as subordinate to me¬
lody, although we are aware that certain great and peculiar
effects may be produced by harmony, independent of melo¬
dy in the true sense of the latter term ; for instance, such
effects are heard in certain forms of solemn ecclesiastical
harmony that contain hardly a vestige of melody. The ef¬
fects of mere harmony are often very striking when pro¬
duced by a certain combination of voices, or of instruments,
or of both, and in a building sufficiently spacious and suit-
ably constructed, or even in the open air w’hen heard at
a cei tain distance, and especially if they pass over an ex¬
panse of still water. In ancient ecclesiastical music, the
length of the sounds and the simplicity of the harmony
were well calculated to produce a great effect in large
cathedral churches. In such places, rapid changes of
sounds, and chromatic harmonies, never produce any thing
but confusion ; and this ought to be kept in view by the
young composer. He must calculate the effect that his
music will produce in a cathedral or in a theatre, a con¬
cert-room or a private room. No one who has not ob¬
served the difference of effect produced by the same mu¬
sic in places of different size and construction, can un¬
derstand how important it is to attend to all this. But
we must not encroach here upon another section of this
article.
1 he study of melody is by far too much neglected.
Harmony has generally in these days usurped its place;
and we find ten good harmonists according to rule, for
one good melodist. The reason is, that a man without real
musical genius may become a very good scholastic har¬
monist, while a great melodist must be a man of great
genius. Handel was in his day one of the most remark¬
able musicians for genera/ excellence in both melody and
larmony ; but he was a man of the highest musical genius,
and his profound skill in all the harmony of his time could
never altogether check the flow from the spring of melody
w ich existed in his mind. In his oratorios and his operas
that spring is never failing. It is a pity that Handel’s ope¬
ras are now so little known. They contain much beauti-
lul melody, although that is often disfigured (as in his ora¬
torios) by conventional passages of a formal kind, which
must, like all other such passages, become quite antiquat¬
ed after a short time, having no foundation in any thing
but temporary fashion of style.
In the proper order of musical study, melody ought to
precede harmony. It is from reversing this order that so
many dry unimaginative harmonists have been produced;—
men actually rendered incapable of composing good me¬
lodies, or of appreciating their beauties when heard. The
s u ent ought to have daily before him specimens of the
most beautiful and expressive melodies in all styles, and
nnfu natlon*\. ft 18 much to be regretted that there has
oon published any judicious and comprehensive col-
Measure 4. 1 t
It would be invaluable to the Music.
lection of such melodies,
student.
One of the earliest writers who treated of melody was
balm as, a Spaniard, and blind, but an eminent musician, and
professor of music m the university of Salamanca. His work,
which is now very rare, was published in Latin in 1577, at
Salamanca. The fifth, sixth, and seventh sections of it
are devoted to the consideration of the nature of musical,
oratorical, and poetical rhythm. There is a great deal of
curious and instructive matter in these sections, and he illus¬
trates his text by numerous fragments of melody, some of
which are very interesting, being old Moorish, Spanish, or
Italian melodies. We have given some of these as curio-
sities in Rate CCGLNNHI. Salinas says (pag™),
In the three following books (sections) we have to treat
of the rhythmical part of music, a part of it not less use¬
ful, and even more delightful, than the harmonical part.”
Another of the earliest writers on melody was G. B. Doni,
the Florentine musical amateur and antiquary. Among
his published works (3 vols. folio, 1763) we find many sen¬
sible remarks upon melody, and some curious notices of
the distinguishing characteristics of national melodies
(see in particular, his Trattato della Musica Scenica, vol.
ii. of his works). Speaking of the remarkable difference
in the pronunciation of Latin by the French, Spaniards,
and Lnghsh, as compared with itfc pronunciation by the
Italians and Greeks, he says, “ This difference arises from
the diversity of the accents, and the elevations and de¬
pressions of sound.”...“ We may say that common speech
is a kind of outlined melody; and the mode of speaking in
the recitation of poems, a kind of shaded melody, half fi¬
nished; while true melody, called by the Greeks ubah
g’ty.cg, is perfect and finished, and, as it were, complete¬
ly coloured.” (P. 18 of Trattato.) With regard to set¬
ting of words to music, he says, “ One of the most im¬
portant remarks, and one perhaps not attended to by any
person at present, is, that the music should not imitate
the words, but the whole sentiment of the poetry; for in
this consists true musical expression.” He adds, that
“ Mimics and buffoons adopt the other mode; and, by ex¬
aggerated looks, and gestures, and noises, attempt to en¬
force the words they utter, or to represent the passions
they are supposed to feel. (P. 29.) “ Melopoeia is the art
of composing beautiful melodies, without any reference to
counterpoint, which belongs to another part of music.” (P.
3o.) As to modulation, he says, “ The moderns are too
scrupulous in wishing to keep always in the same key; a
custom perhaps derived from the ecclesiastical chants, but
quite unsuitable to varied and scenic melody.” (P. 33.)
Chapter xvii. of Doni’s Trattato contains a number of ideas
which Reicha has borrowed and developed in his Treatise
on Melody. Doni proposes the use of quinary, and even
619
septenary measures, such as | | &c., or |, &c. Reicha
has also proposed the adoption of the quinary measure, and
gives a specimen of its use in a national dance-tune of the
district of Kochersberg, on the Lower Rhine, in the old
province of Alsace. Reicha says, from information sent
to him, “ The manners and customs of the inhabitants of
Kochersberg distinguish them completely from the other
people of Alsace. Their dances have a particular and
remarkable character, and nothing in common with those
of their neighbours. The tunes of these dances have a
very decided measure of five times. Tradition, in the
country, carries back this music to the remotest antiquity.”
620
MUSIC.
Music.
one of the islands of St Christina. He says, “ there was
something frightful in this melody, which almost drove
one to desperation, and seemed to make one hear his own
funeral dirge.” He mentions, as a curious circumstance,
that the voices of these savages passed, by sliding through
very small intervals, from the E to the G of this chorus,
or the converse. The savages, several hundreds, men and
youths, sung it in unisons, or octaves, and danced at the
same time. They marked the measure by clapping their
hands, and also by beating drums. Tilesius explains the
meaning of this chorus. “ The warriors have returned
from battle. It is night. One of them perceives a dis¬
tant fire on the enemy’s island. He asks, £ Where is the
fire The chorus answers, ‘ Upon Tanhuatah Montanioh,
among our enemies ! they are roasting our dead and the
captives 1 ’ This renders them frantic ; they call for fire
immediately, and feel a pleasure in being able to use it in
reprisal against the dead, and prisoners taken from the
  X- U The iudicious com- enemy, but not without compassion in thinking of the wives,
different genius of each. Therefore the j children the relatives, who will weep at that moment,
poser may draw from French a,rs (winch have great va the children, ■'elat • the first to the tenth,
riety and lightness in lively subjects) good passages and Finally they reckon t e y ^
spirited and pleasing melodies. From the old Spanish a,rs ^^he 'ictory.” An English writer oftlie
he may derive many hints regarding melo y ant y > century whenspeaking of Scottish music in one of his
for grave and majestic subjects; for example, from the Pa- u who was it that threw
vanat and from modern airs, and hose bor owed from ^tLse dreadful S expressions of distraction and
the Moors, he may also draw beautiful and iv y , ]„rirhn]v Iadu Culross’s Dream? an old composition,
but more soft and effeminate. Portuguese melodies may XT Xa Wd lLU perhaps because it was almost too
afford him very tender and affecting passages; and, for now, l am atraid, lost ^ pernaps ^ 1wif1 Riz_
^ , 1 AL • Ivo moyr Ptirich IIS ima-
William Shield, a clever English composer, introduced
■'a movement in this quinary measure into one of his instru¬
mental trios. Two or three other Englishmen, and seve¬
ral Germans, have attempted the same measure ; but it
has not been generally adopted, though there is no reaso
but custom and habit why it should be rejected. Don
savs fp. 74 of Trattato), “ If the septenary measure could
be conveniently adopted, it would produce a more remark¬
able effect upon the ear than any other, and it would suit
lachrymose and compassionable subjects. But we let t
alone, because it will be no small matter if we bring the
quinary measure into use.” , , . .. ,
1 The following passage from Dom relative to nationa
melodies is interesting, as having been written more than
two centuries ago: “Although Italian music seems the
most excellent and varied of all, still let us remember that
non omnis fert omnia tell us ; but that one nation abounds
in one thing, another in another thing, according to the
Music.
ClliUl U 11 till V '-I J     QJ M. ‘Ul*
mournful and lugubrious subjects, he may enrich his ima¬
gination with Sicilian melodies, although they have little
variety ; and if he will go farther, he will find m Eng¬
lish” (Scottish ? Irish ? Welsh ?) “ and German airs some¬
thin" to imitate in certain bold and military conceptions ;
there being perceptible in these airs, especially the Ger¬
man, a certain manly and military character,” &c. (P. 131,
Trattato.) The Spanish ex-jesuit Eximeno, in his work
Dell’ Origine, fyc. della Musica, published in 1774, says,
“ In Italy national airs are not common, for most of the
people have so fine an ear that it is enough for them to
hear the opera airs, in order to amuse themselves after¬
wards by singing them in the streets.” However, he adds,
“ The country people and villagers have their songs and
tunes in a simple style, but in good taste. The roma-
nella, which they sing accompanied by the colascione, is
full of good taste, and still more so the tamburo of the
Trasteverini. The taste for songs reigns chiefly in Venice ;
and although they are usually composed by professional
musicians, the people learn them easily.”
In Plate CCCLXXIII. we give the tamburo, No. 1, and
a beautiful Venetian air from Eximeno, No, 2. The tunes
to the Spanish romances Eximeno thinks “ monotonous
and tiresome,” and believes them to be remnants of Moor¬
ish melody, or else ancient sprouts of the Canto Fermo.
“ The most tasteful popular songs of Spain are the Segui-
dillas, of which there is an endless variety.” (See Plate
CCCLXXIII. No. 4.) We have given a few other speci¬
mens of curious melody which have not before been pub¬
lished in Britain. Among these are (Plate CCCLXX1V.),
No. 15, a German melody of the year 1425 ; No. 17, Egyp¬
tian air, performed “ with all their might” by the musicians of
Grand Cairo, when the principal inhabitants, headed by all
the sheiks of the town, went to meet Bonaparte on his return
terrible for the ear. I’ll venture to swear that David Riz-
zio was as innocent as any lamb of all such frantic horrors.
The examination of the melodies Nos. 1 to 18 inclusive
will suggest matter for reflection. We would point out
especially the elegance of No. 2, the expressive charac¬
ter of No. 4, the beauty and absolutely modern modulations
of No. 14 (of fifteenth century), the curious rhythm and
changes of measure in No. 15, the wild and singular cast
of the Egyptian air, Nd. 17, and the hideously lugubrious
character of the cannibal chorus, No. 18. Byrckhardt,
Bowdich, and some others, have published curious speci¬
mens of African melodies. We can only refer to these,
and to a great variety of national melodies, Russian, Ba¬
nish, Swedish, Norwegian, Polish, Bohemian, Hungarian,
Greek, Spanish, Italian, Sicilian, Welsh, Irish, Scottish,
&c. &c. that have appeared from time to time in collec¬
tions, or detached. Among foreign national airs, we may
mention some rescued from obscurity among the moun¬
tains of Auvergne, by that admirable English amateur and
accomplished composer, the Honourable George Onslow.
He has introduced some of these interesting national tunes
of Auvergne into his violin quartetts, &c.
Reieha, in his Traite de Melodie, is the latest wri er Rhy ta
upon this subject. Several valuable works upon it by Ita-and^ t.,
lian and German writers had preceded Reichas treat^-mei0dy.
Among these writers may be mentioned Pisa, sac chi, ^ -
chellman, Riepel, Koch, &c. A translation of Reicha s
Treatise on Melody, with some judicious notes and modi¬
fications, would be a useful offering to British students ot
music. Before we proceed farther, we must advert to
what we consider as an error in treatises on meoty
harmony. We allude to what are called passing notes> 0
unreal notes, and which are said not to form any real^
of the melody or the harmony. It appears to
the sheiks of the town, went to meet Bonaparte on his return ot the meiouy or uie n<u ^ , that
from the Syrian expedition. It was dictated by the chief plain that this is a mere fallacy, and that every s ^
of these musicians to one of Napoleon’s. The performer is actually heard in a melody or ji harmony is j ^ ^ ^ the
accompanied it on the instrument called in Axnb'xc al ceoud.
Hence the English name of lute, Spanish laudo, Italian
liuto, French luth. No. 18 is a song and chorus of canni¬
bals. This curiosity was written down by a Russian voya¬
ger (Councillor Tilesius) in 1804, and published in the
Leipsic Musical Gazette, No. 17, in 1805. Tilesius passed a
night in listening to this music among these savages, in
Lv 1 Cv » F X C F J 14 4/1^***^ •/
is actually heard in a melody or a harmony is jus
a sound as any other can be. For example, we a
following melody :
No. 1.
MUSIC.
1! sic. And then this one, No. 2.
We shall be told that this No. 2 is only No. 1 varied,
or embellished by notes of grace, passing notes, unreal
notes, that do not belong to the melody. But No. 2 is a
melody per se as much as No. 1 ; and supposing No. 1 had
never existed, No. 2 would still be a real melody, and all
its sounds rm/ sounds. It would startle us were a poet
to say, “ Such and such words in my pnem are not to be
taken as real words, but merely as passing shadows of
words that do not belong to the language, or melody, or
harmony, or meaning of my verses.” There can be no
doubt that if we pre-establish a certain chord, we may say
that any sound that does not form one of the sounds of
that chord is not a sound belonging to it. This is easily
exemplified.
No. 1.
&c.
But suppose that the notes Ftf, Dfl, B, Cjt, in the above
passage were to occur as real notes in a melody—and
might they not do so ?—what then becomes of their un¬
reality ? For instance,
No. 2.
To avoid all uncertainty of meaning as to intonation, we
shall take these passages as if performed on the organ or the
piano-forte. All that we could rationally say in such cases
would be, that the ear may be pleased by the one harmony
as well as by the other, according to circumstances; but
that the melody in both cases is a real melody, and cannot
be explained harmonically in either case by the generally
received system of the fundamental bass.
Musical rhythm, in its general sense, applies to the sym¬
metrical arrangement of the sounds of a melody.
Measure is the manner in which these sounds are di¬
vided into portions of equal duration, and this division is
represented in musical notation by means of bars; the
notes, pauses, &c. contained between two bars constitut¬
ing a measure.
limes, as they are called, are the subdivisions of a mea¬
sure into its simpler aliquot parts, binary or ternary, or
quaternary or senary, &c. It might be better to use the
terms accented or unaccented aliquots, rather than strong or
weak times. But musical nomenclature requires a thorough
reformation. It is the perception of a decided rhythm in
the sounds of a measure that has given rise to these terms
strong and weak times. Certain modifications of two, or
three, or more aliquot parts of a measure, in regard to ac¬
centuation, how faint soever this may be, or the regulated
succession of sounds of unequal duration, will impress the
ear with a particular rhythm, binary or ternary, or qua¬
ternary or senary, &c. &c.
edwhhnPrr^T^rf thce f?llowing passage/*) perform- into exact measures of different kinds, producing different
ith perfect equality of intensity and duration, no strong rhythmical effects, as at (b), (c).
nor weak times would be perceived ; and yet it is divisible w w
(*)
711111 j i w     (c)
emphasises 3CCent °r "ary and sePtenary measures. The last of these is not in
emphasi, is thrown upon the weak times of the measure, use, but the former is occasionally employed. It may be re-
muISicalPm^en0Ugh tt lat,theslmP^S7,ementary forms of marked> that although these quinary and septenary mea-
the compound form, 7- ^ ^ 7at SUreS are S^eraWy avoided by composers, yet periods of
plication^ fcr nf tl h* ^ fr°m a duPhcatlon> °.r quadru- melody containing five or seven measures are of frequent
&c of the ternLv nr rry’ 7* ^P1^0"’ occurrence. In binary and quaternary measures we often
nar'v with th f ^ hy.^n combinations of the bi- meet with triplets which really belong to a measure ter¬
nary with the ternary. In the latter case, we have qui- nary or senary, &c.
(<0 (e) (f)
and ( 2 ^r° UCff-S ?n t/G\ ear tlie same effect as (e)j are examples of the use of compound ternary measures;
be no imnrnnrim-6 e‘ eC .7^7 so that there would really while the sign C at the clef, and other circumstances of
Havdn’« hnJ3 r'c^i m wlltlnS 7) 7* or (^) ff°r (/)• notation, lead one by the eye to infer that the measures
laro-hetto mnv ' U ^ar/oaet> ® Tuneful Voice, and the are compound binary ones. But the effect upon the ear,
a vemen of Beethoven s charming Adelaida, from the predominance of continuous triplets in the ac-
622
Music.
MUSIC.
companiment, is that of compound ternary measure. A
curious instance of the intermixture of different measures
in melody and harmony occurs in the dance-scene near
the end of the first act of Mozart’s Don Juan, where there
are three different orchestras, each playing a different
~ Q ^
tune, one in —, the other ing> and third in Inter
mixtures of different measures were not uncommon in the
works of composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth cen¬
turies, but generally produced nothing better than contu-
sion. . .. -i j • .
The only modern music that is not divided into ^ea-
sures is simple recitative. It has often been desired by
composers of music, that the inflexions, the varying sounds
of declaimed language, could be reduced to a musical no¬
tation more delicate and accurate than the one in common
use. To enable us to express such inflexions, a notation
for very minute intervals, as well as for peculiar accents,
would need to be contrived. The attempts to express such
declamation are represented by recitatives.and ane par-
lanti. Some of these are remarkably expressive, from their
near imitation of the inflexions of the voice in declama¬
tory and impassioned language; among others, those of
Gluck and Piccini. Beethoven, among the very few re¬
marks that he has left to us upon recitative, says, “ Reci¬
tative ought to be declaimed as if it were spoken. It is a
discourse sometimes accelerated, sometimes retarded, ac¬
cording to what is required by the impassioned expression
of the words. The comma, the semicolon, the colon, the
period, the sign of interrogation, and of exclamation, each Music,
require a different accent.” “To compose a recitative
well, it is useful, previously, to declaim the poetry to one’s
self, as an intelligent actor would do. Any composer who
has not ability to do this, ought not to be ashamed to have
recourse to some one who can aid him.” The best com¬
posers of recitatives have carefully studied the declama¬
tion of the great actors of their day. The danger lies in
imitating false inflexions of the voice, intended to express
natural feelings or passions.
We shall now give a brief statement of some of the chief
points inReicha’s Treatise on Melody, referring the reader
to that work for all developments and minutiae. The trea¬
tise consists of a hundred and twenty-three quarto pages
of letter-press, and seventy-five plates. “ Melody is no¬
thing but a succession of sounds ; but if these sounds were
placed at random, they would form no sense, that is to say,
no melody. It is the same as in regard to words not con¬
nected by syntax, nor directed by the understanding. The
circumstances that connect sounds together so far as to
form a musical sense, are, 1. the key ; 2. the measure ; 3.
the different durations of the sounds; 4. the slurs which
connect these more closely; 5. the rhythm ; 6. the perfect
equality of the timbre; 7. the period in which the sense is
more developed; all this being guided by feeling and taste.
Ideas and periods are separated from each other by points
of repose, which are cadences of different kinds. In order
to see how all these objects form melodic ideas, and con¬
tribute to connect them together, it will not be superflu¬
ous to analyze here the following period:
PERIOD.
First Melodic Phrase, composed of three designs. Second Melodic Phrase, composed of three designs.
( First Member.
First Rhvthm. ) ( Second Member.
Second Rhythm. )
ti.
m
Allegretto. \ cadence. \ cad.
m
^ cad.
£ cad.
i cad.
Perfect cad.
The following are Reicha’s explanations of technical
terms, which he uses in his treatise on melody.
“ 1. A quarter cadence, or a point of repose weaker than
a half cadence, and which serves to separate one melodic
design from another.
“ 2. A half cadence, which separates one member and
one rhythm from another, and which ought consequently
to be stronger than the preceding cadence.
“ 3. A three-quarter cadence, which is stronger than the
half cadence, and weaker than the full cadence, but which
terminates a period as well as the latter, the difference be¬
tween them existing only in the key in which we end.
Thus, the first period of an air of two strains which ends
on the dominant, would be only a three-quarter cadence,
because another period is required in order to return to the
tonic.
“ 4. Perfect cadence, which terminates the period in a
positive and indubitable manner; but which does not hin¬
der other periods from being added, if this be thought proper.
“ 5. Interrupted cadences, where, instead of the final
sound, we fall upon another, or else leap suddenly from
the final sound to another sound.
“ 6. Melodic design, a short musical idea separated from
another by a quarter cadence. Two or three of these de¬
signs may form a member, which last ought to form a half
cadence.
“ 7. A member of a period is composed of one or of se¬
veral designs, and ought to make up a rhythm, and form a
half cadence.
“ 8. A period may be composed of different designs and
of different members. Its cadence is final, or else a three-
quarter cadence, which may be called a perfect cadence
relative to the key.
“ 9. Rhythm is the extent or the symmetrical and com¬
parative number of the melodic members. It may have
all the cadences except the quarter cadence.......Measure
divides into equal parts a series of simple times, as, for
example, crotchets in common time; and rhythm divides
into equal parts, and consequently in a symmetrical man¬
ner, a series of measures. Hence we may say with pxo-
priety, that measures are simple times of rhythm, as the
crotchets and rests are the simple times of a measure.
“ 10. The complement is a little melodic design that nils
up the pauses which occur between the members.
“ 11. The supposition is a measure which, in the theory
of rhythm, counts as two ; 1. as final measure of the first
rhythm ; and, 2. as initial measure of the following rhythm.
“ 12. The echo is the repetition of a part of a melodic
design, executed by other instruments, and which is not
reckoned in the rhythm.
“ 13. The coda is the confirmation of the end of a piece
of music. It is also sometimes employed at the end of a
period, either at the beginning or in the middle of the me¬
lody ; but in this case it is short. When it terminates a
piece, it ought to increase the animation of the music. It
is for this reason that interrupted cadences and the suppo¬
sition are employed in it, and that it is often executed wit
an accelerated movement. As to the length of the coda,
it depends upon the duration of the piece. When the
coda finishes a grand piece, it may be compared to the per¬
oration of an oratorical discourse.” ,
We pass over Reicha’s explanations of “ Le Retard de
'Music.
la Cadence,” and of “ Le Conduit,” as these relate merely
to arbitrary embellishments introduced just before a final
cadence, or between one period and another.
To please a vitiated public taste, most modern performers
make an overwhelming use of such embellishments, as they
are called. Among singers, for instance, none would be
listened to who did not prepare to conclude every melody,
no matter how simple and unsuited to such trappings,
with a nourishing cadenza and a long shake. Pietro Ver-
n very properly abominates all such formal shakes and
cadences, and desires all rational melodies to be finished
?di i % s}mP^e appoggiatura. G. M. Raymond, writing in
1811 of singers of that time, says: “ L’un chante avec les
epaules, les bras, les coudes, le corps tout entier; I’autre
pousse des cris et pratique des elans qui prouvent suffis~
amment ses bonnes intentions; celui-ci se livre a des mou-
vemens convulsifs qui peignent 1’exces du sentiment; ce-
lui-la a des efforts semblables a ceux qui accompagnent
les nausees, et qui ne remplacent pas mal les mouvemens
de 1 ame et les accens du coeur,” &c. All this applies too
nearly to many of the singers of 1837.
Among most writers upon music, we find great confu-
sion regarding/^, ccesures, phrases, clauses, sections, times,
rhythms. We think that, in general, Reicha has been more
successful in clearing up and simplifying these matters. His
11 o
MUSI C.
modulation is wanted; also one upon the accompaniment
of melody. We refer to Plate CCCLXXV. No. 19 for
an exampJe of the mixture of different rhythms in a’me-
I/mpl ^eSie-°’ n1!16-6 is an almost inexhaustible store
m a their forms’ in the works of ancient
and modern composers. The student who examines these
]Tr°tWWi! finid’ it lat th-e m°dern melodists have, in general.
of the mnS8 7 To ^ an instance, one
of the most popular vocal compositions in England, Oh
aPPy Fair, is framed in its commencement, in melody
and harmony, upon a church chant of C. P. E. Bach. ^
623
Music.
4’ 2’ and 4 caclences come in place of the confusion of en¬
sures, phrases, clauses, &c. He shows, by numerous ex¬
amples, the nature of these melodic cadences, and of the
final cadence or period ; and also of melodic designs, mem¬
bers of periods, periods, rhythms, &c. A discrepancy oc¬
curs in what he says (above cited) regarding I and I ca-
dences m melodic designs and members; and we have to
object to what he says about the supposition (article 11,
supra) as being a measure that counts as two in the the¬
ory of rhythm. In a matter of this kind there are really
no suppositions mite by the ear. It hears neither more
nor less than what it hears. As to the echo (article 12)
not bemg reckoned in the rhythm,” we conceive that it
ought to be just as much so as any other passage in the
,°^y* u ^lch? refers t0 Haydn and Mozart as models of
ski in the development of a melodic subject, and we cor¬
dially agree with him. He says that a treatise upon melodic
Harmony has been defined by an eminent Frenrb nhl rr
losopher of our day “a succession of chords, fu^ecteffo Harrn0nj*
certain laws, according to which several different melodies
governed by a common rhythm, and heard together, pro¬
duce an agreeable effect to the ear.” This definition is,
like many other technical ones, unintelligible to every per¬
son who has not studied harmony. But we shall make only
one objection to it, which is, that very frequently harmony
contains little or no melody, properly so called. It must
be kept m view that harmony has its own peculiar means
of producing effects, independent of melody, or, at least
of any prominent melody. It is more vague in its effects
than melody; and, being more complicated, is less gene-
rally relished and understood than the latter. A chorus
of Handel, or a symphony of Beethoven, requires a train¬
ed ear to relish and understand it fully. The progress of
both melody and harmony was slow in improvement, as
the history of music shows. As the materials of each were
increased, like the enrichment of a language, melody and
harmony assumed new forms, and became more copious
and expressive. To assign limits to what may be called
improvements in melody or harmony is impossible, since
the plastic nature of the human ear is such as to be ca¬
pable of being trained to relish almost any peculiarities in
music, as in the sounds and inflexions oflanguage. When
we find that, in ancient times, a rude, unmelodious, eccle¬
siastical chant, and its accompaniment by another voice
in consecutive octaves, fifths, and fourths, were considered
as the perfection of melody and harmony, it is hard to say
what the human ear may or may not be trained to relish.
Herbert, m his work De Cantu et Musica Sacra, gives se¬
veral specimens of this strange harmony of the fourteenth
century. See vol. i. pp. 376, 392, 435, 6, 7, 8, and
P-
But something still more curious than this is given by
ranchino Gafforio in the fourteenth chapter of the third
book of his work Practica Musica, published at Milan in
1496 Under the head “De Contrapuncto False,” he says
tnat it was anciently the custom to sing a counterpoint
composed of dissonances ; that is to say, of second major
S"1!01'’ and maj°r fourth, seventh, and ninth ;
ana that such counterpoint was used in the fourth century
V1,fls’. and ^ certain masses for the dead. He
rf -le u owinS example of this horrible counterpoint,
bT SVng in the cathedral of Milan, from an
mwS f°r S6 dead’ He confesses it to be hideous-
tiTLT6 tVOld ^ alt0 clef’ for the reader’s sake ; so
is hoc ^ 6 sh°u^d he performed an octave lower than it
is here written.
Doubtless the human ear was then not a different organ
rom what it is now, and yet we should consider such har¬
mony as intolerable. But to many persons the noisy con¬
fusion of certain modern compositions for orchestras and
voices is delightful; voices yelling and growling, and, in
the orchestra, all sorts of heterogeneous instruments min¬
gled together to make a chaos of deafening noises. When
we find, in a celebrated German orchestra, musical effects
attempted to be produced by cracking of whips, firing of
pistols, jingling of post-horse bells, ringing of bells of all
sorts and sizes, thrumming on the Russian balalaika, beat-
624:
MUSI C.
Music, tog of drums, and so on, a”a,.a« f ^vtelfbeTS-
—Va civilised European SVeluU ear
fied m saying that it « musi or rather m
n,ay °r music remind? us of the pewter dish, the
Zt the bellows, and the salt-box, usrfas solo^con-
rfrCc'-n^^du'ced by orde^
gives the passage on tins subject from Bouchet, ^
%’AvuUaiZ. A great I'™bCT,0fiS°feWet ifftonTof
were confined in a tent covered with veivet. ^ rro
tpnt there was an apparatus with keys like an org
These he?? communicated with the hogs in the tent, and
were armed with needles, so that when the performer touch-
i the kevs the hogs were pricked by the ncecues, wmcu
■.“ teoit’dier enhel ordrPe et consonance ,uele Roy,
et ceulx qui estoient avec luy, y piin re” ?. i jg aione
The opinions of theorists on the subject of chords alone,
without reference to their successions and modulations,
are very much at variance. Some reckon only one single
fundamental chord, formed from the first harmonics ol a
vibrating string, and which chord, they say, contains a
the other chords. Other theorists assume two fundamen-
tal chords others seven, others twelve, others thirteen,
ofher seventy, and so on. Another theorist reckons so
many as 360o! and among these, 700 dissonant fundamen¬
tal chords. Besides all this perplexity and contradiction,
these theorists give no satisfactory explanation of a mul¬
titude of. phenomena belonging to moduiatum and har¬
monic combination. We would advise the student to
pay very little attention to theories, but a great deal to
the woidis of the best composers. Our space permits u
to make only a few occasional remarks upon some re¬
ceived opinions regarding harmony, which seem to us to
bGHitherto, what is called thorough bass has been con¬
founded with figured bass; and both, as it one and tl e
same thing, have been ascribed to L.Viadana as their
ventor, in the beginning of the seventeenth century But
it appears that Viadana was not the inventor of figuied
bass, and that his thorough bass (basso has no¬
thing whatever to do with figured bass, or with the doc¬
trine of the progressions of chords. Ihis appears clearly
from his Italian work published at Venice in 1603, in five
volumes 4to. It contained what he called a hundred
ecclesiastical concertos for one, two, three, and four voices,
with the continuous bass (basso continuo) to be played on
the organ.” He says he invented these pieces in loJ/, at
Rome, and that his chief reason for composing them was,
that there were no pieces of the kind constructed lor one,
two, or three voices, with organ bass. In these concertos,
the organ bass had no pauses, and was therefore called
basso continue, that is, continuous or thorough bass; hut it
was not figured. The organist played this bass^ the
voice part, or parts, as they lay before him. G. babba-
tini, a contemporary of Viadana, was the inventor of the
figured bass, as appears from his work published at V emce
in 1628, in which all the basses are figured, and in which
he claims this invention. But this invention, which might
serve well enough in these days for slow and simple music,
accompanied on the organ according to certain fixed rules,
has been, unfortunately, brought down to our day, when it
is worse than useless, although the teaching and practice
of it are still persevered in, to the great disadvantage and
perplexity of musical students. Besides, different compo¬
sers and different nations have different ways of figuring
their basses, which adds to the contusion and difficulty.
This clumsy contrivance should be entirely abandoned by
all modern composers, who ought to write down in the
common notation, fully and exactly, the accompaniment
as they wish it to be performed.
A chord, as it is called, consists of two, or three, or four, ^
or more sounds, heard at the same time. A primary
consonant chord consists of intervals such as those given
in the following examples, No. 1, A, B, and No. 8, a,b.
Examples of primary dissonant chords are given at i o.
4 a c. Other dissonant chords will be afterwards no¬
ticed. The tonic or key-note of every scale may be con¬
sidered as the central point to which, in the course of a
melodv, or a harmony, the other sounds of the scale con¬
verge/or from which they diverge ; in the former case pro¬
ducing tonic cadences or reposes, and in the latter, im¬
perfect cadences and inconclusive passages. We have al¬
ready seen that the sounds of a scale, whether major or
minor, may be derived from the harmonic products of three
sonorous bodies, representing the tonic, the dominant, and
the subdominant. In the scale of C major, for example,
the simplest harmony belonging to the tonic, the dominant,
and the subdominant, considered as bass sounds, will ap¬
pear in the three following chords, either as they stand at
A, or with a changed position, or inversion, of the two
upper sounds in each, as at B.
Music.
No. 1.
Subdominant
Common Chord
A.
Tonic
Ditto.
Dominant
Ditto.
Changed Position.
These chords, as they stand, cannot form a harmonic/
succession, on account of the consecutive fifths between
them. In harmony, as in melody, the mterva s are reck¬
oned from the lower sound upwards. Each of these chords
is called a major common chord, and consists of lowest or
fundamental sound with its major third and perfect fifth.
The change of position at B makes no difference in the
name of the chord, but only in its effect. The closest pos¬
sible position of the intervals, as at A, is called close har¬
mony. Their altered position at B is called extended or
dispersed harmony. By making the thirds of these chords
the bass sounds, we obtain the following inversions, cal ed
chords of the sixth. The lowest sound of a chord is the
bass for the time being.
No. 2.
Diatonic or chromatic successions of chords of the sixth,
with or without the third, are very frequent in harmony.
If in each of the preceding common chords we make h
fifth the bass, we shall have the following inversions, called
chords of the sixth and fourth.
No. 3.
^ ~cr
Most writers on harmony consider the interval °f ^
fourth as a dissonance, while in truth Nervals in
as is clearly shown by its forming one of the mterva ^
the perfect common chord, which contains n
of any kind. Besides these three principal chords of the
major scale, with their inversions, and whidi are^ll
sonant, there is an important dissonant chord forme^ ^
adding the minor seventh to the fifth and tin
minant. This is named the dominant seventh. ” e
join it (a), and its three inversions (b).
MUSIC.
! Music. No. 4.
—■‘Y""’"*'' Dominant First
Seventh. Inversion.
(a) (6)
Second
ditto.
Third
ditto.
^ ~Cr TX
The sounds above the bass, in each of these chords, may
be placed in various positions, some of which are shown at
(c) and (<2). The first inversion of the chord of the domi¬
nant seventh is called the chord of the sixth, fifth, and
third ; the second inversion, sixth, fourth, and third; and
the third inversion, sixth, fourth, and second. In parti-
No. 5.
(e> (/) O) Qi) (i)
“i:srarelyusedin “'Thirdsthfd?eseventh!soe
The chord of the dominant seventh contains two pri- ticuia^'(as U TcSm “he^rceXa
ary dissonances which are the least harsh of anv in use. r.hnrd. nnleaB   • .  . ^
mary dissonances which are the least harsh of any in use,
and are therefore the most frequently employed ; the in¬
terval between the bass sound and its seventh, and the in-
No. 6.
(») (o)
X  / 
chord, unless some chromatic alteration intervene to change
the simple progression ; see g, r, s, t. For the most com¬
mon resolutions of the seventh, see v, w.
No. 7.
imjterfea fifth Ire neglecteT"1 by ‘UCh PaSSageS 38 th°Se V and ^ Where the resoluti»“s »f *= seventh and ofUle
Such passages are bad, whatever number of Parts there
— may be besides to fill up the harmony j but they are in-
Z tolerable when there are only two Parts.
— The three principal common chords of the minor scale
are the following, at a, b, and c.
:zz
(y)
-o-Q-
:ez
-e-
-GL.
i
-Q-
~jn.
zZ.
-e
:ez
-G—
-Q-
No. 8.
Subdominant.
(a)
Tonic.
(^)
Dominant.
(«)
m
.CL.
(d)
(e)
(/)
Zrez
±2;
(^)
:g=
sioSlveiiiUdb0rTh<f ? °neS ^ 1’ e’ S’ r nd .may be OCca' Sometimes, and especially in ancient harmony, we find a
sionaliy used. The same remark applies to them as to the chord of the seventh occurring on every sound of the scale
sounds^of th? 0I- 116 SfC°nd^third’ S1Xt,1?’ and seventh in what are called sequences or chains of sevenths, in which
chords in the mSnr" lot' r, ^ ^ ^ the F0Sressions of ^e bass sounds are by ascending fourth
manner aVfhose in Jhe ^in 7 l" T k m fhe. Same T descending fifths. These dry and formal passages, and
many chords of sixth T e’ thf e.by Producing so their inversions, are now rare. There are some other kinds
TheLsitions of theh- fntPrlorV1^ °1 S!fth and f?Ur?‘ f sequences still in use; such as the fifth and sixth on each
varfedTn Hp >ntervals above the bass may also be bass sound of a diatonic ascending series, or the seventh and
varied in the same manner as formerly shown. sixth on each bass sound of a descending diatonic series.
No. 9. - -
Besides these dissonant chords, there are many other
dissonant ones, such as the chord of ninth and seventh,
or ninth only ; the chord of fourth and fifth ; and so on.
It is evident that every common chord, or either of its
inversions, consists of three distinct sounds only; so that
in composing for four voices, for example, a gap would
occur in the harmony whenever a common chord, or one
of its inversions, had to be employed, unless one of these
three sounds should be doubled in the unison or octave.
This doubling accordingly takes place when there are more
than three Parts in the harmony. Which of these sounds
4 k:
625
Music.
cular circumstances, the second, third, sixth, and seventh
sounds of the major scale may each, as a bass, bear a com¬
mon chord with a minor third. See No. 5 (e), (f) (a)
(i), and the inversions i, k, l, m. But harmony of this
kind is generally confined to ancient music, or imitations
of the ancient style.
MUSIC.
it is best to double, depends entirely upon the nature of
thp melodic and harmonic succession of sounds in this o
that particular passage, and cannot be rightly learned u
bv a careful study of the best compositions in four, five,
six and more Pans. The chord of the seventh, again, or
anv of its inversions, consists of four distinct sounds, and
therefore^ ”qu£s ni doubling of any ofit-ounds wn
tin? for four Parts. In other cases where the Parts are
more than four, the doubling of any of the sounds^except
the third, or the seventh of the
regulated by the circumstances of the case, ihe tm
and the sevLth of the dominant chord of seventh do not
bear to be doubled, because the Pr0Sressl0,nh”f„tv the
these sounds follows a certain course in resolution by the
third rising a semitone and the seventh laUingasemi^one
or a tone, into the next succeeding chord, unless in t
case of some chromatic alteration which interferes wi^
the simpler progressions of these two sounds. In writing
for three o/for two Parts, it becomes necessary to omit
one or two of the sounds belonging to the chord of seventh,
or any of its inversions. Whether the third or the fifth of ^
the primary chord should be retained along with the se¬
venth, depends upon the effect intended to be produced.
In the former case the effect will be more piquant, in the
latter more soft and undecided. Again, in writing for two
Parts, suppose a duett for two voices, it is necessary to
use only two of the sounds of a common chord, or two of
the sounds of a chord of seventh. In the former case none
of the sounds ought to be doubled, except at the beginning,
or at a close, or in preparing a cadence, when the unison
or octave of the lowest sound of the primary chord, or ot
its fifth, may be used. In the other case (chord of seventh)
there is a choice among the intervals of primary sound and
seventh, third and seventh, or fifth and seventh, or the in¬
versions of these. The effect intended must guide the
choice. In these cases none of the sounds should be dou¬
bled in unison or octave.
What are called the preparation, the percussion, and tne
resolution of dissonances, maybe made sufficiently clear by
the following examples of Padre Martini.
No. 13.
(/) O) _ (A)
Music.
At No. 12, (a), the seventh is prepared by the previous
consonance of sixth, and is resolved upon the consonance
of third. At (b) the ninth is prepared by the previous con¬
sonance of tenth, and is resolved upon the consonance of
fifth. At (c) the sevenths are both prepared by previous
fifths, and resolved by the consonances of fifth in the first
case, and third in the second case. At (d) the second is
prepared by third, and at (e) by sixth, in the preceding
ChAt No. 13, (g), the ninth and eleventh arepreparedby
previous tenth and twelfth, and are resolved into eighth
and tenth. At (h) the ninth and seventh are prepared by
previous tenth and eighth, and are resolved into eighth and
sixth. As to what is called the percussion, or striking of the
dissonance, it means simply the actual occurrence of the
latter. The dissonance of the dominant seventh has no
need of preparation; and the diminished seventh, the
ninth, and the diminished ninth, are often struck unpre¬
pared. The chord of the ninth,
and of the di¬
minished ninth,
;, are susceptible of three inver¬
sions.
These, with their resolutions, are as follows:
In the chord of the ninth, and in its inversions, the sound
forming the fifth in the direct chord is generally omitted.
The ninth itself is not inverted, andcare must be taken to
keep the ninth in its proper interval above the lowest sound
No. 15.
of the direct chord, so as to form a ninth or higher octave
of ninth above that sound. The following infractions ot
this rule produce in general a bad effect, especially w en
prolonged.
-cr
The ninth may be used in the following manner, without
any preparation:
No. 16.
&
_Q_
-IJ
I
■e>
cr ~cr
In Haydn’s beautiful canzonet, Fidelity, there are ex¬
amples of the use of the major seventh, the ninth, and the
diminished ninth, all without preparation. In the same
canzonet we find the augmented octave and augmented
fifth employed very elegantly. His tenth canzonet shows
a very effective use of the diminished seventh, at the word
“ grief;” and also, at the same passage, the skilful intro¬
duction of an interrupted cadence. In the second section
of the first movement of Mozart’s third quintett in (j mi¬
nor there are many diminished ninths, and ninths and se¬
venths, introduced very boldly without any preparation.
In Italy, about 1580, Monteverde began to introduce m«*
prepared sevenths and ninths; but it would appear, irom
the following very curious passage, that Jean Mouton, a
Frenchman, had used these unprepared dissonances long
before. J. Mouton was born in 1461.
rr -nr ff ^
~zy
thpLZaL"TenVaZt; pface indpaTses^totme FoT examplehad ^ COntinUed t0 keeP its Plac^
other sound of the chord, without being resolved in the P
No. 18.
Passages of this kind often puzzle the student, as seeming
to contradict the rules given for the resolution of dissonances.
In a series of chords, the progression from one to another
may take place by similar motion, oblique motion, or con¬
trary motion. The latter is the most frequent and the most
useful, as it gives greater variety to the harmonj', and enables
us to avoid displeasing consecutions of octaves and fifths.
No. 19.
Similar Motion. Oblique Motion.
In similar motion, the Parts move together by conjunct
or disjunct degrees, ascending or descending.
In oblique motion, one of the Parts remains on the same
degree, while the other moves upwards or downwards.
In contrary motion, the Parts move in opposite direc¬
tions ; the one ascending, the other descending.
Contrary Motion.
An examination of all the possible successions of chords,
• consonant and dissonant, direct or inverted, diatonic or
chromatic, is beyond our limits and our purpose. These
successions must be learned from an extensive perusal of
the best compositions. We must confine ourselves to a
few examples and a few general remarks. First, with re¬
gard to common chords in succession, two or more of them
are not allowed to succeed each other diatonically, or by
leaps m similar progression, or what is called similar motion
ascending or descending.
. The bad effect of such progressions is much more strik¬
ing in compositions for voices, or for different instruments,
than it is upon such an instrument as the piano-forte, on
which the progressions of the different parts are not so dis¬
tinctly perceived by the ear, owing to the quality of tone
or tmbre of each sound being of the same kind. It ought
to be remarked, that this last circumstance is too much
neglected in writing for the organ or the piano-forte, and
that in consequence many particular passages of harmony
written for one of these instruments produce little or no
effect, or even a bad effect, while the same passages, if per¬
formed by different voices or different instruments, would
be good and effective. In the above successions of common
chords (No. 20) there are consecutive fifths and octaves,
both of which, and especially the former, are prohibited in
all cases where the ear perceives them and is displeased by
them. There is no other rational rule against their use.
With regard to consecutive unisons or octaves, daily ex¬
perience proves that they are not in themselves displeas¬
ing when they are employed in the reinforcing of some
particular melody or passage of melody. Were this not so,
there would be no such thing in choruses or in orchestras
as ten, or twenty, or more voices or instruments, perform¬
ing the same melody in unison or in octaves. Haydn said
that one of the most overpowering effects he ever experi¬
enced from music, was when he heard the singing of the
subjoined melody in unison by a vast number of trained
children in St Paul’s Cathedral at London.
Music.
.) ■ ■ ^nnthpr For example, if to the scale of C major we
Tn a composition for two, or three, or four voices or m- p^t movFng in perfect fifths with the former,
struments, where the intention is to interest by mean ^ ^ resuit from this, that one Part will be in C, while the
harmony, the casual occurrence of consecutive other wil] be in G. ft is from this double concurrence
fplt unnleasingly from the poorness of their > . /• u y tbat tbe discordance arises, and consequently the
the de&cf of that richiess of hamontc combmatton “eenip]oy severai fifths in aaccejsion.” The
generally expected in such compositions , but ? Pest w tQ avoid the effect of consecutive fifths and oe-
f musical and trained ear would perceive t us p Y taves is to employ contrary motion of the Parts. The se-
S and be displeased by it. The fewer the number of ^^mples^No. 22) should never be used in music for
M?~ES°4r;bass and ,hc hlghest Part where y
give an im-
nreS of a "Lies of different keys unrelated to each
other. This hypothesis is erroneous, because the ear
reallv supply no* such thirds, nor any other sounds. T
ear in harmony as well as in melody, supplies nothing be-
rond whatTactually hears. It has to do with nothing
bnuJown actual sensations. The imagination ™y
pW or suggest what it pleases; but that is qm e a d fie-
rent matter. Cherubini says of consecutive fifths, that
“ a succession of them forms a discordance, because the
upper part moves in one key, while the lower part moves
We have seen that the three principal common chords
of a scale are those of the tonic, the dominant, the sub¬
dominant; and that the principal dbssonant chord is the
chord of the dominant seventh. We shall fust exam
these common chords in their simple diatonic successions,
direct and inverted; and afterwards as undergom cer¬
tain chromatic changes, and other modifications. The let¬
ter T will stand for tonic chord, D for dominant chord, and
S for subdominant chord.
No. 24.
At a and b and c we have three progressions from T to ^™inan^tnSinfn dSnancfof^seventh were
D producing three imperfect cadences (see preceding sec- . 9 ciominant the determination of the com-
tion, Melody) of harmony and melody together. At d e adM to the dommant, _the ^ ^
and f, we have three other progressions from T to S, pro- piete caaence nom
ducina- also imperfect cadences, but not so decidedly im¬
perfect as those at a, b, and c. Indeed these last might,
not improperly, be called reversed cadences. At g, n, i,
we have three progressions the reverse of a, b, and c, and
forming tonic cadences more or less complete. At the
cadence is complete, from the third of dominant rising se- . ,
mitonically, in the upper Part, to the tonic itself. The 1 , f tbe chord of the dominant seventh
cadence at h is less complete, from the fifth of dominant A perfect cadence front the cno followi are
descending to tonic by a whole tone in the upper part; may be interrupted in various way
and at i the cadence is still less conclusive by the fifth of examples.
No. 25.
£ ^ ^ ^ ^ -U- to TT
The successions at k and m. No. 23, may be considered been
as
ie successions at k and m, INo. 23, may be considered neei. 'regressions of common chords
as imperfect cadences, although in some cases, in eccle- successirais. r 51^ 8^ and its secon<), as-
siastical harmony, the cadence from the chord of the S to (properly managed) on;oint degrees, or between
the chord of the T is used as a final cadence. The sue- cend.ng or "S ^ ^ding or de¬
cession at l is an imperfect cadence, the most imperfect the dominant and t ' ‘ frequently used
that occurs in the scale, if we encept n and o. . , again, what^d--'
The succession at n from S to D is used in ancient and witn no aispie<u>».s - ° received theories,
modern music ; but the contrary succession at o, from D can e ^ss » V j ^ gjxtb an(i third ascending
to S, is very rarely attempted, on account of its harshness such successions as cho ?
and striking discontinuity. No satisfactory reason has descending y co j g
MUSI C.
tlusic.
more successions in harmony and in melody, quite inex-
' plicable by the system of fundamental basses, commonly
received as the true one. It may be remarked, that sing¬
ers, in attempting to sing the ascending major scale, al¬
ways find great difficulty at first in executing, in tune, the
series of sounds from the fourth upwards to the seventh.
No. 26.
629
good ear) three of the ancient conjunct Greek tetrachords Music,
to sing in ascending, there is no difficulty in the intonati™.'  
"XT /-\
No. 27.
ICE
~fcr>
Q—• This is a practical fact, not ex¬
plained by any theory.
No. 28.
a b c
If you give the learner (with a
d 6 f 9
The ancient Greeks seem to have known more about frag-
mentary scales than our modern theorists do-
Lhe partial inversions of the preceding successions of
common chords are as follows :
-p- -p-p-
i i 1
-i
“t
:p==i
No. 29.
r r
At b the progression might be
this more clear, we shall again have recourse, in the first
place, to the same successions of common chords that we
but such a liave already given, and show how their forms and effects
can be altered by means of these chromatic changes. Of
course, it is not upon every occasion that these chromatic
passage is harsh in its effect from the more natural pro- LTe^rrn^TsIndu^nlEXoTaUc at^
gresston of the third of the dominant being by a semitone tions to such excess that ifany of their compos Sons are
ascending, instead of by a leap. Another harsh progression little better than continuous lamentation, or caterwauling!
^Sl0, ^0’ By such abuses, the manly simplicity, energy, and dig-
■■gj | "jty certain styles of music are entirely destroyed.
Thp wlinlp nrocfioai ii.   ,• i *'
-tQ-—-j el—i certain styles of music are entirely destroyed.
might be (according to some composers) in- -'f wh0Je.Practical principle of these chromatic changes
 1 is the division of a tone into two smaller intervals, ascend-
troduced at b. But such progressions ought in general
to be avoided, though they sometimes occur in the free
style of modern music; not, however, in the works of the
best masters. It may be here remarked, that although the
perfect fourth is a consonance, as we have said before, still,
when it occurs between the bass and an upper Part, it re¬
quires a certain management. This is the reason why it
has been erroneously called a dissonance. It would re¬
quire a great many examples to show in what manner the
perfect fourth should be treated when it occurs between
the bass and an upper Part. We shall merely remark,
No. 31.
that, except in such successions as
the fourth must, in general, descend by a semitone, or a
tone, to the third of the same bass sound; or, if the bass
moves upwards or downwards to the following chord by a
tone or a semitone, the sound forming the original fourth
must either be continued in that following chord, or must
descend a semitone or a whole tone. Such are the tech¬
nicalities regarding the treatment of the fourth in harmo¬
ny. The quantity of printed disputation regarding the
nature, &c. of the fourth is most unreasonable.
A great deal of the variety and colouring, as it is called,
of the free style of modern music depends upon the use
ing or descending. We do not say “ into two semitones,”
because that is not really the case in correct intonation
of such passages. In a succession of chords such as we
have given, one at least of the Parts may rise or fall by a
tone to one of the Parts of the next succeeding chord.
It is therefore obvious that an ascending or descending
tone may be divided into two smaller intervals; and this
is done by the chromatic alteration,—sharp in ascending,
and flat in descending, as shown in Plate CCCLXXVL
Nos, 20 to 27 inclusive. We give these merely to show
how the thing may be done. When such chromatic altera¬
tions may be introduced with good effect, is to be studied
in the compositions of Haydn, Mozart, Clementi, Beetho¬
ven, and some others. All our examples of mere chords
are to be considered by the student as no more than some
of the dry and detached bones of a skeleton of harmony.
He will find them all knitted together in their proper
places, and clothed in living beauty of form and substance
in the works of the best composers. It is there that he
must seek for their use, and not in theories.
False relations must be avoided in melody as well as in False rela-
harmony. When a sound passes to its diminished or aug-tions.
mented octave, above or below, there is a false relation in
melody; as,
No. 32.
ipo:
ipzE
f ^ -  r -r~   harmony, such octaves struck together, and prolonged
ot chromatic changes of the intervals of the simple com- for some time, would be intolerable. Such passages as the
nion chords, and their inversions. To make the nature of following contain false relations.
No. 33.
i
~rr
N9~
Et
-e-
^2
-Srj-
^5
-e-
n3
W-
22-
$
MUSIC.
s.tz^i£sr£ rszsffi
&-J- ^eL
Such as the following are permitted.
No. 36.
|E5=EH5S
^ enrn„ nf Purcell’s harmonic have found many instances of the elegant and effective
Dr Burney, m criticising some ot Furcf/lsh™,0“^ ™ e f the choJ of fa6 and -1+3; also in Mozart’s works,
combinations, blames him severely for using the b6 and 53 Ca^r“n0strlenta,.S Xnother chord that Dr
No. 37. | or | Burney finds great fault with in Purcell, is the chord of
=te
I, and says that this chord is “ detestable," ■^0<
-&■
but this chord is found in the works of the
best'modern composers. Among chromatic chords we shall
P i ■ rwl if Dr Biirnev had looked into notice only two more, of considerable importance, which
SeTorks" oTImanuet LDh frequenti/occur in harmony They are *0 chord o the
speaks with unmingled commendation, he would there diminished seventh, and the chord ot the augmente
No. 39.
Diminished Seventh.
Inversions.
Augmented Sixth.
These chords occur more frequently in minor scales than
in major ones ; and when they do appear in the latter, the
notation is generally wrong. For example,
No. 40.
No. 43.
iligzn
Of
0
the French sixth when it consists of ^
3 ~J
these, the Italian sixth is the most simple and elegant,
and the German sixth the most powerful in its effect.
The French sixth is harsh and poor. In writing 01
four Parts, the third of the Italian sixth is doubled:
The third and fifth of the German sixth
i i No. 44.
The effect of the diminished seventh is mournful and pa¬
thetic. Among other instances, see “ He was despised,”
in Handel’s Messiah, at the words “ a man of sorrows.”
Sometimes we meet with a series of three or four chords ^ i g
of diminished seventh, or their inversions, in which all the milfliiv nrolono-ed in the form of , upon the next
Parts ascend or descend together by semitones. With USUaUy P f * tW,
regard to the chord of the augmented sixth, it is called bass sound; but there are some excep ions P
& tice. These augmented sixths are rarely inverted , nm
some instances are to be found in good composition, n
, the chord of the diminished seventh, it depends upon
the position of the upper Parts, whether or not we may douDie
No. 45.
See¬
the Italian sixth when it consists of ^
German sixth when it consists of 5
3
and its third. When in this position
we can-
M U
usic. notbut we may in the following position, where the di-
| minished seventh occurs in a middle Part, and below the
third
No. 46.
We have a few remarks to make
upon what are called enharmonic changes of modulation,
made by means of the chord of the diminished seventh,
or of the chord of the German augmented sixth, or inver¬
sions of these. What is termed enharmonic, is really nei¬
ther more nor less, in practice, than a change of signs in
notation ; which change, being merely addressed to the
eye in all such pretended enharmonic transitions, leaves
the sounds exactly as they were before upon all our im¬
perfectly-tuned instruments, such as the organ and piano¬
forte. For example, we strike the following chord on a
No. 47.
piano-forte ^ If we choose to alter the signs
No. 48.
No. 49.
of this chord, and to write , or E
No. 50.
t^1‘s makes no change whatever in the
sounds heard on the piano-forte. The very same sounds
are produced, because the very same finger-keys are struck.
No. 51.
In the case of the German augmented sixth
S I c.
631
No. 52.
we might change the notation into
Music.
; but
the sounds would remain the same on the piano-forte; so
t at the red differences between the sounds represented
by these different modes of notation, cannot be made by
such an instrument as the piano-forte, and therefore all
pietended enharmonic changes and modulations upon it
are mere delusions and non-existences. Again, to take a
very plain case: Suppose that we were playing on the
piano-forte a passage written in Eb, and that we°chose to
change the notation suddenly to D j, where would be the
enharmonic modulation in such a case ?
No. 53.
There is not the slightest difference of effect. A real en-
harmonic change in such a passage, if effected by voices
oi instruments in perfect intonation, would produce a very
perceptible difference of pitch, and no agreeable result.
In passing from ojie chord to another, one or more of
the parts of the first chord will (in compact harmony) as¬
cend or descend by a tone, or a smaller interval, to one
or more of the parts of the next chord that follows. The
prolongation of one or more of these ascending or descend¬
ing parts of the first chord, after one or more of the parts
of the second chord has been introduced, gives rise to a
variety of dissonances termed suspensions, or syncopations,
and so on. These may be single, or double, or triple, or
even quadruple. In order to make the nature of this part
of our subject intelligible, but without entering into many
details, we shall again have recourse to the successions of
common chords already given in this section, and also to
the chords of seventh, and of diminished seventh, and of
diminished ninth.
At 1 we have a single suspension, that of the fourth ;
and at 2, a double suspension of sixth and fourth. These
are two of the cases formerly alluded to, in which the
perfect fourth, though a consonance, is treated as if it
were a dissonance when it occurs between the bass and an
upper Part. At 3 occurs a single suspension, a major
seventh ascending a semitone to its resolution in the oc¬
tave ; at 4, a single suspension of ninth resolving down¬
wards, as the ninth almost always does, by descending a
tone or a smaller interval, according to the nature of the
passage in which it occurs; at 5, a double suspension of
ninth and major seventh, in which the ninth is resolved by
ascending a tone, and the seventh by ascending a semi¬
tone ; at 6, a double suspension of ninth and fourth ; at
7, a triple suspension of ninth, b sixth, and fourth ; at 8, a
quadruple suspension of ninth, seventh, sixth, and fourth.
Such combinations of dissonances as this last are not fre¬
quent ; but they sometimes occur in the best instrumental
compositions. This legato and syncopated style belongs
more to the old schools of composition than to the modern.
The effect of such passages is good on the organ as an ac¬
companying instrument, or as a principal instrument, on
account of its powers of producing the sostenuto and the
legato; but is almost null on such an instrument as the
piano-forte, from its deficiency in these powers of sostenuto
and legato. Voices and wind-instruments produce great
effects in this style of music. It is not so effective in mu¬
sic for stringed instruments. Besides a great variety of
suspensions that may take place in an upper Part, there
are many that may occur in the bass when its progression
is by conjunct degrees ascending or descending. Of the
following examples, 1 and 2 are the best, though 3 and 4
are from Beethoven. ♦These last may be used in cases
where the combinations of different voices or instruments
are suitably arranged, or in the course of a rapid move¬
ment.
632
Music. No. 55.
MUSIC.
Music.
The nature of what are called anticipations (the con¬
verse of suspensions or retardations) will be understood
from the following examples.
No. 56.
trWF
At 1 the anticipations are in an upper part; at 2 t ey
are in the bass. Anticipations such as those at 3 are fie-
quent in music of the time of Handel, and before then.
We give a few examples of what are called passing
No. 57
notes, changing notes, transient notes, &c. which (as well
as suspensions and anticipations), are said by theorists to
be unessential or accidental notes.
These so called passing notes are marked with a small zero.
It is needless to multiply examples here, and we shall only
refer to one remarkable instance of the use of passing
notes, which occurs at the beginning of the first movement
of the first quartett in Beethoven’s fifty-ninth work. I he
violoncello begins with a fine and dignified subject (key t
No. 59.
maior), accompanied by the viola and second violin, in the
J 7 No. 58.
following manner for six bars and a half,
when the harmony changes.
-e-
-e-
The first violin comes in at the ninth bar, imitating the
preceding passage of the violoncello, and accompanied by
the three other instruments forming the chord of the se¬
cond inversion of dominant seventh, as far as the seven¬
teenth bar, where the following bold passage occurs.
f. ^
-&
@=i:
3^
-Ol 
19:
d-
3
/•
'=4r
Jf-
&C.
&C.
With regard to passing notes, notes of grace, anticipa¬
tions, substitutions, altered or chromatic notes, and so on,
the truth seems to be, that theorists have always found
them inexplicable upon their favourite principle of the
fundamental bass ; and that, not knowing how to account
for them rationally upon that principle, they have been
obliged to treat all such sounds that occur in melody and
in harmony as sounds that have no foundation in the real
structure of the composition; and to assign to them, by
way of salvo, any names that might pass current in an ob¬
scure and erroneous terminology. But if theorists will
adhere to the received systems of fundamental basses,
they ought to be able to apply these systems to all the
phenomena of melody and harmony. This is not the case ;
tor it is utterly impossible to refer all the combinations of
modern (or even of ancient) harmony, to the received
systems of fundamental basses. Every candid and intelli¬
gent musician will admit this to be true. Among all tae
systems of fundamental basses, Serre’s theory (formerly
alluded to) seems the most plausible, although still very
imperfect. He assigns to a chord, one, or two, or three
fundamentals, which are to correspond to the diatonic or
chromatic nature of the sounds and intervals of the chord.
But other theorists have their fundamental suppositions
and substitutions ; their after notes ; their changing notes;
their passing notes ; their altered notes; their appoggia-
ture ; their suspensions ; their anticipations ; and, in short,
such a chaos of hypothetically unessential and unreal
things, that it is no wonder if the study of harmony is
looked upon with horror and despair by all students who
are trained in the ordinary schools of composition. I hey
meet, at every step, with contradictions as absurd and
perplexing as the long established algebraical dogma t at
there are quantities less than nothing. A little common
sense and logic might have shown that this puzzling dog¬
ma is a mere contradiction in terms, frothing being no
quantity at all, it is obvious that there can be no sue
thing as a quantity less than nothing, or even equal to no¬
thing. If such absurd contradictions in terms pass so long
current in the most severe and exact of all sciences ma¬
thematics—it cannot surprise any thinking man that mu¬
sical theories and systems should abound in similar ones.
It is wrong to say that the ear recognises or suggests
what are called suppositions and substitutions in funda¬
mental basses; sounds that are not heard, but aie as-
cribed, by erroneous theory, to such and such c 101 s
The ear hears none of these imaginary and hypothetical
things. Were it otherwise, and to carry this hypothesis
to the reductio ad absurdum, the ear ought to hear a t ie
chords that can possibly be applied to the accompammen^
of any given melody. In fact, if two voices, or two in
struments, perform a duett, for example, the lower 1 ar
IVIusic.
—' felt to be the bass for the time being; and there is no
other Fart felt, or supposed, or substituted, by the ear. The
imagination may suggest an additional Part below the
ower Part, or above the higher Part, or intermediate;
but this has nothing to do with the theory of the funda¬
mental bass. If another lower Part is added to this same
duett, then the ear feels that Part to be the bass; and
supposing a fourth or a fifth Part, and so on, added still
lower, then such added Part becomes the bass, in so far
as the ear is concerned. If the lowest Part is overpower¬
ed by the upper ones, then the ear pays no attention to
it, but to the predominant upper or middle Part or Parts.
Pixpenment will prove this. If a melody is performed by
a single voice or instrument, or by a great number of voices
or instruments in unison or in octaves, does the ear sup¬
ply a fundamental bass, or any bass at all ? Surely not.
As to what are called passing notes, chromatically altered
notes, suspensions, anticipations, and so on, in melody or
harmony; all these sounds are just as real as any other
sounds that are heard in the course of the melody or of
the harmony; and if theorists adhere to the received fun¬
damental bass system, then every sound that is heard in a
melody, or in any Part of a harmony, must have its own
fundamental bass, just as much as any other sound that
exists in the melody or the harmony. This inference is
inevitable from rational logic. One of the most absurd
hypotheses in musical theories is found in the attempt to
explain, according to the fundamental bass system, a se¬
nes of chords of 6th and 3d ascending or descending' by
conjunct degrees. It is said that in such passages there
is an ellipsis of a chord between every two chords of the
series, and that the ear understands this to be the case,
and supplies the omitted chords !
When musical theorists meet with passages that cannot
be explained by the hypotheses advanced, such passages
are called licences. Unfortunately these licences are so
numerous m music, that the rules are overwhelmed bv
exceptions. The easy way for a puzzled system-monger
to escape from the difficulties that beset him is, no doubt,
to have recourse to such convenient words as licences, ex¬
ceptions, and so on, which are not unwillingly received bv
the public as substitutes for truth. In the works of the
greatest composers are found many passages of excellent
effect, though prohibited by the rules of theorists. Such
being the case, we would again earnestly urge the student
to form an extensive acquaintance with the best models of
e art, rather than trust to any theories on the subject,
lie ought never to give up his reason and his feelings to
any theoretical authorities. If he do, he will become ti-
nud and uncertain. Every thing he meets with different
from what his dry rules have taught him, will perplex and
terrify him. His energies will be paralyzed, and he will
be incapable of producing any thing but cold, feeble, and
ormal music. To escape this result, he must take a com¬
prehensive view of the art and its accessories; devote
nimselt to no particular composer or school of composi-
ion ; study the best music of every kind and of every
country, and not allow himself to be captured and mana-
c e y any theorist. He ought to keep in view that, in
music, nothing is out of rule except what offends the
ear, the taste, and the judgment; but that he must not
venture to imitate the freedom and the bold effects of the
greatest masters, until he has acquired great knowledge
and command of the materials of the art. This cannot be
acquired but by a well-directed course of study. Young
painters are generally ambitious of handling the brush
C° ours before they have learned to draw correctly
with a pencil or a crayon. If they are permitted to fol¬
low this course, they never attain eminence in their art.
ihe case of the impatient musical student is analogous,
before he has learned to write correct melody, or correct
vol. xv. J
MUSIC.
harmony for two voices or two instruments, he burns to
gnalize himself by writing a chorus or a symphony, an'
opera or an oratori Th| lamentable failure 0Pf such a
Ed ^ f dlsgusts and disheartens him. He
ndves thn dLa%h°PeleSS; and’ if a man of g^ius, de-
p ives the world of an excellent composer by neglect of
Havdn ™ax;™’/ff^f (ente- It is well to remark here, that
m/ithVh ^lght 0f I!,is rePutation, declared to his
mends that he did not recollect having passed a day with¬
out working sixteen and sometimes eighteen hours^ We
Sbv,he"a?Vt,-atMayd"Jformed his 0™ admirable
w every good con>PMtion
thin his reach ; by neglecting no opportunity of gaining
information regarding his art; and by forming^for himself
his own theory and principles of musical composition. In
ie. earlier part of his life he studied intently the works of
Ii u5 a of the highest order of genius,
and also the works of G. B. San Martini of Milan, a com¬
poser of great genius and originality, but not possessed of
patience enough to cultivate his abilities to the uttermost.
In Haydn s earlier works, among others, some of his So¬
natas, the resemblance between his style and that of Ema-
nuel Bach is most striking. Indeed, the two styles are
hardly distinguishable. But, as his musical horizon ex-
tended, he saw that neither E. Bach, nor John Sebastian
Bach the father, nor G. B. San Martini, nor many more
whom he studied and imitated, would suffice to make him
a great and original composer. So he applied himself to
the improvement of instrumental music, and to the inven¬
tion of a new style of composition in instrumental quar-
tetts and symphonies. His best quartetts and sympho¬
nies still remain unrivalled, for the admirable management
of the subjects and modulations, the judicious employ¬
ment of the different instruments, the unity of design m
each movement, and the clearness of construction and of
Harmony. Haydn was a great advocate for melody. He
used to say, “ Every composition that has a fine melody
is sure to please; ’ and experience proves the truth of
Haydn s assertion. He was of opinion that the most re-
cnerche and learned harmony without melody was only
an elaborate noise, which, if it did not displease the ear,
excited neither the feelings nor the imagination. We
shall close this part of our subject with a few remarks
that may be useful to the student.
The practice of composition ought to begin with me¬
lody for a single voice, with or without a bass Part. The
next step is to learn to write correctly for two voices
then for three, then for four, and so on. The custom of
writing for voices will induce a habit of correctness not to be
acquired by persons who begin by writing for instruments.
ihe proper manner of accompanying vocal music forms
a difficult branch of the art, and cannot be studied with
advantage till considerable skill has been acquired in vocal
composition. The compass and quality (timbre) and powers
of different instruments, and their effects in combination,
must now occupy the student’s attention. He ought to
take every opportunity of hearing good instrumental music
well performed, not only by orchestras, but also by mili¬
tary bands ; and of observing attentively the various effects
pioduced. In whatever he composes, clearness of harmo-
ought to be carefully preserved. Obscurity of harmo¬
ny arises from the following causes: Too rapid a succes¬
sion of sounds, chords, and keys; a complication of dif¬
ferent movements that take place simultaneously in the
different Parts, especially when these movements are at
the same time accompanied by a series of chords that suc¬
ceed each other very quickly, or by sudden modulations.
Two different movements at the same time, unite easily;
three not so easily; four may produce obscurity, if they
are not very skilfully arranged, and especially if care is
not taken, at the same time, that the chords do not suc-
4) L
633
Music.
634
Music.
MUSIC.
eeed each other, ^^"rafoncf^o't tevi^
'than four differen therefore mere waste of time to
produce ^"^"V^trovementto each of the Parts
attempt to g1 H for ^rgg^ and especially for two
of an orchestra. Ha Y become confused than harmony
Parts, is mu ^^ parts> For this reason, harmony in two
f°r Parts should be frequently used, particularly in
music vvritten for the public. Besides clearness of harmony,
"YhTetefereorp^rSreTi^
pf Uppninsr all the instruments continually busy, tie wisi
V^ mTke the voice the principal Part in Ins operas, and
”he accompaniment, which Jomelli brought rnto fashion
and which are uniformly prolonged through near y
whole extent of a piece of music, although the words pre-
sent shades of feeling or ideas which wotdd reqmre ««J.
responding shades in the accompaniment. Multitudes o
different instruments, continual orchestral effects, crude
masses of harmony, and a perpetual affectation of disso¬
nances, were considered by him as musical monstrosities.
Pie said, “ It is not difficult to know what can be put into
a harmony. The difficulty lies in knowing what should
be left out. The four Parts for stringed instruments, which
form the basis of the orchestra, lend themselves almost
equally to every kind of expression. This is not the case
with the wind instruments, and instruments of percussion.
The expression of the oboe differs from that of the clari¬
net, and that of the clarinet very much from that of the
flute. The horns change their expression according to the
key in which they are used. The bassoon, whenever it is
not confounded with the bass, becomes sad and melan¬
choly. The trombones can express nothing that is not lu¬
gubrious. The trumpet, nothing that is not warlike and
brilliant. The kettle-drum is altogether military. It each
of these instruments were reserved for its proper employ¬
ment, we should produce varied effects, succeed in describ¬
ing every thing, and continually diversify our musical pic¬
tures. But we are lavish of all these means, all at once,
and always. We exhaust and harden the ear. I should
like to know what we shall do to awaken it when, as will
soon happen, it will be accustomed to this uproar. What
new diablerie shall we contrive ? Perhaps we shall then
wish to return to nature, and to the true means acknow¬
ledged by art; but you know what happens to persons
accustomed to drink brandy.” Some combinations of
harmony, and treatments of dissonances, &c. not explicable
by common theories, will be found in Plates CCCLXXVI.
CCCLXXVII. No. 28 to 71.
Modula- We mentioned, in the section on Melody, that a trea-
tion. tise on melodic modulation is wanted; and we think that
a satisfactory treatise on the modulation of harmony is
also a desideratum. But neither can be written to any
good purpose in the present state of the theory of music,
A into E. A into D.
taking the word theory in its most comprehensive sense,
as applied to this art. Philosophers seldom understand
music • and the greatest practical musicians have neither
leisure nor inclination to attempt to analyse its nature;
so that, for want of properly conducted investigation, we
are likely to remain in the same “ aere senza stelle which
at nresent darkens the depths of the art. .
Modulation signifies, properly, the regular constitution
of melody and of harmony in any given key, but is com¬
monly used to express the art of conducting a melody or
a harmony from one key into another, or through several
successive keys. This change of key might be more pro¬
perly called transition. Many persons believe that there
can be no modulation where there is no change of key.
But this is an error, since modulation takes place even in
the simplest melody confined to one key. Transition is
only one kind of modulation, and is worthless if injudi¬
ciously employed. We may make a transition from one
key toy another suddenly, and without any intermediate
sounds; or by means of one or more intermediate chords
through which we modulate into the new key.
The art of good modulation from one key to another,
consists in the choice of these intermediate chords, and in
S relative durations. The use of sudden transmons
from one key to another, without any intermediate chords,
requires attention to a variety of circumstances, in orJle’'
to produce a good effect. Such transitions should be but
sparingly employed in any regular composition. Every
regular piece of music is composed in a particular key, m
which it begins and ends, and which generally predomi¬
nates over all the other keys that may happen to be in¬
troduced in the course of the piece. It the key is major,
what are called its relative keys will be two major ones
and three minor. If a minor key, its relative keys will be
three major ones and two minor. The following tables
will show what these relatives are
Music.
C major, principal key.
D minor, first relative key.
E minor, second relative key.
F major, third relative key.
G major, fourth relative key
A minor, fifth relative key.
A minor, principal key.
C major, first relative key.
D minor, second relative key.
E minor, third relative key.
F major, fourth relative key.
G major, fifth relative key.
minor, mui > . on
These six keys offer, in their modulated connection, /2U
combinations. The nearest related keys to a major key,
taken as principal, and into either of which it may easily
pass without any intermediate chord, are its dominant, its
subdominant, and its sixth; thus, from C major to G ma-
jor, or to F major, or to A minor. _
The keys most nearly related to a minor key, are it
third below or above, or its dominant, or its subdominant
It may pass into any one of these without an intermedmte
chord; thus, from A minor to F major, or to C major
or to E minor, or to D minor. In such cases we do
properly modulate, but make a sudden transltI°n in 0
new key. In the following examples, we modulate by an
intermediate chord :
C°’ into G. C into F. C into A.
into
MUSIC.
irusic. The general rule is, that we can modulate into a rela-
live key by means of one single intermediate chord, which
chord is the dominant seventh, or some inversion of the
dominant seventh, of that relative key. We may remain
in the new key for some time, or we may quit it imme¬
diately, and modulate into a third key, and so on. An
example of rapid modulation from key to key by means
No. 2.
of intermediate dominant sevenths, or their inversions, oc¬
curs in what is called the “ Tour du Clavier,” or harmo-'
me circle of keys. It is needless to give more of this
than a fragment by way of example, since long succes¬
sions of the kind are not used in modern music. Only
short passages of such modulation occur in the best mo¬
dern compositions.
Not unfrequently we meet with modulations into re¬
lative keys brought about by means of an intermediate
common chord. For example :
No. 3.
=4=§=
-j±-
Tf
In passing from one key to another, a third, a fourth, or
a fifth below, without using any intermediate chord, it is
proper to keep in view the following remarks:—1. Tran¬
sition to third below. In this case, if the former key is
major, the second should be minor. For example, C ma¬
jor, A minor. Here the transition is to the minor third
below. A bolder and more unusual transition is from one
major key to another major key, a major third below;
No. 4,
such as from C major to A flat major. If the first key is
minor, the second key should be major. Thus, from C
minor to A flat major, a major third below. 2. Transition
to the fourth below. The two keys ought to be both mi¬
nor or both major, otherwise they will not be relative. 3.
Transition to fifth below. The two keys ought to be
both major or both minor, for the same reason that has
just been given. To make a real change of key without
intermediate chords, we must introduce at least one en¬
tire phrase or period in the new key. (See Melody, for
jj/irase and period.) Thus, after a subject in C major, we
might introduce a period in Gr major, in F major, or in A
minor, and afterwards return to the key of the subject.
Sometimes, but much more rarely, a transition is made
from a given key to another a major second or a minor
third above it.
The following is an instance of the first kind of transi¬
tion just mentioned.
i
-r-
-s?
p-
m
i r *1
Tf-
i* 1
Hi
r *
ft
In the case of a transition from one key to another a
minor third above it, the first key must be minor and
the second major; for instance, from A minor to C ma¬
jor. This kind of transition is found in certain short
pieces of music, and, among others, in some Russian
airs. Another transition (if so it may be called) which
is not unfrequent, occurs when we change the mode with¬
out changing the key; for example, when we change
C major into C minor, or the converse. We may ^ass
immediately from a major key into a minor key its fifth
below; for example, from C major into F minor. Again,
after making a cadence upon the dominant of a minor
key, we may proceed immediately to the key of the ma¬
jor third below that dominant, or to the key of the minor
second above that dominant. For example, from domi¬
nant common chord of C minor, we may make a transi¬
tion into the key of E flat major, or of A flat major. Of
the former kind of transition a very beautiful example oc¬
curs in the Adagio sostenuto in Haydn’s second quartett,
Op. 16, where, from the dominant common chord of C
minor, the change of key is made into E flat major. Also
another in the “ Hodie mecurri' of Haydn’s “ Seven last
Words of the Passion,” at the 21st measure of the move¬
ment. In the same movement, at the beginning of its
second section, a very effective modulation occurs from E
flat major into F minor, by means of the following passage.
i '—J
Examples of transition from the dominant common chord
of a minor key, to a major key a minor second above that
dominant, as at No. 6 below, may be found in the works of
Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and other composers. An
instance may be seen in the Finale to Haydn’s Symphony,
No. 5 (about the middle of the movement), where the transi¬
tion is from dominant of F sharp minor to the key of D
major. In the “ Trio” of the first quartett in Beethoven’s
Op. 18 there is an example of a transition from the domi¬
nant of F major into the key of D flat major. In the sixth
measure of the first movement of Beethoven’s quartett,
Op. 95, we find a very singular transition from the domi¬
nant of the key of F minor into the key of G flat major.
No. 6. C*>'~^** C'C'x
-4
-G-
ITT
is:
Y
4
r
m,
No. 5.
v P P~W
p- I I
i
-p~p~
r -O
I I
Z2
inC
, &c.
In the allegretto vivace — in the first quartett of Beet-
o
hoven’s Op. 59, there are some curious transitions. Near
the beginning there is a transition from the dominant of B
flat major to the key of A flat major, and from the domi¬
nant of this last key a transition to the key of C flat ma¬
jor. Sometimes, in order to produce a powerful effect of
contrast, a transition takes place directly from the tonic
of a major key to the major key a semitone above, or a
major third below. For example, from C major to D flat
major, or to A flat major.
635
Music.
636
Music.
No. 7.
MUSIC.
No. 8.
Music.
At the beginning of the second part of the first movement
in Beethoven's first sonata, Op. 12, there ts an example of
the second kind of transition just mentioned. It tro
A maior to F major. See another example about the
middle of the andante in Haydn’s Symphony, No. ^ tran¬
sition from tonic G major to E flat major. Also another
in the adagio cantabile of second quartett of Hayd
Op. 72; transition from E major to C major. A
powerful contrasts as those we have just spoken of, espe ¬
cially the transition from a given key to another a se -
tone above, ought to be very sparingly used. In drama
tic music, and symphonies for an orchestra, these transi-
tions may be very effective. The judicious composer may
occasionally introduce them in music of a different de¬
scription ; for instance, in a cantata, or an instrumental
quartett^r quintett, &c. Excepting the cases we have
mentioned of transitions made from one key to another
without any intermediate chords, the general rule to be
followed in modulating is to connect together the differe t
keys by intermediate chords. In the proper selection of
these intermediate chords consists the art of modulation
taken in its widest sense. It depends entirely upon the
relation or non-relation between the keys from and into
which we modulate, what number of intermediate chords
maybe necessary to render the modulation smooth and
agreeable. The manner in which these intermediate
chords are to be disposed—direct or inverted, with or
without dissonances or altered chromatic notes, &c.—rests
with the composer’s skill and imagination. One, or two, or
No. 10. , 1 . ^
A. J_ I _ J-
three, or four intermediate chords may be necessary, ac¬
cording to circumstances ; but there is hardly any modu¬
lation that cannot be effected by means of four of these.
It is necessary to observe that, in many cases, the in¬
termediate chords used in modulating from one key to
another must have a sufficient duration given to them ;
otherwise the effect of the modulation will be harsh and
displeasing.
No. 9. ^ •
From C major to D flat major. From C major to D major.
’ -P 1
Both of these examples of modulation are harsh and un¬
pleasing, because the intermediate chords are too few and
have not sufficient duration allowed to them ; and yet they
are <nven in a set of elaborate tables for modulation by
Hudt, a German musician. Haydn never falls into errors
of this kind. By taking care to prolong his intermediate
chords sufficiently, he produces the smoothest and at the
same time the most unexpected modulations. I he fol¬
lowing example, though not Haydn’s, will illustrate tins:
At A the modulation from B flat major into D flat ma¬
jor is gradually conducted. At B the same modulation is
brought about too rapidly, and sounds harsh and unsatis¬
factory. Some good examples of Haydn’s judgment in
dwelling upon the intermediate chords when modulating,
may be seen in the movement “ Ecce mulier,’’ in his
“ Seven last Words of the Passion.” See the first nine
measures of the second part of that movement, and from
thirty-fourth to forty-fourth measures of same part.
A modulation frequently takes place into a key which
is not a relative one to that immediately preceding, though
both are related to the principal key of the piece. For
example: 1. When the principal key is major, a mo¬
dulation may occur from the second of the key to the
third, from 'the third to the fourth, from the fourth to
the fifth, from the second to the fifth. 2. When the
principal key is minor, we may modulate from the fourth
degree to the fifth, from the fifth degree to the sixth,
from the sixth degree to the seventh, from the fourth
degree to the seventh, and the converse of all these cases.
In modulating into a key not are lative one (for instance,
from G major into F major), care must be taken that tne
two keys are relatives to a principal key which has pre¬
viously been sufficiently established; for it is only in sucn
case that a modulation of that kind can be suitably employ¬
ed. One may easily modulate from G major into r majo
by means of two intermediate chords in a piece of music
of which the principal key is C major or A minor ; but one
could not do so if the principal key were D major or h •
nor ; so that a modulation which is good in one case y
become bad in another. This must always be kept m view
with regard to modulations of the kind just mentione •
order to modulate smoothly into a key more or less rcn™
from the one we quit, we may employ two, three, °r ‘ .
modulations instead of one only. These may e
compound modulations. For example, to modulate
G major into F major, we may employ two modulation
instead of one; the first, from G into A minor; the
cond, from A minor into F major. •
As we can make a transition immediately from a m<j
MUSIC.
Tusic. key to the minor key of its fifth below, so we can modu-
-'late into all the relative keys of the latter in setting out
from the former; for example, into all the relative keys
of F minor, beginning to modulate from C major. Again,
we can modulate into all the relative keys of C minor, in
setting out from C major. It is easier to modulate into
keys that increase the number of their flats, than into keys
that increase the number of their sharps. For instance, it
is more difficult to modulate smoothly from C major into
A major, than from C major into A flat major.
Sometimes, instead of using intermediate chords, a pause
of some duration is employed between two keys that are
not related to each other, and a modulation, or transition,
effected in this way from the one key to the other. The
longer the pause, the smoother the modulation in such
cases. A single prolonged intermediate sound, not a chord,
placed between two keys not relative, and followed by a
pause, may also render the transition from the one to the
other sufficiently smooth. For instance, after the chord
No. 11.
of G minor, introduce a prolonged E flat
637
and a pause, and then pass at once into the key of A flat
major. Towards the end of the last movement of Beet¬
hoven’s third Piano-forte Trio, Op. 1, there is a curious mo¬
dulation from dominant of C minor into B minor by means
of two prolonged sounds, G and Fj{. We may modulate
from one key to another far remote, by means of a series of
chromatic notes performed by one Part that seems to wan¬
der uncertain in quest of something. “ Or su, or giu, ed or
ricirculando.” The finest example that we know of this kind
of modulation is in the Adagio Fantasia of Haydn’s sixth
Quartett, Opera 76. The whole movement is charming.
As to what are called enharmonic modulations, or tran¬
sitions, we shall pass them by, since they have no real ex¬
istence upon keyed instruments. We refer to what we
have said on this subject in the section on Harmony. We
must remark, however, that they are dangerous delusions,
and are continually giving rise to a number of harsh and
intolerable pseudo-modulations in the music of young com¬
posers, and even in the music of experienced composers
who ought to know better. No sooner has a young com- Music,
poser (not wisely taught) got acquainted with formid(z '^—~v~~—
of these pseudo-enharmonic transitions, than he is eager
to use them on all occasions, in order, as he thinks, to dis¬
play his learning. He deceives himself, for his indulging
in such things only betrays his ignorance of his art. “ Mo¬
dulation, said Piccini, “ like all the other processes of the
art, ought to be employed as a means of just expression
and judicious variety. To modulate for the sake of modu¬
lating, is to. prove one s ignorance of the object and princi¬
ples of music. It is to affect a superabundance of imagina¬
tion and of knowledge, in order to conceal the want of both.”
We advise the student to examine carefully the works
of the best composers, Italian and German, for examples
of modulation, as well as of harmony and melody. There
is no other way for him to acquire even a respectable
knowledge of his art. As to the books published express¬
ly upon modulation, some of them are written by Germans,
and generally contain only mere formulae of the shortest
ways in which modulations can be effected. These for¬
mulae the student ought to shun, except for mere refe¬
rence ; because, although the study of them might render
him able to modulate in a dry and formal manner, they
could never teach him that grace, and freedom, and effect,
without which the most elaborate modulations are worthless.
Imitation is a musical artifice, by which a Part, called Imitation,
the antecedent, proposes a subject, or melody; and ano-canon-
ther Part, called the consequent, repeats the same melody,
after some rests, in any given interval, and so continuing
to the end.
No. 1.
Example. Imitation in the Unison.
A-
“ -O-
3=3*
-TT
r r
3^
&c.
&c.
No. 2.
Consequent.
In an imitation the consequent is not always obliged to
answer to the antecedent in the whole extent of the sub¬
ject proposed by the latter. It may imitate only a part of
the subject, and the consequent proposing a new melody,
becomes, in its turn, the antecedent.
Antecedent.
zz
-Q-
-O1
Antecedent.
p_f=izi:3i=
Z2I
Antecedent.
ZZ
-©-■
-o-
1
Consequent.
Imitation may take place in several ways. It is called
regular or constrained when the nature of the intervals
proposed by the antecedent is strictly observed in the re¬
sponse of the consequent. This of course happens when
the consequent imitates the antecedent in the unison or the
zZ
ttzi
±fZZ
* •
I
No. 3.
Consequent.
octave. Imitation in the fourth or the fifth is the next
nearest to exact correspondence of intervals.
Imitation is called free or irregular when this exact cor¬
respondence is not observed.
Imitation is by similar motion, by contrary motion, by
similar retrograde motion, by contrary retrograde motion.
fw
Similar.
rr
Contrary.
TUT
&C.
fr
zZ3
&c.
-o-
:p=»:
o-
f—T
Retrograde and contrary.
The other kinds of imitation are by augmentation, by di¬
minution, by countertime ; interrupted, convertible, periodi¬
cal, canonical, &c.
Canonical imitation is that in which the consequent an¬
swers to the antecedent, note for note, from the beginning
to the end. An imitation of this kind is what is called a
638
MUSI C.
'38
Music, canon, and may be trea^ in two wag. ^^end wi*
 ?er“td an 3« or Mr canon, when it is so con- through all the twelve keys.
structed that we can return from the end of the imitation
No. 4.
A canon written upon one stave, with particular signs fourth; in the iwel/tA or m ; in the thirteenth or sixth ; in
A canon wrui F   five fmivtoonth nr seventh: and in the fifteenth or octave.
Double
counter¬
point.
the fourteenth or seventh; and in the fifteenth or octave.
Those most commonly used are in the tenth or third ; in the
twelfth or fifth ; and in the fifteenth or octave.
In double counterpoint the Parts ought to be, as much
as possible, distinguished from each other by the different
lengths of their notes. The Part which forms the coun¬
terpoint ought to begin after the theme. The Parts must
The artifice of this kind of composition consists in com- not be allowed to cross one another without some cogent
bining the Parts in such a manner that they may, without reason. In all double counterpoints, except that in
inconvenience, be transposed from acute to grave if they
are placed above the theme, and from grave to acute if
they are placed below it, while the theme suffers no change
to indicate how and when the different parts follow each
other, is called a close canon. Latin enigmatical mottos
were often applied to these close canons, to direct the per"
former mysteriously. Padre Martini has given a hst o
fifty-six of these mottos. When the canon is written fully
out in score, or partition, it is called an open canon
in its melody, whether it exist in one of the extreme Parts,
or in one of the intermediate.
These inversions may take place in seven ways, so that
there are seven species of double counterpoint. In the
ninth or second; in the tenth or third; in the eleventh or
No. 1. Double Counterpoint in the Octave
reason. In all double counterpoints, except that in the
octave, it is not only permitted, but it is necessary, to alter
intervals when inverting the Parts, especially when the mo¬
dulations require this.
From what has already been said regarding the inver¬
sions of intervals, the following very short examples of
double counterpoints will be more easily understood. But,
for full explanations, we must refer to Marpurg and others;
and, above all, to the works of the great masters.
Inversion of the same.
4—4-
No. 2. Double Counterpoint in the Tenth.
Inversion of the same
nnr
inversion
Inversion of the same.
-Oj.
is
=a
rtlrr ^ Here occur some of the alterations of intervals lately mentioned.
Double Counterpoint in the Twelfth. Inversion of the same.
J . i -1 -sLd-
No. 3.
“ Double counterpoint in the twelfth,” says Cherubini, complete of any. We would advise the reader to c
“ is one of the most used, and one of the richest in re- Cherubini’s work also, as containing admirable examp
sources.” See his “ Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue,” his own composition. Reicha and Cherubim seen^ o
published in 1835. In this work he sj9ec«a% recommends variance as to the nature of Marpurg s work. jic *4 ' »
Marpurg’s Treatise on Fugue and Counterpoint, as the most “ il ne parle, pour ainsi dire, que des imitations et des ca
M U
llusic. In the symphonies, quartetts, &c. of Haydn and Mozart, in-
stances are frequent of the freest and boldest melodies being
used in counterpoint with the best effect; but it is only the
highest genius and most consummate skill that can do this.
s i c.
639
There are also triple and quadruple counterpoints, sus- Music,
ceptible of being inverted in various ways. Of these the ''’■“—v""
best and most usual are in the octave, the tenth, or the
twelfth.
I 'ue.
In these triple and quadruple counterpoints, where the
subjects are merely doubled in thirds, there is a dryness and
want of variety which had better be avoided by writing,
in a free style, accessory accompaniments to the counter¬
point. Our limits do not permit us to enter farther into
this extensive subject. We refer to Marpurg, and Reicha,
and Cherubini, for full explanations.
We must add the following passage from Cherubini:
“ All these examples give rise to an important remark,
which is, that in spite of the denominations of triple and
quadruple counterpoint, in the tenth or in the twelfth, there
is no veritable triple or quadruple counterpoint, but that in
the octave.”
The fugue is a very complicated piece of music when it
is carried to its highest pitch of artifice. It comprehends
all sorts of imitations, canonical contrivances, and double
counterpoints. Studied with proper views and within pro¬
per limits, so as not to interfere with the supremacy of
melody and with the genius of a true composer, the fugue
is extremely useful as an exercise of the student’s inge¬
nuity, and as tending to show him all the resources of ar¬
tificial harmonic combination. To those who have learned
to understand the artificial mechanism of fugues, and who
can enjoy them on that ground, they are often very admi¬
rable things, though composers of great genius might have
been better employed than in constructing them. Homer,
Milton, or Shakspeare, would not have done justice to them¬
selves, had they spent their time in writing difficult poeti¬
cal puzzles, such as anagrams, acrostics, single, double, and
triple poems in the shapes of crosses and triangles, or in
which every word began with the same letter, as in the
famous Pugna Porcorum, beginning “ Plaudite porcelli
porcorum pigra propago Progreditur,” and so on for five
closely printed pages. All such poetry is beyond the verge
of the enchanted circle of poetical inspiration. So of all
calculated artifices in music. If musical imitations, or
canons of any sort, suggest themselves fluently and grace¬
fully to a man acquainted with all the elements of the art,
it is well; otherwise not; for mere dry labour ought to
have no place in music. Since such artificial harmonic
combinations can give pleasure to the initiated only, who
have gone through a long training, there seems to be no
reason why the laboured contrivances of imitation and
fugue should have any preference over the simplicity of
beautiful and expressive melody, and its adjunct, appro¬
priate and effective harmony. We know well that this is
all heterodox doctrine among a certain class of musicians,
but do not the less adhere to our long-established opinion.
With great respect for the knowledge and ingenuity of all
eminent writers of canons or of fugues, we must remark,
that all these artifices arose at a time when melody was in
its infancy, and had not acquired, like Hercules, the power to
strangle the serpents that besieged its cradle. Among the
greatest fugue writers are certainly to be reckoned G. P.
Colonna, Handel, the Scarlattis, John Sebastian Bach, and"
his son Emanuel; and more recently Haydn, Mozart, A.
Reicha, and Cherubini. Beethoven did not attempt much
in this style, and what he attempted in it is not to be classed
amongst his best productions. It is no wonder if a man
of his towering genius and impetuous character was early
disgusted by the arbitrary rules and restrictions imposed
upon him by some of his unimaginative teachers, in such
laboured music.
Cherubini says (we translate from the French), “ The
fugue, in spite of the ancient origin of the word, is, then,
a creation of modern times, which was not practised in
church-music until contrapuntists had freed themselves
from the self-imposed obligation of working upon plain
chant There are two kinds of fugue, from which a
third kind emanates, and from this arise all the others.
The two principal are, the fugue of the key, and the real
fugue ; the other is the fugue of imitation} All the others,
children of caprice, are irregular fugues of imitation, or
pieces in fugue style. The indispensable conditions of the
tugue are the subject, the response or answer, the counter¬
subject, and the stretto. To these conditions may be added
the pedal, which is almost always employed in a fugue
somewhat developed All the artifices which can be in¬
troduced into a fugue depend on the knowledge, the skill,
and the choice of the composer, and at the same time on
the nature of the subject and of the counterpoint, either or
both of which may be more or less susceptible of yielding
to these artifices. These artifices consist, in brief, 1. Of
the employment of imitations, in detaching, to form them,
a portion either of the subject or of the counter-subject;
2. in the transposition of the subject into different keys, and
in the advantage which may be derived in this respect
from double counterpoints; 3. in the inversion of the sub¬
ject by contrary motion ; 4. in a new subject which may
be introduced, and which can be combined with the first
subject and the first counter-subject; 5. in the manner of
introducing the stretto in several ways, by drawing closer
and closer, each time, the answer to the subject; 6. in the
means that may be employed to make the subject and its
inversion by contrary motion be heard simultaneously; 7.
in the manner of combining the subject, the counter-subject,
and the stretto upon the pedal; and in the address and the
taste employed in enchaining together and introducing
these artifices in the course of a fugue. All these combi¬
nations, and others besides, may be employed in a studied
fugue ; but, in a fugue for the public, a selection must be
made from them, and they must not be all employed,
otherwise the fugue would be too long and tiresome.”
Reicha says, “ it is essential to remark, that in our days
the ancient fugue (or in the rigorous style) is no longer
1 Reicha says, “ Since fugues of the key are no longer composed, and as simple canons are not called fugues, the terms fugue of the
hey, real fugue, and fugue of imitation, are not really necessary, and only serve to confuse our treatises.” (P. 56, 2d part.)
MUSI C.
, . rhprubini remarks, that “ although the denomination of Music,
composed quite under the^e^restnctionsas^^th ^ fugue with two, with three, and with four subjects is gene-' c-
of Palestrina. At present we moduiate ^ adopted, this denomination is, in my opinion, impro-
boldly, and employ more of dissonant chords We some rally a^ ^ fugue cannot, and should not,
times introduce little chromatic phrases, ^ p Y P mQre than one gin le principal subject, to serve for
greater variety in the values of t1^ **°tes. its exposition. All that accompanies the subject is only
jects of a more modern cast,—from time Ptl accessory, and neither can nor should bear any other name
mit successions of notes formerly prohib te , than tiiat of counter-subject. Thus, according to this prin-
diminished fourth, the augmented fiftMimi i ^ theg^ ci ]e> the fugue that we are accustomed to call fugue with
minor seventh ;—we add a com , P . sufoects ought to be called fugue with one subject and
fugues in all kinds of measures, &c.; s?J^a en[ire]^ one COunter-subject; that with three subjects should be called
there exist three kinds of fugues. 1. & y and two counter-subjects; and, lastly,
in the ancient style ; 2 the modern or with four suLcts ought t0 bear the name of fugue
mixed fugue, which participates in these two styles. (P.4, ^ J &c. &c^ (P.lll.)
part ii.)
No. l. Subject. Counter-subject.  ^  ,
Octava Alta.
No. 2. Example of the Stretto, which consists in making the Answer follow the Subject as closely as possible.
The pedal is a prolonged sound, sustained for several
measures. It may be placed in the upper Part, or in a
middle Part, and may occur on the key-note or the domi¬
nant ; but in general it is best to place it in the lowest Part,
and upon the dominant of the key.
For examples of vocal fugues, we refer the reader to
Padre Martini’s Saggio di Contrappunto ; Paolucci’s Arte
pratica di Contrappunto ; Choron’s large work on compo¬
sition, and his collection of musical classics, dementi’s
collection, entitled Practical Harmony, contains a great
variety of examples of instrumental fugues by different
composers. Among the best of these are the fugues by
Handel and the two Scarlattis, in the second volume. All
Handel’s fugues are excellent studies, having more melo¬
dy, force, and freedom, than most others of that period.
Among what are called free fugues, we would P°iut °u
two beautiful specimens in Mozart’s overture to the Magic
Flute, and in the last movement of his first violin quartett
in G
Cherubini gives an advice which the student will do
well to follow. He says, “ we will add here, that in a
the kinds of counterpoint of which we are to treat, as we
as in the fugue, the scholar ought to write for voices, and
not for instruments. He ought to write conformab y
the natural compass of the different kinds of voices. y
this practice he will have the advantage of learning
'Music
^ produce effects by voices only,—a difficult study, and one
perhaps too much neglected,-and he will find himself,
afterwards, much more at his ease when he writes for in¬
struments, and consequently is no longer obliged to con-
ne himself within the limits of voices.” Speaking of mo¬
dulation (after having given general rules for it), Cheru¬
bini says, “ Modern composers have freed themselves in
their compositions from this simple and rational method
of modulating, replacing it by a manner too free, and
often incoherent; but if their deviations are tolerated in
modern works, it is essential, and it is even expressly en¬
joined, not to follow these wanderings in the case of a
composition so severe as the fugue.”
MUSIC.
641
i italive
i sic.
By imitative music we do not here mean the imitation
of one melody or passage of melody by another, which has
been already treated of in the section connected with ca¬
non and fugue ; but the employment of music, more or
ess appropriately and successfully, to imitate certain na¬
tural phenomena, audible or visible. The great mystery
o music lies in its power of suggesting and exciting ideas
and feelings m persons endowed with a sufficient degree
of sensibility and imagination. In this respect it resembles
poetry, for poetry is a dead art to all who have not sensi¬
bility and imagination enough to receive and expand its
suggestions. We speak of the higher poetry ; not of that
which attempts in vain to be minutely descriptive or imi¬
tative, and which, by so doing, loses the nobler essence of
poetry, without attaining the object proposed.
There are many musical compositions that do not aim at
imitation or expression of any determinate kind. Such are
the great majority of pieces of instrumental music. Some
fanciful persons have gone so far as to imagine a story
told, or a scene described, by a quartett or a symphony, al¬
though the composer gave no indication of any such pur¬
pose, and would have transgressed the true imitative li¬
mits of his art by doing so.
Gne of these fanciful persons, Momigny, in his Cours
Complet dHarmome et de Composition, has ventured to
give what he calls “ a picturesque and poetical analysis”
of the introductory movement and succeeding allegro of
Haydn s eighth Symphony in Eb, and to add words here
ncl there, to show what the music is intended to express.
Momigny has also adapted words (see his third volume) to
the first movement of Mozart’s second Violin Quartett in D
mor, and tells us that “ he thinks he has discovered that
the feelings expressed by the composer were those of a
7'ng ema^e on the point of being abandoned by the hero
whom she adores,” and that this luckless woman was Dido !
jr* tfhlS; however> is mere imagination, and every one is at
berty to exercise his own fancy in such cases. In such
ft w0nu0Slt,*naf I?ee^hoven,s famous Pastoral Symphony,
t would certainly be impossible for any person to divine,
merely from hearing it played, what was meant to be ex-
1 essex or imitated by the different movements of that
remarkable work. Unless he were previously told that
such a movement was meant to express the sensations ex¬
cited by visiting a country scene; such another, those felt
eside a river ; another movement meant to imitate a storm,
0n; certainly his imagination might lead him to
g ess very wide of Beethoven’s intentions. The only
things that he could have no doubt of, if accustomed to
uch rural sounds, would be the notes of the quail and the
cuckoo, introduced in the river scene. As to the nightin-
RppiI 18 C0U c make nothing of it, because the notes that
Beethoven uses do not express the subtle song of that
more than Handel’s notes do in his song “Sweet
V™, \n the Penseroso. In the oratorios and operas of
eminent composers are to be found many instances of at-
tempted imitations, most of which had better have been
vol x atternPt t0 ^m^ate» by music, a hail or a
of wall andt tg or.cre,eP,n« of animals the falling Stoic
particular stefe’ nv’ * ° miStake the P0Were °f the *«• A' 
Ptoved to eShrc/,TU-n may be effectively em-
ln Havdnl e “a CTeyed by dt'soriptive words.
stances5of this a ’ a"d 1Seasms’ have several in-
ZZ in L e T"S otller passages, we may cite the
des?ribinw 96 t0 408 °f Leipsic Partition),
snow Ln^he Xrt" brMcr^ am°"S the
.03 ,30)
intended to express the rustling of leaves, the runidnlof
brook, the buzzing of flies, the crowing of a cock ^the
croaking of frogs, &c. but most of them unworthy of
Haydn’s genius. The overture to the intonded
o describe the transition from winter to spring - the in
troductmn to summer (p. 138), “ the dawn of d^y ” the'
introduction to autumn (p. 252), “ the husbandman’s satis¬
faction in contemplating the abundant harvestthe in¬
troduction to winter, “ descriptive of thick fogs.” All
andthaercoPnh!en0mena n0t fuscfPtible of musical imitation ;
and the consequence is, that the fancy of the hearer miaht
ri'tf t0 as*0Clate the Pseudo-imitations with ideas to-
tal yd'fferentfrom those which Haydn intended to sug-
g t. Ihe philosopher D Alembert, says, “ Si i’avois 5
exprimer musicalement le feu, qui dans la separation des
eW prend Sa place au plus haut lieu, pourquoi "e le
pounois-je pas jusqua un certain point par une suite de
sonsquiiroient en s’elevant avec rapid i/e ?” and, a little
np7p’„ Sl Je V°U °,S Peindre 16 leVer du S0iei1’ Pourquoi
ne le pourrois-je pas par une musique dont le son auroit un
pi ogres assez lent, mais iroit tout a la fois en s’elevant et
en augmentant d eclat, precisement comme le soleil quand
.e leve. Haydn, in the representation of chaos m his
Creation, and m the introduction to the recitative “ In
splendour bright, in the same oratorio, seems to have had
D Alembert s ideas in view.
Many striking instances of indirect musical imitation
may be found in the operas of Gluck. One of them oc¬
curs in his opera of Iphigenia, in the scene where Aga¬
memnon deplores his daughter’s lot in these words : “ J’en-
tends retentir dans mon sein le cri plaintif de la nature,”
tec. I his “ plaintive cry of nature” is expressed by the
wailing notes of the oboe heard at intervals,
&c. while the “ oracles of
destiny ’ are expressed by the gloomy and obstinate re¬
sponses of the bassoon, ^^~jy^zz~ P
-CL.
&C.
riiis remarkable passage is given, with a criticism upon it
and some others from Gluck, in the first volume of For-
kel s Musikahsch-KritiscZie Bibliothek.
ie famous painter Leonardo da Vinci, in his Treatise Musical
on Tainting (c. xyi.), thus expresses himself regarding the invention,
aids to pictorial invention that may be derived from the
contemplation of confused objects: “ Se riguarderai in
alcuni muri imbrattati, o pietre di varij misebj, potrai qui-
vi vedere 1’inventione e similitudine di diversi paesi, di¬
verse battaglie, atti pronti di figure, strane arie di volti,
et habrti, e infinite altre cose ; percbe nelle cose confuse
1 ingegno si desta a nuove inventioni.” A painter of such
genius as Leonardo da Vinci may have his imaginative fa¬
culties thrown into action by “ a blotched wall, or by
stones of various colours,” or by other objects that would
4 M
642
MUSIC.
Music.
produce no impression upon an or^a^ 'Vo
'with the musical ^ndToth poetry and music,
persons who feel and understand both P°™T *
poetry is well calculated to suggest musical ideas. W
Eld think little of the musical genius of a man who
could peruse the Allegro, or P« o or £
ton and feel their beauties, without having ms
imaghiation strongly excited g 0^^°^
s a J—
tated sea—the dreary sounds of t P t musi.
ling sublimity of the thunder-storm Vpf unknown
cafideas by some strange alchemy of mind yet unknown
to musical theorists. . , ^ir.tnriql is reallv
Musical invention, like poetical o p ’ ^
no more than the art of combtntng, m new and remarka
Ssa,
those elements ; in poetry, sounds and knguape si^ns ha
flnrtuate in their nature and uses, and in their indicauoi
of Enerab^ external objects and endless shades of hu-
man feelings and passions; m painting, P01!118 ,
variety and colours contrasted or combined in all the pos-
Se diversities of light and shadow. As to mus.cal m-
vention, or originality in melody and harmony, t ose^wh^
have the most extensive acquaintance with t
compositions of the last two centuries must perceive that
there is very little originality to be found in the composi
tions of omday. Melodic ideas and phrases, except of
the most artificial kind, were nearly exhauste^before^the
commencement of the nineteenth centu y. ther
Galuppi, Piccini, Sacchini, Paesiello, SarU, and many
Italians, are now hardly known to the public; and yet horn
them the more modern melodists have drawn ™ost of t^‘r
best ideas of melody. The artificial combinations of liar
mony, and successions of modulations, had been earned to
a great extent by some of the Italian composers-the Scar
laftis and others-and by Handel and the Sachs and Ben¬
das, and others among the Germans—before Haydn, Mo
zart, and Beethoven directed the public attention, not so
much to a new style of melody and harmony, as to a freer
style of both combined. They threw aside a number of
fetters imposed upon composers by unreasonable rules
drawn by theorists from anterior compositions of a con¬
ventional kind. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven-espe-
cially the two former—seem to have carried artificial mu¬
sic nearly as far as possible without rendering it void ot
pleasing melody, clear design, and intelligible harmony.
Most other composers who have come after them, or who
were their contemporaries, have done little more than ca¬
ricature their styles. Some of the more fashionable com¬
posers who have deigned to keep any thing like melody
in view, have had recourse to the older and forgotten
masters, and pillaged them without mercy. But, after
all, it must be confessed that no limits can be assigned
to change and innovation in an art so vague and arbi¬
trary in its general signification as music, and so depen¬
dent upon the training given to the public ear. fhat
beauty and deformity are mere mental affections, and not
existences separate from the sentient being who feels them
and judges of them, is proved every day by the diversity
of human opinions regarding productions ot the fine arts.
It is vain and absurd to argue upon these matters. I he
old proverb that says “ there is no disputing of tastes,”
holds not only in things affecting the nerves of the tongue
and palate, but also in things affecting the eye and the ear.
It is not unworthy of remark, that the word “ taste has
been so transferred from its original signification as to be
applied, by common consent, to the senses of sight and
hearing, and even to what may be supposed to be more
intimately intellectual judgments regarding the merits ot
poetry and oratory. Where are we to find a perfect theory
of poetry and oratory? although these arts stand at the
head of all human arts. Choron writes as follows regard-
ing musical invention : “ In music, and in the arts in ge-
neral, we call idea that which in a more exact language
we call thought. However that may be, the musical
thought or idea is usually a passage of melody which pre¬
sents itself to the mind of the composer with a! its suit¬
able accessories. From this we perceive that there are
many kinds of different ideas, according to the sort of
effects, whether simple or compound, which they emp oy.
We ought also to distinguish ideas into principal ideas
and secondary ideas. The first are suited to form the
basis or foundation of a composition ; the others are applied
to the development of the principal ideas. It requires
art and experience to discern whether an idea belongs to
the one or to the other of these classes; and also to per¬
ceive whether an idea is suited to the free or to the severe
stvle of composition ; and to be able to develop it accord¬
ing to the rules applicable to each of these sty es. e
art, or, more properly, the faculty of finding ideas, is called
invention. This term sufficiently indicates that we lo^k
upon invention as almost entirely a gift of nature. No
rules whatever can be laid down upon this subject. We
can only offer some observations which may be useful.
We distinguish two kinds of invention ; invention pro¬
perly so called, and invention by imitation. What we
have just said applies particularly to the former kind,
that kind of invention which creates new and origina
productions that do not resemble preceding ones and dia
serve as models for succeeding produc ions. the most
distinctive characteristic of genius. It xs found m the de
tails as well as in the general structure; in ^
well as in the matter. An artist often shows aS ™UC^gh
nius in treating, in his own way, a common idea, as ne
could by producing new ideas. Invention by imitation
consists in approximating, in peculiar.ttes of sty e and
manner, to some production already known. Althoug
this seems more easy than the other, it has its dangers an
difficulties. The chief objection to it is the dangei we
cur of falling into plagiarism; a danger which canno
avoided if we have not enough of imagmatton taste, wd
skill to enrich by accessories ot our own, or to disguise
dexterously, the materials which we endeavour to appro¬
priate to ourselves. On the other hand a hapPy
may be as good as a real invention. The talent ot in
tion is developed by a continual application of niind to t\
object of invention, by the »f “"ITni for the "e-
hv directing the attention to seek in all things toi tne re
lations that they may have to the art " Inch we cuhivate.
A thousand things that appear indifferent or useles t
inattentive man, become very significant tohim who^
every thing to a principal object. \\ e are ^te
ed that artists should have been so happy ^
tion, and ascribe this to superior genius. We shouia u
much more astonished if we knew to what circum tance
they owe these advantages. The greater part of their tafen
consists in neglecting nothing, and in Perc^V1^1 J|th
surrounds them every thing that can have connectio
Music.
parody
See dementi’s admirable preludes in imitation of the different styles of Haydn, Mozart, Dussek.&c..
w-one offiussek’s Sonatas for the piano.forte; and Mozart’s compositions ... imitation of Handel s style.
Dussek, &c. ; and J. B. Cramers
MUSIC.
Jusic^ their art. If we are attentive in collecting every thing
that presents itself, and take care to treasure up the ideas
which occur in favourable moments, we shall soon form a
lich collection of materials from which we can draw when
occasion requires. Finally, we must never torture our¬
selves to find ideas; and must especially shun that mania
of originality which induces us to reject easy and natural
ideas, and to run after fantastical and perplexed ones.
One may often present novelty under a guise almost com¬
mon. On the contrary, as Boileau says,
II est certains esprits dont la fougue insensee
Toujours loin du droit sens va chercher leur pense'e,
Ils croiroient s’abaisser dans leurs vers monstrueux
S’ils pensoient ce qu’un autre a pu penser comme eux.
And all this is often mere lost labour; for an idea which
at first seems new, on account of the manner in which it
is presented, is frequently reduced to nothing when it is
brought back to its true expression.
“ If gift of invention is invaluable, we may say that
the art of conducting and developing ideas is not less im¬
portant. We might cite many authors who, though not
remarkable for variety or originality, have yet acquired a
great reputation by the talent which they have shown in the
development of their ideas. Among such authors are Sac-
Sym. I. Allegro.
1 relop-
nit of
r: sical
in s, and
c luet of
a mposi-
tit.
Sym. X. Allegro.
&c.
■-©-
£
Sym. XVI. Allegro.
&c.
=]=]$=
£=-=i=prr
Sym. XVIII. Presto.
No writer on composition has treated so fully as Reicha
of the uses of double counterpoint in the development of
inusical ideas. (See his Traite de Haute Composition Mu-
sicale, a large and expensive work, of 596 folio pages.) It
is to be regretted that Reicha, in his two large works on
composition, does not give examples from the works of the
best composers. He does not even give direct references
to such passages in the works of these composers as might
illustrate his rules and observations. A man so versed as
he was in music of all kinds could have done this easily ;
especially as his treatises were of great extent, and could
have admitted of many classical examples, instead of those
winch he gives composed by himself or by his pupils.
He says (p. 140 of first volume), “ Now-a-days, it is re¬
quired that the employment of any counterpoint should
be effective. If a composer has not genius enough to ac¬
complish this, he will do well not to make use of counter¬
point. .. In all the treatises where counterpoint is spoken
of, there is a defect, inasmuch as they neglect to show,
ln a satisfactory manner, the true resources offered by
counterpoint. This is the cause that the public has never
had a just idea of invertible harmony, and of its utility.
Here is an example of a double counterpoint in the oc¬
tave.
■Gh
-e-
-Gh
fzizlrfep:
-©-
4=
“ This model of four measures gives eight in reckoning
its inversion. This is nearly all that is generally known.
But what is to be done with eight measures, it is asked,
if there are no more ? These eight measures may serve
as follows.
“ 1. To form a canon for two unequal voices—(i. e voices
of different pitch and compass).
“ 2. To form an entire double fugue for two, three, or
four Parts.
“ And, which is more important in our days, these
eight measures can be employed, 3dlp, in the course
(chiefly in the second section) of a movement in a sym¬
phony, &c. where a very advantageous use of them may
be made; as, for example, fragment of a movement in a
643
chm, and Anfossi; and in the works of authors very rich Music.
rnm^ untIT be Pointed out pieces that have be-'
• , 1 ¥ celebrated, and of which the sole merit lies
•, the„tas,t/f and the a>’t shown in the development of the
deknf i?n0St °if H!ydn’S comPOsitions are unrivalled mo-
* a ll and Jadgment in the development of musical
latinn 16 <l0aducj; of tlle melody, harmony, and modu-
ibaf i’ fl 16 Study.of doobie counterpoint, especially of
mnnV f h£mC- aV<i’ 18 ,of csscotial importance to the attain-
mezit of skill in developing musical ideas. A knowledge
ot double counterpoint offers numerous resources to the
composer of a symphony, an overture, an instrumental quar-
tett, &c.; and, indeed, without such knowledge, it is im¬
possible to make the most of one’s musical ideas. This
kind of knowledge is far remote from the dry and cum¬
brous learning of most of the older contrapuntists ; learn¬
ing winch generally served no better purpose than to en¬
able them with great labour to construct music for the
eye, and not for the ear. To show the advantages"that a
composer of symphonies may derive from a knowledge of
double counterpoint, we have only to refer to Haydn,'Mo¬
zart, and Beethoven. Among Haydn’s symphonies, the
following movements occur to us at this moment as con¬
taining examples of what we have just been discussing.
We refer the reader to the Partitions.
MUSIC.
formed, and never left to be guessed at by the organist
1 • 1 r fUo formed and never left to be guessed at by the organist
symphony for a grand orchestra, formed entirely from the ^ ’ the puzzling and uncertain signs of a mere figured
nrecedimr counterpoint.”1 „ . . ^ KoCO ° We refer to what we have said on the subject of
When the or-
Music.
Accompa¬
niment.
io show, by a Paction on five b-Jovef. ^ ^ harmony_
following pages, the use and development of this counte b with an orchestra> as in Haydn s and
point in the fragment above alluded to. We must refer garws^ masses, and others, it would often be better for
to the passage in the original work. , effect, if the organ were more employed in strengthen-
* • r tUc w* Parts than in giving the full harmony of
This term sometimes signifies the harmonic suppor ing ^ ^; because, in the latter case, the peculiar ef-
given to a melody or to a principal voice by one or more i ^ of the orchestra wind-instruments would be
struments, and sometimes means that knowledge ot choru ^ or overpowered. Fine eff'ects may be produced
which is required in playing from a figured bass or t ^ iudici0us use of only certain stops of the organ, even
a Partition. Since a voice or an instrument’0LSheJ one in accompanying with an orchestra. In some modern or-
voices or several instruments, may be acc»mPafnief 7 this „ans the compass of the finger-keys (reckoned upwards
or more instruments, the variety of combination of th a f st , or £ open pipe eight feet long)
kind are almost endless. Melody, which forms he most j1 lowegt c ^ the piano.forte up to F in alt,
expressive part of musical language, and reguia wkh a]l the intermediate semitones. In many other or-
roarch of composition by different rhythms, usually oc the Compass is not so extensive. There are, besides,
pies either the highest or the lowest Part of a Fece^of gans, the co sometimes (in the largest organs)
music, in order to become ^ore"0"S^CeU2{odvSplaced of thirty-two feet pipes, for the pedals. It must be ob-
times, to produce a particular effect, the melody is P a ^ ^ different organs the stops vary much in
in a middle Part. When this happens, or when it occ ^ ^ number> and that aU the stops do not
pies the lowest Part, the accompaniment mustb® d exdnd throughout the whole finger-keys, but in most or-
accordingly, and constructed in such a manner P serve for only one half of these keys. This is not
duce the best possible effect in union with the m y. ^ ente/more minutely into the structure of the
Since accompaniment is always subordinate to me P^ Mogt forei organs have pedals, or foot-keys,
some persons have looked upon it as an accessory ^ g ^ ^ extend tQ tw0 octaves of tiie lowest sounds,
importance, and have improperly compared it ^ the ha g y the extengion of iate years> piano.forte
of a picture, or to the pedestal of a statue. I his compa- 1 doe ^0P^hel piano.forte, beyond its former com-
rison, though having an appearance of justness, is ieay ^ ^P ^ ^ ^P & half 0CtaveSj has been any real
so absurd as to merit no refutation. Other pei sons fmnrnVpmpnt of the instrument. The piano-forte is much _
sider accompaniment as a purely mechanical wor , w uc P accompanYino- music of various kinds, vocal or in-
requires only patience and application. It those persons ^ ° Songs, cantatas, vocal duetts, trios,
mean by such work the adding o some mstgulficard ^usIn chamtr or c?nc“t-room music, instruraen-
chords to a melody, they are not in the wrong , bu 1 orchestral symphonies or overtures, operatic
accompaniment is not that which we find in the works of tal ?olo*> ““f|y“P"°|lvaccompanied by apiano-
Gluck, Piccini, Sacchini, Mozart, W inter, Cherubim, an music, an^ und^rsUulds his instrument thorough-
Organ and 0t^“Sortant instruments used in accom- ly, impm^ -
piano-forte. paniment are the organ and the piano-forte. The organ m re .g wh’om he accompanies, even when
is, in reality, a collection of wind-instruments of different ance to the pertormets wnom ^niraent besides,
kinds, forming in itself a species of orchestra, but not there ts “ Xre sogers are accom-
capable of the varied expression that can be given to a a pianist has tone
number of different wind-instruments played upon by dif- pan e y . f , Pdc 0f tbe old Italian school,and
ferent performers. Its noble and solemn effect renders it companya piece of vocal musm ^
highly appropriate for the accompaniment of church-mu- with nothing but ^^^^^fb^^orh^onist,
sic; and it is much to be regretted that, in more modern bass before him, he must not only ne a goo ^ ^
times, its true character and powers have been too often but also we aC(FaF , :tabie t0 SUch compositions,
lost sight of by injudicious composers and organists, who mony and accomp olthmiP'h not expressed
have introduced 1 style of performance and&accompani- and really mtended by the au^^
ment quite unsuitable to the organ and to sacred music, by the imperfect sys em o 8 composers who were
The simple and legato style of accompaniment is that most ly employed. Among , was^u method of ac-
suited to the nature and powers of the organ. In a me- almost all excellent armoms , . and wbich,
moir upon church-music (in the Italian language) by J. compamment practise y pipflriv understood even by
P. Schulthesius, there are many sensible observations upon from tradition and ha i , u , cio-ns of thorough
this subject. The organ forms the best accompaniment means of the imperfect and conventional signs otthor^
to choral music, and in this case the organist ought to bass. But this is no longu 16 ^ ’ Ai andr0 scar-
adhere to a simple and legato style. As an effective ac- anist who would accompany a can M-iroplIo and so
companiment to other sacred compositions, such as masses, latti, or a duett ot Clan, or a psa m o ’ticular
&c., the organ is too much neglected by modern com- on, as the composer intended, mus me P . jie
posers. The organ accompaniment ought always to be study of the older style ot accompamm ’ -^g.
written in notes as the composer intends it to be per- will fail in his attempt to accompany su p
1 “ This fragment being placed in the second section of the movement, supposes that the first or the second subject of the ^th^
point, or both, have been previously heard in the first section. Without this precaution, the hearei lv0 • t appropriate
foreign to the movement, as out of place, which would be a fault on the composer’s part, lo render us c p
to the movement, it is enough that the four measures
tz.
fcfpzz _ form a part of tha
subject of the movement."
Music
MUSIC.
He will ma3<e the harmony too full, or too thin, or dispose
it in an unsuitable manner. As we have not room for ex¬
amples of the style of accompaniment suitable to such
music, we refer the reader to the edition of Marcello’s
Psalms, published in Paris some years ago by Mirecki, a
pupil of Cherubini. It was revised by Cherubini himself.
In that work the accompaniments are given as they ought
to be, and may serve as models for the accompaniment
of such music, and of much of the music of that period 
the latter part of the seventeenth and the earlier part of
the eighteenth centuries. The accompaniment of the com¬
positions of that period for voices is generally attempted by
modern pianists in mere dry chords read from the thorough
bass figures and notes. Such an accompaniment is quite
erroneous in so far as regards the composer’s intention,
because the accompaniment of these pieces was an accom-
pagnamento figurato for three Parts, each of which Parts
had its own melodic progression, and the whole three were
so contrived as to sustain the voice or voices, and enforce
the effect of these without overpowering them.
1o accompany a Partition from which the pianist has to
select, on the instant, those parts most important to the
effect, while he leaves out others, or portions of others, re¬
quires great practice and knowledge, especially with re¬
gard to more modern Partitions. Formerly, the most im¬
portant parts of a Partition were the two violins, viola, and
violoncello, forming a quartett that represented the essen¬
tial structure of the composition. The wind instruments
were at that time employed much more sparingly and Jess
effectively than they afterwards were in more modern mu¬
sic. There are other circumstances in the structure of the
oldei Partitions which render it less difficult to accompany
them than the more modern ones. But, with regard to the
pianist’s accompaniment of Partitions, especially modern
ones, we may remark, that the attempt too often made by
injudicious accompaniers to crowd into the piano-forte ac¬
companiment all the orchestral effects that they see in a
Partition, is worse than useless. The thing is impossible,
from the nature and powers of the piano-forte, and its uni¬
formity of timbre. We have already alluded to this in the
section on Harmony. Where there is any particular and
prominent design in the Parts of a Partition, the pianist
ought to adhere to it in his accompaniment, in so far as the
nature of such design and the powers of his instrument
will permit. In many cases he must be content to sacri¬
fice much of the design, and of the grace and freedom of
movement, found in the Parts of the Partition, and to ar¬
range his accompaniment in such a way as to make the
most of the difficulties presented to him by the construc¬
tion of the Parts. This will frequently occur to him in ac¬
companying modern Partitions, which often contain so ela¬
borate a construction of Parts as almost to defy any at¬
tempt to represent even a shadow of them in the piano¬
forte accompaniment. Ihe best way of learning how such
intricate Partitions may be suitably accompanied by the
piano-forte, or how they may be arranged for the piano-
orte, so as to accompany the voice Parts (for example)
without any other instrument, is to study carefully the best
Italian and German arrangements of the best Italian and
Geiman operas, oratorios, masses, &c. for the piano-forte,
with the voice Parts ; for example, dementi’s admirable
arrangement of Haydn’s Creation; the best French or Ger¬
man editions of the similarly arranged masses and operas
of Moizart, Winter, Clierubini, Beethoven, &c. To render
this study really useful, the accompanier must, at the same
time, have before him, and consider attentively, the Parti¬
tions from which these arrangements were made. No ab¬
stract rules can teach the art of accompaniment. Nothing
but talent, experience, and observation can do so; and
therefore we would urge the student to go at once to the
interesting fountain-head of good models, and not to waste
645
time upon dry technicalities. Many pianists make a very Music,
easy matter of accompaniment, by reducing it to a series'
of dry chords {accords plaques) or else broken chords in
tne vulgar form of what some musicians used to terra
chopped hay. ’ For the proper piano-forte accompani¬
ment of modern songs, duetts, &c. the reader may consult
the compositions of this kind by Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini,
Beethoven, H.mmel, &c. where the accompaniments are
written by the composers themselves. The harp, although
intioduced of late years into orchestras, is not very effec¬
tive in such a situation, unless when occasionally left near¬
ly alone to accompany some vocal Part in an opera, or in
concert-room music. It serves better for an accompani¬
ment in chamber-music. The guitar, skilfully managed,
forms a pleasing accompaniment to a single voice in songs
of a certain character. Although the greater part of its
sounds belong to the bass and tenor range, music for the
guitar is written in the treble clef; so~ that the sounds
beard are really each an octave lower than they are repre¬
sented by the notation.
Before we conclude this section, we must advert to a
fault not uncommon in the compositions of Germans for
voices with orchestral accompaniments. Even Mozart
himself has sometimes committed this fault. It occurs
when the harmony for two or three voices is incomplete,
and a succession of fourths, for example, is left to have the
harmony completed by some of the instruments of the or¬
chestra. This filling up of the harmony by the instru¬
ments does not produce the desired effect; for the imper¬
fect harmony of the voices,—from their peculiar and pro¬
minent timbre,—is still perceived. The best modern Italian
composers are more careful in this respect. They make
the harmony of their voice Parts complete in itself, and inde¬
pendent of completion from the orchestral accompaniment.
. The comparative simplicity of orchestral combinations Orchestral
m the works of the older composers has been adverted to music,
m the preceding section. Gluck, in the latter part of the
eighteenth century, was one of the first composers who in¬
troduced wind instruments into the orchestra in a manner
more effective than had till then been practised. Any mu¬
sician who will take the trouble to examine Gluck’s Par¬
titions will perceive that they suggested to other com¬
posers many ideas of orchestral effect from the use of wind
instruments,—ideas more fully developed by Haydn, Mo¬
zart, Cherubini, Mehul, Beethoven, and others. The in¬
vention of new instruments, the improvement of old ones,
the introduction into orchestras of instruments formerly
confined to military music, have produced a superabun¬
dance of materials for orchestral effect; a superabundance
sadly abused by many modern composers. The conse¬
quence of such [abuse has been too frequently nothing
better than a chaotic confusion, arising from the simulta¬
neous combination of so many heterogeneous instruments.
The elaborate noise of a modern orchestra is sometimes so
great as to stun all ears but those petrified by custom.
Men who serve artillery get so accustomed to the din and
roar of cannon that they suffer no more annoyance from
such noise than other untrained persons do from the dis¬
tant explosion of a spent rocket in its highest altitude.
I hey come at last to relish the martial din that deafens a
common bystander.
In the section upon voices and instruments, we have oc¬
casionally adverted to the most suitable employment of
some of the latter in orchestral music. We shall here of¬
fer a few more remarks upon this subject, and upon orches¬
tra music in general.
A complete orchestra consists of a number of stringed
instruments and wind instruments, and a few instruments
of percussion ; the latter being generally kettle-drums.
The nature and magnitude of an orchestra must be regu-
M U S I C.
i , • _ oil thpir harmonv ought to bo good in itself, independently of
since a large orchestra in a s „rirl;t;nn anv wind instruments. The same remark'
Music.
IS of much L/ort-
to its effect. The orchestra ot the Italian opeia at
Vienna is small, in order to suit the locality. It was re¬
cently as follows : one conductor, one v\o\m obbligato for
accompanying particular parts of the vocal music, o
leaderPandY five first violins, six second violins, four viole,
four violoncellos, four double basses, two flutes, two oboes.
the addition of any wind instruments. The same remark'
applies to the harmony of a duett, trio, or quartett, form¬
ed by a combination of wind instruments. The harmony
must be good and pure independently of any filling up by
the addition of stringed instruments. It is hardly neces¬
sary to say, that the uses which may be made of all these
possible combinations of the wind instruments with the
stringed ones, or of wind instruments with wind instru¬
ments, depend entirely for their good effect upon the skill
- ~ •’   One of the wind instru-
four violoncellos, four double basses, two nu wu ™ ^ of the composer.
two clarinets, two French horns, two ba, , ’ J. added t0 the stringed on
pets/irn;—ione drum, one -
piano-forte; in all forty-three instruments This is about
the same number and proport,on as in 0;^?stra^h
Dresden, Francfort, and the Italian opeia at 1 ans. me
orchestra of the opera at Berlin is much larger, on account
of the greater size of the house. In those smaller etches-
tras, tife wind instruments are suited in size and tone to
the fewness of the stringed instruments. The double
basses too, are small sized, and have four strings, except
tl p ndpal one, which has five, to facilitate the execu
,i„„Pof difficult passages. The orchestra of the grand
opera at Paris lately consisted of twenty first violins, twen¬
ty second violins, fourteen viole, thirteen violoncellos, six
three-stringed double basses, three four-stringed double
basses, four harps, four flutes, four oboes, four clarinets,
four bassoons, three trombones, horns, trumpets, kettle
drums, one serpent. The number of performers in the
orchestras of the Scala at Milan, and San Cailo at Naple ,
used to be, at most, about ninety-three ; but their number
varies, and has of late been reduced.
Trumpets, trombones, the serpent, and kettle-drums, are
too noisy to be suited to a small orchestra ; and the judi¬
cious composer will, in such a case, avoid them. In wri¬
ting for an orchestra, the stringed instruments form, as it
were, the body of the composition, or a complete harmony
in four Parts among themselves. This quartett consists
of first and second violin, viola, and violoncello ; the double
basses being employed to enforce the vio oncello Part.
The number of violins, viole, and violoncellos, makes no
difference in the real harmony of this quartett, because it
there are twenty first violins they all play the same 1 art,
and so of the second violins, and viole and violoncellos
respectively. But, for the sake of variety, the full quartett
is not always continued through a whole movement, but is
sometimes interrupted by harmony in two or three Parts,
and by passages in unisons or octaves. Occasionally, also,
but more rarely, the stringed instruments cease altogether
for a short period, to allow a passage for wind instruments
alone to be heard with more effect from contrast; for in¬
stance, in the trio of Beethoven’s first symphony in D major,
Op. 36 ; in the trio of his symphony in C major, Op. 21; and
in the trio of his Sinfonia Eroica, Op. 55 ; and, passim, in
the orchestral compositions of Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini,
Weber, Spohr, &c. The stringed instruments of the or¬
chestra are often employed without being accompanied by
any of the wind instruments. By the addition of wind in¬
struments of different kinds, and in different ways, to the
stringed instruments, a great variety of combinations and
effects take place, which open a wide field of resources to
the composer. It is important to remark, that whether
the stringed instruments form a quartett, a trio, or a duett,
ments added to the stringed ones, may either double one
of the parts of these, if its nature permit it to do so, or
may have a distinctive melody given to it, and be accom¬
panied by all, or by only one, or two, or three, of these
Parts ; and thus, in the latter case, form with them a
quintett, or a quartett, or a trio, or a duett, for the time
beino-. Thus, the bassoon, or the horn, for example, may
double the bass Part of the stringed instrument quartett
of the orchestra, or any of the other Parts, to produce a
particular effect of reinforcement; or it may have a dis¬
tinctive melody, and be accompanied as before mentioned.
The same remark extends to the flute, the oboe, the cla¬
rinet; with this exception, that instruments of a high
pitch, like these, are not properly employed to double the
bass Parts of the orchestra. By this doubling of a Part is
to be understood the addition to it of another instrumental
Part, which performs the same melody in unison, or in oc¬
tave higher or lower, according to the nature and compass
of the added instrument. When accompanying a wind in¬
strument of a grave pitch with two violins, the accompani¬
ment is generally above the melody. In this case, the
melody should form a good bass to the accompanying
harmony; and if it does not, then the orchestral basses
must be employed to supply the defect. To accompany
a bass instrument which has a principal melody, with
other instruments of a higher pitch, often requires much
dexterity in the management of the harmony.
The number of possible combinations of the different
instruments in an orchestra is so great, that we cannot
here attempt to enter into the subject. We have given
some hints that may be useful to the student; but, to
study the art of orchestral combinations with most plea¬
sure and most advantage, one must have recourse to the
Partitions of the best German and Italian composers of
operatic and orchestral music, from Gluck and Piccim
downwards to Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini, Beethoven,
Spohr, Rossini, Weber, &c. In studying the Partitions of
some of the latest composers, one should guard against
being led away by the love ot noise and the affectation o
singularity too often found in them.
If even what we have had space for upon a subject so
extensive as Music should be of use to the young profes¬
sional student, or to the real amateur, our object—the
advancement of music in our native country will be so
far attained. We conclude by requesting the musical
student to keep in view that there is no royal road to a
true knowledge of his art; and also that in music, as well
as in other things, Condillac’s observation holds true:
“ Les regies sont comme des garde-fous mis sur les ponts,
non pas pour faire marcher les voyageurs, mats pour les
empecher de tomberT (G’ F’ G*'
M U S
Husimon MUSIMON, in Natural History, the name of an animal,
iu3schen-eSteemeda S.Pecies ?f sheeP’ and described by the ancients
broek. as common in Corsica, Sardinia, Barbary, and the north-
,^-y ^ eastern parts of Asia. It has been doubted whether the
animal described under this name is now anywhere to be
found in the world, and whether it was not probably a
spurious breed between two animals of different species,
perhaps the sheep and goat, which, like the mule, was not
able to propagate its species, and hence the production of
them may have been discontinued. Buffon supposes it to
be the sheep in a wild state; and it is described as such
by Mr Pennant. These animals live in the mountains, and
run with great swiftness amongst the rocks. Those of
Kamtschatka are so strong that ten men can scarcely hold
one, and the horns are so large as sometimes to weigh
thirty pounds, and so capacious that young foxes often
shelter themselves in the hollow of such as by accident
fall off in the deserts.
MUSK, a very strong-scented substance, found in a bag
under the belly of a species of moschus. See Mammalia.
MUSKAU, a town of Prussian Silesia, in the govern¬
ment of Liegnitz. It is the capital of a mediatized princi¬
pality, and the residence of the prince. It is a neat town,
built since 1766, and contains two churches, 200 houses,
, and 1550 inhabitants. The principality consists of forty-
six villages and 8500 people.
MUSKET, or Musquet, properly a fire-arm borne on
the shoulder, used in war, and discharged by the applica¬
tion of a lighted match. Muskets were anciently borne in
the field by the infantry, and were used in England so
lately as the beginning of the civil wars. They are not
now used ; fusees or firelocks having taken their place and
name.
MUSKETOON, a kind of short, thick musket, the bore
of which is the thirty-eighth part of its length; it carries
five ounces of iron, or seven and a half of lead, with an
equal quantity of powder. This is the shortest kind of blun¬
derbusses.
MUSLIN, a fine sort of cotton cloth, which bears a
downy knot on its surface. See Cotton and Manufac¬
ture.
MUSSCHENBROEK, Peter Van, an eminent ma¬
thematician and natural philosopher, was born at Leyden
on the 14th of March 1692. Having studied languages un¬
der Perizonius and Gronovius, he applied himself to phi¬
losophy, chemistry, and medicine under Senguerd, Bidloo,
Le Clerc, Burmann, Albinus, Boerhaave, and Rau, and
proved a disciple worthy of such masters. He was receiv¬
ed as doctor in 1718, after having published and defended
his inaugural dissertation De Airis Prcesentia in Humoribus
Animalium ; a masterly production, containing a record of
new experiments carefully performed, and several curious
facts discussed with much sagacity. Having visited Lon¬
don, he there became acquainted with Newton and Desa-
guliers, and was elected a member of the Royal Society;
and, on his return to his own country, he was appointed
professor of mathematics and natural philosophy at Utrecht,
where he remained twelve years (from 1723 to 1735), and
acquired the greatest celebrity. In 1739 he succeeded
Wittichius in the same situation at Leyden, where he re¬
mained till the time of his death, which took place on the
19th of September 1761, at the age of sixty-nine. He pub¬
lished various works in Latin, all evincing great penetra¬
tion and accuracy. The principal of these are, 1. Epitome
Elementorum Physico-mathematicorum, Leyden, 1729, in
4to; 2. Dissertationes Physicae Experimentalis et Geome-
tricae, ibid. 1729, in 4to; 3. A Latin translation of the
Saggi di Naturali Esperienze fatte neli Acc-ademia del Ci-
mento, Leyden, 1731, in 4to; 4. Elementa Physicae, 1734,
in 8vo, translated in English by Colson, 1744, in two vols.
8vo. His Introductio ad Philosophiam Naturalem, which
M U S
^Kiff t0 Prin‘in 176°. "as completed by Lulofc, and
published at Leyden in 1768, soon after the death of the
author. A translation of this work into French by Rigaud
lenLaMnd T8 Publjshed at Paris in 1769, in three vols.
to. Musschenbroek had always paid great attention to
meteorology, several papers on which, containing nume¬
rous observations by him, were printed in the Memoirs of
the Trench Academy of Sciences, and in the Transactions
of the Royal Society of London, besides a dissertation on
barometers which appeared in the Memoirs of the Aca¬
demy of St Petersburg. x
MUSSELBURGH, a royal burgh, barony of regality,
and sea-port town, of Scotland, in the county of Edin-
burgh, distant six miles south-east from Edinburgh. It
is the capital of the parish of Inveresk, and is situated at
the mouth of the river Esk, which divides it into two por-
tions; that part on the right side being properly called Mus¬
selburgh, whilst the other is called Fisherrow. Mussel¬
burgh consists of one long street, called the High Street ;
the centre part of which is very spacious, and has, like
most of the old burghs, a building placed there, containing
the town-house, jail, and other offices connected with the
conducting of the business of the burgh. This is an old
erection, but it has of late been partly renewed, and much
improved in appearance. The houses in the High Street,
as well as in the bye-streets and lanes, are well built; and
perhaps in no town in Scotland of the same size are there
so many comfortable self-contained houses. The connec¬
tion with Fisherrow is maintained by two stone and two
wooden bridges. The uppermost bridge consists of three
arches. It is of great antiquity, and was built by the Ro¬
mans, most probably at the time when they had their sta¬
tion at Inveresk Mount. It was formerly a pass of some
moment; and, in addition to being narrow and high, it was
defended by a gate placed in the centre. This interest¬
ing old bridge is now only used by foot passengers. Fur¬
ther down the river, on the line of the main road, a hand¬
some and commodious bridge has been erected, after a
design by Rennie. Fisherrow, formerly the site of a Ro¬
man town, consists of one long main street, a back street
next the sea, and a variety of small streets that branch from
them. A handsome row of houses has lately been built
on the road from the main street to the new bridge over
the Esk. There is also on the bank of the river a neat
row of houses, with a promenade in front tastefully planted.
I he harbour is small, but has been lately improved by the
construction of a good stone pier. It is principally used
for the importation of timber, the shipping of coals, and the
accommodation of fishing-boats. Small vessels are occa¬
sionally built at the port. Close to Musselburgh are the
small villages of Newbigging and Inveresk, which, from
their continuity, may be said to form part of that town.
Inveresk is noted as being a station of the Romans. In
the years 1565 and 1783, remains of the ancient buildings
were discovered, which clearly pointed out the spot where
the praetorium had been reared. At the west end of the
village, and on a prominent part of the Mount, stands the
parish church, built upwards of thirty years ago, to replace
one of very old date, supposed to have been erected out of
the ruins of the Roman fort.
There is an extensive piece of ground belonging to
Musselburgh, stretching between Pinkie and the sea, called
the Links, which is much frequented for playing the game
of golf. It is also used as a race-ground for the Edinburgh
races. To aid this object, an excellent stand has been erect¬
ed at the western extremity of the course. The chief busi¬
ness of the town is the tanning of leather and preparing of
skins. There are various small manufactories for yarns, hair¬
cloth, shawls, and hats; also tor working fishing-nets on the
loom, and making bricks, tiles, and coarse earthen-ware.
Besides these, there are several breweries, and a number of
647
Mussel¬
burgh.
648
M U S
Mussul-
Mussomeli flour-mills. Market-gardening is carried on as a trade, with
the view of supplying Edinburgh. Musselburgh has long
possessed an excellent grammar-school, and two English
, schools, one of them in Fisherrow, all under the patronage
of the magistrates. A variety of boarding-schools for young
ladies, and some private schools for the elementary branches,
have for many vears been established. Tire inhabitants
support three public libraries, all of which contain an ex¬
cellent selection of books. In addition to the established
church at Inveresk, a new established church has been
commenced this year (1837), in Bridge Street, to be called
the North Esk Church. Besides these, there are meeting¬
houses of the Relief, Independent, United Associate, and
Baptist bodies; as also an Episcopal chapel.
At the east end of Musselburgh formerly stood the cele¬
brated chapel of Loretto, of which only one cell now remains,
covered by an artificial mount, in a garden still called by t ie
ancient name. It must have been a place of considerable
size, as the jail of the town was built from its ruins. 1 Ins
town is of very ancient foundation. King Malcolm Can-
more granted Little Inveresk to the abbey of Dunfermline,
which was afterwards confirmed by King David I. who add¬
ed Great Inveresk to the gift. This latter gift included the
burgh and port of Musselburgh. It was by that wealthy
body erected into a burgh of regality. At the Reforma¬
tion the wThole of the property belonging to the abbey was
erected into a lordship, and granted to Lord Thirlstane,
whose heir, Lord Lauderdale, confirmed the charter al¬
ready granted by the abbey. This charter was again con¬
firmed by Charles II. in 1671, and under this last confir¬
mation the property of the burgh is now held. From the
same charter it also derives its title as a royal burgh. The
burgh formerly possessed extensive property, but the greater
part of it was sold or feued many years ago. ^ What now
remains was valued in the year 1833 at L.35,000. The
debts in the same year were estimated at L.12,123. The
yearly income is about L.2000, and the expenditure is
under that sum. The revenues drawn from Fisherrow port
average between L.250 and L.300. The burgh is governed
by a provost, three bailies, a treasurer, and seven council¬
lors, some of them being returned by Fisherrow. The po¬
pulation in 1831 was 8961, of whom 4257 were males, and
4704 females. Musselburgh, Fisherrow, Portobello, Leith,
and Newhaven, return a member to parliament.
MUSSOMELI, a city in the island of Sicily, in the
kingdom of Naples, and province of Mazzara, fifty miles
from Palermo. It stands on the side of a large inland
mountain; and the inhabitants, who are 9276, depend chief¬
ly on the cultivation of the surrounding soil.
MUSSULMAN, or Moslemin, a title by which the Ma-
hommedans distinguish themselves, and which signifies, in
the Turkish language, true believer, or orthodox. In Arabic
the word is written Moslem, Moslemin, or Mosulman. The
appellation was first given to the Saracens, as is observed
by Leunclavius. There are two kinds of Mussulmans, very
averse to each other; the one called Soonites, and the
other Sheeites. The Soonites follow the interpretation of
the Koran given by Omar ; the Sheeites are the followers
of Ali. According to some authors, the word Mussulman
signifies “ saved,” that is, predestinated; and hence the
Mahommedans give themselves the appellation, as believ¬
ing they are all predestinated to salvation. Martinius is
more particular as to the origin of the name, which he de¬
rives from the Arabic Musalem, “ saved,” or “ snatched
out of danger.” The Mahommedans, he observes, esta¬
blished their religion by fire and sword, massacred all those
who would not embrace it, and granted life to all who did,
calling them Mussulmans, as much as to say, erepti e peri-
culo ; and hence the word, in course of time, became the
distinguishing title of all those of that sect who have af¬
fixed to it the signification of “ true believers.”
Mutis.
M U T
MUST, Mustum, sweet wine newly expressed from the Must
grape, or the new liquor expressed from the fruit before it "
is fermented.
MUSTER, in a military sense, a review of troops un¬
der arms, to ascertain if they be complete and in good or¬
der ; to take an account of their numbers, examine the
condition they are in, view their arms and accoutrements,
and investigate other matters.
Mustek-.Ro//s, lists of soldiers in each company, troop,
or regiment, by which they are paid, and the strength of
the army is known.
MUTATION, the act of changing, or sometimes the
change itself.
Mutation, in the ancient music, is applied to the
changes or alterations which happen in the order of the
sounds composing the melody.
MUTATIONES, amongst the Romans, post stages or
places where the public couriers were supplied with fresh
horses. The mutationes were wholly designed for the use
of these couriers or messengers of state, and in this respect
they differ from mansiones.
MUTCHKIN, a liquid measure used in Scotland, con¬
taining four gills, and forming the fourth part of a Scotch
pint.
MUTE, in a general sense, signifies a person who can¬
not speak, or has not the use of speech.
Mute, in Grammar, a letter which yields no sound with¬
out the addition of a vowel. The simple consonants are
distinguished into mutes and liquids, or semi-vowels. The
mutes in the Greek alphabet are nine, three of which, *r,
x, r, are termed tenues ; three, /3, y, h, medics ; and three,
c, y, Q, aspirates. The mutes of the Latin alphabet are
also nine, viz. B, C, D, G, I, K, P, Q, F.
MUTILATION, the retrenching or cutting away any
member of the body.
This word is also extended to statues and buildings,
where any part is wanting, or the projection of any mem¬
ber, as a cornice or an impost, is broken off. But it is
sometimes used in a more immediate manner to signify
castration.
MUTINY, in a military sense, is open disobedience of,
and resistance to, authority. Any officer or soldier who
presumes to use traitorous or disrespectful words against
the sacred person of his majesty, or the royal family, is
guilty of mutiny. Any officer or soldier who behaves him¬
self with contempt or disrespect towards the general or
other commander-in-chief of our forces, or speaks words
tending to their hurt or dishonour, is guilty of mutiny. Any
officer or soldier who begins, excites, causes, or joins in,
any mutiny or sedition, in the troop, company, or regi¬
ment to which he belongs, or in any other troop or com¬
pany in our service, or in any party, post, detachment, or
guard, on any pretence whatsoever, is guilty of mutiny. Any
officer or soldier who, being present at any mutiny or se¬
dition, does not use his utmost endeavours to suppress the
same, or, coming to the knowledge of any mutiny, or in¬
tended mutiny, does not, without delay, give information
to his commanding officer, is guilty of mutiny. And any
officer or soldier who strikes his superior officer, or draws,
or offers to draw, or lifts up any weapon, or offers any vio¬
lence against him, being in the execution of his office, on
any pretence whatsoever, or disobeys any lawful command
of his superior officer, is guilty of mutiny.
MUTIS, Joseph Celestino, an eminent natural histo¬
rian, but peculiarly distinguished for the ardour of his bo¬
tanical researches, was a native of Spain, and born at Cadiz
on the 6th of April 1732. His parents were respectable inha¬
bitants of that city, and ccnferred on him the best elemen¬
tary education that could be acquired in Andalusia. His
first instructions were received in the College of San Fer¬
nando, in his native city, and thence he was removed to the
futis
M U T
University of Seville. In both these seminaries he was
distinguished, as well by his application and talents, as by
the modesty of his demeanour. He attended the classical
and mathematical course as taught in the latter seminary,
as well as to the study of theology; and during his resi¬
dence there, he sedulously applied himself to anatomy, me¬
dicine, and natural history. Ihe ardour he displayed for
this class of pursuits was great, so that when he removed
to Madrid in 1/57, he had made such progress as to en¬
able him to become a lecturer on anatomy. It was then
usual for the court of Madrid to select some promising
young men, and send them to Leyden, Paris, or Bologna,
to improve their faculties, and advance their knowledge of
the sciences. Mutis was selected for this purpose; but
about the same period Don Pedro Messia de la Cerda was
appointed viceroy of New Granada, and proposed to the
ardent naturalist to accompany him, in the quality of phy¬
sician, to that interesting country. His natural modes¬
ty and love of retirement induced him to relinquish the
opportunity of visiting different countries, and thereby in¬
creasing his knowledge in Europe, and to devote himself
to the examination and description of those objects of na¬
tural history which the mountains of South America pre¬
sented, and which had previously been scarcely explored
by any scientific European.
He embarked with the viceroy, and landed at Cartha-
gena in the year 1760. The various new productions that
met his eye at every point in that hot climate did not
detain him from ascending towards the mountain plain,
where, at the city of Santa Fe de Bogota, he fixed his
abode.
He had scarcely reached the destined place of his resi¬
dence, before he began to arrange his plan for the collec¬
tion of those plants to the study of which he was attached,
and the descriptions of which formed the delight of his
life, and the basis of his future fame. He soon began a
correspondence with Linnaeus, which continued during the
life of that celebrated man, who procured his admission to
t io academy at Stockholm. His accuracy, diligence, and
enthusiasm were highly estimated by the Swedish botan¬
ist, who felt, in the eulogiums he paid him, that he very
imperfectly gratified his own sentiments of respect and ad¬
miration.1 His skill was speedily known throughout Eu¬
rope by all the botanists of considerable eminence, as his
discoveries were communicated to many of them through
the extensive correspondence which he maintained.2
At the time Mutis arrived at Santa Fe de Bogota, that
capital was in profound ignorance of science ; and even in
t le university, the true system of the universe was so little
known, that he is represented as having encountered great
ifficulties, when he first taught that the world turned upon
its own axis, revolved round the sun, and was in reality
only a planet of the solar system. With the approbation
of the viceroy, he began to dispense mathematical, and es¬
pecially astronomical knowledge, to the pupils in the col¬
lege of the Rosario; and he had the satisfaction, long be-
ore the close of a protracted life, to see a race of scholars
oimed on the principles of the Newtonian philosophy, in
spite of the anxious and alarming fears of their parents,
who, on its first introduction, considered it as impious, or
at least heretical.
He continued diligently exploring the Andes for every
vegetable production, during the intervals of instruction in
astronomy, and continued both pursuits with unabated ar¬
dour. When his patron Cerda had finished the period of
M U T
649
Sn he ProP°^d t0 Mutis ^ return with him to Mutis.
ftpain , but he was so much fascinated with the solitude of
the vast woods and extended plains, with the features of
nature displayed on the boldest scale, and the deep azure
of the unclouded sky, that he determined, under their fa¬
vouring auspices, to spend the remainder of his life in
th°p Amenc1aj ln the contemplation of vegetation and of
the starry world. His studies, instead of producing scepti¬
cism, strengthened his religious faith, and, under fts influ¬
ence, he entered into holy orders in 1772. From that pe-
and whilT- ft rtlme reliSion and the fences;
v rlp , " i16 °/me\ h? WaS a mo(iel of ecclesiastical
phflosipher P ^ m the qUalitieS °f a Senuine
It was a fortunate circumstance, both for the science of
botany and for the fame of Mutis, that the court of Mad¬
rid felt a peculiar interest in the promotion of that study
and appointed commissioners in each of its extensive do
minions m America, to investigate, arrange, describe, and
draw their various productions. Mutis was appointed pre¬
sident of the botanical board for the viceroyalty of Santa
he, and commenced his operations by the project of that
great work the jF/ora of Bogota, which only the munificence
or a government could enable him to undertake. In 1782
he selected the spot most favourable for executing this
great uesign, and, judging the central situation of Mari-
quita, at the foot of the mountains of Quindiu, to be the
best adapted for his purpose, he removed thither, and re¬
sided in that place for the succeeding seven years, in pur¬
suance of his plan of study. The place was admirably
chosen ; for though at the foot of the Andes, it is on a high
level, and in a temperate climate; and, being in the vici¬
nity of the river Magdalena, though considerably higher,
it has the advantage of easy access to every degree of tem¬
perature, and to all the various family of plants which the
greatest possible differences of climate can produce. In
this secluded town, he and his pupils were constantly em-
ployed in roaming in the extensive plains, penetrating the
thickest woods, scaling the highest mountains, and at times
encountering the severe heat of the valleys, whilst collect¬
ing every rarity of the vegetable kingdom. He there
created a class of painters, who drew the plants as they
were collected; and he had a school of engraving, in which
were executed some of those large plates, whicli have ex¬
cited so much admiration amongst the botanists and artists
or Europe, d he state of his health, arising principally
from the exertions he made and the hardships he encoun¬
tered in these pursuits, induced him to remove from Mari-
quita in 1772, and fix his residence again in the capital, to
which ne was also drawn by the desire of being nearer to
a greater number of artists than could be collected in the
retired spot from whence his exploratory journeys had
been directed. His labours in perfecting the Flora were
continued with unabated industry till the end of his life ;
and, after his decease, the work was continued by some of
his pupils, though it received serious interruptions from
the civil wars, in the course of which some of those ap¬
pointed to continue it were cut off amidst the contests of
the various revolutionary factions. Amongst these is par¬
ticularly to be regretted Don Francisco Caldas, who w'as
endeared to Mutis, and most nearly resembled him in his
industry, and his attachment to the study of natural his¬
tory. Besides the great work, the Flora, Mutis finished
one on the history of the trees of the quina species, and
exercised his great acuteness in the investigation of the
Coelestini ^utis’ Americes summi Botanici, qui historian! plantarum Americanarum, in primis palmarum,
delebit “ihiM ^ P Unma n°Va hinC °lmscula communicavit. (Linn. Suppl. p. 57.) Nomen immortaie quod nulla retas unquam
AmpS!rani-lleS’in Titing’ expresses himself: “ In honorem sapientissimi viri (J. C. Mutisj qui jure merito Botanicorum in
America prmceps salutatur, debetque etiam inter primates Europeos colocari.” -uotanicorum w
VOL. XV. r r
4 N
650
Mutus.
M tr T
varieties of that family, the bark of which has introduced a
new era in the practice of medicine.
Amidst his botanical labours, Mut.s never neglected
astronomical observations and experiments. It had oiten
been suggested by philosophers in Europe, that the moon
had probably an influence on the barometer, similar to
whatsit exercises on the tides. The situation of Santa Fe
was favourable for a variety of experiments, which Mut.s
conducted, and by which he ascertained the fact so clear¬
ly as to remove all doubts on the subject. He was instru¬
mental in obtaining powers from Madrid for the construc¬
tion of an observatory on the summit of the Andes, at a
far higher elevation than any of the observatories 01 Eu¬
rope are placed. He had remarked, that the blue of the
firmament appears darker in proportion to the elevation at
which the observer stands, and that on the highest attain¬
able situations, the sky seems almost black; so that t
stars shine with a brilliancy uninterrupted by clouds, an ,
even in day-light, are visible without the help of glasses.
He deemed the position favourable for astronomical ob¬
servations, and especially for those of the fixed stars ; for
being near the equator, it commanded a view of the con¬
stellations both of the northern and southern hemispheres ;
and, from its height, the observer is little liable to inter¬
ruption from intervening clouds, or to errors from the in¬
constancy of the refractions. At his earnest recommen¬
dation, and under his inspection, the observatory was be¬
gun in 1802, and finished in the following year. Some in¬
struments were collected in the country, and o.hers were
ordered from Europe. The first were, as may be supposed,
destitute of those improvements which have been more re¬
cently introduced; and it unfortunately happened, that some
of those exported from Europe were lost on the passage.
The apparatus had not been completed when Minis died,
and the political storms which since agitated that country
have prevented the completion of the collection. rlhe
founder had, however, directed the course of observations
to be prosecuted with as much attention as the imperfec¬
tion of the instruments would admit. Though the wise in¬
tentions of Mutis have been delayed, we may hope that they
have not been frustrated, but may look forward to a time
when the catalogue of fixed stars in the southern hemi¬
sphere shall be considerably augmented, and their posi¬
tions determined with the greatest accuracy. In the mean
time, some astronomical and meteorological observations
have been made and published, in a periodical register, and
the exact latitude and longitude of the observatory has
been determined. Its elevation above the level of the
ocean, as determined by barometrical observations, fre¬
quently repeated, is 9416 feet. As this observatory is the
first erected in South America, and as it stands much higher
than any other that ever was constructed, if its advantages
shall be properly improved, it will be a benefit to science,
and a durable monument to the fame of its founder.
Mutis enjoyed good health throughout a long life, which
was closed in a manner worthy of a philosopher and a Chris
M U T
SccBvola, was one of the illustrious Roman family of the Mutius
Mutii, and rendered his name famous in the war between ^1'
Porsenna king of Tuscany and the Romans. That prince
having resolved to restore the family of Tarquin the Proud,
went to besiege Rome in the year 507 before Christ; but
Mutius determined to sacrifice himself for the safety of
his country, and boldly entering the enemy’s camp, killed
Porsenna’s secretary, whom he took for Porsenna himself.
Being seized and brought before Porsenna, he told the king
boldly, that three hundred young men like himself had
sworn to murder him ; “ but since this hand has missed
thee,” continued he, “ it must be punished then putting
his right hand on the burning coals, he let it burn with
such constancy as astonished the beholders. The king,
amazed at the intrepidity of the young Roman, ordered
that he should have his freedom and return to Rome, and
soon afterwards concluded a peace with the Romans. From
this action Mutius obtained the surname of Scavola, or left-
handed, which was enjoyed by his family.
Mutius Sccevola, Q. surnamed the Augur, was an ex¬
cellent civilian, and instructed Cicero in the laws. He
was made praetor in Asia, and afterwards became consul,
when he performed important services for the republic.
He must not be confounded with Quintus Mutius Scaevo-
la, another excellent civilian, who was praetor in Asia, tri¬
bune of the people, and at length consul, 95 before Christ.
He governed Asia with such prudence and equity, that
his example was proposed to the governors who were sent
into the provinces. Cicero says ot him, that he was the
most eloquent orator of all the civilians, and the most able
civilian of all the orators. He was assassinated in the tem¬
ple of Vesta during the wars of Marius and Sylla, eighty-
two years before Christ.
MUTTON, the common name of the flesh of a sheep
after the animal has been killed. Mutton has been com¬
monly preferred to the flesh of all quadrupeds; and, in¬
deed, besides being more perfect, it has the advantage of
being more generally suited to different climates, where¬
as beef, for instance, requires a very nice intermediate
state, which it seems to attain chiefly in England; for al¬
though Scotland supplies what are reckoned the best cat¬
tle, it is in the rich English pastures that they are brought
to perfection. But the sheep can be brought almost to
the same perfection in this northern region as in the south¬
ern countries.
MUTUAL, a relative term, denoting something that is
reciprocal between two or more persons. Thus we say,
mutual assistance, mutual aversion. There are mutual or
reciprocal duties, offices, and the like, between superiors
and inferiors, as the king and his subjects, the master and
his servants, &c. Vaugelas makes a distinction between
mutual and reciprocal; mutual, according to him, being
understood of what is between two only; and reciprocal,
of what is between more than two. But this distinction
is little regarded in common usage.
MUTULE, in Architecture, a kind of square modillon
tian, without pain or struggle, on the 11th of September set under the cornice ot the Doric order. . ,
1808. He left various manuscript works on plants, on me- MUTUNUS, or Mutinus, in fabulous history, a deity
teorology, and on mining; an herbarium of upwards of amongst the Romans, similar to the Priapus of the Greeks.
on nnn *K«v, r;nnn A 1 ~ T\/TXT'/7T T? nttxtMot?nr a r thp PYlrpmitV which
   &j ?   - o ' —     r  
20,000 plants, more than 5000 drawings of plants, and a
large collection of woods, of shells, of minerals, and skins
of animals. He had also a very extensive collection of oil-
paintings, of all the various animals of the viceroyalty, co¬
loured in exact conformity to nature. It was the last wish
he expressed, that his valuable collections might furnish
the basis of a national museum; but the turbulent season
MUZZLE of a Gun or Mortar, the extremity at which
the powder and ball is put in ; and hence the muzzle ring
is the metallic circle or moulding which surrounds the
mouth of the piece.
MYCALE, a city and mountain of Caria, and also a
promontory of Asia, opposite Samos, celebrated for a bat¬
tle which was fought there between the Greeks and Per-
LllC Uclolo UL cl lldllUllcll 111 11 SC d III 9 U 11L L11 v_- C 111 Ll Lll til L fetcloUIl LlC Wllltll VV lUd^lll' LilCl v# KJKs v iv i
which commenced soon after his death, and the unsettled sians about the year of Rome 275. The Persians, about
state in which public affairs subsequently continued, have 100,000 strong, had just returned from the unsuccess*
hitherto prevented the fulfilment of his wishes. (See El ful expedition of Xerxes in Greece ; and having drawn
Espanol. Diario de Santa Fe.) their ships to the shore, they had fortified themselves
MUTIUS, Caius, surnamed Codrus, and afterwards strongly, as if determined to support a siege. They sur-
M Y I
jceme fered the Greeks to disembark from their fleet without the
yiagrus j,east and were soon obliged to give way be-
i3eus. f the C®?,1 a"d resolute intrepidity of an inferior number
o men. he Greeks obtained a complete victory, slaugh¬
tered some thousands of the enemy, burned their camp, and
sailed back to Samos with an immense booty, in which
were seventy chests of money.
MYCENAE, in Ancient Geography, a town of Argolis, in
Eeloponnesus. 1 he kingdom of the Argives was divided
into two portions by Acrisius and his brother Prcetus, and
Argos and Mycenm were their capitals. These, as belong¬
ing to the same family, and distant only about fifty stadia,
or six miles and a quarter from each other, had one tute¬
lary deity, Juno, and they were joint proprietors of her
temple, the Heraeum, which was near Mycenae. It was
here that Agamemnon reigned. He enlarged his domi¬
nions by his valour and good fortune, and possessed, be¬
sides Mycenae, the region about Corinth and Sicyon, and
that which was afterwards denominated Achaea. On his
return fiom Iroy, he was slain with his companions at a
banquet. Mycenae then declined, and under the Heracli-
dae was made subject to Argos. The Mycenaeans, having
furnished eighty men, partook with the Lacedaemonians in
the glory acquired at Ihermopylae. The jealousy of the
Argives produced the destruction of their city, which was
abandoned after a siege, and laid waste in the first year of
the seventy-eighth Olympiad, or 466 years before Christ,
oome pait of the wall remained in the second century, with
a gate, upon which w-ere lions, a fountain, the subterra¬
nean edifices where Atreus and his sons had deposited their
treasures, and, amongst various sepulchral monuments, one
of Agamemnon, and another of his fellow-soldiers and suf¬
ferers.
MYCONDAH, a town of Hindustan, in the territories
of the rajah of Mysore. It is of some importance, as it is
placed at the entrance of a pass from the north-westward
into the valley of Chitteldroog, which it is intended to de-
nr'i'n 138 miles N. N. W. from Seringapatam. Long.
76. 10. E. Lat. 14. 16. N. b
MYCONE, an island of the Archipelago, situated in
long. 25. 51. E., lat. 37. 28. N. It is about thirty-six miles
in circuit, and has a town of the same name.
MYCONUS, in Ancient Geography, one of the islands
called Cyclades, near Delos, under which the last of the
centaurs slain by Hercules are feigned to lie buried. Hence
the proverb, Omnia sub unam Myconum congerere, applied
to an injudicious or unnatural farrago.
MYDAN, a small district in the Afghan province of
Cabul, situated between the 33d and 34th degrees of north
latitude.
MYER, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Alla-
onS ifty miles south-south-east from Callinger. Long.
80. 50. E. Lat. 24. 21. N. fab
MYIAGRUS Deus, in the heathen mythology, a name
sometimes given to Jupiter, and sometimes to Hercules,
on occasion of sacrifices being offered to them for driving
away the vast numbers of flies which infested the victims
M certain public occasions. The word is usually spelt
yagrus ; but this must be an error, as the word does not
express the “ fly-destroyer,” but the “ mouse-destroyer,”
and it is sufficiently testified by the ancients, that flies
were the only creatures against whom this deity was in¬
voked. Pliny calls this deity Myiodes, and tells us that
e flies which used to pester the Olympic rites went away
m clouds on the sacrificing of a bull to this god. We find
in Athenaeus, also, that this sacrificing to the god of flies
at Olympic games was a constant custom. Some au¬
thors distinguish these two deities, and tell us that the lat-
er, or Myiodes, used to visit the nations in vengeance with
a vast multitude of flies, and that, upon paying him the
ue honours of a sacrifice, they all went away again ; and
M Y M
651
ntces66111!/?!^6 WichrhaA1Pliny mentions in several Mviodes
P ces. At the time of the Olympic games, Jupiter was Leus
worshipped under the name of Apomyos or Myiagrus Deus, »
and supplicated to effect the destruction of these trouble- M^mun’
Xn CIeatUrem ThiS haPPened once in manv years,
when the sacrifices were performed there ; but the Elians ^ 
worshipped him continually under this name, deprecating
the vengeance of heaven, which usually sent, towards the
latter end of summer (as they expressed it) an army of flies
sicknes^ndpe'stile^cf ^ Wh°le C0Untry with
MYIODES Deus, in the heathen mythology, a name
sometimes given to Hercules, but more frequently to Ju-
piter, to whom a bull was sacrificed, in order to render him
propitious in driving away the flies which infested the
Olympic games.
• ,-01 ydYLASSA> in Ancient Geography, a noble
city of Cana, in Asia Minor, situated about three leagues
from the Ceramicus. It was the capital of Heca-
tomnus, king of Caria, and father of Mausolus. Pliny,
speaking of Menander king of Caria, says that the Rho¬
dians preserved with the greatest care his portrait painted
iy Apelles. -But it was not in honour of this Menander
that a Corinthian pillar was erected at Mylasa, which still
exists, and on which is to be seen the following inscrip¬
tion : “ The people erected this pillar in honour of Me¬
nander, the son of Uliades, and grandson of Euthydemus,
t ie benefactor of his country, and whose ancestors also
i endered it great services.” Caria was taken by Mithri-
dates, and afterwards by Labienus, whose father had been
one of Caesar’s generals. Hybrias, whose eloquence and
valour deservedly entitled him to a distinguished rank
amongst his countrymen, in vain encouraged them to make
an obstinate defence whilst it was besieged by the latter.
He himself was obliged to yield to necessity, and to take
refuge at Rhodes ; but scarcely had the conqueror quitted
the city, when Hybrias returned and restored liberty to
his country; and, not content with rendering it this ser¬
vice, he also destroyed the power of a dangerous citizen,
whose iiches and talents had rendered him a necessary
evil. Euthydemus, often banished, and as often recalled,
but always too powerful in a state the independence of
which he threatened, saw his ambition checked by the zeal
and activity of Hybrias. The Romans left to Mylasa that
liberty of which it rendered itself so worthy by the great
efforts it made to preserve it. Pliny calls it Mylasa libe¬
ra ; and Strabo informs us that it was one of the most
magnificent cities of antiquity, the temples, porticoes, and
other public monuments of which were highly admired.
This city is now called Melasso. When Pococke visited
this place it w^as perfect and entire ; but at present no
traces of it remain.
MYLAU, a town of the circle of Voightland, in the
kingdom of Saxony, on the river Golzsch. It contains 240
houses, and 1/00 inhabitants, who are chiefly employed in
making muslins and cotton goods.
M1MUNSING, a district of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Bengal, situated between the 24th and 28th de¬
grees of north latitude. The boundaries of this territory are
the Garrow Mountains and the district of Rungpoor on the
north, Dacca Jelalpoor on the south, Silket and Tipperah
on the east, and Ranjeshy and Dinagepoor on the west.
1 he country is intersected by the great river Brahmapoo¬
tra, into which flow innumerable streams from both sides;
and, owing to the flatness of the country, it is liable to in¬
undations during the rainy seasons. It produces in conse¬
quence very abundant crops of rice, of a coarse quality,
which is its staple produce. Some parts of the country
are overrun with wood or jungle, and are but thinly inha¬
bited. The chief town is Bygonbary, which is the resi¬
dence of the judge and collector, who are subordinate to
652
M Y R
Myriapo
da.
Myo Isle the Dacca court of circuit. The population consists of
y pretty nearly equal numbers of Hindus and Mahommedans.
According l a^ensus taken by orders of the Mays Wei-
lesley in 1801, the population amounts to 600,000.
MYO Isle, a small island situated in the Eastern Seas,
in the Molucca passage, which separates Celebes and Oi-
lolo. The inhabitants, by whom it was occupied whilst the
Portuguese held the Moluccas, were expelled by the
Dutch, lest it should become a place for the smugg ing o
spices. Long. 126. 15. E. Lat. 1. 23. N. ,
MYOLOGY (formed of pvos, a muscle, and 7,0/a,
discourse), in anatomy, signifies a description of the mus¬
cles, or the knowledge of what relates to the muscles of
the human body. See Anatomy.
M Y R
MYOMANCY, a kind of divination, or method of fore-Myomanc.
telling future events by means of mice. Some authors hold ![
myomancy to be one of the most ancient kinds of divina-
tion, and think it is on this account that Isaiah (Ixvi. 17) v
reckons mice amongst the abominable things of the ido¬
laters. But besides that it is by no means certain that
the Hebrew word "pai? used by the prophet signifies a
mouse, it is not the divination by that animal, whatever it
may have been that is spoken of by the prophet, but the
eating it, that is forbidden. . r . .
MYOPIA, Short-sightedness, a species of vision in
which objects are seen only at small distances.
MYRIAD, a term sometimes employed to denote ten
thousand.
MYRIAPOD A,
A wingless tribe of insects, formerly so called, of which
centipedes (the genus Scolopendra of Linnaeus) form the
most characteristic example, are now regarded as a sepa¬
rate class of the articulated tribes, in conformity with the
views of Dr Leach and other writers who have studied
their structure and economy. Under this title, therefore,
as formerly intimated,1 * we shall present the reader with a
brief notice of the principal genera, of which the prevail-
imr forms have been already exhibited (in connection with
our representations of insects) on Plate CCXXXIX of tins
work. We owe the establishment of the class to Dr Leach,-
M. Lamarck having viewed the Myriapoda as arachnides,
while M. Latreille, except in a single work,^ regarded them
as true insects. As such they were likewise included by
Linnaeus, and the older systematic writers, in the order
Aptera.
The Myriapoda are distinguished from true insects by
their greater amount of feet (twenty-four and upwaids), by
the want of any precise or appreciable division into thorax
and abdomen, and by the numerous segments into which
their bodies are divided. Each segment, with the excep¬
tion of the first, is furnished with a pair of legs, terminated
for the most part by a single hook. The stigmata, or open¬
ings for respiration, are placed on each alternate segment,
a circumstance which has induced some observers to re¬
gard the latter as only semi-segments, in as far as in true
insects each ring has its pair of stigmata. But we see no
necessity for the establishment of any strict analogy of
form between the subjects of two distinct classes of articu¬
lated beings; and indeed, if we do so in regard to the cha¬
racter in question, we produce a greater discordance by
the necessity, in that case, of assigning to each so-called
(double) segment, a couple of pair of legs. The mandibles
are bi-articulate, and are followed by a piece in the form of
a labium, quadrifid, with articulated divisions resembling
little feet, and corresponding in position to the languette
of the Crustacea. Then succeed two pair of small feet, of
which the second, sometimes hook-shaped, seem to replace
the four maxillae of the last-named order, or the two max¬
illa; and the lower lip of insects. They may be regarded
as maxillary feet. The antennae are two in number. Their
form cannot be easily generalised, because, although they
may often be, as Latreille says, “ courtes, un peu plus
grosses vers le bout, ou presque filiformesyet in some
(genus Scutigera) they are very long, and become much
more slender towards the extremity. The number of the
articulations also varies greatly. The organs of vision are
usually formed by a union of smooth or simple eyes; but
in some these parts are analogous to the compound eyes of
insects, the facettes, however, being proportionally larger,
rounder, and more distinct. All Myriapodes are apterous.
The subjects of our present notice differ likewise from
insects in this remarkable peculiarity, that the number of
their segments, and consequently of the stigmata and legs,
increases with the size of the individual. It would even
appear, from the observations of Savi the younger,5 that the
genus lulus is born without feet; from which it has been
observed, that those Myriapodes are subject, at some early
period of their lives, to a regular metamorphosis. Degeer
had long before observed, that the number of their parts
increased with the general growth of the body.
The organs of respiration consist of two principal tracheae
extending parallel along the body, and receiving air from
the lateral spiracles.
Myriapodes are generally supposed to be longer lived,
and of more continuous growth, than insects ; and, accord-
ino- to Savi the younger, two years elapse (at least in the
genus lulus) before the development of tho generative sys¬
tem ; but it must be borne in mind, that many insects exist
for a length of time in the larva state (to which the early
condition of the Myriapodes so closely corresponds)^and
are thus of equal longevity with the many-footed subjects
of our present inquiry. The Myriapodes in general shun
the light. They conceal themselves under stones, beneath
the bark of trees, among old timber, and in various other
localities. Some inhabit fruits, and others are destructive
to culinary vegetables. Many are carnivorous, seizing upon
animal substances, both dead and living, with their curved
jaws. They are said to infuse a poisonous juice into their
wounded victims. #
In our subdivision of the class, as in the pieceding ge
neralities, we shall follow the system of Latreille, by w om
the Myriapodes are partitioned into two primary groups,
which differ from each other both in habits and structure.
Order I.—CHILOGNATHA.
This primary group corresponds to the genus lulus of
Linnaeus. The body is for the most part cylindrical, and
of a crustaceous consistence. The antennae are composed
of seven joints, of nearly equal size. The mandibles are
thick, without palpi, distinctly divided into two portions
by a median articulation, and with teeth implante in
concavity of their upper extremity. Beneath is » kind 0
labium or lower lip, divided at its exterior surface,
1 See the article Entomology of this work, vol. ix. p. 59, foot note.
3 Animaux sans Verlibres, v. 24. 4 Families du liegnc Animal, p. 322.
2 Linn. Trans, xi. 376.
5 Memorie Scicntifiche, Pisa, I82S.
M Y R I A P O D A.
653
llyriapo- notches and longitudinal sections, into four principal areas,
da- tuberculated on the upper margin, and of which the two
intermediate are short and narrow, and placed at the up¬
per extremity of another area, which serves them as a
common base. The feet are very short, and always ter¬
minate in a single hook; four anterior feet placed imme¬
diately beneath the labium, resemble the others in form,
but are more approximate at their base, with the radical
joint proportionally longer. Most of the other legs are at¬
tached by double pairs to a single segment of the body.
The male organs are placed beneath the seventh pair of
legs, those of the female behind the second pair. The
stigmata, as usually described, are very small, and placed
on alternate segments outside the origin of the legs.
The Myriapodes of this division are slow of movement,
and advance, as it were, by a gliding motion. They as¬
sume in defence a round or spiral form. The first seg¬
ment of the body, in some the second, is larger than the
others, and presents the form of a corselet or buckler.
The double pairs of legs do not occur until we reach the
fourth, fifth, or sixth pair; the first three or four pair
being free from their origin, or adhering to their respec¬
tive segments only by a median or sternal line. The two
or three terminal segments of the body are usually with¬
out feet. On each side of the body there is a series of
pores, formerly regarded as stigmata, but which, accord¬
ing to M. Savi, merely emit an acid liquor of a disagree¬
able odour, and probably intended as a means of defence ;
the true stigmata, or respiratory openings, as described
by the Italian naturalist, being placed on the sternal piece
of each segment, and communicating internally writh a
double series of pneumatic pouches, disposed en chapelet
along the body, and giving out tracheal branches, which
ramify over the other organs. These pouches or vesicu¬
lar tracheae, according to M. Straus, are not connected
with each other, as among ordinary insects, by a princi¬
pal trachea.
The form of the newly-hatched bodies of the lulidae, as
observed by M. Savi in the vicinity of Pisa, was somewhat
kidney-shaped, quite plain, and without appendages. Af¬
ter the lapse of eighteen days they underwent their first
moult, and only then assumed the form of the adults; but
they were still composed of only twenty-two segments,
and the total number of their legs amounted to twenty-six
pair. These observations are in some measure inconsist¬
ent wuth the assertion of Degeer, who in the young state
of these creatures counted only three pair of legs and eight
segments: but is it certain, asks M. Latreille, that the
moult described by M. Savi was actually the first; or ought
we not rather to presume that they do not pass suddenly
from an apodal state to the possession of twenty-six pair
of legs; in other words, that they are subject to certain
intermediate changes, which may have escaped the obser¬
vance of M. Savi P1 After the second moult, however, the
last-named naturalist informs us, the genus lulus exhibits
thirty-six pair of legs, and after the third, forty-three, and
the body then consists of thirty segments. In the adult
state the number is considerably increased. Two years
afterwards another moult takes place, and it is only then
that the generative system is developed. From the period
of birth, which takes place in March, the renewals of the
skin were observed by M. Savi to take place almost month¬
ly till November, and the exuviae were seen to contain
even the membrane which lines the interior of the alimen¬
tary canal and tracheae. The organs of the mouth were
the only parts not there observed by M. Savi.2
The food of these Myriapodes consists both of animal Myriapo-
and vegetable substances, generally dead and decomposed. da-
They deposit a great number of eggs. The generic groups v y '
are as follows. We shall enter into few details, as we
have illustrated so many of the prevailing forms by means
of accurate figures.
Genus Glomeris, Lat. Body convex above, concave
below, with a range of small scales along the lower sides.
It is composed of twelve segments, exclusive of the head.
The male has thirty-two legs, the female thirty-four.
The species are not numerous. Although G. ovatus
inhabits the sea, the greater proportion are terrestrial, oc¬
curring under stones, particularly in mountainous coun¬
tries. G. marginata (Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 1) is common
in most European countries.
Genus Iulus, Lat. Body cylindrical and extended,
without any projecting crests or cutting margins.
The larger species are terrestrial, and live in woods ;
the smaller attack fruits, roots, and various kitchen produce,
to some of which they are very destructive. They all as¬
sume a spiral position in repose or when alarmed ; the
head being placed in the centre. Prior to the time of La¬
treille, this entire division was included under the genus
lulus, Linn. But the French naturalist restricted the term
to the cylindrical species, and formed of the others his ge¬
nera Glomeris, Pohjdesmus, Polyxenus. Various species
are described by Dr Leach, in a paper which stands in need
of revision.3 We have here figured /. sabulosus, a common
European species, Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 3. A monstrous
Myriapod is mentioned by Ulloa as inhabiting the district of
Carthagena.4 He describes it (if his terms have not been
mistranslated) as sometimes extending a yard in length,
and measuring five inches across. Here there is no doubt
some gross exaggeration. He adds that its bite is mortal,
if a-timely remedy be not applied. From its cylindrical
form it has been regarded as an lulus.5
Genus Polydesmus, Lat. Body linear, the segments
compressed on the under surface, with projecting ridges on
the upper, somewhat in the form of transverse oblong scales.
The species of this genus, of which om lulus complana-
tus, Linn, may be regarded as the type (Plate CCXXXIX.
fig. 2), dwell under stones in dampish places. They assume
the spiral form when touched, and feed both on animal
and vegetable matters in a state of decomposition.
Certain other species, of which the eyes are obvious,
form the genus Craspedosoma of Dr Leach.
Genus Polyxenus, Lat. Body soft, membranous, ter¬
minated by a tuft of lengthened scales.
The only species of which we have any knowdedge is
the Pol. lagurus, Lat. (Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 5), regarded
as a scolopendra by the generality of systematic authors,
and described by Degeer under the name of lule a queue
en pinceau.6 It is a very small creature, of rather singu¬
lar aspect. Our magnified representation just referred to
will save the necessity of descriptive details. Its early
organization is less complicated than that of the adult
state ; that is, the young consist of fewer segments and a
less number of legs. We know little of its natural habits.
It occurs in the clefts of walls, and beneath the bark of old
trees.
Order II.—CHILOPODA. Lat.
This division of the Myriapoda bears nearly the same re¬
lation to the unrestricted genus Scolopendra of Linnaeus,
1 Regne Animal, iv. 332.
a See Osservazione per servire alia storia di una specie di lulus communissirna, reprinted in Memorie Scicntijiche, Pisa, 1823.
3 Linn. Trans, xi. 377* 4 Voyage, vol. i. p. OT.
6 Kirby and Spence’s Introduction to Entomology, vol. i. p. 128. 6 Mimoires, t. vii. pi. 38.
MYRIAPOD A.
Myriapo- as the preceding does to the genus lulus of the Swedish
da. naturalist. The antenn£e become slender towards the ex-
y 1 * tremity, and are composed of fourteen ai ticulations and
upwards. The mouth is composed of two mandibles, each
furnished with a small palpiform appendage, and exhibit¬
ing in their centre the appearance of a joining, and ending
in a spoon-shaped termination, with toothed edges. Ihe
labium is quadrifid, with the two lateral divisions larger
than the others, transversely ringed, and resembling the
membranous feet of caterpillars. This labium is analo¬
gous to the lower lip of the chilognathous kinds, which
represents in Latreille’s opinion the tongue ot the crusta-
ceous tribes, but possesses also the functions of maxillae.
It is what Savigny names the first auxiliary lip. Besides
these parts, there are two palpi or minute feet, united at
the base, and unguiculated at the point; a second labium
(seco7ide levre auxiliare of Savigny1), formed by a second
pair of feet dilated and joined at their origin, and termi¬
nated by a strong hook, moveable, and pierced at the ex¬
tremity, for the transmission of a venomous or acrid li¬
quid.
The body of these unseemly creatures is depressed and
membranous. Each ring or segment is covered by a co¬
riaceous plate, and usually bears only a single pair of legs ;
and the terminal segment is generally thrown backwards,
and elongated into a kind of tail. The organs of respi¬
ration are composed, either in whole or in part, ot tubu¬
lar trachea?. The sexual parts are interior, and placed at
the posterior extremity of the body, as in the generality
of insects properly so called. The stigmata are more ob¬
vious than in the preceding family, and are either lateral
or dorsal.
The species of this division are of much more nimble
habits than those of the preceding; and the peculiar mode
in which the limbs act produces an undulating lateral mo¬
tion. They are of carnivorous habits, and, avoiding strong
light, usually conceal themselves under stones or old tim¬
ber, beneath the bark of trees, &c. They are held in
some dread by the inhabitants of tropical countries, where
they attain a great size, and are consequently capable of
inflicting dangerous wounds. But the majority of travel¬
lers seem agreed that, although the bite is more painful
than that of a scorpion, it is never attended by fatal con¬
sequences. In more northern countries they are quite
harmless, though disliked in consequence of their repul¬
sive aspect. Our common centipede (Scolopendra foiji-
cata of Linn.) so frequent in this country under stones, may
be mentioned as a familiar example. Leeuwenhoeck, the
great Dutch microscopical observer, has described the
perforation of the hooks, through which the poison is sup¬
posed to flow.
This order (which corresponds to the Syngnatha of
Latreille’s earlier works, the title adhered to by Dr Leach)
is divided into the following genera.
The first two have only fifteen pair of legs; and their
bodies, when viewed from above, seem to present fewer
segments than when examined from below.
Genus Scutigera, Lamarck.2 Body covered by eight
plates or shields, beneath each of which are two pneuma¬
tic pouches or vesicular tracheae, which receive the air,
and communicate with lateral and inferior tracheae of a
tubular form. The under surface is divided into fifteen
semi-segments, each bearing a pair of feet terminated by Myriapo. jj,
an extremely long, slender, and minutely articulated tar- da. „
sus. The terminal legs are long, and seem to increase in's—
extent from the foremost to the hindmost pair. The eyes
are comparatively large and reticulated. The antennae
are very long and slender, and the palpi projecting and
spinous.
The species keep themselves concealed during the day
in barns, or the unfrequented parts of houses, lying be¬
tween old planks, or sometimes under stones. They are
seen at night running on the outside walls with great ve¬
locity, feeding on onisci, and various insects. They seem
to pierce their prey with their mouth-hooks, and infuse
into them a poisonous fluid, which immediately deprives
them of life. These Myriapodes make their appearance
in great numbers, chiefly in rainy weather. According to
Illiger, they are greatly dreaded by the inhabitants of Hun¬
gary. The best known European species is the S. ara-
neoides (Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 4). It is the Scolopendra
coleoptrata of Linn, and Fab. Pallas asserts that it was
taken by a friend of his among some fuci in the sea ;3 but
as all analogy is against its natural occurrence in such a
locality, we may infer that it had fallen accidentally from
the timbers of a vessel.
Genus Lithobius, Leach. Body divided into an equal
number of segments both above and below, each bearing
a pair of legs. The dorsal plates are alternately long and
short. The stigmatic openings are lateral.
We have figured our most common species, L. forjicata
(Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 6), a familiarly-known Linnaean
scolopendra, as an example of the modern genus. It oc¬
curs almost everywhere, throughout the summer season,
under stones. The anatomical structure of the genus has
been described by M. Leon Dufour.4
The remaining generic groups of this order have at
least twenty-one pair of legs, and the segments of the
body are of nearly equal size, and of similar number, both
above and below.
In the genus Scolopendra, properly so called, there
are eight distinct eyes, four on each side, and the basal
joint of the terminal legs is armed with small spines. We
have no British species, but the south of Europe produces
Scol. cingulata, which presents almost as formidable an
aspect as some of the exotic kinds. The great foreign
species (one of which sometimes measures above a foot
in length) have been as yet but ill defined, several kinds
being no doubt described under the name of Scol. morsi-
tans, a native of South America (Plate CCXXXIX. fig. 9).
A monstrous species, called Scol. Plumieri, is figured in
Lister’s Journey to Paris, and appears to be also repre¬
sented in Seba’s Thesaurus, under the name of Millepeda
major ex Nova Hispana. India, and the great eastern
islands, produce some very large species ; and scolopendr®
of alarming size likewise occur on the African continent.
The bite of these creatures is said to be dangerous ;5 but
it seems that the poison of the wound is allayed by the use
of ammonia. M. Amoreux is of opinion that no poisonous
power is possessed by any of the European species.6 The
whole are carnivorous and voracious, and, all things con¬
sidered, they may be regarded as among the ugliest of
creeping things. Nevertheless they are not without their
advantage to the human race. “ I have seen Indian chil-
1 This piece is not attached to the head, but to the anterior extremity of the first semi-segment. The two hooked feet form by the
union and dilatation of their first article a plate in the form of a labium or mentum, and the same semi-segment bears the two first
ordinary feet. (Regne Animal, iv. 336.)
2 Latreille and others have adopted Lamarck’s designation, although the title of Cermatia had at a prior period been assigned to
this generic group by Illiger. See Itossi’s Fauna Etrusca, t. ii. p. 299.
3 Spicilegia Zoologica, fascic. 9, tab. 4, fig. 16. * Annales des Sciences. Nat. ii. 81.
* Bulletin de la Sue. Phil. January 1824, p. 24. 6 Insect. Vcnim. p. 277.
M Y R
rristiciu dren,” says Humboldt, « of the tribe of the Chuymas, draw
out from the earth and eat millepedes or scolopendra?,
eighteen inches long and seven lines broad.” 1
Other species, in which the eyes are obliterated or in¬
conspicuous, and the basal joint of the last pair of legs is
free from spines, form the genus Chyptops of Dr Leach.2
He has described two English species, and nobody appears
to have since found any other elsewhere.
Some still more slender kinds, of which the antennse
M Y R
655
someth, ^ J°mtS’ but 1,6 legS are 80 numerou8 a* M,mi-
sometimes to amount to nearly 300, compose the genus dons
Geophilus of Dr Leach. They are remarkable for their II
fnd-at leaSt 0ne British sPecies is at times
beautifully phosphoric. We know not, however, whether v lones'
it is identical with the Scol electrica figured by Frisch and v
described by Geoffrey * Dr Leach hfs described ule ta-
getabieT Spec'es' lhe5' are d“tractive to fruit and ve-
(t.)
MYRISTICA, the Nutmeg Tree.. The seeds or ker¬
nels called nutmegs are well known, as they have long been
used both for culinary and medicinal purposes. Distilled
with water, they yield a large quantity of essential oil, re¬
sembling in flavour the spice itself; after the distillation
an insipid sebaceous matter is found swimming on the wa¬
ter ; and the decoction inspissated gives an extract of an
unctuous, very slightly bitterish taste, and with little or no
astringency. Rectified spirit extracts the whole virtue of
nutmegs by infusion, and elevates very little of it in dis¬
tillation ; hence the spirituous extract possesses the fla¬
vour of the spice in an eminent degree.
Nutmegs, when heated, yield to the press a consider¬
able quantity of limpid yellow oil, which, on cooling, con¬
cretes into a sebaceous consistence. In the shops we meet
with three sorts of unctuous substances, called oil of mace,
though really expressed from the nutmeg. The best, which
is brought from the East Indies in stone jars, is of a thick
consistence, of the colour of mace, and has an agreeable
fragrant smell; the second sort, which is of a paler co¬
lour, and much inferior in quality, comes from Holland in
solid masses, generally flat, and of a square figure; the
third, which is the worst of all, and usually called common
oil of mace, is an artificial composition of sevum, palm oil,
and the like, flavoured with a little genuine oil of nutmeg.
When the fruit is ripe, the natives ascend the trees, and
gather it by pulling the branches to them with long hooks.
Some are employed in opening them immediately, and in
taking off the green shell or first rind, which is laid toge¬
ther in a heap in the woods, where in time it putrefies. As
soon as the putrefaction has taken place, there spring up
a kind of mushrooms called boleti moschatyni, of a blackish
colour, and much valued by the natives, who consider them
as delicate eating. When the nuts are stripped of their
first rind they are carried home, and the mace is carefully
taken off with a small knife. The mace, which is of a beau¬
tiful red, but afterwards assumes a darkish or reddish co¬
lour, is laid to dry in the sun for the space of a day, and
is then removed to a place less exposed to his rays, where
it remains for eight days, that it may soften a little. It is
afterwards moistened with sea water, to prevent it from
drying too much, or from losing its oil; but the people are
careful not to employ too much water, lest it should be¬
come putrid, and be devoured by the worms. It is last of
all put into small bags, and squeezed very close.
The nuts, which are still covered with their ligneous
shell, are for three days exposed to the sun, and afterwards
dried before a fire till they emit a sound when they are
shaken ; they then beat them with small sticks, in order to
remove their shell, which flies oft' in pieces. These nuts are
distributed into three parcels, the first of which contains the
largest and most beautiful, which are destined for Europe ;
the second contains such as are reserved for the use of
the inhabitants; and the third contains the smallest, which
are irregular or unripe. These last are burned; and part of
the rest is employed for procuring oil by pressure. A pound
of them commonly gives three ounces of oil, which has the
consistence of tallow, and the taste of nutmeg. Roth the
nut and mace, when distilled, afford an essential, transpa-
rent, and volatile oil, of an excellent flavour.
The nutmegs which have thus been selected would soon
corrupt if they were not watered, or rather pickled, with
lime-water made from calcined shell-fish, which is diluted
with salt water till it attain the consistence of fluid pap
Into this mixture are plunged the nutmegs, contained in
small baskets, two or three times, till they are completely
covered over with the liquor. They are afterwards laid in
a heap, where they heat, and lose their superfluous mois¬
ture by evaporation. When they have sweated suffi¬
ciently, they are then properly prepared, and fit for a sea
voyage.
In the island of Banda, the fruit of the nutmeg-tree is
preserved entire in the following manner. When it is al¬
most ripe, but previous to its opening, it is boiled in water
and pierced with a needle. It is next laid in water to soak
for ten days, till it has lost its sour and sharp taste, and
then it is boiled gently in a syrup of sugar, to which, if
they wish it to be hard, a little lime is added. This ope¬
ration is repeated for eight days, and each time the syrup
is renewed. The fruit, when thus preserved, is put for the
last time into a pretty thick syrup, and is kept in earthen
pots closely shut.
MYRMIDONS, Myrmidones, in Antiquity, a people
in the southern borders of Uiessaly, who accompanied
Achilles to the Trojan wrar. They received their name
from Myrmidon, a son of Jupiter and Eurymedusa, who
married one of the daughters of ^Eolus, son of Helen. His
son Actor married iEgina, the daughter of jEsopus, and
gave his name to his subjects, who dwelt near the river Pe-
neus in Thessaly. According to some, the Myrmidons re¬
ceived their name from their having arisen from ants or
pismires, upon a prayer put up for that purpose by iEacus
to Jupiter, aftei his kingdom had been dispeopled by a se¬
vere pestilence. According to Strabo, they received it
from their industry, because they imitated the diligence of
the ants, being like them indefatigable, and continually
employed in cultivating the earth.
MYRMILLONES were gladiators of a certain kind at
Rome, who fought against the Retiarii. Their arms were
a sword, head-piece, and shield. On the top of the head-
piece they wore a fish embossed, called /xo^u,u^os, whence
their name is by some supposed to be derived. The Re¬
tiarii, in their engagements, made use of a net, in which
they endeavoured to entangle their adversaries ; and sung
during the fight, Non te peto, piscem peto; quid me fugis,
Galle ? “ I aim not at thee, but I aim at thy fish ; why dost
thou shun me, Gaul ?” The Myrmillones were called Galli,
because they wore Gallic armour; and they were also named
Secutores. This kind of gladiators was suppressed by Ca¬
ligula.
1 Personal Narrative, vol. ii. p. 205.
2 Zoological Miscellany, vol. iii.
3 Histoire des Insectes, t. ii. p. 676, n. 5.
4 I.inn. Trans, xi. 384.
656
Myroba-
lans
II.
Mvsia.
M Y S M Y S
MYEOBALANS, a specie, of-dicinal Mtbrought "'f
from the Indies, of which there are five kmd^ viz. ti e their funerels as mourners, because they were naturally M ^
rine of a yellowish red colour, hard, oblong, and ties mdanch„!y and inclined to shed tears. They were once
an olive; the black or Indian myrobalan, of the size ot a (TOverned by monarchs. They are supposed to be descend-
acorn, wrinkled and without a stone ; chebuhcinyrobala^ ^ ^ the Mysians of Europe, a nation who inhabited that
of the size of a date, pointed at the end, and of a yelk. Thrace which was situated between Mount Hiemus
brown ; emblic, which are round, rough, of the size ot gan, tbe Danube>
and of a dark brown; and ballenc, which are hard, ro , MysLENICZER, a circle of the Austrian province of
of the size of an ordinary prune, less angular tnan tne it, extending over 825 square miles, and compre-
and yellow. They are all slightly purgative and astringent. Galhcia, and ^ ^ 339 villages, with
The word comes from the Greek ointrn , 37 145 houses, and 144,077 inhabitants. The capital is a
Xavos, acorn, from their being in the form of acoins, ai ^ ^ game name> situated on the river Raba, with
used in medicine. . , flourished 286 houses, and 2075 inhabitants. , . , _
MYRON, an excellent Grecian statuary, who MYSOL Isle. This island is situated in the Eastern
442 years before Christ. The cow he representea 1^ ^ about the second degree of south latitude, midway be-
was an admirable piece of workmanship, ai p tween the large islands of Ceram and Papua. It is fifty
occasion of many fine epigrams in Greek. in j th by fifteen in breadth, and is inhabited on
MYRRH, a gummy, resinous, concrete juice, which ^ gea coagt chiefly by Mahommedans, and in the interior
brought from the East Indies or ^0“ Abyssinia. the nat-ves> 0n the eagt coast is a harbour, formed by
affirmed by some that the myrrh wepha;enantPrbeaSsenntot that /small island, on which fresh water may be procured in
equal in quality to that of the ancie ., . latter> abundance without risk, as the harbour is landlocked. Ihe
exquisite smell which all authors asc, | ■ . and island is frequented by birds of paradise in great flocks at
With it they aromatized their most de/10/certain seasons of the year, when they are caught with
it was presented as a very Was bird-lime, and afterwards dried with the feathers on as they
whilst he lay m a manger. It was his gum c . are seen in Europe. The black loory a very scarce bird,
mingled with the wine given him to drink arJ, ^ P^ss , ^ ^ hased here. The trade is inconsiderable,
to deaden his pains, and produce a stupor. Hie gau conJsistir) chiefly 0f biche de mer, ambergris, pearls, and
tioned on the same occasion by St Matthew is P^hably t _ ^ imports are coarse piece goods, cutlery, beads,
same with myrrh ; for tmy thtog bitter was u ™, y tom- ^ ^ looki4glas es and brass-wire.
guished by the name of gall. Ihe Hebrews were accu MYS0N a native of Sparta, one of the seven wise men
tomed to give those who were executed some stupefying W] Anacharsis consulted the oracle of Apol-
draught. The difficulty which arises from the seeming dd ^Greece.hen Anac ^ in Greece> b
ference between the two evangelists, some have so e y , he who is now ploughing his fields. This
saying that St Matthew, writing in Syriac, made use of ceivea
the word marra, which signifies myrrh, bitterness, or gall, My^0R'E Mahesura, or Maisoor, a large province
but that the Greek translator has taken it for gall, and St / * ^ Indi si’tuated principally between the
Mark for myrrh. Others think that our Saviour s drink ^J^south ot^ia^ s ^P^^^ ^ now
was mingled with myrrh as a stupefying drug, but suppos surrounded by the British territories subject to the Madras
that the soldiers, out of a wanton cruelty and mhu a y, ide 5Its ien„th is estimated at 210 miles, and its
infused gall; which was the reason, according to them, why, P ^ b^adth at 140- The country consists of a high ta-
when he had tasted, he refused to drink. . . , hie land enclosed Between the Eastern and the Western
MYRTOUM Mare, a part of the ^Egean Sea, ying * (qbauts ’and elevated 3000 feet above the level of the sea,
tween Euboea, Peloponnesus, and Attica. It receives t ’ rige numerous i0fty hills, containing the sources
name from Myrto, a woman ; or from Myrtus, a smal is an rivers sucb as the Cavery, Toombuddra, Vedawati,
in the neighbourhood; or from Myrtilus the son of Mer- B1 driyPe ’and others. The elevation of this inland plain
cury, who was drowned therein. varies at different places. The highest mountain of Mysore,
MYRTUS, in Ancient Geography, a small island near Ya"es at d ^re I feet f at the Pass of Peddanaik
Carystus,in Euboea, which gave name to the Mare 3fyrtown. ^ the0heL’lt is 1907 feet, according to barometn-
Strabo extends this sea between Crete, Argia, and Attica. & ’ • b g jtamangalum, 2435 ; at Bangalore,
Pausanias, making it commence at Eubma, joins it at He- ca o Hur ’r 183i. The heat of the climate is miti-
lena, a desert island, with the Algean Sea; but Ptolemy ^ the ground, and the climate through-
carries it to the coast of Cana; and Pbny says that the ga / 1 f ex/isive tract is remarkably tein-
Cyclades and Sporades are bounded on the west by the
Myrtoan coast of Attica.
MYSCHKIN, a circle of the Russian province Jaroslow,
between 37. 33, and 38.46. east longitude, and 57. 25. and
58. 4. north latitude. It contains one city, and 701 vil¬
lages, distributed into fifty-five parishes, it is watered by
the rivers Wolga, Karasitschna, Kadka, and Sudka, and is
moderately fertile, maintaining a population of 71,390 per
sons
out the whole of this extensive tract is remarkably tem¬
perate and healthy. This country has another pecuhar
advantage, namely, that it is sheltered by the Ghaut Moun¬
tains from the violence of the monsoons, which sweep along
the lower plains, and deluge with torrents of rain the coasts
of Coromandel and Malabar. The clouds which are driven
on the land from the Indian Ocean by the south-west n on-
soon are opposed by the mountain wall ot the estern
j -I..I. u Lin-Kor onfl hcrht.er clouds make
,tely fertile, maintaining a population of 71,390 per- soon are opposeu ww and lip-hter clouds make
sons. The capital, of the same name, is situated on the Ghauts ; and althoa|. and oCcasion frequent, and some-
Wolga, 460 miles from St Petersburg, with some little trade their way into the plain , air and the ground,
by that river. Long. 56. 5. E. Lat. 57. 47. N. times heavy showers, w^c Occasional
MYSIA, a country of Asia Minor, generally divided in- yet they aie seldom of lo g , ye tbe
,0 Major and Minorf Mysia Minor bounded on the showers, however Ja l at “*er f asons and preserve
north and west by the Propontis and Bithyma, and on the verdure of the fields throughout y L d its tem-
southern and eastern borders by Phrygia. Mysia Major The country ot Mfore’/romJ
had iEolia on the south, the iEgean Sea on_the west, and perate climate, not on y produces all the ot g ^ ^ fruits
Phrygia on the north and east. Its chief cities were Cy- getables of other pai so n 1 , formerlv in a much
zicum and Lampsacus. The inhabitants were once very of Europe. It appears to have / bas beea
warlike ; but they greatly degenerated, and the words My- higher state ot cultivation than at p ,
M Y S
series, ruined partly by thb invasion of armies, partly by the riso-
s ' rous administration of Hyder, and still more by that of his
son Tippoo. It is now rapidly recovering from its depopula-
, tion, under the sway of the British. Rice is cultivated on the
higher and lower grounds; and the cultivation is much aided
by means of reservoirs and wells, whence the farmers irri¬
gate their fields and gardens. The soil also produces the
sugar-cane, for which the black clayey lands are best adapt¬
ed. The crop of raggy, a species of coarse grain which
supplies all the lower classes with their common food, is the
most important of any raised on the dry field. Wheat is
cultivated in gardens, or in the rich soil of the beds of the
tanks, which have been exhausted for the purposes of ir¬
rigation. It is only a small quantity, however, that is raised.
I he palma christi is found here, and produces abundance
of castor oil, which is used for the lamp and a variety of
other purposes. The betel-leaf tree thrives on the low
grounds, where it can obtain a supply of water; and the
poppy is cultivated, both for making opium and on account
of the seed, which is much used in the sweet cakes that are
eaten by the higher ranks of the natives. The cocoa-nut
palm begins to produce in this province when it is seven
or eight years old. Agriculture is here in a very backward
state, and the implements used are very imperfect. The
plough has neither coulter nor mould-board to divide and
turn over the soil, and it seldom penetrates more than three
inches deep. The fields are in consequence very imper¬
fectly cleared; and, after six or eight ploughings in all di¬
rections, numerous small bushes remain as erect as before
the labour commenced. Considerable attention is however
paid to the manuring of the soil; every farmer collecting
a heap from the dung and litter of his cattle, intermixed
with the ashes and soil of their houses. The cattle reared
are cows, buffaloes, sheep, and the long-legged goat; the
native breed of horses here, as in most parts of India, is a
small, ill-shaped, vicious pony. Above the Ghauts, asses
are much used as beasts of burden. The breed is small, and
no pains are taken to improve it. Swine were formerly very
common in Mysore, but they were banished by Tippoo from
the vicinity of the capital. There are three varieties of
sheep, red, white, and black. Common salt is found in
abundance in many places, and effervesces on the surface
M Y S 657
during the dry season. Carbonate of soda is also found Mysteries,
amongst the Chitteldroog Hills, mixed with common salt.
iron-ore abounds in different parts, though it is worked in
a veryslovenly manner. At the iron works near Chinnara-
yana Durga, the smelters procure from the one about forty-
seven per cent, of malleable iron, which is however very
impure. The principal rivers are the Cavery, the Toom-
buddra, the Vedawati, the Bhadri, the Arkanati, the Penar,
•j ^Panaur. These rivers are, however, all incon¬
siderable, with the exception of the Cavery, as long as they
continue within the limits of this province. There are many
large tanks and reservoirs in the higher grounds through-
out Mysore, but there are no lakes. The water in these
tanks is always sweet, and preferred on this account to that
of wells, which is very frequently brackish. This province
is divided into three districts, namely, the Patana (or Se-
ringapatam), the Nagara (or Bednore), and the Chatracal
(or Chitteldroog) districts. The chief towns are, Seringapa-
tam, Bangalore, Bednore, Chitteldroog, and Sera. Each dis¬
trict is managed by an amildar, who is an officer of justice,
police, and revenue, and who is accountable for his con¬
duct to the ministers of the rajah, the latter being kept to
their duty by the presence of the British resident. These
amildars have under them a number of accountants, in or¬
der to manage with accuracy the revenue accounts.
The present rajah of Mysore, who was raised to the
throne after the fall of Tippoo, is the descendant of a pas¬
toral chief, who emigrated, with his tribe and all their flocks
and herds, from the province of Gujerat, and were allowed
to settle in Mysore. Cham Raj, the representative of this
family, took possession of the throne in the year 1507, though
he still acknowledged himself the subject of the Maha
rajah of Annagoondy, who was a descendant of the ancient
Hindu monarchs of Bijanagur. In 1610, one of his suc¬
cessors took possession of the city and fortress of Seringa-
patam, which may be considered as the beginning of their
sovereignty. The crown continued in the same line till
about the year 1753, when the decline of this dynasty was
followed by its final downfall, and the rise on its ruins of the
house of Hyder, of which, and of the subsequent history of
Mysore, a full account will be found under the article Hin¬
dustan. (q \
MYSTERIES.
i".'
jra-
ntro.
dujtjn of
idea
ieli.
Religion, in its original form, was simple and intelli
gible. It was intended for the instruction and educatior
of all ranks of men, and of consequence its doctrines wen
on a level with vulgar capacities. The Jewish dispensa¬
tion was openly practised; nothing was performed in secret
every article was plain, open, and accessible. The divine
Author of the Christian economy commanded his disciples
to preach his doctrine in the most public manner: “ Whal
ye have heard in secret,” says he, “ preach openly; and
what I have taught you in private, teach ye publicly; and
proclaim it on the house-tops.” Such are the charms of
truth, and such the character of that religion which came
down from heaven, that they, as it were, “ delight, and lift
up their voice in the streets, and cry in the chief places of
concourse.”
But such is the depravity of the nature of man, that the
noblest institutions degenerate in his hands. Religion it¬
self, originally pure, simple, and amiable, under his manage-
raent has often been transformed into pollution, perplexity,
and deformity. The ministers of religion, whose province
it was to guard the sacred deposit, and to secure it from
foreign and spurious intermixtures, have generally been the
first innovators, and the first and most industrious agents in
corrupting its integrity and tarnishing its beauty. Avarice
VOL. xv.
and ambition prompted that class of men to deviate from
the original plainness and simplicity of religious institu¬
tions, and to introduce articles, rites, and usages, which
might furnish them with opportunities of gratifying these
unhallowed and insatiable passions. Hence distinctions
unknown to pure and undefiled religion were fabricated,
and that heavenly institution, heretofore one, simple, indi¬
visible, was divided into two partitions; the one popular
and public ; the other dark, secret, and mysterious. The
latter of these we intend as the subject of this article.
The English word mystery is derived from the Greek ^wr- Etymo-
rriyov; and, in its modern acceptation, imports something !ogy of the
above human intelligence, something awfully obscure and term, and
enigmatical; any thing artfully made difficult; the secret ?uject of
of any business or profession. The word is often used by tide.^*
the founder of the Christian religion, and more frequently
by his apostles, especially St Paul. In these cases, it ge¬
nerally signifies those doctrines of Christianity which the
Jews, prior to the advent of the Messiah, either did not or
could not understand. The Trinity in Unity and the Uni¬
ty in Trinity, the incarnation of the Son of God, the union
of two natures in one and the same person, &c. we gene¬
rally call mysteries, because they are infinitely above hu¬
man comprehension. All these significations are out of
4 o
L.
658
Mysteries, the question at present. - -- -r , r
'lay before our readers the fullest and fairest account we
have been able to collect, of those oaotfnra, or secret rites,
of the Pagan superstition, which were carefully concealed
v P . l i n .i i — .1 ofo univpr-
MYSTERIES.
Our intention in this article is to conceal from the million those very doctrines and maxims Mystefe
which, had they known and embraced them, would have
contributed most effectually to dispose them to submit to
those wise regulations which their governors and legisla-
of the Pagan superstition, which were caremny coiicea.cu ^ost ardentiy to establish. Experience has
from the knowledge of the vulgar, and which are taught that nothing has a more commanding influence on
sally known under the denomination of mysteries* , ° , r* —i™..- tUcv. ww rlncrmna whirh.
The word /j/varriPiov is evidently deduced from (Lvffrrigut
the origin of this last term is not altogether so obvious.
The etymologies of it exhibited by the learned are various;
some of them absurd and inconsistent, others foolish and
futile. Instead of fatiguing our readers with a detail ot
these, which would be equally unentertaining and uninte¬
resting, we shall only produce one, which to us appears to
come nearest the truth. The mysteries under considera¬
tion at present were certainly imported into Greece from
the East. In those regions, then, we ought of course to
look for the etymology of the word. Mistor or mistur, in
Hebrew,signifies “any place or thing hidden or concealed.
the° minds of the vulgar than those very dogmas which,
according to the bishop, were communicated to the ini¬
tiated. A conviction of the unity of the deity, of his wis¬
dom, power, goodness, omnipresence, &c. the steady be¬
lief of the immortality of the human soul, and of a future
state of rewards and punishments, have in all ages and in
all countries proved the firmest supports of legal autho¬
rity. The very same doctrines, in the dawn of Christia¬
nity, contributed, of all other methods, the most effectu¬
ally to tame and civilize the savage inhabitants of the
northern regions of Europe.2 Supposing those principles
to have been inculcated by the mysteries, the most pru-
Hebrew, signifies “ any place or thing mdden or cone ■ legislators could have adopted would have been
of i publish them to al. mankind. They ought to have sent
.  i   urifVt tVnc nrrmriptv.
ries.
Hypothe-
original languages to apply vocables with this propriety,
we find ourselves strongly inclined to assign the word mis¬
tier as the root of the term myster.
Motives to We have already observed, that the avarice and ambi-
the intro- tion of the Pagan priesthood probably gave birth to the
duction of institution of the mysteries. To this observation we may
the myste-now addj that tiie ministers of that superstition might pos¬
sibly imagine, that some articles of their ritual were too
profound to be comprehended by the vulgar ; others, .too
sacred to be communicated to a description of men whom
the institutions of civil society had placed in a situation
not only subordinate, but even contemptible. It was
imagined, that things sacred and venerable would have
contracted a taint and pollution by an intercourse with sor¬
did and untutored souls. These appear to us the most pro¬
bable motives for making that odious and pernicious dis¬
tinction between the popular religion and that contained
in the sacred and mysterious ritual,
xxj^uu.c- Bishop Warburton1 is positive that the mysteries of the
sis of War-Pagan religion were the invention of legislators and other
burton. great personages, whom fortune or their own merit had
placed at the head of those civil socie^s which were
formed in the earliest ages in different parts of the world.
It is with reluctance, and indeed with diffidence, that we
presume to differ in our sentiments from such respectable
authority. Whatever hypothesis this prelate had once
adopted, so extensive was his reading, and so exuberant
his intellectual resources, that he found little difficulty in
defending it by an appearance of plausibility, if not of ra¬
tional argumentation. The large quotations he has ad¬
duced from Plato and Cicero do indeed prove that the
sages and legislators of antiquity sometimes availed them¬
selves of the influence derived from the doctrines of the
mysteries, and from the authority they acquired by the
opinion of their having been initiated in them; but that
those men were the inventors and fabricators of them, is a
position for which his quotations do not furnish the most
slender presumption. At the same time we think it not
altogether certain that the doctrine of a divine Providence,
and a future state of rewards and punishments, were re¬
vealed in the mysteries with all the clearness and cogency
which is pretended by his lordship.
But, granting that the fabric was raised by the hands of
sages and legislators, we imagine it would be rather diffi¬
cult to discover what emolument that description of men
could propose to derive from the enterprise. The institu¬
tion was evidently, and indeed confessedly, devised to
to publish them to all mankind.
forth apostles to preach them to the savages whom they
had undertaken to civilize. According to the learned pre¬
late, they pursued the opposite course, and deprived them¬
selves of those very arms by which they might have en¬
countered and overthrown all the armies of savagism.
Of all the legislators of antiquity, the Cretan alone was Mysteries
prudent enough to foresee and adopt this rational plan.of Eleusa
Diodorus the Sicilian informs us that the mysteries of^™6
Eleusis, Samothracia, and other places, which were 6|se‘pUt)]idyu]
where buried in profound darkness, were amongst the Cre-Crete,
tans taught publicly, and communicated to all the world.
Minos, however, was a successful legislator, and his inter¬
course with Jupiter Idaeus extended his influence and
established his authority. He was not under the neces¬
sity of calling in the mysteries to his assistance: on the
contrary, it is highly probable that the universal know¬
ledge of the doctrines of the mysteries among his country¬
men contributed in a considerable degree to facilitate his
labour and ensure his success.
The divine Author of the Christian economy, viewed
in the light of a human legislator, saw the propriety of
this procedure. Nothing was concealed in his institutions;
nothing was veiled with mystery, or buried in darkness.
The success was answerable to the wisdom of the plan.
The million flocked to the evangelical standard ; the gospel
was preached to the poor, to the illiterate, and the vulgar;
and the meanest of mankind eagerly embraced its maxims.
Wherever it prevailed it produced civilization, morality,
sobriety, loyalty, and every other private and social virtue.
Upon the supposition that the mysteries had contained
and inculcated the principles and practices which the pre¬
late supposes they did, the civilizers of mankind, legisla¬
tors, magistrates, and princes, ought to have combined to
make them public for the sake of their own tranquillity,
and the more effectual support of their authority and in-
flucncG# *
Upon the whole, we are inclined to believe that the Mysteries
mysteries were the offspring of Egyptian priestcraft. 6 rSpriiw of
were instituted with a view to aggrandize that order OI£^y ”tian
men, to extend their influence, and enlarge their revenues. priestcraft
To accomplish these selfish projects, they applied every but adopt-
engine towards besotting the multitude with superstition ed by
and enthusiasm. They taught them to believe that them-lators,
selves were the distinguished favourites of heaven; ana
that celestial doctrines had been revealed to them, too
holy to be communicated to the profane rabble, and too
sublime to be comprehended by vulgar capacities, it is,
1 Divine Legation of Moses Demonstrated. , , „„„ thpm
2 The Germans, Russians, and Scandinavians, who were never thoroughly civilized till the gospel was preached am g
mysteries.
•pothe-
of Mos
m sin-
* ar and
: sfens-
ysteries. we confess, exceedingly probable, that after the mysteries
V*' were instituted, and had acquired an exalted reputation
in the world, legislators, magistrates, judges, and poten¬
tates, joined in the imposture, with the same views and
from the same principles. Princes and legislators, who
found their advantage in overawing and humbling the
multitude, readily adopted a plan which they found so
artfully fabricated to answer these very purposes. They
had interest enough with the sacerdotal mystagogues,1 to
induce them to allow them to participate in those vene¬
rable rites which had already established the authority of
that description of men in whose hands they were depo¬
sited. Ihe views of both parties were exactly congenial.
The respect, the admiration, and dependence on the mil¬
lion, were the ultimate objects of their ambition respec¬
tively. Priests and princes were actuated by the very
same spirit. The combination was advantageous, and of
consequence harmonious. For these reasons we have
taken the liberty of differing from his lordship of Glou¬
cester with respect to the persons who first instituted the
secret mysteries of the Pagan religion.
Another writer of considerable reputation in the repub¬
lic of letters is of opinion that the mysteries were entirely
commemorative; that they were instituted with a view to
preserve the remembrance of heroes and great men, who
had been deified in consideration of their martial exploits,
useful inventions, public virtues, and especially in conse¬
quence of the benefits by them conferred on their contem¬
poraries. According to him,2 the mysteries of Mithras were
established for this very purpose. It would be no difficult
matter to prove that the Persian deity of that name was
the sun, and that his name and insignia jointly ascertain
the truth of this assertion. The same writer extends this
observation to the mysteries of the Egyptians, Phoenicians,
Greeks, Hetruscans, and, in a word, to all the institutions
o that species throughout the world. In opposition to
this singular opinion, it may be argued, we think with
some show of reason, that the method of preserving the
memory of great and illustrious men generally adopted,
was the establishing festivals, celebrating games, offering
sacrifices, singing hymns, dances, &c. We can recollect
no secret mysteries instituted for that purpose, at least in
their original intention. If any usage of the commemo¬
rative kind was admitted, it was superinduced at some
period posterior to the primary institution. At the same
time, upon the supposition that the orgia of Bacchus were
the same with those of the Egyptian Osiris, and that the
mysteries of Ceres exhibited at Eleusis were copied from
those of the Egyptian Isis, and allowing that the former
was the sun, and the latter the moon, it will be difficult
to find out the human persons whose exploits, adventures,
inventions, &c. were intended to be immortalized by those
institutions. Upon the whole, the mysteries were per¬
formed in secret; they were intended to be communi¬
cated only to a few; of course, had they been instituted
Rith a view to immortalize the memory of’ heroes and
great men, the authors would have acted the most foolish
and inconsistent part imaginable. Instead of transmitting
t ie feme of their heroes with eclat to posterity, they would
S Proce^ure have consigned it to eternal oblivion.
We must then recur to our first position. The myste¬
ries were the offspring of bigotry and priestcraft; they
659
coimtrv'fhp E?yP^ tHf land °f id0htry- In that Mysteries,
country the priesthood ruled predominant. The kin^s   
throne TElnt0 their bot^ before they could ascend
ti e throne They were possessed of a third part of all
to n f -K Egy?t‘ rhe sacerdotal function was confined
. tr,bf1’ avnd was transmitted unalienably from father
.. n‘, the orientals, but more especially the Egyp-
Everv ™ghtedf ln nTteri°US and allegorical doctrines.
Every maxim of morality, every tenet of theology, every
dogma of philosophy, was wrapt up in a veil of allegory
avfrfe/ C/SmV ThlS P™Pensity no doubt conspired with
avarice and ambition to dispose them to a dark and mys¬
terious system of religion. Besides, the Egyptians were
soli n7y men/ they lighted in darkness and
solitude. Their sacred rites were generally celebrated
with melancholy airs, weeping, and lamentation. This
gloomy and unsocial bias of mind must have stimulated
them to a congenial mode of worship. In Egypt, then, we
are to search for the origin of the mysteries. Both the
nature of the institution and the genius of the people con-
hrm this position ; and historians, both ancient and mo-
uern, are agreed in admitting the certainty of the fact.
Ihe Osins of Egypt, every body knows, was the origi-The Osiris
nal Bacchus, as the Isis of the same country was the and Isis of
ei es of the Greeks. 1 he rites of Osiris were performed Kg7Pt the
with loud shrieks and lamentations when he was put into1*30011113
the coffin, and with the most extravagant mirth when he a"^,Ceres
was m a manner raised from the dead, or supposed to be01 Greece'
found again. Their hymns were, upon the whole, always
composed in melancholy, affecting strains, and consisted
of lamentations for the loss of Osiris, the mystic flight of
Bacchus, the wanderings of Isis, and the sufferings of the
gods. The Canaanites, who were a kindred tribe of the
Mizraim or Egyptians, imitated them in their sacred rites.
At By bins, Berytus, Sidon, and afterwards at Tyre, they
used particularly mournful dirges for the death of Adonis
or lammuz, who was the same with the Egyptian Osiris
*. <?. the sun.4 * 6
Ihe Egyptians, then, naturally inclined to gloom and Death of
secrecy, instituted a mode of worship congenial with their Osiris, and
natural disposition of mind. The recess of the sun to-w?nderings
wards the southern hemisphere was the death? of Osiris ;ofIsis'
the wanderings of Isis in search of her husband and bro¬
ther, allegorically imported the longing of the earth0 for
the return of the fructifying influence of the solar heat.
When that luminary returned towards the summer sol¬
stice, and grain, trees, fruits, herbs, and flowers adorned
the face of nature, another festival was celebrated of a
very different complexion from that of the former. In
this season all Egypt was dissolved in the most extrava¬
gant mirth and jollity. During the celebration of those
festivals, the priests formed allegorical representations of
the sun and the earth.9 They personified the one and
the other, and allegorized their motions, aspects, relations,
sympathies, accesses, recesses, &c. into real adventures,
peregrinations, sufferings, contests, battles, victories, de¬
feats, and so forth. Ihese, in process of time, were held
up to the vulgar as real occurrences ; and these in a few
ages oecame the most essential articles of the popular
creed. From this source were derived the conquests of
Dionysius or Bacchus, so beautifully exhibited by Nonnus
in his Dionysiacs; the wanderings of lo, wonderfully
* 1liyst3g0gues we.re the ministers who acted the chief part in celebrating the mysteries,
veterum be^eficion.m contro/frsia vacare, arbitror, mysteria quae vocantur, ritus fuisse idcirco institutos ne memoria periret
nomen, et famam inter siios* JiR11™’ rerum gestarum quibus pnmi populorum conditores, aut alii praeclari homines, decus
Moshemii, p. 329.) • comparaverant. Neque haec cuiquam sententia mirabilis videri potent. (Cud. Syst. Intellect, ed.
4 Plutarch. '1CU^US’ & Plutarch, de Iside et Osiride. . 7 Macrob. Saturnalia.
9 Isis amoncr the . • E^ek- chap. vm. ; and Nonni Dionyt. s Plutarch, de Jtide et Osiride.
sis, among the Egyptians, sometimes signifies the moon, and sometimes the earth.
mysteries.
660
Mysteries, adorned by iEschylus ; and the labours of Hercules, af-
v—terwards usurped by the Greeks. . .
The Eeyp- Whether the Egyptians deified mortal men m the ear-
tians del- best ages, has been much controverted. Jablonski ^has
fieddepart-taten much pains to prove the negative. Diodorus as-
ed heroes. gures us that they paid their monarchs a kind ot divine
adoration, even in their lifetime. Plutarch tells us plain¬
ly,3 that some were of opinion that Isis, Osiris, Horus,
Anubis, and Typhon, were once mortal persons, who were
exalted into demons after their death. The Sicilian, in his
history of Isis and Osiris, Pan, Hermes, &c. plainly repre¬
sents them as human personages; and informs us, that
the Egyptians imagined that after their decease they
transmigrated into particular stars. From these authori¬
ties, we are inclined to believe that the Egyptians, as well
as the other Pagans, did actually deify persons who had
distinguished themselves in their days of nature by prowess,
wisdom, useful arts and inventions. This was a constant
practice among the Greeks, who probably learned it nom
the people in question. . , ,
Secrets re- The exploits of these heroes had been disguised by
specting alleo-orical traditions and hieroglyphical representations,
the objects Th° had been magnified beyond all dimensions, in order
revealed1 in to astonish and intimidate the vulgar. They had been m-
the myste- terlarded with the most extravagant fables, in order to
ries. gratify their propensity towards the marvellous. All these
secrets were developed in the mysteries. The catechu¬
mens4 were informed of every particular relating to the
birth, the life, the exploits, the adventures, the misfor-
is apparent from the poems of Orpheus, and the fable of- Iystenes.
the Phrygians and Egyptians. Dionysius of Halicarnassus v—
likewise observes,8 that the fables of the Greeks detail the
operations of nature by allegories. Proclus9 makes the
same observation concerning the people in question. The
Egyptians, says he, taught the latent operations of nature
by fables. , , ]
These physiological secrets were no doubt expounded to Physiolo.
the initiated ; and that the Egyptian priests were deeplygcal ^ 1
skilled in physiological science, can scarcely be questioned, dedi |l
if we believe that Jannes and Jambres rivalled Moses with tjle
their enchantments. The preceding detail comprehendsries of
all that was revealed to the Epoptse in the original Egyp-Egypt,
tian mysteries. What articles might have been intiodu-
ced afterwards we cannot pretend to determine.
Be that as it may, one thing is certain, namely, that the
vulgar were excluded from all those choice secrets, which
were carefully reserved for the nobility and sacerdotal
tribes. To them it was given to know the mysteries of the
kingdom of darkness; but to those who were without, all
was mystery and parable. While the laity fed on husks,
the clergy and the quality feasted on royal dainties. The
priests who had devised these allegories understood their
original import, and bequeathed it as an inestimable le¬
gacy to their children. Here then we have the primary
object of the mysteries, namely, to develope to the ini¬
tiated the original and rational import of those allegoncal
and mystical doctrines which were tendered to the un¬
initiated, wrapt up in impenetrable allegory and obscurity.
To the former these were communicated and explained;
tunes, and decease of those heroic personages, and when, xw — ‘Tr V, . nn „wflll j;., ‘ e and
and by what means, they had attained to the high rank of the latter were obliged to stand at an awful glance, and
divinities. At the same time we think it highly probable retire as the Procul, O procul, este profam, thundered
"on a'TSenTspSrr The m^S of ^The^llegorical traditions appear to have originated in
Egypt were abundantly qualified for exhibiting angels in Egypt (see Mythology). It was ‘ ® efaccordina to die
machines The souls of virtuous men who had not been oriental genius. The Egyptians, however, according to t e
eminent enough to merit the honour of deification, were most authentic accounts,19 "ere ^
shown in all the perfection of Elysian felicity; and per- that science. The original subjects of these institutmns
haps the souls of tyrants, and of the children of Typhon,6 were, we imagine, the articles we have specified above, but
were shown in Tartarus, suffering all the extremes of in- in process of time, according to the natural course of things,
fernal punishment. From these exhibitions the mysta- numerous improvements were made, and many new rites,
gogues might naturally enough take occasion to read their ceremonies, usages, and even doctrines, were superin u ^
pupils suitable lectures on the happy tendency of a virtu- which were utterly unknown to the ongina! *
ous conduct, and the dishonour and misery consequent Simplicity is, for the most part, one of the disting g
upon a contrary course. They might set before them im- characters of a new institution ; but succeeding arc i
mortal renown, deification, and Elysium, on the one hand, generally imagine that something is sti wanting o com
and eternal infamy and misery on the other. This will pro- plete the beauty, the regularity, the uniformity, t e mag-
bably be deemed the chief advantage accruing from this nificence, and perhaps the convemency, or tne s rue ur .
institution. Hence, at length, it comes to be so overloaded with ad-
Besides the communications above mentioned, the cate- ventitious drapery, that its primary elegance an symme
chumens were taught many secrets of physiology, or the try are altogether defaced. This was the case W1
nature of the phenomena of the world. This Pharnutus6 earliest Egyptian mysteries. Their subject was a rs
everywhere affirms, especially in his last book, towards the simple and easy to be comprehended ; in time it becam
end. Plutarch, too, informs us that many of the Greek phi- complex, intricate, and unintelligible.. Tpr-nle?
losophers were of opinion that most of the Egyptian fables In order to celebrate those mysteries with the grea er wj.ere the
were allegorical details of physical operations. Eusebius secrecy, their temples were so constructed as to favour 16 mySterjes
acquaints us,7 that the physiology, not only of the Greeks, artifice of the priests. Ihe fanes, in which they use towerecele.
but likewise of the barbarians, was nothing else but a kind execute their sacred functions, and to perform the n es
of science of nature, a concealed and dark theology, in- and ceremonies of their religion, were subterraneous apar -
volved in fable and fiction, whose hidden mysteries were ments, constructed with such wonderful skill and dexten-
so veiled over with enigmas and allegories, that the igno- ty, that every thing that appeared in them breathed an air
rant million were as little capable of comprehending what of solemn secrecy. Their walls were covered with hiero
was said as what was suppressed in silence. This, says he, glyphic paintings and sculpture, and the altar was situate
1 Pantheon Egyptiorum. 2 Lib. i.
4 Catechumens were pupils who were learning the elements of any science
5 Typhon was the evil genius, or devil, of the Egyptians
3 De Iside et Osiride.
6 De Nat. Deorum.
Prceparatio Evangelii.
    „ 0  ® Antiquih Roman. 9 In Timao.
10 As early as the age of Joseph, the Egyptians were skilled in the interpretations of dreams, divinations, &c., and in the age ot
Moses they were become wise men, magicians, &c. <
11 Hierophant imports a priest employed in explaining the doctrines, rites, &c. communicated to the initiated.
'ro
vstenes. in the centre of the apartment. Modern travellers1 have
ot late years discovered some vestiges of them, and bear
witness to the above description of those dark abodes.2 In
those subterraneous mansions, which the priests of that in-
n.a.tlon ha.d planned with the most consummate
skill, the kings, princes, and great men of the state en¬
countered the dangers and hardships contrived to prove
their prudence, fortitude, patience, abstinence, &c. These
were appointed to try their merit; and by these the hie¬
rophants were enabled to decide whether or not they were
duly qualified for receiving that benefit. Upon these oc¬
casions, we may believe, abundance of those magical tricks
were exhibited, for which the magicians of Egypt were so
much celebrated among the ancients^ The strange and
astonishing sights, the alternate successions of light and
darkness, the hideous spectres exposed to view, the fright-
ful bowlings re-echoed by these infernal domes, the scenes
or lartarus and Elysium, exhibited alternately and in quick
succession, must have made a deep and lasting impression
on the mind of the affrighted votary.3 These scenes we
shall describe more fully in the sequel.
, a infer Fr0n? the scenes exhibited in celebrating the Egyptian
. regionsmysteri6s’ especially those of Isis and Osiris, the Greeks
(ied seem to have copied their ideas of the infernal regions, and
i a the the subterraneous mansions of departed souls. Many co-
] rptian lomes of Egyptians settled in Greece. From these the
1,lenes' or ™st early bards of Greece, learned them imper¬
fectly. . Of course, we find Homer’s account of the infer¬
nal regions, and of the state of departed souls, lame and
incoherent. Succeeding bards obtained more full and
more distinct information. Euripides and Aristophanes
seem to have paved the way for the prince of Roman poets,
rlato and some of the other philosophers have shown, by
t leir descriptions or allusions, that the whole apparatus of
artarus and Elysium had become a hackneyed topic some
centuries before Virgil was born. This incomparable poet
borrowed his ideas from Homer, Aristophanes, Euripides,
rato,&c. These, under his plastic hand, in the sixth
nei , grew into a system beautiful, regular, uniform, and
consistent. The materials he has employed were created
o is land; he had only to collect, polish, arrange, and
connect them. The sentiments collected from the Pla¬
tonic philosophy, and the inimitable episode copied from
the annals of Rome, by the masterly skill which he has
displayed in the application of them, form the chief excel¬
lencies of the piece. For the rest, he could well dispense
pi 1 80ing t0 Fleusis:6 every old woman in Athens and
ttome could repeat them.
Egypt was, then, the native land of mysteries as well as
ot idolatry. Every god and goddess respectively had their
tinto {S,ten6S,; but 38 those of Isis and Osiris were the most
i and .6Drated’they of course became principal objects of pur-
e* ^ as we. as of imitation to the neighbouring nations,
tnese, as is generally believed, were carried into Persia
^ 0r^C^S!'r68, or Eerdusht, by whom they were consecrat-
o * ithras. On these we shall make some observations
mysteries.
661
b( 'ht
enes
mnChK qine * i 0rPbeus sported them into Thrace; Cad-Mysteries
mus brought them into Boeotia, where they were sacred tov~'v 
Bacchus. Inachus established them at Argos in honour
of Juno, the same with Isis ;7 Cyniras in Cyprus, where
Sed 7er t0 yenus- In Phrygia t^ey were sa¬
cred to Cybele, the mother of the gods.
Our learned readers, who will probably reflect that the
Egyptians were in ancient times inhospitable to strangers,
will perhaps be surprised that this fastidious and jealous
SionT' f S°-ready t0 60rn.municate the arcana of their
l S° f lepers. But they will please recollect, that
FW pn - Goe?e -VaS plant6d with colonies from
Egypt, Phoenicia, Palestine, &c. This we could easily
prove, did the bounds prescribed us admit such a digres-
sion. Orpheus, if not an Egyptian, was at least of orien¬
tal extraction. Inachus, Cadmus, and Melampus, are uni¬
versally allowed to have been Egyptians. Erechtheus, in
whose reign the Eleusmian mysteries were established, was
an Egyptian by birth, or at least sprung from Egyptian an¬
cestors. The Egyptians, then, in those early ages, did not
view the Greeks in the light of aliens, but as a people
near y related either to themselves or the Phoenicians, who
were their brethren. Upon this connection we imagine
it was that m later times most of the sages of Greece,
especially of Athens, found so hospitable a reception among
that people. They probably viewed them in the light of
piopagandi; apostles able and willing to disseminate their
idolatrous rites. This observation, which might be sup¬
ported by numberless authorities, did the nature of the
present inquiry permit, will, we think, go a great way to¬
wards obviating the objection.
Although, as has been observed, every particular deity had Mysteries
his own pecuhiir mysterious sacred rites, yet, of all others, ofMithras,
those of Mithras, Bacchus,0 and Ceres, were deemed the most Bacchus,
august, and were most universally and most religiously ce-and Ceres»
lebrated. lo these, therefore, we shall in a'good measuretlie most
confine ourselves upon this occasion. If our readers shallaUSUSt'
become intimately acquainted with these, they may readily
dispense with the knowledge of the rest, which are, in¬
deed, no more than streams and emanations from these
sources. We shall, then, in the first place, present to our
readers a brief sketch of the mysteries of Mithras.
Mithras, or, according to the Persian, Mihr, was one Account of
ot the great gods of the Asiatics. His worship was for the myste-
many ages confined to Persia. Afterwards, however, it was Bes of Mi-
propagated so far and wide that some have imagined theythras-
had discovered vestiges of it even in Gaul. 3Mr, accord¬
ing to Dr Hyde,9 signifies love, and likewise the sun. If
we might presume to differ from so respectable an autho¬
rity, we should conjecture that it is a cognate of the He¬
brew word muthir, “ excellentia, prasstantia.” That there was
an analogy between the Hebrew and old Persian, is gene¬
rally admitted by the learned. Be that as it may, Mithras
was the sun10 amongst the Persians ; and in honour of that
luminary this institution was established. Mithras, accord¬
ing to Plutarch,11 was the middle god between Oramaz and
3 Norden, Shaw, Pococke, &c. '  
carriedon there’in a French ™
laughed during ftearemS^fSeb'K‘,°iUS'a VaUlt Said t0 haVe “ ,elTiM ,'ith “"S “sUe, that they never
the house, of the great men of Greece, and entertained the com.
whole scenery of the's^xth’jEnehH'roin SS’s reenSoTed Tthet" f ^ ‘"at ^-gil borrowed the
8 V^aS T0n’ a*n.^ ^.e or^nal Juno was the same planet.
10 MoshpfnT^, V6 ^S,riS Egyptians, and Ceres was the Isis of the same people. « Religio Vet. Persarum.
tal; but we cannot a^ee wRh^hTlearnS^^^^ P‘ ^ ^ ^ mUch pains to prove that Mithras was a deified mor-
Trojan war.d ^Ms'date^certalnlv^^l^ ThlS PpdosoPlle1’ makes Zoroaster, according to some, 5000 years prior to the
Darius Hystaspes the immediate k' 6 ca?not’ ho.wever’ a^Tee Wlth some moderns, who make him contemporary with
^.yswspes, me immediate successor of Cambyses, because it contradicts all antiquity.
662
mysteries.
.. . „(■ ppr,iq But the lions, tigers, leopards, boars, wolves, and other savage Mwtsna
Mysteries. Ariman, the two supreme uivimti ui„m Oramaz creatures, assailed him with loud bowlings, roaring, ands**,v^"
  fact is, the solar planet was the visible of ^njaz, creatu instance of ferine fury. In those mock
the good genius of the Persian tribes, and the sa Jombats, the hero was often in danger of being really
the Osiris of the Egyptians. From these p p^ worried, and always came off with bruises and wounds,
have imagined that Zoroastres, or f er3ht’ b0rr° ive our Lampridius informs us, that when the Emperor Commodus
mysteries of Mithras. Toth is opi _ hp underlone by was initiated, he actually carried the joke too far, and
assent, because the probationary trials to be unde g y butchered one of the prieSts, who attacked him in the
the candidates among the former were muc fi of a wild beast. The Persians worshipped Mithras
and sanguinary than among the latter. How, ’ * ^ gun b a erpetuai fire ; hence the votary was ob-
were instituted in honour of the same deity 5 ^ged to undergo a fiery trial; that is, to pass seven times
the scenes exhibited and the informatio erhaps through the sacred fire, and each time to plunge himself
in both were analogous, a circumstance whic I P ^ water> gome have made these probationary pe-
gave birth to the opinion above mentionea. amount to eighty ; others have thought that they
S The grand festival of Mithras was ce ebrated six day , ei ht ^s we find no good authority for
in the middle of the month of Mihr. Upon J^s c > either of these numbers, we think ourselves at liberty to
was lawful for the kings of Persia to get drun . ' j rd the following conjecture. The number seven was
On this festival, we imagine, the candidates for mniaUon Iiazara tne g The Mithriac penances,
having duly proved their vocation were solemnly admit- seven) or, if they exceeded it, were
ted to the participation mystenes. rprtain regulated by seven repetitions of that number. The can-
Zoroastres3 worshipped Mithras, or t le , didate having undergone all these torturing trials with be-
natural cave, which he formed into a temp e cling patience and fortitude, was declared a proper sub-
in a manner exactly mathematical. I here nitiation. But before his admission he was obh-
represented as presichng oveVhf^ n he ym- ged to bind himself by the most solemn oath, with hor-
pomp of royal magnificence. In l’^fcally and ma- lie imprecations annexed, never to divulge any single
«X-Wbited, «o be contemplated and" worship- article of all that should be communicated to bun m the
ped. This deity was sometimes represented as mounted ‘“"“ f secrets were imparted to theKevel..
a bull, which he is breaking, and which he kills with a wiiat « M di f tim; t0 discover tioniimb
sword. On some bas-reliefs still existing, he appears as 1 2‘‘ XdTgr/e 0f c^ may, however,7*“
a young man with his tiara t"rned ‘h0n M- rest assured, that the°most authentic tradition concerning^1
wears a small cloak. By his siues are .een oi f . tbP benien effects of the government of
Probation.3^^”^’caves the ceremonies of initiation were private vh^es w^s warmly recotn^
aryexer- performed; but before the candidate could be admitted, presented m the most odmus and tnghttul colon s ^
cises pre- )e was forced to undergo a course of probationary exer- these injunctions were, may SUPP0S!; e“^e , J
viousto cises so numerous and so rigorous that very few had display of the pleasures of Elpmm and the pains of la
i"iti“i“- courage andfortitude enough to go through them. He —■ •• h,. observed above in describing the mys-
was obliged to live a life of virtue and abstinence for the
space of seven years previous to the period of his initia¬
tion. Some months before it, he was obliged to submit to
a long and austere fast, which continued fifty days. He
was to retire several days to a deep and dark dungeon,
where he was successively exposed to all the extremes of
display 01 me pieci&uico ui  — r 
tarus, as has been observed above in describing the mys¬
teries of the Egyptians. . . ,
Those initiations are mentioned by Lampridius in tne
life of Commodus, and likewise by Justin5 and Tertullian,
who both flourished in the second century. The ast of
these two speaks of a kind of baptism, which washed from
the souls of the initiated all the stains which they had
ccessively exposed to an me extremes ui me oeu.a u* me mm  „ , . • ' tep:r
heat and cold. Meantime he frequently underwent the contracted during the course of their p ular
bastinado, which the priests applied without mercy. Some initiation. He at the same im ^ ifferine of
say this fustigation continued two whole days, and was re- mark which was imprinted upon , . ticU-
peated no less than fifteen times. In the course of these bread, and an emblem of the resurrec ion, 0f.
probationary exercises, the candidate was generally re- lars, however, he does not describe in detai.
duced to a skeleton ; and we are told, that there have fering, which was accompanied with a certain torm o
been several instances of persons who have perished in the prayer, a vessel of water was offeie up wi i
attempt. The same father elsewhere informs us, that there was pre
Upon the eve of the initiation, the aspirant was obliged sented to the initiated a crown suspende °R t e P01^ 0
to brace on his armour,4 in order to encounter giants and a sword ; but that they were taught f® say> <ra1 , A
savage monsters. In those spacious subterraneous man- crown. By this answer was intimated, that ey
sions a mock hunting was exhibited. The priests and all upon the service of that deity as their chief lonou
the subordinate officers of the temple, transformed into ornament.
This philoso-
1 M. Silohwette (Disser. v. p. 17) asserts that Zoroaster was initiated amongst the Egyptians.
2 The month Mihr began September 30, and ended October 30. .
3 See Dr Hyde de Bel. Vet. Pers. p. 16, 17- Mr Bryant’s Anal. vol. i. p. 232. Porphyr. de Antro. Nymph, p.
pher often mentions the cave of Mithras, and always attributes the institution of his rites to Zoroaster. _ rj re,
‘ Jul. Firmicus. 5 Dial, cum Try phone. . . D\ to the
7 In allusion to this practice of imprinting a sacred mark, probably on the forehead of the initiated, we find tne i J
angel, Ezek. chap. ix. ver. 4, and the llevelation passim.
MYSTERIES.
; steries. After the rites of the T eletae1 were finished, the pupil was
brought out of the cave or temple, and with great solem¬
nity proclaimed a lion of Mithras ;2 a title which import¬
ed strength and intrepid courage in the service of the
deity. They were now consecrated to the god, and were
supposed to be under his immediate protection; an idea
which of course animated them to the most daring and
dangerous enterprises.
The worship of Mithras was introduced into the Roman
empire towards the end of the republic, where it made
very rapid progress. When Christianity began to make a
figure in the empire, the champions for Paganism thought
of proposing to men the worship of this Power of Benevo¬
lence, in order to counterbalance or annihilate that wor¬
ship which the Christians paid to Jesus Christ the true
Sun of Righteousness. But this mode was soon abolished,
together with the other rites of Paganism. The Persian
grandees often affected names compounded with Mithras ;
hence Mithridates, Mithrobarzanes, &c.; hence, too, the
precious stone called Mithridat? which by the reflection of
the sun sparkled with a variety of colours. There is like¬
wise a certain pearl of many different colours, which they
call Mithras. It is found among the mountains near the Red
Sea; and when exposed to the sun, it sparkles with a va¬
riety of dyes. We find likewise a king of Egypt of that
name, who reigned at Heliopolis; who being commanded
in a dream to erect an obelisk to the solar deity, reared a
most prodigious one in the neighbourhood of that city.
Yiiras The votaries of Mithras pretended that he was sprung
Mitohave from a rock, and that therefore the place where the mys-
ng terious ceremonies were communicated to the initiated
n wa® always a cave. Many different reasons have been
assigned for the origin of this rock-born deity, most of
which appear to us unsatisfactory. If our readers will be
obliging enough to accept of a simple and obvious conjec¬
ture, they may take the following. A rock is the symbol
of strength and stability ;4 the dominion of Mithras, in the
opinion of his votaries, was as firm as a rock, and as stable
as the everlasting hills. If our readers should not admit
the probability of this conjecture, we would beg leave to
refer them to the learned Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Mytho¬
logy, where they will find this point discussed with deep
research and wonderful ingenuity. Whatever may have
been the origin of this opinion with relation to the birth
of Mithras, it is certain that some reverence to rocks and
caves was kept up a long time even after the establishment
of Christianity. Hence the prohibition given to some of the
proselytes to that religion, that they should no more pre¬
sume to offer up their prayers ad petras, at the rocks.5
We shall conclude our account of the mysteries of
Mithras, by citing a passage from M. Anquetil, to whom we
are so much indebted for what knowledge we have of the
Persian theology, and in which the functions of that deity
are briefly and comprehensively delineated. “ The pecu¬
liar functions of Mithras are to fight continually against
Ahriman and the impure army of evil genii, whose con¬
stant employment is to scatter terror and desolation over
the universe; to protect the frame of nature from the de-
663
mons and their productions. For this purpose he is fur-Mysteries,
mshed with a thousand ears and a thousand eyes, and tra-N'—“'v'-*-*'
verses the space between heaven and earth ; his hands
armed with a club or mace. Mithras gives to the earth
light and sun: he traces a course for the waters: he gives
to men corn, pastures, and children ; to the world virtuous
kings and warriors : he maintains harmony upon earth,
watches over the law,” &c. As the history of Mithras,
and the nature of his mysteries, are not generally known,
we imagined it would be agreeable to many of our readers
to have the most important articles relating to that subject
laid before them as it were in detail.
We now proceed to the orgia or mysteries of Bacchus, Mvsteries
which we shall introduce with a brief history of that deity.of Bacchus
The original Dionysius or Bacchus was the Osiris of the01 °siris.
which last was the Sun.® WTether there was
an Egyptian monarch of that name, as Diodorus Siculus
affirms,7 has no manner of connection with the present
disquisition. The Greek name of that deity is plainly
oriental, being compounded of di, “ bright,” and nasta or
nasa, in the iEolic dialect nusa, “ a prince.” This name
was imported from the East by Orpheus, Cadmus, or by
whoever else communicated the worship of Osiris to the
Greeks. That the Dionysius of the Greeks was the same
with the Osiris of the Egyptians, is universally allowed.
Herodotus tells us expressly,8 that Osiris is Dionysius in
the Greek language: Martianus Capellus, quoted above,
expresses the very same idea.9 The original Osiris, then,
was the sun ; but the Dionysius or Bacchus of the Greeks
was the same with the Osiris of the Egyptians; therefore
the Bacchus or Dionysius of the Greeks was likewise the
same luminarj\
The name Osiris has much embarrassed critics and ety¬
mologists. The learned Jablonski,10 instead of delineat¬
ing the character, attributes, operations, adventures, ex¬
ploits, and peculiar department assigned this deity by his
votaries, has spent much of his pains on trying to inves¬
tigate the etymology of his name. If it be granted, which
is highly probable, that the Hebrew and Egyptian tongues
are cognate dialects, we should imagine that it is actually
the Chosher or Oshir of the former language, which imports
“ to make rich, to become rich.’’ Indeed the words Osi¬
ris and Isis were not the vulgar names of the sun and
moon amongst the Egyptians, but only epithets importing
their qualities. The name of the sun amongst that people
was Phre or Phra, that of the moon loh, whence the
Greek lo. The term Osiris was applied both to the sun
and to the river Nile, both which by their influence con¬
tributed respectively to enrich and fertilize the land of
Egypt-
It was a general custom amongst the orientals to deno-Exploits of
minate their princes and great men from their gods, demi- Osiris,
gods, and heroes. When the former were advanced to
divine honours, they were in process of time confounded
with their archetypes. The original divinities were for¬
gotten, and these upstart deities usurped their place and
prerogatives. In the earliest periods of the Egyptian mo¬
narchy, there appeared two illustrious personages, Osiris
2 Hie mysteries were called Teletce, which imports, “ the rites which confer perfection.”
am a<^>' Mure.' p. 55.. The priests of Mithras were called the lions of Mithras, and his priestesses lionesses, some say hy-
, e other inferior ministers were called eagles, hawks, ravens, &c. and on their festivals they wore masks corresponding to
eir itles, after the Egyptian manner, where the priests appeared at the ceremonies with masks resembling the heads of lions, apes,
a circumstance which furnishes a pfesumption that the mysteries of Mithras were of Egyptian original.
RUr ^av*our probably alludes to this emblem, when he talks of building his church on a rock ; and adds, that the gates of hell
should not prevail against it.
♦u ^he Caledonian druids seem to have regarded certain stones with a superstitious veneration, in which the Catholics imitated
g51’,' ^!leie are in several places of Scotland large stones, which the vulgar call here stones, that is, we imagine, lecture.
see Macrob. lib. heap. 21, p. 247, bottom ; Diogenes Laert. in prooemio. par. 10; Martian. Capel. lib. ii.; Jablonski, vol. i. lib.ii.
415, par. 3; Plut. Isis et Oiiris, passim.
Eib* i- 8 Lib. ii. cap. 144.
9 Thcol. Egypt, lib. ii. cap. L
10 Pantheon. Egypt.
664
MYSTERIES.
Mysteries, and Isis. These were the children of Kronus; and being
brother and sister, they were joined in matrimony, accord¬
ing to the custom of the Egyptians. As the brother an
husband had assumed the name of the Sun, so the sister
and consort took that of/sis, that is, “ the woman,”1 a name
which the Egyptians applied both to the moon and to the
earth, in consequence of the similarity of their nature,
their mutual sympathy, and congenial fecundity. Osiris
having left his consort Isis regent of the kingdom, with
Hermes as her prime minister, and Hercules as general ot
her armies, quitted Egypt with a numerous body of troops,
attended by companies of fauns,2 satyrs, singing-women,
musicians, &c. and traversed all Asia as far as the East¬
ern Ocean. He then returned homeward through Upper
Asia, Thrace, Pontus, Asia Minor, Syria, and Palestine.
Wherever he marched he conferred numberless benefits
on the savage inhabitants. He taught the art of cultivat¬
ing the ground, preserving the fruits of the earth, and
distinguishing the wholesome and nutritive from the un¬
wholesome and poisonous. He instructed them in the cul¬
ture of the vine ; and where vines could not be produced,
he communicated to them the method of producing^ a fer¬
mented liquor from barley, very little inferior to wine it¬
self. He built many cities in different parts of the globe,
planted numerous colonies,3 and, wherever he directed his
course, instituted just and wholesome laws, and established
the rites and ceremonies of religion, and left priests and
catechists of his train to teach and inculcate the observ¬
ance of them. In short, he left everywhere lasting monu¬
ments of his progress, and at the same time of his gene¬
rosity and beneficence. Where he found the people docile
and submissive, he treated them with kindness and huma¬
nity ; if any showed themselves obstinate, he compelled
them to submit to his institutions by force of arms.
At the end of three years, he returned to Egypt, where
his brother Typhon, a wicked unnatural monster, had been
forming a conspiracy against his life. This traitorous de¬
sign he soon afterwards accomplished in the following man¬
ner : He invited Osiris, with some other persons whom he
had gained over, to an entertainment. When the repast
was finished, he produced a beautiful coffer, highly finished,
and adorned with studs of gold, promising to bestow it
on the person whom it should fit best. Osiris was tempt¬
ed to make the experiment. The conspirators nailed down
the cover upon him, and threw the coffer into the river.
This coffer, now become the coffin of Osiris, was, they in¬
form us, wafted by the winds and waves to the neighbour¬
hood of Byblus, a city of Phoenicia, where it was cast on
shore, and left by the receding waves at the foot of a tama¬
rind tree.
,, <iuuci- Isis, in the mean time, disconsolate and forlorn, attended
ingsof Isisby Anubis, was ransacking every quarter in search of her
in quest of bel0ved Osiris. At length being informed by her faithful
attendant and guardian, that his body was lodged some¬
where in the neighbourhood of Byblus, she repaired to
that city. fThere, they say, she was introduced to the
queen, and after a variety of adventures4 she recovered
the corpse of her husband, which, of course, she carried
back with her to Egypt; but the mischievous Typhon,
ever on the watch, found her on the banks of the Nile,
and having robbed her of her charge, cut the body into
fourteen parts, and scattered them up and down. Now,
Death of
Osiris.
Wander-
his body.
once more, according to the fable, Isis set out in quest ofMysterieu
those parts, all of which, one only excepted, she disco-
vered, and interred in the place where she had found
them ; and hence the many tombs of Osiris in that coun¬
try. These tombs were denominated taposins by the na¬
tives. Many other fabulous adventures were ascribed to
those two personages, which it is not our province to enu¬
merate at present. If our readers should wish to be more
minutely informed on this subject, they may have recourse
to the account given by Diodorus Siculus, or to the learn¬
ed Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Ancient Mythology, and M.
Cour de Gebelin, where they will find matter enough to
gratify their curiosity.
To commemorate those adventures, the mysteries of Isis The mvs
and Osiris were instituted; and from them both those ofteriesof
Bacchus and Ceres, amongst the Greeks, were derived. Of™11^
the Egyptian solemnity we have an exact epitome in one stituted ^
of the fathers of the church, to the following purpose: commemu
“ Here follows,” says he, “an epitome of the mysteries of ration of
Isis and Osiris. They deplore annually, with deep lamen-these ad.
tationsand shaved heads, the catastrophe of Osiris, over aventures>
buried statue of that monarch. They beat their breasts,
mangle their arms, tear open the scars of their former
wounds; that by annual lamentations the catastrophe of
his miserable and fatal death may be revived in their minds.
When they have practised these things a certain number
of days, then they pretend that they have found the re¬
mains of his mangled body ; and having found them, their
sorrows are lulled asleep, and they break out into immo¬
derate joy.” What maxims of morality, secrets of physi¬
ology, or phenomena of astronomy, were couched under
this allegorical process, it is not our business to investigate
in this place. We shall only observe, that, in all proba¬
bility, Osiris and Isis were sovereigns of Egypt at a very
early period; that they had conferred many signal bene¬
fits on their subjects, who, influenced by a sense of grati¬
tude, paid them divine honours after their decease; that
in process of time they were confounded with the sun and
the moon ; and that their adventures were at length magni¬
fied beyond all credibility, interlarded with fables and al¬
legories, and employed in the mysteries as channels to
convey a variety of instructions to the initiated.
But be that as it may, it is certain that the very same Transferr.
mode of worship was established at Byblus, and in after agesed to Byb
transferred to Tyre. The Mizraim and Chanaanim w®re an{j
nearly connected by blood, and their religious ceremonies
were derived from the very same source. By what medium porte(j inU
the worship of Osiris at Abydus and Tyre was connected, u^otia.
we shall leave to others to explain ; we shall only observe,
that amongst the Phtenicians this deity obtained the names
Adonis and Bacchus. The former is rather an epithet
than a name ;5 the latter is evidently an allusion to the
weeping and lamentation6 with which the rites were per¬
formed. We find another name of that divinity mention¬
ed in Scripture ;7 but that term is plainly of Egyptian ori¬
ginal. We shall now proceed to the mysteries of Osiris as
they were celebrated among the Greeks and Thracians,
under the name of the Orgia of Dionysius or Bacchus.
Orpheus, the celebrated Thracian philosopher, had tra¬
velled into Egypt in quest of knowledge; and from that
country, according to the most authentic accounts, he im¬
ported the Bacchanalian rites and institutions. Some have
1 Horus Apollo, cap. iii. * Men and women dressed in the habits of those rural deities.
3 Many have thought this expedition fabulous ; but the numberless monuments of Egyptian architecture, sculpture, and statuary,
that have been discovered in the East seem to confirm it. . .
4 For the conquests and adventures of Osiris and Isis, we must refer our learned readers to Died. Sic. Bill. 1. i. and Plutarch, Ins
et Osiris, p. 256, et seq. which we have been obliged to abridge, in consequence of the narrow limits prescribed to us.
5 Adonis is evidently the Hebrew Adoni, or Adonai, “ my lord,” and imports the sovereignty of the deity.
6 Bacchus is derived from the Phoenician word bahah, “ to weep.” This was the name embraced by the Romans.
7 Ezek. chap. viii. ver. 14. Tammuz is the name of one of the months of the Egyptian year.
^ Diod. SicuL; Vossius, de Idol.
rstenes. affirmed that this same Orpheus being intimately acquaint-
“'V'*-' ed with the family of Cadmus, communicated these rites
to them, and endeavoured to transfer them to the grand¬
son of that hero, which grandson became afterwards the
Grecmn Bacchus. It is, however, we think, much more
probable that those rites were imported from Egypt or
Phoenicia by Cadmus himself,1 who was a native of the
former country, and is thought to have spent some time
in the latter before he emigrated in quest of a settlement
in Boeotia. It is said that Semele, the daughter of Cad-
mus, and the mother of the Grecian Bacchus, was struck
with lightning at the very instant of his birth. The child
was, in all probability, denominated Bacchus,2 from the
sorrow and lamentation this melancholy accident had oc¬
casioned in the family. Cadmus, in order to conceal the
dishonour of his daughter, might, we imagine, convey
away his infant grandson to some of his relations in Phoe¬
nicia or Egypt. There he was educated and instructed in
mysteries.
665
ofdistnn11!6 UP°rt ?f Wl?.Ich Was in Pr0cess of time lost Mysteries,
distorted. Hence the religious ceremonies of the Greeks ' 
became a medley of inconsistencies. The mysteries of
Bacchus, in particular, were deeply tinctured with this
meretricious colouring ; the adventures of the Theban pre¬
tender were grafted upon those of the Egyptian archetype,
and out of this combination was formed a tissue of adven¬
tures disgraceful to human nature, absurd, and inconsist¬
ent. Indeed the younger or Theban Bacchus seems to
have been a monster of debauchery ; whereas the Egyp¬
tian is represented as a person of an opposite character.
Of course the mysteries of the former were attended with
tlie most shocking abominations.
These mysteries, as has been observed above, were first Mysteries
celebrated at Thebes, the capital of Bceotia, under the aus-°l Bacchus
pices of the family of Cadmus. From this country they sPread int0
gradually found their way into Greece, and all the neieh- kreece‘
nrmrirwr r\o»»fo 17,  rPi   i i o
all the of Isis andhsiri^ becau'LTt ^
initiated in all the magical or juggling tricks of the F^vn ,-t 5 * 1 6 * 1 ee years 0sins re"
«ia„ priests and hiejphantj CsVce^pMed, XPn rmp^
tradidorfd re^imm'of'the^wigtnai^eit^o^aie^same* name6 ser^ed'Vo^th1^1 ^ ^^l1 1
::e;1rn«sn-rf,gli- Thisdaim>ir; had be“ o^„i„:rfo™ rslfpTp"‘eesi„,nEg;perthat
ever, was not admitted without much opposition; Pen- When the dav armnint^rl f™. fL i u ,
theus, another grandson of Cadmus was torn tn nieeeC 6 i f appointed for the celebration of the or-Process of
the frantie Ttanr.KoK.oi;—  ^ /i-.i ^ ^ P approached, the priests issued a proclamation, enjoin-their cele-
mg all the initiated to equip themselves according to thetratlon-
ritual, and attend the procession on the day appointed.
Ihe votaries were to dress themselves in coats of deer
the frantic Bacchanalians upon Mount Cithaeron, because
he attempted to interrupt them in celebrating the orgia.
borne have thought that Cadmus lost his kingdom for the
same reason ; but this, we think, is by no means probable ;
ipntl i 1 -e V \° 4 16 yeneratlon Jus new sub- entwined with leaves and twigs of the vine or ivv ft ie
jects, by making them believe that there was a divinity in said that the IWebanaUan* • 5 ‘
1 .■ ac-
s of
liac-
. #    ii iCJ 1JCVV OUU*
jects, by making them believe that there was a divinity in
his family. J
But however that may be, the vain-glorious Greeks at-
G is at- ^lbute“ ^ie actions of the Egyptian hero to their new
t'Jtedto ^acc, ^s. ’ £?n(^’ according to their laudable practice, en-
* Gre- pged him in numberless adventures in which his prototype
Jlj ^ share. Most of those are futile and unentertaining.3
Ihe Greeks commonly adopted some oriental personage as
the hero of their mythological rhapsodies. Him they natu¬
ralized and adopted into some Grecian family, and so he be¬
came their own. To him they ascribed all the adventures
and exploits of the oriental archetype from whom he was
copied. Consequently in the orgia,4 everything was collect¬
ed that had been imported from the East relating to Osiris ;
and to that farrago was joined all that the Grecian rhapso-
ists had thought fit to invent, in order to amuse the cre¬
dulous multitude. This, however, was not the whole of the
misfortune. I he adventures of Osiris were described by the
g5Pflan hierophants, veiled with allegorical and hierogly-
p ncal^ mysteries. Uiese the persons who imported them
into Greece did not thoroughly comprehend, or, if they
i, they were not inclined to communicate them sound
an unsophisticated. Besides, many oriental terms were
said that the Bacchanalians, especially the Thracians, used
often to quarrel and commit murder in their drunken re¬
vels, and that in order to prevent those unlucky accidents,
a law was enacted, that the votaries, instead of real spears,
should arm themselves with these sham weapons, which
were comparatively inoffensive. t The statue of the deity,
which was always covered with vine or ivy leaves, was now
taken down from its pedestal, and elevated on the shoul¬
ders of the priests. The cavalcade then proceeded nearly
in the following manner.
First of all, hymns were chanted in honour of Bacchus,
who was called the Power of Dances, Smiles, and Jests ;
while at the same time he was deemed equally qualified
for the exploits of war and heroism. Horace, in some of
his dithyrambic odes, has concisely pointed out the sub¬
jects of those Bacchanalian songs. In the collection of
hymns fabulously attributed to Orpheus, we find several
addressed to this deity,7 each under a different title, de¬
rived from the different appellations of the god. All these
names are of oriental original, and might easily be explain¬
ed, did the bounds prescribed to us admit of etymological
disquisitions.
The hymn being finished, the first division of the vota-
MeIf,ml,us’ ^ were bot!l Egyptians, introduced the Bacchanalia into Greece. The Egyptian or oriental name of
s was Dinusi, that is, the prince of light.” Cadmus had learned the name Bacchus from the Phoenicians,
our readersVe °mitted the immense farrago of fable relating to the connection between Jupiter and Semele, as of little importance to
irreiuT™8’ an E,?7pt,ian of rentapolis, has collected all the fabulous adventures of Bacchus, and exhibited them in a beautiful but
P- 55,3 et seq111' ^ ° ^113 We niUS*' refer our learned readers. Of the Dionysiacs we have a most judicious sketch, Gebelin, Calend.
5 16 orgia belonged to all the Mydones, but to those of Bacchus in a peculiar manner.
^ Hence these orgia were called Triteria.
^ emens Alexandrinus, Cohort, page 12, Pott, the word orgia is derived from orge, which signifies “ anger,” and
Wp 6 1,1 r0If1, ie. rese_ntinent of Ceres against Jupiter, in consequence of a most outrageous insult he had offered her with success,
tained tb ratlier lmagine it derived from the Hebrew word argoz, signifying a “ chest or coffer,” alluding to the casket which con-
Iv resemld SeCret s^m^o s 01 tbe Sod‘ The Egyptians or Phoenicians might write and pronounce argoz, orgoz, or in some manner near-
nr CSe. stand between the 41stand 52d ; one to Lenseus, or the presser ; one to Libnites, or the winnower; one to Bessareus,
vintager; one to Sabazius, the god of rest; to Myses, or the Mediator &c.
VOL. XV. 4 p
666
Mysteries.
mysteries.
The mys¬
terious cof¬
fer, with
its con¬
tents. Hu¬
man sacri¬
fices.
Total con
tempt of
decency.
ties proceeded carrying a pitcher of wine, with a bunch of
the vine. Then followed the he-goat, an animal odious to
Bacchus, because he ravages the vines. The chanting
the hymns, the sacrificing the he-goat, and the reve ,
games, and diversions with which the celebration <>f those
rites was attended, gave birth to the dramattc P^try of
the Greeks; as the persons habited in the dress of fauns,
sylvans, and satyrs,1 furnished the name of another species
of poetry of a coarser and more forbidding aspect.
Then appeared the mysterious coffer or basket, contain-
ine the secret symbols of the deity. These were the phal¬
lus2 some grains of sesama, heads of poppies, pomegra-
nates, dry stems, cakes baked of the meal of different kmds
of corn, salt, carded wool, rolls of honey, and cheese, a
child, a serpent,3 and a van.4 * Such was the furniture of
the sacred coffer carried in the solemn Bacchanalian pro¬
cession. The inventory given by some of the fathers ot
the church is somewhat different. They mention the die,
the ball, the top, the wheel, the apples, the looking-glass,
and the fleece. The articles first mentioned seem to have
been of Egyptian original; the last were certainly super¬
induced by the Greeks, in allusion to his being murdered
and torn in pieces when he was a child by the machina¬
tions of Juno, who prevailed with the Titans to commit
the horrid deed. These last seem to have been memorials
of his boyish playthings; for, says Maternus, “ the Cret¬
ans,6 * * 9 10 in celebrating the rites of the child Bacchus, acted
everything that the dying boy either said, or did, or suf¬
fered. They likewise,” says he, “ tore a live bull in pieces
with their teeth, in order to commemorate the dismember¬
ing of the boy.” For our part, we think, that if such a
beastly rite was practised, it was done in commemoration
of the savage manner of life which had prevailed among
men prior to the more humane diet invented and produced
by Isis and Osiris. Be that as it may, we learn from Por¬
phyry ,7 that in the island of Chios they used to sacrifice a
man to Bacchus, and that they used to mangle and tear
him limb from limb. This was no doubt practised in com¬
memoration of the catastrophe mentioned above.
The orgia of this Pagan god were originally simple
enough; but this unsophisticated mode was of no long
continuance, for riches soon introduced luxury, which
quickly infected even the ceremonies of religion. On the
day set apart for this solemnity, men and women crowned
with ivy, their hair dishevelled, and their bodies almost
naked, ran about the streets, roaring aloud Evoke? Baccke.
In this rout were to be seen people intoxicated at once
writh wine and enthusiasm, dressed like Satyrs, Fauns, and
Sileni, in such scandalous postures and attitudes, with so
little regard to modesty and even common decency, that
we are persuaded our readers will readily enough forgive
our omitting to describe them. Next followed a company
mounted upon asses, attended by Fauns, Bacchanals,
Thyades, Mimallonides, Naiads, Tityri, &c. who made the
adjacent places echo to their frantic shrieks and bowlings.
After this tumultuous herd were carried the statues of
Victory, and altars in form of vine-sets, crowned with ivy,
smoking with incense and other aromatics. Then appear- Mysteries,
ed several chariots loaded with thyrsi, arms, garlands,v “~ v^*
casks, pitchers, and other vases, tripods, and vans. The
chariots were followed by young virgins of quality, who
carried the baskets and little boxes, which in general con¬
tained the mysterious articles above enumerated. These,
from their office, were called cislophorce. The phallopho-
ri9 followed them, with the chorus of itophallophori habited
like fauns, counterfeiting drunk persons, singing, in ho¬
nour of Bacchus, songs and catches suited to the occasion.
The procession was closed by a troop of Bacchanalians
crowned with ivy, interwoven with branches of yew and
wTith serpents.16 Upon some occasions, at those scandalous
festivals, naked women whipped themselves, and tore their
skin in a most barbarous manner. The procession termi¬
nated on Mount Cithaeron, when it set out from Thebes ;
and in other places, in some distant unfrequented desert,
where the votaries practised every species of debauchery
with secrecy and impunity. Orpheus saw the degeneracy
of those ceremonies, and in endeavouring to reform them
he probably lost his life. Pentheus suffered in the like
attempt, being torn in pieces by the Bacchanalians on
Mount Cithaeron, among whom were his own mother and
his aunts. The Greeks, who were an airy jovial people,
seem to have paid little regard to the plaintive part of the
orgia ; or rather, we believe, they acted with howling and
frantic exclamations, often enhanced by a combination of
drunkenness, ecstacy, and enthusiastic fury* ,
What secrets, religious, moral, political, or physical, Doctrines
were communicated to the votaries, it is impossible to de-inculcated
termine with any degree of certainty. One thing we may
admit, namely, that the doctrines discovered and inculcat¬
ed in the orgia were originally the very same which the
apostles of the sect had imbibed in Egypt and Phoenicia,
and of which we have given a brief account near the be-
ginning of this article. It is, however, probable, that the
spurious or Theban Bacchus had superadded a great deal
of his own invention, which, we may believe, was not alto¬
gether so sound and so salutary as the original doctrine.
However that may be, the initiated were made to believe
that they were to derive wonderful advantages from the
participation of those rites, both in this life and that which
is to come. Of this, however, we shall talk more at lengt i
by and by, in our account of the Eleusinian mysteries.
To detail the etymology of the names of this Pagan
deity, the fables relating to his birth, his education, his
transformations, his wars, peregrinations, adventures, and
the various and multiform rites with which he was worship¬
ped, would swell this article to a most immoderate size.
If any of our readers should wish to be more minutely and
more accurately acquainted with this subject, we must
beg leave to refer them to Diodorus Siculus ; Apollodorus,
Bill; Euripides, Bacchce; Aristophanes,Nonn.A>j-
onys.: and, amongst the moderns, to Ban. Mylhol.; Yoss. de
Orig. Idol.; M. Fourmont, Reflexions sur VOriginedes An-
dens Peuples; Mr Bryant’s Analysis; and especially to M.
Cour de Gebelin, Calandrier ou Almanack. That prince
1 Dacier, Casaubon, and other French critics, have puzzled and perplexed themselves to little purpose about ie orig
word, without considering that it was coeval to dramatic poetry. ,
2 The phallus was highly respected by the Egyptians, and was used as the emblem of the fecundity or the human ra . a
3 That reptile was in high veneration among the Egyptians. See Euseb. Proep. Evang. lib. i. page 2G, Steph. w lere
minute detail of the symbolical properties of that creature, according to Taautos, the great legislator of that people. _ nf the
4 Servius in Georg. I. Virg. ver. 16G. Mystica vannus laachi. The van, says he, is an emblem of that purifying in u
mysteries, by which the initiated were cleansed from all their former pollutions, and qualified for commencing a holy course
3 Clemens Alexandrinus. 6 De Errore Prof. Gent. ‘ Pe Abstinentia. t
8 Clem. Alexand. Cohort, page 11, Pott, derives this word from Cheveh, the mother of mankind, who first openeat g^ t >,
and every other error ; but we are rather inclined to believe that it comes from the oriental word Ileve, which signifies a s nraver
which among the Egyptians was sacred to the sun, and was likewise the emblem of life and immortality. It then impor e i .
to Bacchus for life, vigour, health, and every other blessing.
9 The phallus was the symbol of the fructifying power of Nature. The itophallus was the type of that power in ac .
10 Ovid. Met.
honour
' Ceres.
[ysteries. 0f etymologists, in his account of the festival of Bacchus
Y g*ven a most acute and ingenious explication of the
names and epithets of that deity. For our part, we have
endeavoured to collect and exhibit such as we judged most
important, most entertaining, and most instructive, to the
less enlightened classes of our readers,
leusinian We now proceed to the Eleusinian mysteries, which,
muted amongst the ancient Greeks and Romans, were treated with
honour a .suPen°r degree of awe and veneration. These were in¬
stituted in honour of Ceres, the goddess of corn, who, ac¬
cording to the most authentic accounts, was the Isis of the
Egyptians. The mysteries of Osiris and Isis have been
hinted at in the preceding part of this article. They were
originally instituted in honour of the sun and moon, and
afterwards consecrated to an Egyptian prince and princess,
who, in consequence of their merits, had been deified by
that people. We know of no more exact and brilliant de¬
scription of the ceremonies of that goddess, in the most
polished ages of the Egyptian superstition, than what we
meet with in the witty and florid Apuleius,1 to which we
must take the liberty to refer our more curious readers.
Our business at present shall be to try to investigate by
what means, and upon what occasion, those mysteries were
introduced into Attica, and established at Eleusis. A pas¬
sage from Diodorus Siculus,2 which we shall here translate,
will, we think, throw no inconsiderable light on that ab¬
struse part of the subject.
“ In like manner with him (Cecrops), says that judi¬
cious historian, they tell us, that Erechtheus, a prince of
mysteries.
667
casion
which _    
ydWerea EgyPtian extraction, once reigned at Athens.' Of this
™AtTica.fact they Produce the following evidence. A scorching
’drought, during the reign of this prince, prevailed over
almost all the habitable world except Egypt, which, in
consequence of the humidity of its soil, was not affected
by that calamity. The fruits of the earth were burnt up,
and at the same time multitudes of people perished by
famine. Erechtheus upon this occasion, as he was con¬
nected with Egypt, imported a vast quantity of grain from
that country to Athens. The people, who had been re¬
lieved by his munificence, unanimously elected him king.
Being invested with the government, he taught his sub¬
jects the mysteries of Ceres at Eleusis, and the mode of
celebrating the sacred ceremonies, having transferred from
Egypt the ritual for that purpose. In those times the
goddess is said to have made her appearance at Athens
three several times; because, according to tradition, the
fruits of the earth which bear her name were then import¬
ed into Attica. On this account the seeds and fruits of
the earth were said to be the invention of that deity.
Now the Athenians themselves acknowledge, that, in the
reign of Erechtheus, the fruits of the earth having perish¬
ed for want of rain, the arrival of Ceres in their country
did actually happen, and that along with her the blessing
of corn was restored to the earth. They tell us at the
same time, that the Teletae and the mysteries of that god¬
dess'were then received and instituted at Eleusis.’’
Here then we have the whole mystery of the arrival of
Ceres in Attica, and the institution of her mysteries at
Eleusis, unveiled. The whole is evidently an oriental al-
legory. The fruits of the earth had been destroyed by a
long course of drought. Egypt, by its peculiar situation,
had been preserved from that dreadful calamity. Erech¬
theus, in consequence of his relation to the Egyptians, im-
EnR, ^ Seir country a quantity of grain, not only Mysteries,
sumcient for the consumption of his own subjects, but also''—v~—'
a great overplus to export to other parts of Greece, Sicily,
Italy, and Spain. Triptolemus, another Egyptian, was ap¬
pointed by Erechtheus to export this superfluous store.
I hat hero, according to Pherecydes, was the son of Oce-
anus and fellus, that is, of the sea and the earth ; because
his parents were not known, and because he came to Eleu-
sis by sea. Ihe ship in which he sailed, when he distri¬
buted his corn to the western parts of the world, was de¬
corated with the figure of a winged dragon ; therefore, in
the aUegoncal style of his country, he was said to be waft¬
ed through the air in a chariot drawn by dragons. Those
creatures, every body knows, were held sacred by the
Egyptians. J
Wherever Triptolemus disposed of his corn, thither
were extended the wanderings of Ceres. In order to elu¬
cidate this point, we must observe, that along with the
grain imported from Egypt, Erechtheus, or Triptolemus,
or both, transported into Attica a cargo of priests and
priestesses from the temples of Busiris, a city which lay in
the centre of the Delta,3 where the goddess Isis had a
number of chapels erected for her worship. The presi¬
dents of these ceremonies, like all other bigots, gladly laid
hold on this opportunity of propagating their religious
rites, and disseminating the worship of the deities of their
•country. That the Egyptian priests were zealous in pro¬
pagating the dogmas of their superstition, is abundantly
evident from the extensive spreading of their rites and
ceremonies over almost all Asia and a considerable part of
Europe. The Greek and Roman idolatry is known to
have originated from them; and numberless monuments
of their impious worship are still extant in Persia,4 India,
Japan, Tartary, &c. Our inference then is, that the wor¬
ship of Isis was introduced into every country where Trip¬
tolemus sold or disposed of his commodities. Hence the
wanderings of Ceres in search of her daughter Proserpine,
who is generally called Core. The famine occasioned by
the drought destroying the fruits of the ground imports
the loss of Proserpine. The restoration of the corn in va¬
rious parts of the earth, by fresh supplies from Egypt from
time to time, imports the wanderings of Ceres in quest of
Proserpine. The whole process is an oriental allegory.
The disappearing of the fruits of the earth, of which Pro¬
serpine, or Persephone,5 or Peresephone,6 is the emblem,
is the allegorical rape of that goddess. She was seized
and carried off by Pluto, sovereign of the infernal regions.
The seed committed to the earth in that dry season ap¬
peared no more, and was consequently said to dwell under
ground with Pluto. It was then that Ceres, that is, corn
imported from Egypt, set out in quest of her daughter.
Again, when the earth recovered her pristine fertility, the
Core, or maid, was found by her mother Ceres, that is,
the earth ; for Isis, among the Egyptians, frequently sig¬
nified the earth. The wanderings of Isis in search of Osi¬
ris furnished the model for the peregrinations of Ceres.
Ceres, the Roman name of the goddess of corn, was un-Different
known to the modern Greeks. They always denominated names of
her Damater? which is rather an epithet than a proper Ceres,
name. The Greeks, who always affected to pass for ori¬
ginals, suppressed, we think, the Egyptian name on pur¬
pose to conceal the country of that deity. As a proof of
the probability of this conjecture, it may be observed, that
. Eih* ix* 2 Lib. i. 3 Herod, lib. i.
6 Asiatic Researches, vols. i. and ii. * Plutarch, Isis et Osir.
? Phis word seems to be formed of two Hebrew terms, pheri, “ fruit,” and tzaphan or izephon, “ abscondit, recondidit.”
Lamater is compounded of the Chaldaic particle da, “ the,” and mater, “ mother.” As Isis often signified the earth, the Greeks
naturally adopted that title; because, according to them, that element is the mother of all living. In the very same manner they
discarded the word Juno, an original title of the moon, and substituted Hera, which intimates “ mistress or lady.”
668
MYSTERIES.
OUO , „f Tsk in search of likewise made his appearance in that country. He was Mysteriti
Mysteries, they metamorphosed the wanderings p _ entertained by one Icarus ; whom, as a reward for Ins hos- ^ v—
V— Osiris into the peregrinations pitality, he instructed in the art of cultivating the vine, and Ceres.,,I
pine. The Romans, wht^wp7'®^r °riental names.' the method of manufacturing wine. Thus it appears that“;
racter of originality, retain . . Att;ca durin^ both agriculture and the art of managing the vintage were were,
Ceres, says Diodorus, appeare :mr>rirf thaf fleets introduced into Athens much about the same time. Ceres
rhefeWnTf Erechtheus.^hich seems to import that fleeja
loaded with corn had thrice arrived in that country fiom
T. . „ EgSrd0prs;nfhehfirSPteking of Attica, had established the
diam cause worship of the Saitic A thena or Minerva g
of fixing anci consecrated his capital to that deity. ^
the rnyste- his turn> introduced the worship of Isis, or Damater,
^ in all appearance was the tutelar deity of Busins, Ins na¬
tive city. The subjects of Cecrops were a colony of
Saites, and readily embraced the worship of Minerva ; but
... n .1 . udvwv. nrvr.iiotmnpfi to a mari¬
nes at
Eleusis.
introduced into Athens much about the same time. Ceres
was no other than a priestess of Isis; Bacchus was no doubt
a priest of Osiris. The arrival of those two personages
from Egypt, with a number of inferior priests in their train,
produced a memorable revolution in Athens, both with
respect to life, manners, and religion. The sacred rites of
Isis, afterwards so famous under the name of the Eleusi-
nian mysteries, date their institution from this period.
When this company of propagandists arrived at Eleusis,
they were entertained by some of the most respectable
Saites, and readily embraced the W0^™P 0 , a ^ari. persons who then inhabited that district. Their names,
lil!bpXp7.°o a piraScoS of life, were more in- according to Clemens Alexandrinns, were Banbo, Dysau-
dined to consecrate their city to Neptune the god of the
sea, and to constitute him their guardian and F0tector.
Cecrops, by a stratagem, secured the preference to Mine
va, his favourite divinity. Erechtheus, in order to give
equal importance to his patroness, had the address to in¬
stitute the Eleusinian mysteries; and, to accomplish his
design, laid hold on the opportunity above mentioned.
lis, Triptolemus, Eumolpus, and Eubulus. From Eumol-
pus were descended a race of priests called Eumolpidae,
who figured at Athens many ages after. Triptolemus was
an ox herd, Eumolpus a shepherd, and Eubulus a swine
herd. These.were the first apostles of the Eleusinian mys¬
teries. They were instructed by the Egyptian mission¬
aries ; and they, in their turn, instructed their successors.
isign, laid hold on the ^ a °V^ ble account of Erechtheus, or, as some say, Pandion, countenanced the
* -a" ^ itS ~odat,o„
P  ... i. • i •  1 I r»1 no
which the Sicilian historian has indeed furnished the clue.
We shall now proceed to detail some other circumstances
which attended the original institution of these far-famed
ceremonies. . .
Circum- The archpriestess who personated the newly imported
stances at- deity was entertained by one Celeus,2 who was either vice¬
tending the r 0f that petty district of which Eleusis was the capital,
fhst ap- r gome considerable personage in that city or its neigh-
CeTeTin bourhood. Upon her immediate arrival, according to the
Attica. fabulous relations of the Greeks, a farce was acted not al¬
together suitable to the character of a goddess whose mys¬
teries were one day to be deemed so sacred and austeie.
These coarse receptions and other indecencies attending
the first appearance of the goddess, that is, the Egyptian
dame who assumed her character, were copied from the
like unhallowed modes of behaviour practised on occasion
of the solemn processions of her native country. These
scommata, or coarse jokes, had an allegorical signification
in Egypt; and amongst the most ancient Greeks the very
same spirit was universally ditfused by the oriental colo¬
nists, who from time to time arrived and settled amongst
them. In process of time they abandoned the figurative
and allegorical style, in consequence of their acquaintance
with philosophy and abstract reasoning. In the ceremo-
seminary, and built a small temple for its accommodation
in Eleusis, a city of Attica, a few miles west from Athens,
and originally one ot the twelve districts into which that
territory was divided. Here, then, we have arrived at the
scene of those renowned mysteries, which for the space of
near two thousand years were the pride of Athens and the
wonder of the world. , ,
The mysteries were divided into the greater and lesser. Eleusimr
The latter were celebrated at Agrae, a small town on the
river Ilyssus; the former were celebrated in the month tQ greate,
which the Athenians called Boedromion,4 the latter in theamiiessei
month Anthesterion.5 The lesser mysteries, according to
the fabulous legends of the Greeks, were instituted in fa¬
vour of the celebrated Hercules. That hero being com¬
manded by Eurystheus to bring up Cerberus irom the in¬
fernal regions, was desirous ot being initiated in the Eleu¬
sinian mysteries before he engaged in that perilous under¬
taking. He addressed himself to Eumolpus the hierophant
for that purpose. There was a law amongst the Eleusinians
prohibiting the initiation of foreigners. The priest not
daring to refuse the benefit to Hercules, who was both a
friend and benefactor to the Athenians, advised the hero
to get himself adopted by a native ot the place, and so to
elude the force of the law. He was accordingly adopted
by one Pyolius, and so was initiated in the lesser mys¬
teries, which were instituted for the first time^ upon that
nies of religion, however, the same allegorical and typical -v-nv-o,       . . *
representations which had been imported from the East occasion. But this account has all the air ot a table, ine
were retained ; but the Grecian hierophants in a short lesser mysteries were instituted by way of pieparation to
time lost every idea of their latent import, and religious, the greater. ....fariti
moral, or physical interpretation. Accordingly, this shame- The person who was to be initiated in tie ess d rites
ful rencounter between Ceres and Banbo,3 or Jambe, was teries, as well as in the greater, was obliged to prac ise revi0us
retained in the mysteries, though we think it was copied virtue of chastity a considerable time betoie ns a mission,
from Egypt, as was said above, where even that obscene Besides, he was to bind himself by the most so emn vows
action was probably an allegorical representation of some- not to divulge any part ot the mysteries. At the same time,
thing very different from what appeared to the Greeks. he was, according to the original institution, to be a person
At the same time that Ceres arrived in Attica, Bacchus of unblemished moral character. These were preliminaries
1 According to some of the Latin etymologists, Ceres, or rather Geres, is derived from gero, “ to hear, to carry,” because the e
hears all things, or because that element is the general fruit-bearer. But as this term came to Italy immediately from the Eas , a
not through the medium of Greece, we would rather incline to adopt an oriental etymology. The Hebrew word c/ieres sigmnes arar ,
“ to plough a name naturally applicable to the goddess of husbandry.
3 Apoliod. Bibl. lib. iii. cap. 13.
3 Ibid, ubi supra ; Clem. Alexand. Cohort, p. 17 ; where the story is told with very little reserve.
4 The third month of the Athenian year, answering to our September.
5 The eighth month, answering to our February ; but Meursius makes it November.
mysteries.
ysteries
indispensably necessary in order to his admission. A bull
was sacrificed to Jupiter, and the hide of that animal, called
by a peculiar name (A/o; Ku§iov)f was carefully preserved
and carried to Eleusis, where it was spread under the feet
of the initiated. The candidate was then purified by bath¬
ing in the liver Ilyssus, by aspersions with salt water or salt,
with laurel, barley, and passing through the fire ; all which
rites were attended >with incantations and other usages
equally insignificant and ridiculous. Last of all, a young
sow was sacrificed to Ceres; and this animal, according to
the ritual, behoved to be pregnant. Before it was killed it
was to be washed in Cantharus, one of the three harbours
which formed the Piraeus.
All these ceremonies being duly performed, the candidate
was carried into the hall appointed for the purpose of initia¬
tion. There he was taught the first elements of those ar¬
cana which were afterwards to be more fully and more
clearly revealed in the more august mysteries of Eleu-
The pupils at Agrae were called Mrjstce, which may
669
ne but
I lives of
lens
finally
nitted
he
iter
iteries.
C bra-
fi and
“ihtioii.
intimate probationers; whereas those of Eleusis were de¬
nominated Epoptce, importing that they saw as they were
seen.
The lesser mysteries were divided into several stages,
and candidates were admitted to them according to their
quality and capacity respectively. Those who were initi¬
ated in the lowest were obliged to wait five years before
they were admitted to the greater. Those who had par¬
taken of the second kind underwent a noviciate of three
years; those who had been admitted to the third, one of
two years; and those who had gone through the fourth
were admitted to the greater at the end of one year; which
was the shortest period of probation a candidate for that
honour could legally undergo. Such was the process ge¬
nerally observed in administering the lesser mysteries.
With respect to the greater mysteries, it is probable
that originally none but the natives of Attica were admit¬
ted to partake of them. In process of time, however, the
pale was extended so far and wide as to comprehend all
who spoke the Greek language. All foreigners were de¬
barred from those sacred rites. They tell us, however, that
Hercules, Bacchus, Castor and Pollux, Afisculapius, and
Hippocrates, were initiated in an extraordinary manner,
from a regard to their high character and heroic exploits.
All barbarians, too, were excluded; yet Anacharsis the
Scythian was indulged that privilege, in consequence of his
reputation for science and philosophy. All persons guilty of
manslaughter, though even accidentally or involuntarily, all
magicians, enchanters, in a word, all impious and profane
persons, were expressly prohibited from sharing the benefit of
this Pagan sacrament. At last, however, the gate became
wider, and crowds of people, of all nations, kindreds, and
languages, provided their character was fair and irreproach¬
able, rushed in by it. In process of time the Athenians
initiated even their infants; but this, we imagine, must
have been a kind of lustration or purification, from which
it was supposed that they derived a kind of moral ablution
from vice, and were thought to be under the peculiar pro¬
tection of the goddess.
Ihe celebration of the mysteries began on the fifteenth
day of the month Boedromion, and, according to most an¬
cient authors, lasted nine days. Meursius has enumerated
the transactions of each day, which are much too numerous
to fall within the compass of this article ; we must therefore
refer our curious reader to the author just mentioned.
Some days before the commencement of the festival, the
praecones, or public criers, invited all the initiated, and all
the pretenders to that honour, to attend the festival, with
clean hands and a pure heart, and with the knowledge of Mysteries,
the Greek language.
On the evening of the fifteenth day of the month called
isoedromion the initiations commenced. Our readers will
obseive, that all the most sacred and solemn rites of the
Pagan superstition were performed during the night; they
weie indeed generally works of darkness. On this day
there was a solemn cavalcade of Athenian matrons from
Athens to Eleusis, in carriages drawn by oxen. In this
procession the ladies used to rally one another in pretty
loose terms, in imitation, we suppose, of the Isiac proces¬
sion described by Herodotus, which has been mentioned
f.bov^ V16 m,°St remarkable object in this procession was
the Mundus Lereris, contained in a small colfer or basket.
1 his was carried by a select company of Athenian matrons,
who, from their office, were styled Camphorce. In this
coder were lodged the comb of Ceres, her mirror, a ser¬
pentine figure, some wheat and barley, the pudenda of the
two sexes, and perhaps some other articles which we have
not been able to discover. The procession ended at the
temple, where this sacred charge was deposited with the
greatest solemnity.
We have upon record no description of the temple of
Eleusis. Pausanias intended to have described it, but says
that he was diverted from his design by a dream.1 Strabo in¬
forms us, that the mystic sanctuary was as large as a the¬
atre, and that it was built by Ictinus.2 In the porch, or
outer part of this temple, the candidates were crowned
with garlands of flowers, which they call himera, or “ the
desirable.” They were at the same time dressed in new
garments, which they continued to wear till they were quite
worn out. They then washed their hands in a laver filled
with holy water; a ceremony which intimated the purity
of their hearts and hands. Before the doors were locked,
one of the officers of the temple proclaimed with a loud
voice a stern mandate, enjoining all the uninitiated to keep
at a distance from the temple, and denouncing the most
terrible menaces if any should dare to disturb or pry into
the holy mysteries. Nor were these menaces without ef¬
fect ; for if any person was found to have crowded into the
sanctuary, even through ignorance, he was put to death
without mercy. Every precaution having been taken to
secure secrecy, the initiatory ceremonies now began. But
before we describe these, we must lay before our readers
a brief account of the ministers and retainers of these se¬
crets of Paganism.
The chief minister of these far-famed mysteries was the The hiero-
hierophant. He was styled king, and enjoyed that dig-phant.
nity during life, and was always by birth an Athenian. Pie
presided in the solemnity, as is evident from his title. This
personage, as we learn from Eusebius, represented the de-
miurgus, or creator of the world. “ Now, in the mysteries
of Eleusis,” says that father, “ the hierophant is dressed
out in the figure of the demiurgus.” What this demiurgus
was, we learn from the same writer. As this whole insti¬
tution was copied from the Egyptians, we may rest assured
that the figure of the Eleusinian demiurgus was borrowed
from the same quarter. “ As for the symbols of the Egyp¬
tians,” says he, quoting from Porphyry,3 “ they are of the
following complexion. The demiurgus, whom the Egyp¬
tians call Kneph, is figured as a man of an azure colour,
shaded with black, holding in his right hand a sceptre, and
in his left a girdle, and having on his head a royal wing or
feather wreathed round.” Such, we imagine, was the equip¬
ment of the Eleusinian hierophant. This person was like¬
wise styled prophet. He was to be of the family of the
Eumolpidae; was obliged to make a vow of perpetual chas-
-i Lib. ix.
* See Eleusis.
3 Pnzjjaratio Evangelii.
L
670
Mysteries.
The dadu-
chus.
The
priests.
The
herald.
The cura-
tors, &c.
MYSTERIES.
The petro
ma.
Com-
mence-
ment of
the initia¬
tions.
Questions
put to the
mystae.
tity; and even his voice, hair, and attitude, were adjusted
t0 The next minister was the daduchus, or torch-bearer,
who, according to the father above quoted, was attired like
the sun. This minister resembled the sun, because that
luminary was deemed the visible type of the supreme de-
miurgus, and his vicegerent in governing and arranging
the affairs of this lower world.
The third was the person who officiated at the altar, hie
was habited like the moon. His office was t0 imPlore ^
favour of the gods for all the initiated. We should rather
imagine, that the person at the altar, as he resembled t
moon, was intended to represent the goddess herself: for
the Egyptian Isis, who was the archetype of teres, was
sometimes the moon and sometimes the earth.
The sacred herald was another principal actor in this
solemn exhibition. His province was to recite every thing
that, according to the ritual, was to be commumeated to
the novices; and he probably represented Thyoth or Thoth,
that is, Hermes or Mercury, the interpreter of the gods.
Besides these, there were five epimeletae or curators, ot
whom the king was one, who jointly directed the whole
ceremonial. Lastly, There were ten priests to offer the
sacrifices. There were no doubt many officers of inferior
note employed upon these occasions; but these were only
insignificant appendages, whose departments have not been
transmitted to posterity.
After this detail of the ministers of this solemn service,
we return to the mystcB, or candidates for initiation. Some
of the fathers of the church1 mention a hymn composed by
the celebrated Orpheus, which was sung by the mystagogue
or king upon that occasion. This hymn appears to us one
of those spurious compositions which abounded in the first
ages of Christianity, and which the pious apologists often
adopted without sufficient examination. That some sacred
hymn was chanted upon that occasion, v, e think highly
probable ; but that the one in question was either composed
by Orpheus, or used at the opening of these ceremonies,
to us appears somewhat problematical.
Before the ceremony opened, a book was produced, which
contained every thing relating to the Teletee. This was
read over in the ears of the mystse, who were ordered to
write out a copy of it for themselves. This book was kept
at Eleusis, in a sacred repository, formed by two stones ex¬
actly fitted to each other, and of a very large size. This
repository was called petroma. At the annual celebration
of the greater mysteries, these stones were taken asunder,
and the book taken out, which, after being read to the
mystae, was replaced in the same casement.
The initiations began with a representation of the wan¬
derings of Ceres, and her bitter and loud lamentations for
the loss of her beloved daughter. Upon this occasion, no
doubt, a figure of that deity was displayed to the mystae,
while loud lamentations echoed from every corner of the
sanctuary. One of the company having kindled a firebrand
at the altar, and sprung to a certain place in the temple,
waving the torch with the utmost fury, a second snatched
it from him, roaring and waving it in the same frantic man¬
ner, and a third, fourth, &c. in the most rapid succession.
This was done to imitate Ceres, who was said to have per¬
lustrated the globe of the earth with a flaming pine in her
hand, which she had lighted at Mount Aitna.
When the pageant of the goddess was supposed to ar¬
rive at Eleusis, a solemn pause ensued, and a few trifling
questions were put to the mystse. What these questions
were, is evident from the answers. “ I have fasted; I have
drunk the liquor; I have taken the contents out of the cof¬
fer, and, having performed the ceremony, have put them
into the hamper; I have taken them out of the hamper,Mysteries;
and put them again into the coffer.” The meaning of these '
answers, we conjecture, was this: “ I have fasted, as Ceres
fasted whilst in search of her daughter; I have drunk off the
wort, as she drank when given her by Banbo; I have per¬
formed what Ceres taught her first disciples to perform,
when she committed to them the sacred hamper and cof¬
fer.” After these interrogatories, and the suitable respon¬
ses*, the Mundus Cereris was displayed before the eyes of
the mystse, and the mystagogue or hierophant, or perhaps
the sacred herald by his command, read a lecture on the
allegorical import of those sacred symbols. This was heard
with the most profound attention, and a solemn silence
prevailed throughout the fane. Such was the first act of
this religious farce, which perhaps consisted originally of
nothing more. . , , . _ ,
After the exposition of the Mundus Cereris, and the im-Traditions
port of her wanderings, many traditions were communicat- respectin-
ed to the mystse concerning the origin of the universe and^g1"
the nature of things. The doctrines delivered in the verse, &c.
greater mysteries, says Clemens Alexandrmus, “ relate to
the nature of the universe. Here all instruction ends.
Things are seen as they are ; and nature, and the things of
nature, are given to be comprehended. ’ To the same pur¬
pose Cicero : “ Which points being explained and reduced
to the standard of reason, the nature of things, rather than
that of the gods, is discovered.” The father of the universe,
or the supreme demiurgus, was represented as forming the
chaotic mass into the four elements, and producing ani¬
mals, vegetables, and all kinds of organized beings, out of
those materials. They say that they were informed of the
secrets of the anomalies of the moon, and the eclipses ot
the sun and moon; and, according to Virgil,
Unde liominum genus, et pecudes, unde imber et ignes.
What system of cosmogony those hierophants adopted, is
evident from the passage above quoted from Eusebius; and,
from the account immediately preceding, it was that of the
most ancient Egyptians, and of the orientals in general.
This cosmogony is beautifully and energetically exhibited
in Plato’s Timseus, and in the genuine spirit of poetry by
Ovid in the beginning of his Metamorphoses.
The next scene exhibited upon the stage, on this solemn Exploitso
occasion, consisted of the exploits and adventures of the^egoj,
gods, demigods, and heroes, who had from time to time ..Q
been advanced to divine honours. These were displayed
as passing before the mystse in pageants fabricated for that
important purpose. This was the original mode amongst
the Egyptians, and was no doubt followed by their Eleu-
sinian pupils. These adventures were probably demon¬
strated to have been allegorical, symbolical, hieroglypln-
cal • at least they were exhibited in such a favourable point
of view, as to dispel those absurdities and inconsistencies
with which they were sophisticated by the poets and by
the vulgar. . . . , f
With respect to the origin of those factitious deities, it Unity
was discovered that they had been originally men who hadte^-^
been exalted to the rank of divinity in consequence 0tingmain-
their heroic exploits, their useful inventions, or their bene- jajne(j in
ficent actions. This is so clear from the two passages the
quoted from Cicero by Bishop Warburton,2 that the lactries.
cannot be contradicted. But that prelate has not inform¬
ed us so precisely, whether the mystagogues represented
them as nothing more than dead men in their present state,
or as beings who were actually existing in a deified state,
and executing the functions assigned them in the rubric
of Paganism. Another query naturally occurs ; that is, to
what purpose did the mystagogues apply this commumca-
1 Justin, Eusebius, Clemens Alexandrinus.
* Divine Legation of Moses.
MYSTERIES.
ices of
other
J.S.
vstenes- tion ? That the hierophants did actually represent those
deified mortals in the latter predicament, is obvious from
another passage quoted from Cicero by the same prelate.
“What think you,” says the illustrious Roman, “of those
who assert that valiant, or famous, or powerful men, have
obtained divine honours after death ; and that these are
the very gods now become the objects of our worship, our
prayers, and adoration ? Euhemerus tells us when these
gods died, and where they lie buried. I forbear to speak
of the sacred and august rites of Eleusis. I pass by Samo-
thrace and the mysteries of Lemnos, whose hidden rites
are celebrated in darkness, and amidst the thick shades of
groves and forests.” If, then, those deified mortals were
become the objects of worship and prayers, there can be
no doubt of the belief of their deified existence. The allu¬
sion to the Eleusinian and other Pagan mysteries, towards
the close of the quotation, places the question beyond the
reach of controversy. But though, according to this ac¬
count, “ there were gods many and lords many,” yet it is
evident, frotn the passage quoted from Eusebius in the
preceding part of this article, that the unity of the Supreme
Being was maintained, exhibited, and inculcated. This
was the original doctrine of the hierophants of Egypt. It
was maintained by Thales, and all the retainers of the
Ionian school. It was the doctrine of Pythagoras, who pro¬
bably gleaned it up in the country just mentioned, in con¬
nection with many other dogmas which he had the assu¬
rance to claim as his own.
But however the unity, and perhaps some of the most
obvious attributes, of the Supreme Author of nature, might
be illustrated and inculcated, the tribute of homage and
veneration due to the subordinate divinities was by no
means neglected. The initiated were taught to look to the
dii majorum gentium with a superior degree of awe and
veneration, as beings endowed with an ineffable measure
of power, wisdom, purity, goodness, &c. These were, if
we may use the expression, the prime favourites of the
Monarch of the universe, who were admitted into his im¬
mediate presence, and who received his behests from his
own mouth, and communicated them to his subordinate
officers, prefects, lieutenants, and others. These they were
exhorted to adore ; to them they were to offer sacrifices,
prayers, and every other act of devotion, both on account
of the excellency of their nature and the high rank they
bore at the court of heaven. They were instructed to look
up to hero-gods and demigods, as being exalted to the high
rank of governors of different parts of nature, as the im¬
mediate guardians and pi'otectors of the human race ; in
short, as gods near at hand, as prompters to a virtuous course,
and assistants in it; as ready upon all occasions to confer
blessings upon the virtuous and deserving. Such were the
doctrines taught in the Teletae with respect to the nature
of the Pagan divinities, and the worship and devotion en¬
joined to be offered them by the mysteries.
As the two principal ends proposed by these initiations
were the exercise of heroic virtues in men, and the prac¬
tice of sincere and uniform piety by the candidates for im¬
mortal happiness, the hierophants had adopted a plan of
.operations excellently accommodated to both these pur¬
poses. The virtuous conduct and heroic exploits of the
great men and demigods of early antiquity were magni¬
fied by the most pompous eulogiums, enforced with suit¬
able exhortations to animate the votaries to imitate so
noble and alluring an example. But this was not all; the
fieroes and demigods themselves were displayed in pageants
or vehicles of celestial light. Their honours, offices, ha¬
bitations, attendants, and other appendages, in the capaci¬
ty of demons, were exhibited with all the pomp and splen-
671
dour that the sacerdotal college were able to devise. The Mysteries,
sudden glare of mimic light, the melting music stealing
upon the ear, the artificial thunders reverberated from the
roof and walls of the temple, the appearance of fire and
ethereal radiance, the vehicles of flame, the effigies of he¬
roes and demons, adorned with crowns of laurel, emitting
rays from every sprig, the fragrant odours and aromatic
gales which breathed from every quarter, all dexterously
counterfeited by sacerdotal mechanism, must have filled
the imagination of the astonished votaries with pictures at
once tremendous and transporting. Add to this, that every
thing was transacted in the dead of night, amidst a dismal
g oom, whence the most bright effulgence instantaneous¬
ly burst upon the sight. By this arrangement, the aspi¬
rants to initiation were wonderfully animated to the prac¬
tice of virtue while they lived, and inspired with the hope
of a blessed immortality when they died. At the same
time, their awe and veneration for the gods of their coun¬
try were wonderfully enhanced by reflecting on the ap¬
pearances above described. Accordingly Strabo very ju¬
diciously observes, “ that the mystical secrecy of the sacred
lites preserves the majesty of the Deity, imitating its na¬
ture, which escapes our apprehension. For these reasons,
in celebrating the 'leletae, the demons were introduced in
their deified or glorified state.
But as all the candidates for initiation might not aspire Private
to the lank of heroes and demigods, a more easy and a virtues in-
more attainable mode of conduct, in order to arrive at the culcated in
palace of happiness, behoved to be opened. Private vir-the m-5:ste*
ries by the
for
ac«n.
pl ing
th nds
P1! >sed
?mys
tues were inculcated, and these too were to meet a con- doctrine of
dign reward. But, unhappily, this present life is too often a a future
chequered scene, where virtue is depressed and trodden un- state.
der foot, and vice lifts up its head and rides triumphant.
It is a dictate of common sense, that virtue should sooner
or later emerge, and vice sink into contempt and misery.
Here, then, the conductors of the mysteries properly and
naturally adopted the doctrine of a future state of rewards
and punishments. The dogma of the immortality of the
human soul was elucidated, and carefully and pathetically
inculcated. This doctrine was likewise imported from
Egypt; for Herodotus1 informs us, “ that the Egyptians
were the first people who maintained the immortality of
the human soul.” The Egyptian immortality, however,
according to him, was only the metempsychosis or trans¬
migration of souls. This was not the system of the ancient
Egyptians, nor indeed of the Teletae. In these, a metemp¬
sychosis was admitted; but that was carried forward to a
very distant period, to wit, to the grand Egyptian period
of 36,000 years.
As the mystagogues well knew that the human mind is Emblems
more powerfully affected by objects presented to the eyes ofE1.vsilim
than by the most engaging instructions conveyed by the antl Tarta*
ear, they made the emblems of Elysium and Tartarus passrus*
in review before the eyes of their novices. There the Ely-
sian scenes, so nobly described by the Roman poet, ap¬
peared in mimic splendour; and, on the other hand, the
gloom of Tartarus, Charon’s boat, the dog of hell, the fu¬
ries with tresses of snakes, the tribunal of Minos and Rha-
damanthus, &c. were displayed in all their terrific state.
Tantalus, Ixion, Sisyphus, the daughters of Danaus, and
others, were represented in pageants before their eyes.
These exhibitions were accompanied with most horrible
cries and bowlings, thunders, lightning, and other objects
of terror, which we shall mention in their proper place.
No contrivance could be better accommodated to ani- The three
mate the pupils to the practice of virtue on the one hand, laws of
or to deter them from indulging vicious passions on the Triptole-
other. It resembled opening heaven and hell to a harden-mus‘
672
mysteries.
Mysteries, ed sinner. Tile practices inculcated in celebrating the
V 'mysteries are too numerous to be detailed in this imper
feet sketch. The worship of the gods was strictly enjoin-
ed as has been shown abU. The three a»s generally
ascribed to Triptolemus, were inculcated J- T» “nour
tlipir narents; 2. To honour the gods with the tirst trmts
of thePearth ; 3. Not to treat brute animals with cruelty.
These laws v^ere imported from Egypt, and were commu¬
nicated to the Eleusinians by the original missionanes.
Cicero makes the civilization of mankind one of jhe most
beneficial effects of the Eleusmian institutmns . Nullu
mihi cum multo eximia divinaque videntur Athens turn
peperisse ; turn nihil melius illis mysterns, quibus ex agres-
Hmmanique vita, exculti ad humanitatem, et mitigati
sumus • initiaque, ut appellantur, ita revera principia vitae
counoVimus ; ^neque slm cum Imtitia viven* ,ratm”cm
accepimus, sed etiam cum spe mehore moriendi. Hence
it is evident that the precepts of humanity and morality
we e warmly recommended in these institutions. The
virtue of humanity was extended, one may say, even
the brute creation, as appears from the last of JriP^
mus’s laws above quoted. Some articles were enjoined i
the Teletae which may appear to us of importa »
which, however, in the symbolical style of the EcJPt
were abundantly significant. The initiated were com¬
manded to abstain from the flesh of certain birds and fish¬
es ; from beans, from pomegranates and apples, which were
deemed equally polluting. It was taug it, t la ° ° .
the plant of asparagus was as dangerous as the most deadly
poison. Now, says Porphyry, whoever is versed in the his¬
tory of the visions, knows for what reason they were com¬
manded to abstain from the flesh of birds.”
The initia- The initiated then bound themselves by dreadful oaths
ted bound to observe most conscientiously, and to practise, eveiy pie
themselves cept tendered to them in the course of the leleta?; and at
by oaths to ^ game t;me never t0 divulge one article of all that had
twenrp been heard or seen by them upon that occasion. In this
cents of the they were so exceedingly jealous, that iEschylus the tra-
mysteries. gedian was in danger of capital punishment for having on¬
ly alluded to one of the Eleusinian arcana in a tragedy ot
his; and one of the articles of indictment against Diago
walks about with a crown on his head, and is admitted to Mystery
bear a part in the sacred rites.” Aristides (de My si. %—
Eleus.) calls Eleusis “ a kind of temple of the whole earth,
and of all that man beholds done in the most dreadful and
the most exhilarating manner. In what other place have
the records of fable sung of things more marvellous f or
in what region upon earth have the objects presented to
the eye borne a more exact resemblance to the sounds
which strike the ear ? What object of sight have the num¬
berless <Tenerations of men and women beheld, comparable
to those exhibited in the ineffable mysteries P lo the
same purpose, Pletho, in the oracles of Zoroaster, informs
us “ that frightful and shocking apparitions, in a variety
of forms, used to be displayed to the mystae in the course
of their initiationand a little after, he adds, “ that
thunder and lightning and fire, and every thing terrible
which might be held symbolical of the divine presence,
were introduced.” Claudian, in his poem De Rapta Pro¬
serpina, gives an elegant, though brief, description of this
phenomenon, which throws some light upon the passages
above quoted.
Jam mihi cernuntur trepidis delubra moven
Sedibus et claram dispergere culmina lucem,
Adventum testata Dese,- jam magnus ab inns
Auditur fremitus terris, templumque remugit
Cecropidum.
The sight of those appearances was called the autopsia. A br,d of
or « the real presencehence those rites were sometimes
called epoptica. The epoptez were actua y initia ^ the mystt
were admitted into the sanctum sanctorum, and bore a
part in the ceremonial; whereas the mysUz, who had only
been initiated in the lesser mysteries at Agrm, were obliged
to take their station in the porch of the temple. Ihe can¬
didates for initiation bathed themselves in holy watei, and
put on new clothes, all of linen, which they continued to
wear till they were quite torn, and then they were conse¬
crated to Ceres and Proserpine. From the ceremony of
bathing, thev were denominated hydrant; and this again
rishment for liavingon- ^
tides of indictment against JJiago- ^ in baptism, the words mystery,
ras the Mehan was, his having spoken disrespectfully of 9 ^0^which occur s0 frequently in the New
the mysteries, and dissuaded people from partaking of J „iur iho writimrs of the apostle Paul,
them. It must, then, be allowed, that the institution ot the
mysteries was of infinite advantage to the Pagan world.
They were indeed a kind of sacraments, by which the ini¬
tiated bound themselves by a solemn vow to practise piety
towards the gods, justice and humanity towards their fel¬
low men, and gentleness and tenderness towards the in¬
offensive part of the brute creation. The Pagans them¬
selves were so thoroughly convinced of this fact, that, in
their disputes with the apologists for Christianity, they
often appealed to the Teletse, and contrasted their maxims
with the most sublime doctrines of that heavenly insti¬
tution.
Horrible In order to impress these maxims the more deeply upon
spectres the minds of the novices, and to fix their attention more
and pleas- steflfastly upon the lectures which were delivered them by
ing scenes t]ie myStagogue or the sacred herald, a mechanical opera-
altbrhattedly tion was P^yed off at proper intervals during the course of
cx m et. tpe eglgbration. “ Towards the end of the celebration,”
says Stobaeus, “ the whole scene is terrible ; all is trem¬
bling, shuddering, sweat, and astonishment. Many horrible
spectres are seen, and strange cries and bowlings uttered.
Light succeeds darkness ; and again the blackest darkness
the most glaring light. Now appear open plains, flowery
meads, and waving groves, where are seen dances and
choruses; and various holy phantasies enchant the sight.
Melodious notes are heard from far, with all the sublime
symphony of the sacred hymns. The pupil now is com¬
pletely perfect, is initiated, becomes free, released, and
SSespediJly in writings of the apostle Paul
are borrowed from the Pagan mysteries, or from usages
current amongst the Jews, we leave to our more learned
re The epo“neg sustained all those fiery trials, heardTh, «
and seen every thing requisite, taken upon the“ J0. *redpeil«
and engagements above narrated, and, in a word, hav » men
shown themselves good soldiers of Ceres and Proserpine,
were now declared perfect men. Ihey might, like Cebe
virtuous man, travel wherever they chose ; those wild beasts
(the human passions) which tyrannise over the rest o
mankind, and often destroy them, had no ionger domimo
over them. They were now not only perfect, but regene
rated men. They were now crowned with laurel, as was
said above, and dismissed with two barbarous words, K 75
Konx ompax, of which perhaps the 1‘ieroplnum
themselves did not comprehend the import. They
been introduced by the first Egyptian missionaries, an
retained in the sacra after their signification was lost. lh
was a common practice amongst the Greeks. In the a
ministration of their religious ceremonies, ^ey retained
many names of persons, places, thmgs, customs, &c. whmfi
had been introduced by the Phoenicians and Egyptiat^,
from whom they borrowed their system ofidoHtry.I hese
terms constituted the language of the gods, 80 ottfn^en
tioned by the prince of poets. Io us the words m ques^
tion appear to be Syriac, and to signify, Be vigilant, he in
nocent.
vsteries
mysteries.
673
x .»**x^4* »» ^ oiian &uu-
It is sung by the chorus of
Let us to flow Yy mead repair,
With deathless roses blooming,
Whose balmy sweets impregn the air,
Both hills and dales perfuming.
Since fate benign our choir has join’d,
We’ll trip in mystic measure ;
In swreetest harmony combin’d
We’ll quaff full draughts of pleasure.
For us alone the pow’r of day
A milder light dispenses ;
And sheds benign a mellow’d ray
To cheer our ravish’d senses :
For we beheld the mystic show.
And brav’d Eleusis’ dangers,
’W e do and know the deeds we owe
To neighbours, friends, and strangers.
to redound to the initiated, from their being admitted to to quaff nectar a^df^ ^ t0 ^ in eternal sunshine, Mysteries,
partake of the mysteries, both in this life and S which The nrie^ ’ d feast,uPon ambrosia, &c.
,S t0 u Fh’St’ they Were h'lShly honoured, and even lutarv nrocess n0t alto/ether disinterested in this sa- Interested,
revered by their contemporaries ; indeed, they were looked the souk of th* J — ni?de ,their dlsciPles be]ieve that ness of the
up to as a kind of sacred persons, and were L realitv ferna? re^n when they arrived in the in-P^st&
consecrated to Ceres and Proserpine SeLdly they great dS
were obliged by their oath to practise every virtue, religk PlTo fnfrodu^^ f deStined mansion' Hence
ous, moral, political, public, and private. Thirdly, they introduced^he ^ that the saSes who
imagined, that sound advice and happy measures of con- ever soul shmd^ ^ had positively affirmed, that what-
duct were suggested to the initiated by the Eleusinian and unanncafd mansions unhouselM
goddesses. Accordingly, says Pericles; the celebrated filth “ And 16 ^ ™ersed ia mire and
Athenian statesman, “ I am convinced, that the deities of initiated ! u ^UtU^ State’ Says Arist'des, « the
Eleusis inspired me with this sentiment, and that this stra- fate which aw^f tb 1 ln, m1,re aad SroPe in darkness ; a
tagem was suggested by the principle Pf the myst^ rites/’ hardt ele^e ^ and unin*.tia^d’” ^ not
There is a beautiful passage in Aristophanes’s comedv of doctrines o ti Wlt l W!lat a commanding influence such
the Rana1 to the very same purpose, of which we shall sub- mankind S mUSt haV6 °Perated on the generality of
PeriphraSiS- 11 iS SUnS by the chOTUS “f ini^-Athenians advised Diogenes t„ get himsell Rem„h
initiated, and enforced their arguments with the above of Dioge.
considerations, “ It will be pretty enough,” replied thenes an‘l
p ilosopher, “ to see Agesilaus and Epaminondas wallow- Antis-
mg in the mire, while the most contemptible rascals whothenes-
have been mitmted are strutting in the islands of bliss.”
When Antisthenes was to be initiated in the Orphic
mysteries, and the priest was boasting of the many asto¬
nishing benefits which the initiated should enjoy in a fu¬
ture state,5 “ Why, forsooth,” says Antisthenes, “ ’tis won¬
der your reverence don’t even hang yourself in order to
come at them the sooner.”
When such benefits were expected to be derived from All the
the mysteries, no wonder if all the world crowded to the world
Eleusinian standard. After the Macedonian conquests, thecrow<h?d
hierophants abated much of their original strictness. Byto
Euripides, in his Bacchce? introduces the chorus evtolllno- ^16 aP\of Clcer(h Eleusis was a temple whither all nations
the happiness of those who had been acquainted with God! S’tha, aZosX Ae Sea! me1' °/r ““ inStUutio.n: Wf
by participating in the holy mysteries and whose minds tr i • a , ost alJ the gieat men of Rome were initiated,
had been enlightened by ?he ZsticaTrites Thev Z., 6 however, would not admit Nero, on ac-
that “ they had led a holy and unEt hed life from S Z f.?? »fhis character. Few others were
time that they had been^Zated IZd rTe. „f rrfused,th? e'en the children of the Athenians
Jupiter Idaeus, and from the time that they had relinouish- dZ ac mlttec ' ,But thls’ thlnP> "as rather a lustra-
pd cplobi.ot;w.rw *i,    i •. n . fi. , tion or consecration, than an initiation. Perhaps it paved
the the way for the more august ceremony, as the Christian
baptism does among us for the other sacrament.
When they were ini,iatTd In' irnU,7 hardly Degene^
aassrsisanaSn.'?; Masfscsa:
sirs
them and often to avert6'8 WersuPPosetl to watch over themselves to arraign the institutions of Paganism. There
them* when bese“wl* ZbineZSoZ!e,d t0'n8CUe m’6 in,deed SeVera‘ a“dent autl>01s’ sudl ^ Melanthius!
IS’St'tsf•rT?r 'h°6bufS^S'ZZg^-r^:
of the Tclpfa* wroro^ fthly, the happy influences their researches. The two who have laboured most inde-
the enontEe in the b SUPPpS^.d t(? administer consolation to fatigably, and perhaps most successfully, in this field are
« Cere/h^fnwpd of dissolution ; for, says Isocrates, Meursius and Warburton. The former^ in his Liber Sm-
greatest ?mDortDncpUP°tb f .Ath!mans twa g, ts f the ff^ris, has collected every thing that can be gleaned
file cause of our no Wer IpTa ° Gar ’ whlchr.Ye/e from antiquity relating to the ceremonial of these fnstitu-
and tlmTele^ for thpv^b^^f3^3^^!?011186 ^ however, pointing out their original, or
morepLasant1honp« tbese entertain elucidating the end and import of their establishment,
afterwards ” Anntb- ' i,C , ’ etemity lhe ,atter has drawn them into the vortex of a system
were not onlvtftpnrLc d^ " US’ 1° which haS> in many instances, led him to ascribe to them
lifethn^^^but ^r0I!i ^iany^ hardships in their a higher degree of merit than we think they deserve,
be raised5 tn ^m^ entertained l?opes that they should These instances we would willingly have noticed in our
death in the Flvsk6 2aPP^ condltlon* Sixthly, after progress, had the limits prescribed us, in treating the sub-
aeath, in the Elysian fields they were to enjoy superior ject, admitted such a discussion. ^
f a UK* iium me time iiiai tney nad r
ed celebrating the nocturnal rites of Bacchus, and
banquets of raw flesh torn off living animals.” To this
sanctity of life they had no doubt engaged themselves,
when they were initiated in th
The Eleusinian epoptae derived i
their sacramental engagements.
8 Act i. near the beginning, and in manv other places.
Plato in Phado. 1
3 Aristides, de Myst. Blent.
5 Diogenes Laertius.
4 Q
L
M Y S
M Y S
Mysteries
abolished
by the Em
peror The
odosius.
If Diodorus the Sicilian may be believed, these myste¬
ries which were celebrated with such wonderful secrecy
at Eleusis, were communicated to all mankind amongs
Cretans. This, however, we think, is rather problematica .
We imagine that that excellent historian has confounded
the mysteries of Cybele with those of the Eleusiman Ceres.
These two deities were undoubtedly one and the sam ,
that is the moon or the earth. Hence it is probable that
there was a striking resemblance between the sacred mys¬
teries of the Cretans and Eleusinians.
This institution continued in high reputation to the ag ^
of St Jerome, as appears from the following passage .
“ Hieronhantee quoque Atheniensium legant usque hodie
cicu.® sorSnl clstrari.” The Emperor Valent,manus
intended to have suppressed them: but Z°z,musi
us that he was diverted from his design by ‘he Proconsul
of Greece. At length Theodosius the elder, by an imp
rial edict, prohibited the celebration of these as well as o
all the other sacra of Paganism. These ’ d
tuted in the reign of Erechtheus, ^aintainaerfvt^10r()g™Jsd
to the period just mentioned, that is, nearly 2000 yea ,
during which space the celebration of them never had
been fnterrupted but once. When Aiexander the G
massacred the Thebans and razed their city, the Atne
Mystict
nians were so much affected with this melancholy event
that they neglected the celebration of that festival. .
Thereywei-e almost numberless other mysterious insti-Other
Jons among the ancient Pagans, of which these sketch-
ed above were the most celebrated. Tile Samothracian the ^
mysteries, instituted in honour of the Cabin, were hke-0fles3c ;
wise of considerable celebrity, and were supposed to con-iebrity.
fer much the same blessings with the Eleusiman, but were
not of equal celebrity. The Cabiri were nician and
likewise Egyptian deities.2 The learned Bochart has ex¬
plained their origin, number, names, and some part oi
their worship. The Orphic mysteries were likewise fa¬
mous among the Thracians. Orpheus learned them m
Egypt, and they were nearly the same with the sacn
Bacchanalia of the Greeks. There were likewise the mys
teries of Jupiter Idaeus in great request among the Cre¬
tans, those of the Magna Mater or Cybele, celebrated ir
Phrygia. To enumerate and detail all these would require
a complete volume. We hope our readers mil be fully
satisfied with the specimen exhibited above. We are con
vinced many things have been omitted which might have
been inserted, but we have collected the most curious and
the most important. v0, °’ °‘ °’'
MYSTICAL, something mysterious or allegorical. Some
of the commentators on the sacred writings, besides a i-
teral, discover also a mystical meaning. The sense of Senp-
ture, say they, is either that immediately signified by the
words and expressions in the common use of language; or
it is mediate, sublime, typical, and mystical. I he literal
sense they again divide into properly literal, which is con¬
tained in the words taken simply and properly ; and meta¬
phorically literal, where the words are to be taken m a figu¬
rative and metaphorical sense. The mystical sense of
Scripture they divide into three kinds ; the first correspond¬
ing to faith, and called allegorical; the second to hope,
called anagogical; and the third to charity, called the tro-
pological sense. And sometimes they take the same word
in Scripture in all the four senses. Thus the word Je¬
rusalem literally signifies the capital of Judaea; allegori¬
cally, the church militant; tropologically, a believer; and
anagogically, heaven. So, the passage in Genesis, “ Let
there be light, and there was light,” literally signifies cor¬
poreal light; by an allegory, the Messiah ; in the tropolo-
gical sense, grace; and anagogically, beatitude, or the
light of glory.
MYSTICS, mystici) a kind of religious sect, distinguish¬
ed by their professing pure, sublime, and perfect devotion,
with an entire disinterested love of God, free from all sel¬
fish considerations. The mystics, to excuse their fanati¬
cal ecstacies, appeal to that passage of St Paul, where he
says, “ The spirit prays in us by sighs and groans that are
unutterable.” Now, if the spirit, say they, pray in us, we
must resign ourselves to its motions, and be swayed and
guided by its impulse, by remaining in a state of mere in¬
action. Hence passive contemplation is that state of per¬
fection to which the mystics all aspire. The authors of
this mystical science, which sprung up towards the close of
the third century, are not known ; but the principles from
which it was formed are manifest. Its first promoters pro¬
ceeded upon the known doctrine of the Platonic school,
which was also adopted by Origen and his disciples, that
the divine nature was infused through all human souls ; or
that the faculty of reason, from which proceed the health
and vigour of the mind, was an emanation from God into
the human soul, and comprehended m it the principles and
elements of all truth, human and divine. They denied
that men could by labour or study excite this celestial
flame in their breasts; and therefore they disapproved
highly of the attempts of those who, by definitions, ab¬
stract theorems, and profound speculations, endeavoured to
form distinct notions of truth, and to discover its hidden
nature. On the contrary, they maintained that silence,
tranquillity, repose, and solitude, accompanied with such
acts as might tend to extenuate and exhaust the bod),
were the means by which the hidden and internal word
was excited to produce its latent virtues, and to instruct
men in the knowledge of divine things. They reasonei
in this manner. Those who behold with a noble contempt
all human affairs, who turn away their eyes from terres¬
trial vanities, and shut all the avenues of the outward
senses against the contagious influences of a material world,
must necessarily return to God when the spirit is th
disengaged from the impediments which prevented that
happy union. And in this blessed frame t ey not on y
enjoy inexpressible raptures from their communion with
the Supreme Being, but are also invested with the ines¬
timable privilege of contemplating truth undisguised and
uncorrupted in its native purity, whilst others behold i in
a vitiated and delusive form. The number of the mystics
increased in the fourth century, under the influence of t e
Grecian fanatic, who gave himself out as Dionysius the
Areopagite, disciple of St Paul, and probably lived about
this period; and, by pretending to higher degrees of per¬
fection than other Christians, and practising greater au¬
sterities, their cause gained ground, especially in the east¬
ern provinces, in the fifth century. A copy of the pre¬
tended works of Dionysius was sent by Balbus to Louis
the Meek in the year 824, which kindled the holy flarne
of mysticism in the western provinces, and filled the ma¬
tins with the most enthusiastic admiration of this new r
ligion. In the twelfth century, these mystics took the
lead in their method of expounding Scripture; and, by
searching for mysteries and hidden meanings in the pla n-
est expressions, forced the word of God into a conform J
with their visionary doctrines, their enthusiastic feed g >
1 Advert. Jovin.
2 Sanckoniathon and Herodotus.
M Y T
rytho. and the system of discipline which they had drawn from
"ogy'.the excursions of their irregular fancies* In the thirteenth
century they were the most formidable antagonists of the
schoolmen, and towards the close of the fourteenth many
of them resided and propagated their tenets in almost
every part of Europe. In the fifteenth century they had
many persons of distinguished merit in their number; and
in the sixteenth, previously to the Reformation, if any
M Y T
sparks or remains of piety subsisted under the despotic em¬
pire ot superstition, they were only to be found amono-st
the mystics. & '
MYS1RUM, a liquid measure amongst the ancients
containing the fourth part of the cyathus, and weighing
two drachms and a half of oil, or two drachms and two
scruples of water or wine. It answers nearly to a spoon-
rul with us. ^ r
675
Mytho-
logy.
MYTHOLOGY
( »in of
ie.
fmition. Is a term compounded of two Greek words, and in its ori¬
ginal import it signifies any kind of fabulous doctrine. In
its more appropriated sense, it means those fabulous de¬
tails concerning the objects of worship which were invent¬
ed and propagated by men who lived in the early ages of
the world, and by them transmitted to succeeding genera¬
tions, either by written records or by oral tradition.
As.the theology and mythology of the ancients are al¬
most inseparably connected, it will be impossible for us to
develope the latter, without often introducing some obser¬
vations relating to the former. We must therefore en¬
treat the indulgence of our readers, if upon many occa¬
sions we would hazard a few strictures on the names, cha¬
racters, adventures, and functions of such Pagan divinities
as may have furnished materials for those fabulous narra¬
tions which the nature of the subject may lead us to dis¬
cuss.
With respect to fable, it may be observed in general,
that it is a creature of the human imagination, and derives
its birth from that love of the marvellous which is in a
manner congenial to the soul of man. The appearances
of nature which every day occur, objects, actions, and
events, which succeed each other by a kind of routine, are
too familiar, too obvious and uninteresting, either to gra¬
tify curiosity or to excite admiration. On the other hand,
when the most common phenomena in nature or life are
new-modelled by the plastic power of a warm imagination;
when they are diversified, compounded, embellished, or
even arranged and moulded into forms which seldom or
perhaps never occur in the ordinary course of things;
novelty generates admiration, a passion always attended
with delightful sensations. Here then we imagine we
have discovered the very source of fiction and fable.
They originated from that powerful propensity in our na¬
ture towards the new and surprising, animated by the de¬
light with which the contemplation of them is generally
attended.
Many circumstances contributed to extend and estab¬
lish the empire of fable. The legislator laid hold on this
bias of human nature, and of course employed fable and
fiction as the most effectual means to civilize a rude, un¬
polished world. The philosopher, the theologist, the poet,
the musician, each in his turn made use of this vehicle to
conve}f his maxims and instructions to the savage tribes.
They knew that truth, simple and unadorned, is not pos¬
sessed of charms powerful enough to captivate the heart
of man in his present corrupt and degenerate state. This
consideration, which did indeed result from the character
of their audience, naturally led them to employ fiction and
allegory. From this was derived the allegorical taste of
the ancients, and especially of the primary sages of the
East.
the |pn°^i rhough almost every nation on the face of the globe
•Uio 10wever rem°te from the centre of population, however
" savage and averse from cultivation, has fabricated and
adopted its own system of mythology, the orientals have
distinguished themselves in a peculiar manner, by the
boldness, the inconsistency, and the extravagance of their
mythology. The genial warmth of those happy climes,
the fertility of the soil, which afforded every necessary
every conveniency, and often every luxury of life, without
depressing their spirits by laborious exertions; the face
of nature perpetually blooming around them, the skies
smiling with uninterrupted serenity; all contributed to
inspire the orientals with a glow of fancy and a vigour of
imagination rarely to be met with in less happy regions.
Hence every object was swelled beyond its natural dimen¬
sions. Nothing was great or little in moderation, but every
sentiment was heightened with incredible hyperbole. The
magnificent, the sublime, the vast, the enormous, the mar¬
vellous, first sprung up, and were brought to maturity, in
those native regions of fable and fairy land. As nature,
in the ordinary course of her operations, exhibited nei¬
ther objects nor effects adequate to the extent of their
romantic imaginations, they naturally deviated into the
fields of fiction and fable. Of consequence, the custom
of detailing fabulous adventures originated in the East,
and was from thence transplanted into the western coun¬
tries.
As the allegorical taste of the eastern nations had sprung
from their propensity to fable, and as that propensity had
in its turn originated from the love of the marvellous, so
did allegory in process of time contribute its influence to¬
wards multiplying fables and fiction almost in infinitum.
The latent import of the allegorical doctrines being in a
few ages lost and obliterated, what was originally a moral
or theological tenet assumed the air and habit of a perso¬
nal adventure.
The propensity towards personification, almost univer- Propensity
sal among the orientals, was another fruitful source of fable to persom-
and allegory. That the people of the East were strongly fication a
inclined to personify inanimate objects and abstract ideas, source of
we imagine will be readily granted, when it is considered, e^ern Diy-
that in the formation of language they have generally an- tholo§'V-
nexed the affection of sex to those objects. Hence the
distinction of grammatical genders, which is known to have
originated in the eastern parts of the world. The practice
of personifying virtues, vices, religious and moral affections,
was necessary to support that allegorical style which uni¬
versally prevailed in those countries. This mode of writ¬
ing was in high reputation even in Europe some centuries
ago; and to it we are indebted for some of the most noble
poetical compositions now extant in our own language.
Those productions, however, are but faint imitations of the
original mode of writing still current among the eastern
nations. The Europeans derived this species of composi¬
tion from the Moorish inhabitants of Spain, who imported
it from Arabia, their original country.
The general use of hieroglyphics in the East must have The effects
contributed largely towards extending the empire of my-of hiero-
thology. As the import of the figures employed in this glyphic
method of delineating the signs of ideas was in a great writing
measure arbitrary, mistakes must have frequently been]1^ °'
committed in ascertaining the notions which they were at ’
on
676
mythology.
Mytho¬
logy.
the first intended to represent.’ When the development
these arbitrary signs happened to “df -th
for the most part tinctured with that bias towards the ma
vellous which universally prevailed amongst the pnmiti
Pn This we find, is the case even at this day, when
moderns attempt to develope the purport of emWematmal
figures preserved on ancient medals, entaghos, and the
The wise men of the East delighted in obscure enig¬
matical sentences. They seem to have drsdamed every
sentiment obvious to vulgar apprehens'on. The r „r
the wise, and their dark sayings, often occur in the most
ancient records, both sacred and profane, ihe sages o
antiquiti used to vie with each other for the pr.ze of su¬
perior wisdom, by propounding riddles, and dark and mys-
terious Questions, as subjects of investigation. Ihe con
test between Solomon and Hiram, and that between Amasis
kino- of Eo-ypt and Polycrates tyrant of Samos, are univer¬
sally known. As the import of those enigmatical prop -
sitions was often absolutely lost, in ages when the art of
writing was little known, and still less practised, nothing
remained but fancy and conjecture, which always verged
towards the regions of fable. This, then, we think, was
another source of mythology.
Mythology The Pagan priests, especially in Egypt, were probably
reduced to the first who reduced mythology to a kind of system. The
" ’ " sacerdotaltribe, amongst that people, were the grand de¬
positories of learning as well as of religion. That order ol
men monopolized all the arts and sciences. They seem to
have formed a conspiracy among themselves, to preclude
the laity from all the avenues of intellectual improvement.
This plan was adopted with a view to keep the laity in
subjection, and to enhance their own importance, io ac¬
complish this end, they contrived to perform all the mini¬
strations of their religion in an unknown tongue, and to
cover them with a thick veil of fable and allegory. The
language of Ethiopia became their sacred dialect, and hie¬
roglyphics their sacred character.2 Egypt, of course, be¬
came a kind of fairy land, where all was jugglery, magic,
and enchantment. The initiated alone were admitted to
the knowledge of the occult mystical exhibitions, which,
in their hands, constituted the essence of their religion.
From these the vulgar and profane were prohibited by the
most rigorous penalties. (See Mysteries.) The Egyp¬
tians, and indeed all the ancients without exception, deem¬
ed the mysteries of religion too sacred and solemn to be
communicated to the herd of mankind, naked and unre¬
served ; a mode by which they imagined those sacred and
sublime oracles would have been defiled and degraded.
“ Procul, O procul este profani“ Odi profanum vulgus
et arceo.” Egypt was the land of graven images ; allegory
and mythology were the veil which concealed religion from
the eyes of the vulgar; and fable was the groundwork of
that impenetrable covering.
In the ear- In the earliest and most unpolished stage of society we
liest ages of cannot suppose fable to have existed amongst men. Fables
the world are always tales of other times, but at this period other times
mythology did not reach far enough backward to afford those fruits
had no ex¬
istence.
Mytho-
logy
of the imagination sufficient time to arrive at maturity.
Fable requires a considerable space of time to acquire cre¬
dibility, and to rise into reputation. Accordingly, we find
that both the Chinese and Egyptians, the two most ancient
nations whose annals have reached our times, were alto¬
gether unacquainted with fabulous details in the most early
and least improved periods of their respective monarchies.
It has been shown almost to a demonstration, by a variety
of learned men, that both the one and the other people,
during some centuries after the general deluge, retained
and practised the primitive Noachic religion, in which
fable and fancy could find no place; all was genuine unso¬
phisticated truth. . . ••tui
As soon as the authentic tradition concerning the origin I abulous
of the universe was either in a good measure lost, «r at^semfi°gn'
least adulterated by the invention of men, fable and 110-^.
tion began to prevail. The Egyptian dhoth, Ihyoth, or cai detaii.
Mercury Trismegistus, and Moschus the Phoenician, under¬
took to account for the formation and arrangement of the
’ 1 Here fable
Ac-
a kind of
system in
Egypt.
universe, upon principles purely mechanical,
began to usurp the place of genuine historical truth
cordingly, we find that all the historians of antiquity who
have undertaken to give a general detail of the affairs of
the world, have ushered in their narration with a fabulous
cosmogony. Here imagination ranged unconfined over the
boundless extent of the primary chaos. To be convinced
of the truth of this assertion, we need only look into ban-
choniathon’s Cosmogony, Eusebius (Preep. EvangA. 1), and
Diodorus Siculus. From this we suppose it will follow, that
the first race of fables owed their birth to the eironeous
opinions of the formation of the universe. _ #
Having now endeavoured to point out the origin of my¬
thology, or fabulous traditions, we shall proceed to lay be¬
fore our readers a brief detail of the mythology of the most
respectable nations of antiquity, following the natural or¬
der of their situation.
The Chinese, if any credit be due to their own annals, Chinese
or to the missionaries of the church of Rome, who pretend mytholog;
to have copied from them, were the first of the nations.
Their fabulous records reach upwards many myriads of
years before the Mosaic era of the creation. The events
during that period of time, if any had been recorded, must
have been fabulous as the period itself. These, however,
are buried in eternal oblivion. The missionaries, who are
the only sources of our information with relation to the
earliest periods of the Chinese history, represent those
people as having retained the religion of Noah many cen¬
turies after the foundation of their empire. Upon this sup¬
position, their cosmogony must have been sound and ge¬
nuine, without the least tincture of those fabulous ingre¬
dients which have both disguised and disgraced the cos¬
mogonies of most other nations. _
According to the most authentic accounts, Fohe or loin Birth ant
laid the foundation of that empire about four thousand invenwn
years ago. This emperor, according to the Chinese, was
conceived in a miraculous manner. His mother, say they,
one day as she was walking in a desert place, was surround¬
ed by a rainbow; and, being impregnated by this meteor,
was in due time delivered of that celebrated legislator.
This personage, like the Athenian Cecrops, was half a man
i
1 This though plausible enough as a mere supposition or hypothesis, must be taken with more than grains of ^lowanc®’ s|<:^?
proceeds upon S assumption which is by no means correct in point of fact. It is not true that the import of the figures employed in
Ike hieroglyphic delineation of ideas was “ in a great measure arlitrary for, if this had been the case, then the mterp affixed
figures would have been, in the same measure or proportion, impossible. Originally, no doubt, ar6«<rar^ yalues may ha^_T . .allv
tcf certain figures or symbols, that is, values not depending on any obvious analogy or principle ; but these being c ^
settled, remained invariable, and were ever afterwards employed in an uniform sense or acceptation, as much so in dee . ; htyof in
been originally natural instead of conventional signs, expressive of certain ideas. This distinction should never be k 8 osed
any observations on hieroglyphical writing, which, in truth, was but ill understood at the period when the above article p^
by its able and ingenious author. If constructed on any other principle than that now stated, it would have been alt a
telligible—Editor.
1 The modern doctrine on this subject may be ascertained by consulting the article HiEHoenYPuics.
MYTHOLOGY. r^w
(tfytho- and half a serpent. His intellectual powers were truly books nf , . , ,
_°fy‘ . hyperbolical. In one day he discovered fifty different spe- laid on a whitelp]pUb w|nch’ t0£ether with the images, he Mytho-
cies of poisonous herbs. He taught his countrymen the country A t fhi P t’ and,transPorted into his native Jogy.
whole art of agriculture in the space of a very few years quarter the hJtrl same he imported from the same  '
He instructed them how to sow five different sorts of ^rain il firmlv h v T"6 -the transmigration of souls, which
He invented boats, and nets for fishing, thwart"? febS ^ ^
ing porcelain he management of silk-worms, the manu- all over Chin;, Japan Siam te Th m raPld Pr«gress
factoring of silk, &c. In a word, that wonderful personage called amongst thTskmeTr^ The Pnests of Fo are
was inspired by Heaven with knowledge, which qualified mas ■ bv thf Phinplf S ^lapoms; by the Tartars, Za-
him for composing that incomparable body of laws which Japan, Bonzes Bv this^ktf^li ^ ^ the pe°p,e of
are even at this day the wonder of the world. Our read- known in Eurone 7 aPPellation they are generally
ers will admit, that this whole detail is fabulous and chi- An infinifuric e ui
merical. The most learned part of them will readily ob- the disciples of Fo ^onee^8 and ProPagated bJ The wor-
serve, that the Chinese, in ascribing-the invention of all their master If the eSier^ the jlfe and adventures of shippers of
the useful arts to their Fohi, are perfectly a°reed with al are harm e , ?ar]l.er ages °f the Chinese history Fo great
most all the other nations of antiquity y^he Mans a 11 e inirnd ?S,cal inucldents, the later periods, after
cribe every invention to Budha, or Viihnu or Foe the WeTre oT" ,‘he 'vorshlP °<> tonish an inexhaus-6'"3'
Persians to Zerdusht or Zoroaster ; the Chaldeans to’their and adventureTTfif8’ m°"St.‘j:Irs’ fables’ lntngue, exploits,
man of the sea, whom they call Cannes ; the Egyptians to 1st 0^™ aVf.n ?omplexion' Indeed,
Thoth or Thyoeh, the Phoenicians toMelicerta; the Greeks time so impious and
readers will easily dispense with a detail from which they
could reap neither entertainment nor instruction. Such
as may find themselves disposed to rake into this abomi¬
nable puddle, we must refer to the reverend fathers Du
idalde, Couplet, Amiot, Kircher, and other members of the
propaganda, in whose writings they will find wherewithal
to satisfy, and even to surfeit, their appetite.
The Hindus, like the other nations of the East, for a long Hindu
time retained the worship of the true God. At length, mythology.
th of
ifucius.
to the family of the Titans ; and the Scandinavians to Odin,
raculous About 551 years before the Christian era, appeared the
famous Chinese philosopher Con-fu-tse or Confucius. Con¬
cerning the birth of this prince of philosophers, the Chi¬
nese have propagated the following legendary tale. His
mother, walking in a solitary place, was impregnated by
the vivifying influence of the heavens. The babe, thus
produced, spake and reasoned as soon as it was born.
Confucius, however, wrought no miracles, performed no
J ’-Hun
his
rines.
romantic exploits, but lived an austere asc^c life ught Me ; idoktiXke inP and ^ At length*
and inculcated the doctrines of pure morality, and died, Xrwhe^
remarkab.e only for superior wisdom, religious, moral, and tory of the ori^n wasl’it'ht lue"'
About the year of Christ GDI flourished the sectary a^dThttS^
Lao-knin. His mother carried him thirty years in her dus, after three several efforts nt last -rY i i •
n-ee15’ Thd Tm Ut 1fSt delive/ed of him under a Plum- ing four persons, whom he appointed to ruMver^lTthe
tiee. This philosopher was the Epicurus of the Chinese, inferior creatures. Afterwards Brahma^oined his efficient
His disciples, wha were denominated the Fao-sse, that is, power with Bishon and Raider 'inA hi the- •. i
introduced the worship of good and bad demons. Their
doctrine was embraced by a long' succession of empe
rors. One of these princes, called You-ti, had been de¬
prived by death ot a favourite mistress, whom he loved
ing to another mythology, produced four other persons, as
imaginary as the former; one from his breast, one from
his back, one from his lip, and one from his heart. These
children were denominated Bangs, the import of which
with the most evtrpvQcmrvf v™ • rnu V u VVCIC utiiominaiea isangs, tne import ot whicl
^ ^ “rrSLTZ; Td. _ According an
magical skill of one of these doctors, obtained an inter¬
view with his deceased mistress, a circumstance which
riveted the whole order in the affection and esteem of the
eluded prince. Here our readers will observe the exact
counterjiart of the fable of Eurydice, so famous in the my-
t ology of the Greeks and Romans. That such a system
of religious principles must have abounded with mytholo¬
gical adventures is highly probable; but as the mission¬
aries, to whom we are chiefly indebted for our information
relating to the religion of the Chinese, have not taken the
pains to record them, we find it impossible to gratify the
curiosity of our readers on that head.
other tradition, Brahma produced the Brahmins from his
mouth, to pray, to read, to instruct; the Chiltern from his
arms, to draw the bow, to fight, to govern; the Bice from
his belly or thighs, to nourish, to provide the necessaries
of life by agriculture and commerce; the Soder from his
feet, for subjection, to serve, to labour, to travel. The
reader will see at once, in these allegorical persons, the four
castes or septs into which the Hindu nations have, from
time immemorial, been divided. These are some of their
most celebrated mythological traditions with relation to
the origin of the universe.
'luc- The worshin nf Vbo Y '“Y* * i Tlle Hindus bave llkewise some mythological opinions Hindu tra-
tid lt the from TnTi; h ? du F°’. °r /°e’ waS transPlanted which seem to relate to the general deluge. They tell us, ditions re-
"’°.ip of ChH H d Chmn - he fifty-sixth year of the that ^siring the preservation of herds and of brahmans, oflating to
lbtlan era, upon the following occasion. One of the genii and of virtuous men, of vedas of law, and of preciousthe delu»e‘
a ctors of the T ao-sse had promised a prince of the family things, the lord of the universe assumes many bodily
• brother ,of the Emperor Ming-ti, to make shapes ; but though he pervades, like the air, a variety of
J“, ter Jntu° communion with the spirits. At his sohei- beings, yet he is himself unvaried, since he has no quality
ion an ambassador was despatched into India, in order in him subject to change. At the close of the last calpa,
inquire where the true religion was to be found. There there was a general destruction, occasioned by the sleep
aa been a tradition, say the missionaries, ever since the of Brahm, whence his creatures in different worlds were
/ w Lonfra5,us’ that the true religion was to be found in drowned in a vast ocean. Brahm being inclined to slum-
e , est', I he ambassador stopt short in India; and find- ber after a lapse of so many ages, the strong demon Hy¬
ing that the god Fo was in high reputation in that coun- agri-va came near him, and stole the vedas which had
y? e collected several images of that deity painted on flowed from his lips. When Zfm, the preserver of the uni-
c intz, and with it forty-two chapters of the canonical verse, discovered this deed of the prince of Dainavas, he
678
Mytho¬
logy.
MYTHOLOGY.
took the shape of a minute fish called ^d"thathU father wal^ne ofiTt country. His mother ^
various transformations, and an enormous increase ot sme the worM by the lef, slde, and expired
' in each of them the lord of the umverse, lovmgAe ngM hroug^ A( ^ t of ;,„n>
eous man, 1 who had still adhered to him unaer,^^^ ese soo she'fiad swailoWed a white elephant: a
various shapes, and, mtendin to pre circumstance which is supposed to have given bnth to the
of destruction caused by the veneration which the kings of India have always shown for
him how he was to act: “ In seven days trom tne pre e of that species> As soon as he was born,
time, O thou tamer of enemies, the three ^d* "d ^ ^ th enough lt0 stand erect without assistance,
plunged in an ocean of death ; but in the , h ll He wa]ked abroad at seven, and, pointing with one hand
stroying waves a large vessel sent me fJr ^"Sf , ‘ ^ the heavens, and with the other to the earth, he cried
stand before thee.” I he remaining part of the mytho gy t tl ^ heavens, and on the earth, there is no one but
so nearly resembles the Mosatc history of Noah a"d “m ^otoerves to be honoured.” At the age of thirty,
general deluge, that the former may be a sti ong con sudden filled with the divinity i and
Son of the truth of the latter To dry up the waters cd hetelt tmn^ d int0 Fo or p od> acc„rdi„g
the deluge, the power of the Deity descends m the form ion of Phe Hindus. He had no sooner de-
of a boar, the symbol of strength, to dr P [ riuath clared himself a divinity, than he thought of propagating
on his tusks the whole earth, which had been su . doctrine, and proving his divine mission by miracles.
Again, the same power represented as a a„fh| disables was immense; and they soon
Mytho-
logy.
^r^s^TO^chhadbetmcmvulsedby
the violent assaults of demons, while the gods charmed the
sea with the mountain Mandar, and forced it to disgorge
the sacred things and animals, together with the water o
life, which it had swallowed. All these stones, we think,
relate to the same event, shadowed by a moral, a metaphy¬
sical and an astronomical allegory; and all three seem
connected with the hieroglyphical sculptures of the old
^The Hindus divide the duration of the world into four
The number of his disciples was immense ; and they soon
spread his dogmas over all India, and even to the higher
extremities of Asia. ,. , _ ,,. ,. . , _
One of the principal doctrines which ho and his disciples Doctrines
propagated, was the metempsychosis or transmigration ofot^o^
souls. This doctrine, some imagine, has given use to the
multitude of idols reverenced in every country where the
worship of Fo is established. Quadrupeds, birds, reptiles,
and the vilest animals, had temples erected for them ; be¬
cause, say they, the soul of the god, in his numerous trans¬
migrations, may have at one time or other inhabited their
Both the doctrine of transmigration and of the worship
of animals seems, however, to have been imported from
Egypt into India. If the intercourse between these two
countries was begun at so early a period as some very late
writers have endeavoured to prove, such a supposition is
by no means improbable. The doctrine of the transmi¬
gration of souls was early established among the k-ipyP'
tians. It was, indeed, the only idea they formed of the
soul’s immortality. The worship of animals among them
seems to have been still more ancient. If such an inter-
vuqs or jugs, or jagues, each consisting of a prodigious num¬
ber of years. In each of those periods the age and sta¬
ture of the human race have been gradually diminished,
and in each of them mankind has gradually declined in
virtue and piety, as well as in age and stature. I he pre¬
sent period they call the collar, that is, the corrupt yug,
which they say is to last four hundred thousand years, o
which near five thousand years are already past. In the
last part of the preceding vugs, which they call the dwa
riaar, the age of man was contracted into a thousand
years, as in the present it is confined to a hundred. From
of^the^n^dUuvfan^and^postdiluvian^atrimxhs they did
flip two first are imaginary periods prior to the creation of lhat colonies of Egyptians aid actua y p
the worl^like’tiioT^ofOie Chinese,^Chaldeans, and Egyp- be^lled^n'questhtn’fiw'reasons
The world ^According to the mythology of the Hindus, the system which the bounds Presc^d us m this anicb ^
subject to of the world is subject to various dissolutions and resusci- low us to enumerate. X Fo-votian deities
variousdis-tations. At the conclusion of the collae jogue, say they, the hieroglyphical representatm ido2which from
soiutious a d revolution will take place, when the solar system seem to have originated those monstrous ldols ' llc .n
citations will be consumed by fire, and all the elements reduced to time immemorial have been worshipped in l
their original constituent atoms. Upon the back of these Japan, Siam, and even in t e rem & j
revolutions, Brahma, the supreme deity of the Hindus, is tary. „ . „ „ D o i Vkh- The inear
sometimes represented as a new-born infant, with his toe Foh is often called iaor u nvnations of
in his mouth, floating on a camala or water flower, some- 7iu; perhaps, indeed, he may e is g p .ur Vishmi-
times only on a leaf of that plant, on the surface of the other namjes, according to the variety of dialects o t
vast abyss. At other times he is figured as coming forth ferent nations among which hi& wors np was ^
of a winding shell, and again as blowing up the mundane An infinitude of fables was propaga e \ ns P /• .
foam with a pipe at his mouth. Some of these emblema- cerning him after his death. I hey pretended
tical figures and attitudes, our learned readers will proba- master was still alive ; that he had been a reac y » ,
bly observe, nearly resemble those of the ancient Egyp- thousand times, and that he had successive y } p
tians. under the figure of an ape, a lion, a dragon, an elephant, a
But the vulgar religion of the ancient Hindus was of a boar, &c. These were called the incarnations o is mu-
very different complexion, and opens a large field of my- At length he was confounded with the Supreme 0 ’
thological adventures. We have observed above, that the all the titles, attributes, operations, perfections, an &
Fo or Fob of the Chinese was imported from India; and of the Most High were ascribed to mrn. ,
now we shall give a brief detail of the mythological origin is called Amida, and represented with the heat o &»
of that divinity. We have no certain account of the birth- and worshipped as the guardian of mankind. e
place of this imaginary deity. His followers relate that times appears as a princely personage, issuing iom
1 He was sovereign of the world. His name was Mam, or Statgavrata; and his patronymic was Vaisvata, or Child of the Sun.
Birth of
the god
Fo.
MYTHOLOGY.
Mytho¬
logy.
'ersian
ivtholo
iy.
mouth of a fish. At other times, he wears a lunette on his
^ head, in which are seen cities, mountains, towers, trees, in
short, all that the world contains. These transformations
are evidently the children of allegorical or hieroglyphical
emblems, and form an exact counterpart of the symbolical
worship of the Egyptians.
The enormous mass of mythological traditions which
have in a manner deluged the vast continent of India
would fill many volumes. We have selected the preced¬
ing articles as a specimen only, by which our readers may
be qualified to judge of the rest. If they find themselves
disposed to indulge their curiosity at greater length, we
must refer them to Thevenot’s and Hamilton’s Travels, to
M. Anquetil in his Zendavesta, Halhed’s Introduction to
his translation of the code of Gentoo Laws, Colonel Dow’s
History of Hindustan, Grose’s Voyage to the East Indies,
and the Asiatic Researches (vol. i. and ii.).
The mythology of the Persians is, if possible, still more
extravagant than that of the Hindus. It supposes the
world to have been repeatedly destroyed, and repeopled
by creatures of different formation, who were successively
annihilated or banished for their disobedience to the Su¬
preme Being. The monstrous griffin Sinergh informs the
hero Caherman that she had already lived to see the earth
seven times filled with creatures, and seven times a perfect
void ; that before the creation of Adam, this globe was in¬
habited by a race of beings called Peris and Dives, whose
characters formed a perfect contrast. The Peris are de¬
scribed as beautiful and benevolent; the Dives as deform¬
ed, malevolent, and mischievous, differing from infernal
demons only in this, that they are not as yet confined to
the pit of hell. They are for ever ranging over the world, to
scatter discord and misery amongst the sons of men. The
Peris nearly resemble the fairies of Europe ; and perhaps
the Dives gave birth to the giants and magicians of the
middle ages. The Peris and Dives wage incessant wars ;
and when the Dives make any of the Peris prisoners, they
shut them up in iron cages, and hang them on the highest
trees, to expose them to public view, and to the fury of
every chilling blast.
When the Peris are in danger of being overpowered by
their foes, they solicit the assistance of some mortal hero,
which produces a series of mythological adventures highly
ornamental to the strains of the Persian bards, and which
at the same time furnishes an inexhaustible fund of the
most diversified machinery.
One of the most celebrated adventurers in the mytho-
logy of Persia is Tahmuras, one of their most ancient mo-
narchs. This prince performs a variety of exploits while
he endeavours to recover the fairy Merjan. He attacks
the Dive Demrush in his own cave, where, having van¬
quished the giant or demon, he finds vast piles of hoarded
wealth, which he carries off with the fair captive. The
battles, labours, and adventures of Rostan, another Per¬
sian worthy, who lived many ages after the former, are ce¬
lebrated by the Persian bards with the same extravagance
of hyperbole with which the labours of Hercules have been
sung by the poets of Greece and Rome.
  The adventures of the Persian heroes breathe all the
( h-place wildness of achievement recorded of the knights of Gothic
rn1 r^romance’ doctrine of enchantments, transformations,
and the like, exhibited in both, is a characteristic symptom
of one common original. Persia is the genuine classic
ground of eastern mythology, and the source of the ideas
of chivalry and romance, which were thence propagated to
the regions of Scandinavia, and indeed to the remotest cor¬
ners of Europe towards the west.
Perhaps our readers may be inclined to adopt our opi¬
nion, when we offer it as a conjecture, that the tales of the
war of the Peris and Dives originated from a vague tradi¬
tion concerning good and bad angels. Nor is it, we think,
679
sia the
a ro-
i ice.
at all improbable, that the fable of the wars between the Mytho-
gods and giants, so famous in the mythology of Greece and logy.
Italy, was imported into the former of these countries'' —•
rom the same quarter. (For a more particular account
o the Persian mythology, our readers may consult Dr
Hyde, Rehg. Vet. Pers. ; D’Herbelot’s Bibl. Orient. ; and
Richardson s Introduction to his Persian and Arabic Dic¬
tionary.)
The mythology of the Chaldmans, like that of the other Chaldcean
nations ot the East, commences at a period myriads ofmytho-
years prior to the era of the Mosaic creation. Their cos-loS-v-
mogony, exhibited by Berosus, who was a priest of Belus,
and deeply versed in the antiquities of his country, is a
piece of mythology of the most extravagant nature. It has
been copied by Eusebius (Chron. lib. i. p. 5); and it is
likewise to be found in Syncellus, copied from Alexander
Polyhistor. According to this historian, there were at
Babylon written records preserved with the greatest care,
comprehending a period of fifteen myriads of years. Those
writings likewise contained a history of the heavens and
the sea, of the earth, and of the origin of mankind. “ In
the beginning,” says Berosus, copying from Oannes, of
whom we shall afterwards give a brief account, “ there was
nothing but darkness and an abyss of water, wherein re¬
sided most hideous beings produced from a twofold prin¬
ciple. Men appeared with two wings ; some with two and
some with four faces. They had one body, but two heads ;
the one of a man, the other of a woman. Other human
figures were to be seen, furnished with the legs and horns
of goats. Some had the feet of horses behind, but before
were fashioned like men, resembling hippocentaurs.” The
remaining part of this mythology is much of the same
complexion ; indeed so extravagant, that we imagine our
readers will readily enough dispense with our translating
the sequel. “ Of all these,” says the author, “ were pre¬
served delineations in the temple of Belus at Babylon.
The person who was supposed to preside over them was
called Omorea. This word, in the Chaldean language, is
Thalath, which the Greeks call OaXactfa, but it more pro¬
perly imports the moon. Matters being in this situation,
their god, says Eusebius, god, says Syncellus, came and
cut the woman asunder; and out of one half of her he
formed the earth, and out of the other he made the hea¬
vens ; and, at the same time, he destroyed the monsters
of the abyss.” This whole mythology is an allegorical
history copied from hieroglyphical representations, the
real purport of which could not be deciphered by the
author. Such, in general, were the consequences of the
hieroglyphical style of writing.
Oannes, the great civilizer and legislator of the Chal-Oannes
dasans, according to Apollodorus, who copied from Bero- the legis-
sus, was an amphibious animal of a heterogeneous appear- lator of the
ance. He was endowed with reason, and a very uncom- Chaldseans.
mon acuteness of parts. His whole body resembled a fish.
Under the head of a fish he had also another head, and
feet below similar to those of a man, which were subjoined
to the tail of the fish. His voice and language were articu¬
late, and perfectly intelligible; and there was a figure of him
still extant in the days of Berosus. He made his appearance
in the Erythrean or Red Sea, where it borders upon Ba¬
bylonia. This monstrous being conversed with men by
day ; but at night he plunged into the sea, and remained
concealed in the water till next morning. He taught the
Babylonians the use of letters, and the knowledge of all
the arts and sciences. He instructed them in the method
of building houses, constructing temples, and all other
edifices. He taught them to compile laws and religious
ceremonies, and explained to them the principles of ma¬
thematics, geometry, and astronomy. In a word, he com¬
municated to them every thing necessary, useful, and or¬
namental; and so universal were his instructions, that not
680
MYTHOLOGY.
Mvtho. one single article had ever been added to them since the
logy. time they were first communicated. Helladius is or opi-
' nion that this strange personage, whoever he was, came to
be represented under the figure of a fish, not because he
was actually believed to be such, but because he was
clothed with the skin of a seal. By this account our read¬
ers will see that the Babylonian Oannes is the exact coun¬
terpart of the Fohi of the Chinese, and the Thoth or Mer¬
cury Trismegistus of the Egyptians. It is likewise appa¬
rent that the idea of the monster compounded of the man
and the fish has originated from some hieroglyphic emblem
of that form grafted upon the appearance of man. Some
modern mythologists have been of opinion that Oannes
was actually Noah, the great preacher of righteousness,
who, as some think, settled in Shinar or Chaldsea after the
deluge, and who, in consequence of his connection with
that event, might be properly represented under the em¬
blem of the Man of the Sea.
The nati- The nativity of Venus, the goddess of beauty and love,
vity of the is another piece of mythology famous amongst the Baby-
goddess of lonians and Assyrians. An egg, say they, of a prodigious
beauty and g-ze^ dropped from heaven into the river Euphrates. Some
love' doves settled upon this egg, after the fishes had rolled
it to the bank. In a short time this egg produced Ve¬
nus, who was afterwards called Dea Syria, or the Syrian
goddess. In consequence of this tradition, says Hyginus,
pigeons and fishes became sacred to this goddess amongst
the Syrians, who always abstained from eating the one or
the other. Of this imaginary being we have a very exact
and entertaining history in the treatise De Dea Syria,
generally ascribed to Lucian.
In this mythological tradition our readers will probably
discover an allusion to the celebrated Mundane Egg; and
at the same time the story of the fishes will lead them to
anticipate the connection between the sea and the moon.
This same deity was the Atargatis of Ascalon, described
by Diodorus the Sicilian ; the one half of her body being
that of a woman, and the other that of a fish. This was no
doubt a hieroglyphic figure of the moon, importing the in¬
fluence of that planet upon the sea and the sex. The
oriental name of this deity evidently points to the moon ;
for it is compounded of two Hebrew words,1 importing
“ the queen of the host of heaven.”
The fable The fable of Semiramis is nearly connected with the
of Semira- preceding one. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the my
mis.
Arabian
mytho¬
logy.
thological history of this deity, which he and all the wri¬
ters of antiquity have confounded with the Babylonian
princess of the same name. That historian informs us, that
the word Semiramis, in the Syrian dialect, signifies “ a
wild pigeonbut we apprehend that this term was a
name or epithet of the moon, as it is compounded of two
words* of an import naturally applicable to the lunar pla¬
net. It was a general practice amongst the Orientals to de¬
nominate their sacred animals from that deity to which
they were consecrated. Hence the moon being called
Semiramis, and the pigeon being sacred to her divinity,
the latter was called by the name of the former.3
We should now proceed to notice the mythology of the
Arabians, the greater part of which is, however, buried
in the abyss of ages; although, when we reflect on the ge¬
nius and character of that people, we must be convinced
that they too, as well as the other nations of the East,
abounded in fabulous relations and romantic compositions.
The natives of that country have always been enthusiasti¬
cally addicted to poetry, of which, in its early stage, fable Mytho.
is the essence. Wherever the Muses have erected their ^ logy-
throne, fables and miracles have always appeared in their ^ v~~-
train. In the Koran we meet with frequent allusions to wrell-
known traditionary fables. These had been transmitted
from generation to generation by the bards and rhapsodists,
for the entertainment of the vulgar. In Arabia, from the
earliest ages, it has always been one of the favourite enter¬
tainments of the common people, to assemble in the serene
evenings around their tents, or on the platforms with which
their houses are generally covered, or in large halls erect¬
ed for the purpose, in order to amuse themselves w ith tra¬
ditional narrations of the most distinguished actions of
their most remote ancestors. Oriental imagery always
embellished their romantic details. The glow of fancy,
the love of the marvellous, the propensity towards the hy¬
perbolical and the vast, which constitute the essence of
oriental description, must ever have drawn the relation
aside into the devious regions of fiction and fairy land.
The religion of Mahommed beat down the original fabric
of idolatry and mythology together. The Arabian fables
current in modern times are borrowed or imitated from
Persian compositions; Persia being still the grand nursery
of romance in the East.
In Egypt we find idolatry, theology, and mythology, Egyptian
almost inseparably blended together. Ihe inhabitants ofmytho-
this region, too, as well as of others in the vicinity of theHtf-.
centre of population, adhered for several centuries to the^Jj™^
worship of the true God. At last, however, conscious of
their own ignorance, impurity, imperfection, and total un¬
fitness to approach an infinitely perfect Being, distant, as
they imagined, and invisible, they began to cast about for
some beings more exalted, and more perfect than them¬
selves, by whose mediation they might prefer their prayers
to the Supreme Majesty of heaven. In this state, the lu¬
minaries of heaven, which, they imagined, were animated
bodies, naturally presented themselves. These were splen¬
did and glorious beings. They were thought to partake of
the divine nature; they were revered as the satraps, pre¬
fects, and representatives of the Supreme Lord of the uni¬
verse. They were visible, they were beneficent; they dwelt
nearer to the gods; they were obvious to the worshipper,
and always accessible. These were, of course, employed as
mediators and intercessors between the Supreme Divinity
and his humble subjects of this lower world. Thus employ¬
ed, they might claim a subordinate share of worship, which
was accordingly assigned them. In process of time, how¬
ever, that worship, which was originally addressed to the
Supreme Creator by the mediation of the heavenly bodies,
was in a great measure forgotten, and the adoration nf
mankind ultimately terminated upon those illustrious crea¬
tures. To this circumstance, we think, we may ascribe
the origin of that species of idolatry called Tsabaism, or
the worship of the host of heaven, which overspread the
world early and almost universally. In Egypt this mode
of worship was adopted in all its most absurd and most
enthusiastic forms, and at the same time the most hete¬
rogeneous mythology appeared in its train. The mytho¬
logy of the ancient Egyptians w’as so various and multi¬
form, so complicated and so mysterious, that it wrould re¬
quire many volumes even to give a superficial account of
its origin and progress, not only in its mother country, but
even in many other parts of the eastern and western world.
Besides, the idolatry and mythology of that wonderful
•i
1 Adah or HaDau, magnijicus, and Gad, exercitus, turmce.
1 Shem or Scm, a sign, and ramah, high.
As the bounds prescribed for the present article render it impossible for us to do justice to this interesting piece of mythology,
Diodorus Siculus, lib. ii.; Hyginus, Poet. Astron. Fab. lt>7 J Pharnutus,
we must beg leave to refer our readers for farther information to
de Nat. Dear.; Ovid, Metam. lib. iv.; Athen. in AjjoI. ; Izetzes, chil. ix. cap. 275 ; Selden, de Due Syr. ii. 183.
MYTHOLOGY.
681
Mytho-
l°gy.
eign of
«ls and
migods
Egypt.
country are so closely connected and so inseparably blend- devotion 'immPfbotnHr j ^
ed together, that it is impossible to describe the latter came the nliimstf !? * ♦ thf 5i and c°urse these be*
without at the tame time developing the former. We Tfter thte owtJ • ^ ga-ad0rati0n-
hope, therefore, that our readers will not be disappointed, crated as Ae visible STObXof thedeW^'it’soMV0"86'
if, in an article of this nature, we touch only upon some of fashionable to mntp i ^ de,t,es’11 soon became
the leading or most interesting articles of this complicated deities which they were eonsSed! Tts^acdce
The Egyptians confounded the revolutions of the hea- whU uni^S
venly bodies with the reigns of their most early monarchs. Hence Jupiter Ammon was represented uTder^Ffi"8'
Hence the incredible number of years included in the of a ram, Apis under that of a^ow oii. nf , J ^
reign of their eight superior gods, who, according to them, of a goat, Thoth or Mercurv of an ihk H h ^ bul1’Pan
filled the Egyptian throne successively in the most eari; of a fat. It was likewise a common nr^ 6 °r ^
periods of time. To these, according to their system, suc^ deluded people to dignify these objects bv^S ^h086
ceeded twelve demigods, who likewise reigned an amazing the names of those duties which they remesen ed Bv
number of years. These imaginary reigns were no other this mode of dignifying these sacred emhlom! th! pBy
than the periodical revolutions of the heavenly bodies pre- tion of the rabble was considerably enhanced’and thTar"
11heir a manaCJ uWhich m,?ht be carTried back> dour of their devotion inflamed in proportion. ’ From these
and actually were carried back, at pleasure. Hence the two sources, we think, are derived the fabulous transfor
fabulous antiquity of that kingdom. The imaginary ex- mation of the gods, so generally celebrated in the Eo-vn
ploits and adventures of these gods and demigods furnished tian mythology, and from it imported into Greece&and
an inexhaustible fund of mythological romances. To the Italy. In consequence of this practice, their mythological
demigods succeeded the kings of the cynic cycle, person- system was rendered at once enormous and unmtelligfble1
ages equally chimerical with the former. The import of Their Thoth, or Mercurv Trismoo-i^l Tr, " ? ™
this epithet has greatly perplexed critics and etymologists, nion, the inventor of this unhappy system. This person'-'I ri-smSs-
Me apprehend that it is an oriental word importing royal, age, according to the Egyptians, was the original author oflus the au'
ihgmty, or elevation of rank. This appellation intimated, letters, geometry, astronomy, music, and architecture • jnthorof the
that the monarchs of that cycle, admitting that they ac- a word, of all the elegant and useful arts, and of all the Eg?f jan
!uny.,eX'Stet,’Were mor^P°wfrfbl and more highly revered branches of science and philosophy. He it was whofim* ^
discovered the analogy between the divine affections, in¬
fluences, appearances, operations, and the corresponding
properties, qualities, and instincts of certain animals, and
the propriety of dedicating particular kinds of vegetables
to the service of particular deities. The priests, whose
province it was to expound the mysteries of that allego-
than their successors. After the princes of the cynic cycle
came another race, denominated Nekyes, a title likewise
implying royal, splendid, glorious. These cycles figure
high in the mythological annals of the Egyptians, and have
furnished materials for a variety of learned and ingenious
disquisitions. The wars and adventures of Osiris, Orus,
rp ,i . , —  7 i   me mysteries or mat auego-
iyphon, and other allegorical personages who figure in rical hieroglyphical religion (see Mysteries), gradually
the Egyptian rubric: the wandorino-s of Tsis. rLc cicf-o*. or.vi Inot all .i .•  _•  v., °
the Egyptian rubric; the wanderings of Isis, the sister and
wife of Osiris ; the transformation of the gods into divers
kinds of animals; their birth, education, peregrinations,
and exploits ; compose a body of mythological fictions so
various, so complicated, so ridiculous, and often so appa¬
rently absurd, that all attempts to develope and explain
them have hitherto proved unsuccessful. All, or the
ship
ojrute
Miak
lost all knowledge of the primary import of the symbolical
characters. To supply this defect, and at the same time
to veil their own ignorance, the sacerdotal instructors had
recourse to fable and fiction. They heaped fable upon
fable, till their religion became an accumulated chaos of
mythological absurdities. Two of the most learned and
*   —, — -**v. most acute of the ancient philosophers have attempted a
greater part, ot those extravagant fables, were the offspring rational explication of the latent import of the Egyptian
ol hieroglyphical or allegorical emblems devised by the mythology; but both have failed in the attempt; nor have
priests and sages of that nation, with a view to conceal the the moderns, who have laboured in the same department,
mysteries of their religion from that class of men whom performed their part with much better success.2
they stigmatizeil with the name of the uninitiated rabble. The elements of Phoenician mythology have been pre- Phoenician
. e worship of brute animals and of certain vegetables, served by Eusebius (JPrceparat. Evang. sub init.). In the mythology,
universal amongst the Egyptians, was another exuberant large extract which that learned father had copied from
source of mythological adventures. The Egyptian priests, Philo Biblius’s translation of Sanchoniathon’s History of
Phoenicia, we are furnished with several articles of mytho-
logy. Some of these throw considerable light on several
passages of the sacred history; and all of them are strictly
connected with the mythology of the Greeks and Romans.
There we have preserved a brief but entertaining detail of
the fabulous adventures of Uranus, Cronus, Dagon, Thyoth
or Mercury, probably the same with the Egyptian hero of
that name. Here we find Muth or Pluto, Aiphcestus or
Vulcan, Aesculapius, Nereus, Poseidon or Neptune, &c.
Astarte, or Venus Urania, makes a conspicuous figure in
the catalogue of Phoenician worthies; Pallas or Minerva
is planted upon the territory of Attica; in a word, all the
branches of the family of the Titans, who in after ages
many of whom were likewise profound philosophers, ob¬
served, or pretended to observe, a kind of analogy between
the qualities of certain animals and vegetables, and those
of some of their subordinate divinities. Such animals and
vegetables they adopted, and consecrated to the deities to
whom they were supposed to bear this analogical resem¬
blance ; and in process of time they considered them as
the visible emblems of those divinities to which they were
consecrated. By these the vulgar addressed their arche-
types, in the same manner as, in other countries, pictures
and statues were employed for the very same purpose.
The mob, in process of time, forgetting the emblematical
character of those brutes and vegetables, addressed their
See, on this subject, Sir William Drummond’s Origines, &c. b. iv. c. 5, vol. ii. p. 146.
, nstead, therefore, of prosecuting this inexplicable subject, which would swell the present article beyond all proportion, we must
g eave to refer those who are desirous of further information, to the following authors, where they will find enough to gratify their
^ n°t to inform their judgment:—Herodotus, lib. ii.; Diodorus Siculus, lib. i.; Plutarch, Isis et Osiris; Jamblichus, de
I ’ fVorus Apollo, Hieroglyph. Egypt.; Macrobius, Saturn, cap. 23, amongst the ancients : and, amongst the moderns, Kir-
i ler s, T lPus 7 X ossius, de Orig. et Prog. Idol.; Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Anc. Mythol. ; Gebelin, Monde Primitif; and, above all, to the
learned J ablonski’s Pantheon Egyptiorum.
v°L. XV. 4 R
682
Mytho
logy.
mythology.
^ 11 non the sentations of the anomalies of the lunar planet, or perhaps
figured in the rubric of the Greeks, are brought up ^ s of the WOrship of that planet in different parts
stage, and their exploits and adventures br'eflydet^ • ^f. ^ Jorld> The fable of the conflagration occasioned
By comparing this fragment with the V b phaeton is clearly of oriental extraction, and alludes to
Grecian ^tid/and that of the Cretans preserved by Diodorus by Bhaeton^ ^ y ^ the early periods of time
derived87 the Sicilian (lib. v.), we think there is good reaso" 1 h scorched Ethiopia and the adjacent countries. The fabu-
fromEgypt elude, that the family of the Titans, the several bra cs ^ adventures 0f Perseus are said to have happened m
and Phro- of which seem to have been both the authors an(* J , regions, and are allegorical representations of the
Mytho.
lof?y-
mcia.
or wnicn sccui lu    — - , . ,
of a great part of the Grecian idolatry, originally emigrat¬
ed from Phoenicia. This conjecture will receive additional
strength, when it is considered that almost all their names
recorded in the fabulous records of Greece may be easily
the same regions, and are allegorical representations of the
influence of the solar luminary; for the original Perseus
was the sun. The rape of Proserpine and the wanderings
of Ceres, the Eleusinian mysteries, the orgia or sacred rites
recorded in the fabulous records or Greece may Bacchus, the rites and worship of the Cabiri, were im-
traced up to a Phoenician original. We agree wrth Hee Egypt and phceni/a, but strangely garbled
rodotus, that a considerable part of the idolatry of disfi d by tbe hierophants of Greece. The gigan-
may have been borrowed from the Egyptian^ at h tomachia* or between the gods and the giants, and all
time, we imagine it highly probable, that the nlola y fabulous eVents and varieties of that war, form an exact
the Egyptians and Phoenicians was m its original cona. the mou o the Peris and DiveS; cele.
tution nearly the same. Both systems were Tsab,asm,^or 0^^ romantic annals of Persia.
the worship of the host of heaven. The 1 o ’ A considerabie part of the mythology of the Greeks The
ing to Herodotus, learned the names of the god f om their ignorance of the oriental languages. Greets if.
Egyptians ; but in this conjecture he is certainly warped .sprung hrom Weir g to the study of la„.=trf
by his partiality for that people. Had those names ^ spoken by people whom, in the pride of their heart,^
imported from Egypt, they would no StlCLd with the epithet of barbarian This1”8--' '
ed their Egyptian original; whereas S " every foreign dialect was highly detrimental
gist will be convinced that every one is of Phoenician ex aversion th| sciences. The same neglect or
Adventures of Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, Apollo, Di- version 1^, we taagine,^
ana, Mars, Minerva or Pallas, Venus, Bacchus, Ceres, ■ bards laid hold on those oriental legends, which
serpine, Pluto Neptune, and the jlesce"da„^s and >d with their own additi„„s and improve-
coadjutors ot the ambitious family of the lita , . order to accommodate them to the popular taste,
by far the greatest part of the mythology o re . ’ nd fui ta]es fjgured in their rhapsodical compo-
They left Phoenicia, we think, about the age of Moses; I hese wonderful ta ^ bgurea the
they settled in Crete, a large and fertile island ; from this We^0^eefietiyons, as they rolled down, were
region they made their way into Greece, which, accor i ^ /)r.ns,1.ant1T,v augmented with fresh materials, till in process
to the most authentic accounts, was at that time in a i e Y original import was either forgotten or buried
by a race of savages. The arts and inventions which they of A multitude of these Hesiod
communicated to the natives ; the mysteries ot re igion riiiected in his Theogonia, or Generation of the Gods,
which they inculcated ; the laws, customs, polity, and good nnhannilv becamfthe religious creed of the illite-
mfler which ^hey cashed ; m^^blessings^f Ible was so closely inter
woven with the religion of that airy, volatile people, that it
seems to have contaminated not only their religious and
humanity and civilization which they everywhere dissemi
nated, in process of time inspired the unpolished inhabi¬
tants with a kind of divine admiration. Those ambitious
mortals improved this admiration into divine homage and
adoration. The greater part of that worship, which had
been formerly addressed to the luminaries of heaven, was
now transferred to those illustrious personages. I hey
moral, but even their political tenets. , f -
The far-famed oracle of Dodona was copied from that of Oracle of
Ammon at Thebes in Upper Egypt. The oracle of Apollo Dodona.
at Delphos was an emanation from the same source, fne
now transferred to those illustrious personages iney — —
claimed and obtained divine honours from the deluded AP“'l0JS“UpSdenominated the
4
rabble of enthusiastic Greeks. Hence sprung an inexhaus¬
tible fund of the most inconsistent and irreconcilable fic¬
tions.
Hence the The foibles and frailties of the deified mortals were
inconsis- transmitted to posterity, incorporated, as it were, with the
tent fic- pompous attributes of supreme divinity. Hence the hete-
Greek^the rogeneous mixture of the mighty and the mean which
poets.
ceieuraieu x-Lpunu jv   , , • ^ i 4.i,„
the Ob or Aub of the Egyptians, who denominated the
basilisk or royal snake Ov Cai, because it was held sacred
to the sun. Ob or Aub is still retained m the Coptic dia¬
lect, and is one of the many names or epithets of that lu¬
minary. In short, the groundwork of the Grecian mytho-
l0oy is to be traced in the East. Only a small part of it was
’rogeneous mixture of the mighty and the mean whicn fabricated in the c0Vnti yhLaa^ ^g^^gd b,P tbe hands
chequers the characters of the heroes of the Iliad and and genuine was misera y p a^Grecian air,
Odyssey. The Greeks adopted the oriental fables, the through which it passed, in o g To
import of which they did not understand. These they ac- and to accommodate its sty e k ther superfluous,
commodated to heroes and illustrious personages, who had enlarge upon this topic wou aCaUainted with it al-
figured in their own country in the earliest periods. The as our learned readers must be aor
labours of Hercules originated in Egypt, and evidently re- ready, and the unlearned raay» 'T , subiect.
late to the annual progress of the sun in the zodiac, though expense, furnish themselves with oo ^ up Greeks. Roman
the vain-glorious Greeks accommodated them to a hero of The Roman mythology was borrowe rpnturiesmyt11010?
their own^ the reputed son of Jupiter and Alcmena. The That people had addicted themselves for
expedition of Osiris they borrowed from the Egyptians, to the arts of war and civil pohty. S P 3joinpfe
and transferred to their Bacchus, the son of Jupiter and were either neglected or unknown. Y 4( G3iaGre
Semele the daughter of Cadmus. The transformation and ed Greece, the native land of science, . Latio>,.
wanderings of lo are evidently transcribed from the Egyp- capta ferum victorem cepit arte et 1 g ^
tian romance of the travels of Isis in quest of the body of This being the case, their mythology , p ^
Osiris, or of the Phoenician Astarte, drawn from Sancho- a transcript from that of Greece. .^he.yF which,
niathon. lo or loh is in reality the Egyptian name of the ed a few fables from the Pelasgi and , ’ ceiy
moon, and Astarte was the name of the same planet amongst however, are ot so little consequence, that t y
the Phoenicians. Both these fables are allegorical repre- worth the trouble of transcribing.
mythology.
683
ios"%7“ryno, mor-tal everfknw before hereeif-sh* m^-'
■ uidical superstition^ in the rTmotest oartaTthf ” the^ *«> P-ceeds 4-
[ythology
the
irthern
itions.
hell
I devil
he
ndina-
.13.-
'Vo.
the druidical superstition in the remotest parts of the
Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and perhaps in the un-
cmhzed places of Ireland. These, we presume, would
attord our readers but little entertainment, and still less
instruction.
The mythology of the northern nations, that is, of the
JN orwegians, Danes, Swedes, and Icelanders, is uncommonly
curious and entertaining. The Edda and Voluspa contain
a complete collection of fables which have not the small¬
est affinity with those of the Greeks and Romans. They
are wholly of an oriental complexion, and seem almost
congenial with the tales of the Persians above described.
The Edda was compiled in Iceland in the thirteenth cen¬
tury. It is a kind of system of the Scandinavian mytho¬
logy ; and it has been reckoned, and we believe justly, a
commentary on the Voluspa, which was the Bible of the
northern nations. ■r'-’* ’ — -
to the formation of the world, and the creation of the differ¬
ent species of its inhabitants, giants, men, and dwarfs. She
then explains the employments of the fairies or destinies,
w 10m the northern people call nornies, the functions of
e deities, their most memorable adventures, their disputes
with Loke, and the vengeance which ensued. She at last
concludes with a long, and indeed animated description of
the final state of the universe, and its dissolution by a m?-
nera conflagration. In this catastrophe, Odin, and all the
rabble of the Pagan divinities, are to be confounded in
the general ruin, no more to appear on the stage of the
universe ; and out of the ruins of the former world, accord-
^wi0 uf Volu®Pa> ,a new one shall spring up, arrayed in
all the bloom of celestial beauty.
Such is the doctrine exhibited in the fabulous Voluspa.
So congenial are some of the details therein delivered, es-
rm- rwi • txt ,  ~ “‘c Bume oi me aetans tnerein delivered es-
Odin or Othm, or Woden or Waden, pecially those relating to the final dissolution of the nre-
mmty of those people. His exnloits sent svstem  „x? _   , P,
was the supreme divinity of those people. His exploits
and adventures furnish the far greater part of their my¬
thological creed. That hero is supposed to have emigrat¬
ed from the East, but from what country or at what pe¬
riod is not certainly known. His achievements are mag¬
nified beyond all credibility. He is represented as the god
of battles, and as slaughtering thousands at a blow. His
palace is called Valhalla; it is situated in the city of Mid-
gard, where, according to the fable, the souls of heroes
who had bravely fallen in battle enjoy supreme felicity.
They spend the day in mimic hunting matches, or imagi¬
nary combats. At night they assemble in the palace of
Valhalla, where they feast on the most delicious viands,
dressed and served up by the Valkyriae, virgins adorned
with celestial charms, and flushed with the bloom of ever¬
lasting youth. They solace themselves with drinking mead
out of the skulls of enemies whom they had killed in their
days of nature. Mead, it seems, was the nectar of the
Scandinavian heroes.
Sleepner, the horse of Odin, is celebrated along with his
master. Hela, the hell of the Scandinavians, affords a va¬
riety of fables equally shocking and heterogeneous. Loke,
the evil genius or devil of the northern people, nearly re¬
sembles the Typhon of the Egyptians. Signa or Sinna is
the consort of Loke ; and from this name the English word
sm is derived. The giants Weymur, Ferbanter, Belupher,
and Hellunda, perform a variety of exploits, and are exhi
bited in the most frightful attitudes. One would be tempt
sent system, and the succession of a new heaven and a
new earth, that we find ourselves strongly inclined to sus¬
pect, that the original fabricator of the work was a semi¬
pagan writer, much of the same complexion with the au-
thoi s of the Sibylline oracles, and of some other apocryphal
pieces which appeared in the world during the first ages of
Christianity. °
In America, the only mythological countries seems to beMytholo-
Mexico and Peru. The other parts of that large continent g.v of Mer-
were originally inhabited by savages, most of them as re-ico and
mote from religion as from civilization. The two vast em- Peru*
Pires of Mexico and Peru had existed about four hundred
years only before the Spanish invasion ; but in neither of
them was the use of letters understood; and of course the
ancient opinions of the natives relating to the origin of the
universe, the changes which succeeded, and every other
monument of antiquity, were obliterated and lost. Cla-
vigero has indeed enumerated a crowd of sanguinary gods
worshipped by the Mexicans; but he produces nothing
either entertaining or interesting with respect to their my¬
thology. Humboldt has gone deeper into the subject, and
produced much information that is equally curious and in¬
structive ; whilst subsequent travellers, following his ex¬
ample, and extending their inquiries and researches, have
thrown new light on both the mythology and antiquities of
Mexico. See Mexico.
The only remarkable piece of mythology in the annals
of the Peruvians, is the pretended extraction of Manco Ca-
. . —T T T wxjc wuuiu uc luiupi- ui uu. i ci uvians, IS me prerenueu extraction ot Manco (Ja-
ed to imagine, that they perform the exact counterpart of pec the first inca of Peru, and of Mama Ocolla his consort,
the giants of the Greek and Roman mvtholoeists. Instead These two illustrious nersonap-es nnnpnrpd nn the
the giants of the Greek and Roman mythologists. Instead
of glancing at these ridiculous and uninteresting fables,
which is all that the limits prescribed us would permit, we
shall take the liberty to lay before our readers a brief ac¬
count of the contents of the Voluspa, which is indeed the
text of the Scandinavian mythology.
The word Voluspa imports, “ the prophecy of Vola or
Fola.” This was, perhaps, a general name for the pro¬
phetic ladies of the North, as Sibyl was appropriated to
women endowed with the like faculty in the South. Cer¬
tain it is, that the ancients generally connected madness
with the prophetic faculty. Of this we have two celebrated
 I, ’ /'Y _ i 1*1 . i
These two illustrious personages appeared first on the banks
of the lake Titicaca. They were persons of a majestic sta¬
ture, and were clothed in decent garments. They declared
themselves to be the children of the Sun, sent by their be¬
neficent parent, who beheld with pity the miseries of the
human race, to instruct and to reclaim them. Thus we
find that these two legislators availed themselves of a pre¬
tence which had often been employed in more civilized re¬
gions for the very same purposes. The idolatry of Peru
was gentle and beneficent, that of Mexico gloomy and san¬
guinary. The principle of good predominated in the one,
the principle of evil in the other. The former borrowed
 laouny. ims we nave two ceieoraieu me principle or evil in me otner. ine former borrowed
examples; the one in Lycophron’s Cassandra, and the other its complexion from the character of its founders; the lat-
m the Sibyl of the Roman poet. The word vola signifies ter assumed the dark and renulsive asnect of the tvrannv
in the Sibyl of the Roman poet. The word vola signifies
“ mad or foolish whence the English words fool, foolish,
folly. Spa, the latter part of the composition, signifies “ to
prophecy,” and is still current amongst the common people
in Scotland, in the word spae, which has nearly the same
signification.
The Voluspa insists of between two and three hundred
lines, f he prophetess having imposed silence on all intel
ter assumed the dark and repulsive aspect of the tyranny
which it was intended to cement and consolidate. In a
word, the idolatry of Mexico stood to the idolatry of Peru
in a relation somewhat analogous to that which the wild
and savage superstitions of the northern nations bore to
the more refined and graceful mythology of Greece and of
Rome.
In the course of this article, we have not much enlarged
x ue px opneress naving imposed silence on an mtei- in tne course of tins article, we nave not much enlarged
ligent beings, declares that she is about to reveal the works upon the mythology of the Greeks and Romans; that sub-
of the Father of nature, the actions and operations of the ject we conceive to be so universally known by the learn-
684 N A A
Mzenslt ed, and so little valued by others, that a minute discussion
II of it would be altogether superfluous. We flatter our-
Naas- selves, however, that in the course of this disquisition we
  have thrown out some reflections and observations which
NAB
may perhaps prove more acceptable to both descriptions of Nabatene
readers, and serve to direct their attention to a subject ||
which is yet far from being exhausted. (o. o. o. o.) . Na^ls,_
MZENSK, a circle of the Russian province of Orel, ex¬
tending in north latitude from 53. 8. to 53. 39. and in east
longitude from 36. 24. to 37. 3. The capital is a city of
the same name, 696 miles distant from St Petersburg, and
situated on the river Sudsha. It contains twelve churches,
1100 houses, and 6400 inhabitants, who subsist chiefly by
dealing in the produce of the soil. It is situated in latitude
53. 17. N. and longitude 35. 28. E.
N.
NA liquid consonant, and the thirteenth letter of the
9 Greek, Latin, and English alphabets.
The « is a nasal consonant, its sound being that of a rf,
passed through the nose ; so that when the nose is stopped
by a cold, or the like, it is usual to pronounce d tor n.
The Abbe de Dangeau observes, that in the French, the
n is frequently a mere nasal vowel, without any thing of tfm
consonant in it. He calls it the Sclavonic vowel. The
Hebrews call their corresponding letter nun, which signi¬
fies child, as being supposed the offspring of m; partly
from the resemblance of sound, and partly from the simila¬
rity of the figure. Thus, from the m, by omitting the
last column, is formed n; and from the capital N, by
omitting the first column, is formed the Greek minuscle ».
Hence, for biennies the Latins frequently use bimus; and
the same people converted the Greek », at the end of a
word, into an m, as (pa^axov, pharmacum.
W before p, b, and m, the Latins change into m, and fre¬
quently into l and r, as in inludo, illudo; inrigo, irrigo ;
in which they agree with the Hebrews, who instead of nun
frequently double the following consonants. The Greeks
do the same, as when for Manlius they write MaXX/o;;
and before A, y, v, they changed the y into 7; in which
they were followed by the ancient Romans, who for Angu-
lus wrote Aggulus, for anceps, agceps, and so of others.
The Latins retrench the n from Greek nouns ending in wv,
as Aswv, Leo, Agaxwy, Draco; but, on the contrary, the
Greeks add it to the Latin ones ending in o, as Karcjy, Ns-
gwy, Cato, Nero.
N, amongst the ancients, was a numeral letter, signify¬
ing 900; according to the verse in Baronius,
N, quoque nongentos numero designat habendos :
And when a line was placed over it, N, it signified nine
thousand. Amongst the ancient lawyers, N. L. stood for
non liquet, that is, the cause is not clear enough to pass sen¬
tence upon. N, or N°, in commerce, is used as an abbre¬
viation of numero, number.
NAAS, a borough town of Ireland, in the county of
Kildare. It was anciently the residence of the kings of
Leinster. A charter granted by Henry V. establishes be¬
yond controversy the fact of the existence of the corpora¬
tion as long ago as the year 1414. Its name signifies “ the
place of eldersfor here the states of the province of
Leinster assembled during the sixth, seventh, and eighth
centuries, after the Naasteighan of Carmen had been ana¬
thematized by the Christian clergy. On the arrival of the
English it was fortified; many castles were erected, por¬
tions of the ruins of which are still visible ; and parliaments
were held there. Originally extensive possessions belong¬
ed to the town; but these the members of the corporation,
one of the most exclusive in Ireland, have from time to
time conveyed to themselves or their friends at rentals
merely nominal; and great poverty exists in the district.
Naas is distant about fifteen miles south-west from Dublin,
with which it has a water communication by means of a
branch of the Grand Canal; and it is the first considerable
town from the metropolis on the great southern road ; yet
with these local advantages it presents a poor and neglected
appearance. The corporation do not support any institu¬
tion for relief of the poor, and there is no public school or
other charitable foundation under their superintendence;
but there is a diocesan school established under act of par¬
liament, and there are Sunday and other schools for gratui¬
tous education. There are markets which are held on every
Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. The corn-market is
very extensive. The town contains about fifty houses of the
value of L.10 a year and upwards. According to the re¬
turn of 1821, the population of the town was 3073 ; but in
1831 it was 3808, of whom 1755 were males, and 20o3
females; the families were 743; houses inhabited, 5/3,
uninhabited, twenty-five; building, six.
NABATENE, or Regio Nabatasorum, according to
Jerome, comprehended all the country lying between the
Euphrates and the Red Sea, and thus contained Arabia
Deserta, with a part of Arabia Petraea. It was so calle
from Nabaioth, the first-born of Ismael. According to
Diodorus, it was situated between Syria and Egypt.
NABIS, tyrant of Sparta, reigned about 204 years be¬
fore Christ, and is reported to have so far exceeded a
other tyrants, that, upon comparison, he left the epithets
of gracious and merciful to Dionysius and Phalaris. He is
said to have contrived an instrument of torture in the form
of a statue of a beautiful woman, whose rich dress con¬
cealed a number of iron spikes in her bosom and arms.
When any one therefore opposed his demands, he would
say, “ If I have not talents enough to prevail with you,
perhaps my woman Apega may persuade you.” Then ap¬
peared the statue, which Nabis, taking by the hand, led up
to the person, who, being embraced by it, was thus tor¬
tured into compliance. To render his tyranny less unpo¬
pular, Nabis formed an alliance with Flaminius the Roman
general, and pursued, with the most inveterate enmity, tie
war which he had undertaken against the Achaeans. e
N A C
ablum besieged Gythium, and defeated Philopcemen in a naval
, engagement. But his triumph was short; the general of
the Achaeans soon repaired his losses; and Nabis having
been defeated in an engagement, was killed as he attempt¬
ed to save his life by flight, about 194 years before the
Christian era.
NABLUM, in Hebrew Nebel, was an instrument of mu¬
sic amongst the Jews. It had strings like the harp, was
played upon by both hands, and in form resembled that
of a Greek A. In the Septuagint and Vulgate it is called
noblum, psalterion, lyra, and sometimes cithara.
NABO, or Nebo, in Mythology, a deity of the Babylo¬
nians, who possessed the next rank to Bel or Belus. Vos-
sius apprehends that Nabo was the moon, and Bel the sun ;
but Grotius supposes that Nabo was some celebrated pro¬
phet of the country; and this opinion is confirmed by the
etymology of the name, signifying, according to Jerome,
“ one who presides over prophecy.”
NABOB, properly Nawab, the plural of Naib, a deputy.
As used in Bengal, this title is the same as Nazim.
NABONASSAR, first king of the Chaldaeans or Baby¬
lonians, memorable on account of the Jewish era which
bears his name, and which is generally fixed in 3257, be¬
ginning on Wednesday, February 26th, in the 3967th of
the Julian period, 747 years before Christ. The Babylo¬
nians having revolted from the Medes, who had overthrown
the Assyrian monarchy, founded under Nabonassar a do¬
minion which was much increased under Nabuchadnez-
zar. It is probable, that this Nabonassar is the Baladan
mentioned in the second of Kings (xx. 12), father of Me-
rodach, who sent ambassadors to Hezekiah.
NABOPOLASSAR, king of Babylon, who joined with
Astyages the Mede, to destroy the empire of Assyria;
which having accomplished, they founded the two empires
of the Medes under Astyages, and the Chaldaeans under
Nabopolassar, 627 years before Christ.
NABUCHADNEZZAR, or Nabuchadonosor II. king
of Assyria, son of Nabopolassar, and styled the Great, was
associated with his father in the empire, 607 years before
Christ. The following year he took Jehoiakim king of
Judah prisoner, and proposed to carry him and his subjects
in captivity into Babylon; but upon his submission, and
promising to hold his kingdom under Nabuchadonosor, he
was permitted to remain at Jerusalem. About 603 years be¬
fore Christ, Jehoiakim attempted to shake off the Assyrian
yoke, but without success; and this revolt brought on the
general captivity. Nabuchadnezzar having subdued the
Ethiopians, Arabians, Idumaeans, Philistines, Syrians, Per¬
sians, Medes, Assyrians, and almost all Asia, and being puff¬
ed up with pride, caused a golden statue to be set up, and
commanded all to worship it; but Daniel and his compa¬
nions having refused to do so, they were cast into the fiery
furnace. As Nabuchadnezzar was admiring his own mag¬
nificence, he was, by divine sentence, driven from men,
and in the Scripture style is said to have eaten grass as
an ox, that is, he was seized with the disease called by the
Greeks liconthropy, which is a kind of madness that causes
persons to run into the fields and streets in the night, and
sometimes to suppose themselves to have the heads of
oxen, or to be made of glass. At the end of seven years
his reason returned to him, and he was restored to his
throne and his glory. He died 562 b. c. in the forty-third
year of his reign; in the fifth of which happened that
eclipse of the sun mentioned by Ptolemy, which is the
surest foundation of the chronology of his reign.
NACHELO, or Nakhilo, a sea-port of Persia, in Laris-
tan, defended by a square fort, flanked by four towers. It
is situated at the mouth of a river which falls into the
Persian Gulf, where the anchorage would be good if it
were not exposed to the north-west winds. This place
was for a time under the dominion of the Wahabees, du-
N jE V
685
Naevius.
ring the prevalence of their power. There is a fishery of Naehits-
pearls in the neighbourhood. It is fifty miles south-south- chevan
west of Ear. n
NACHITSCHEVAN, a city of Russia in Europe, in,
the eastern division of the circle of Rostow, in the pro¬
vince of Katerinoslaw. It stands on the river Don, which
here frequently overflows its banks. Its inhabitants are
almost exclusively of the Armenian race and religion ;
and, by their eastern costume and manners, they are in a
great measure kept separate from the Russians. The city
contains 2400 houses, and about 14,000 inhabitants. In
their eastern way they produce much silk, having planted
more than 20,000 mulberry trees. They also grow much
hemp and flax; make linen, cotton, and silk goods; and
have iron-works, soap-works, and numerous distilleries.
These people were brought from the Crimea.
NACKSHIEVAN, or Nuckshievan, a town of Per¬
sian Armenia, formerly one of the most magnificent cities of
Persia, supposed to have been the ancient Artaxata^ now
only famous for its magnificent ruins, and containing not
above 400 inhabitants. Its ruin was completed by Abbas
I. who, in the plenitude of his tyrannical power, removed
the inhabitants by force into the interior. It is eighty-five
miles south-east of Erivan.
NADED, a town in the south of India, situated on the
Cavery River, 100 miles above Hyderabad. It is celebrat¬
ed as the burial-place of Gooroo Govend, the Sikh high-
priest, who died a. d. 1708.
NADEGADOO, a well-watered district on the east
side of the island of Ceylon, through which runs the Sin-
gepetto River. It lies between the seventh and eighth
degrees of N. lat. and produces chiefly cinnamon and rice.
NADIM, a river of Asiatic Russia, which rises in Lake
Toromlar, and falls into the Gulf of Obi. There is a small
town of the name of Nadimskoi at its mouth. Long. 73.
44. E. Lat. 66. 25. N.
NADIR, in Astronomy, that point of the heavens which
is diametrically opposite to the zenith or point directly
above our heads.
NADONE, or Nadoun, a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Lahore, being the principal one of the Kangrah
country, is situated on the eastern bank of the Beyah river.
This place was considered as a respectable fortress in the
year 1014, and was taken from the Hindus by Sultan
Mahmoud of Ghizni. The Nadone district borders on the
Punjab. It is mountainous, and is governed by a Hindu
prince, tributary to the Sikhs, who was plundered by the
rajah of Nepaul’s army. Long, of the town 75. 47. E.
Lat. 31. 59. N.
NiENIA, the goddess of funerals at Rome. Her temple
was without the gates of the city. The songs which were
sung at funerals were also called ncenia. They were ge¬
nerally filled with the praises of the deceased ; but some¬
times they were so unmeaning and improper, that the word
became proverbial to signify nonsense.
NAERDEN, a strong town of Holland, situated at the
head of the canals of the province. The foundations of it
were laid by William of Bavaria, in 1350. It was taken
by the Spaniards in 1572, and by the French in 1672;
but it was retaken by the Prince of Orange the next year.
It stands at the south end of the Zuyder Zee, in long. 5.
3. E. and lat. 51. 22. N.
NA5VIUS, Cneius, a tragic and comic poet, was a na¬
tive of Campania, and flourished about the year 235 b. c.
having served in the first Punic war (264-241 b. c.),
which he celebrated in an epic poem (Gell. xvii. 21, 45;
v. 12, 7). He wrote a little before the time of Ennius,
who was born in 239 b. c. and died in 169. He was
younger than Livius Andronicus, who exhibited his first
play the year before Ennius was born, b. c. 240. Naevius
was the author of several tragedies, many of the titles of
686
Nafels
NAG
N A I
Nagy-
Enyed.
which have been preserved; and from them it is easy to dis¬
cover that they were imitations of the Greek writers. But
he appears to have earned still higher praise by his labours
as a writer of comedy. Pursuing the path of the old At-
' tic comedy, he lashed with an unsparing hand the vices of
the Roman nobles; for which he was driven into exile, or,
according to others, confined in prison, where he never¬
theless seems to have written two tragedies. Such an exa
nle of severity could not have but impeded the free develop¬
ment of the comic muse of Rome. All that remains of the
comedies of Naevius are the mere names, and a few insignifi¬
cant fragments. The epic poem on the first Punic war was
divided Into seven books by C. Octavius Lampodio (Sue-
ton. De lllust. Gram. 2). Nsevius died in exile at Utica,
on the coast of Africa, b. c. 201, the very year in which the
second Punic war terminated. (Eusebius ) Thefragmen
have been published under the title olEnmi Annal. Frag-
menta et On. Nccvii Fragm. Leipzig, 1825.
NAFELS, a town of Switzerland, of the canton of Gla-
ris! the capital of the Catholic division of that canton. It
stands on the river Linth, in a fruitful and pleasant dis¬
trict The small river Rautibach, on its fall into the
Linth, forms a fine, and at times a most copious cascade.
A great victory was gained here by the Swiss in 1888,
and it is still yearly celebrated with religious and military
ceremonies. The town contains 220 houses, with 1780
inhabitants, who are chiefly employed in agriculture.
NAFF, a considerable river of Hindustan, forming the
boundary between Bengal and Arracan. Its banks are
rugged and woody, interspersed with spots of cultivation,
*n _ • Utt r* Viorrlcmpn whflSP
and a few villages inhabited by a race of herdsmen, whose
principal occupation consists in hunting the wild ele-
^NAGAL, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Del¬
hi, situated on the east side of the river Ganges. Long.
78. 10. E. Lat. 29. 43. N.
NAGAMANGATAM, a large square mud fort in the
south of India, and province of Mysore. It contains a square
citadel in its centre, in which are two Hindu temples, and
all the public granaries and store-rooms. The town is
said to be 600 years old, having been erected by a prince
named Jagadeva Raya, of the same family with the present
Mysore rajah. It was taken by the Mahrattas in 1793;
and the number of houses was reduced from 1500 to 300 ;
but it has since rapidly recovered its population and its
wealth. Long. 76. 57. E. Lat 12. 49. N.
NAGHERY, a town of the south of India, in the Car¬
natic, forty-eight miles north-west by west from Madras.
Long. 79. 45. E. Lat. 13. 19. N.
NAGJERY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Khandesh, 32 miles west by north from Boorhanpoor.
Long. 75. 50. E. Lat. 21. 25. N.
NAGNE, a small river in the Gujerat peninsula, which
rises in a range of hills, fourteen miles to the south-east of
Lawria, and, after passing the city of Noanagur, falls into
the Runn, in the Gulf of Cutch.
NAGY-BANYA, a city of the Austrian kingdom of
Hungary, of the circle of the Farther Theiss, and the capital
of a district of the same name. It is situated in the centre
of a mining country, from which much gold, silver, and
lead are extracted; and it has an institution for the edu¬
cation of the miners. There is a mint, in which the metals
produced around it are coined into money. The inhabi¬
tants are a mixed population of Germans, Hungarians, and
Greeks, and have a Catholic, a Lutheran, a Calvinist, and
a Greek church, for the adherents of those several modes
of worship; the whole number is 5800. Around the city
there are some vast woods of chestnut trees, the fruit of
which is a valuable article of trade ; and there is a consider¬
able commerce in corn. Long. 23. 29. E. Lat. 47. 37. N.
NAGY-ENYED, a city of the Austrian province of §ie-
benbergen, the ancient Transylvania, and the capital of a Nagy-K ■ »
circle of the same name, near the great river Marosch. It r°li
contains a mixed population of 6400 persons, composed of
Hungarians, Armenians, Wallachians, and Saxons. It
has a Catholic, a Lutheran, and a Calvinist church, a Ca¬
tholic monastery, and a college for Calvinistic education,
with a large library.
N AGY-K AROLI, a large town of the circle of Szathmar,
in the province of Farther Theiss, in Hungary. It is situ¬
ated on a fruitful spot, and has a splendid palace and gar¬
dens belonging to Count Karoli, a Catholic, a Calvinist, and
a Unitarian church, a college of philosophy, and a Catholic
gymnasium. It contains 943 houses, and 7567 inhabitants,
amongst whom are many Jews. Long. 22. 22. 40. E. Lat.
47. 40. 10. N.
NAGY-KOBESCH, a city of Hungary, in the district
of Pesth. It is composed of 12,000 inhabitants, almost
wholly of the original Magyar or Hungarian race, who ad¬
here to the Calvinist church, and are chiefly occupied in
agriculture, producing good wine, and rearing large flocks
of sheep. Long. 19. 47. E. Lat. 47. 1. N.
NAFIN, a district of Hindustan, partly situated in the
province of Delhi, on its north-eastern frontier, and partly
in Serinagur. It is between the thirtieth and thirty-second
degrees of north latitude, and is bounded on the east by
the river Jumna. The country is in general woody and
mountainous ; but is interspersed in the neighbourhood of
the city with low hills and extensive wastes, overgrown
with wood; yet these wastes might be watered from the
Jumna, and brought under cultivation. They are, how¬
ever, open to the inroads of both the Sikhs and Nepaulese,
who plunder the country ; and hence the peasants have no
encouragement to be industrious. The country is possessed
by native chiefs, ever jealous of each other, and who plunder
the miserable peasantry, and are in their turn plundered
by other robbers more powerful than themselves. The
capital, of the same name, is a place of considerable strength,
being built of stone, and situated upon the summit of a lofty
mountain. Long. 77. 7. E. Lat. 30. 41. N.
NAHR EL BERD, a river of Syria, in the pachahk of
Tripoli, which falls into the Mediterranean, about nine miles
north of Tripoli. .
NAHR ELTEMASIEH, a river of Syria, which falls
into the Mediterranean, six miles south of Tortosa.
NAHR GEBAIL, a river of Syria, which falls into the
Mediterranean, four miles south of Latakieh.
NAHR EL HOUALI, a river of Irak Arabi, the an¬
cient Hermes, which rises in Mount Marius, passes by the
ruins of Nisibis, and, after a short course, falls into the
Khabour. . ,
NAFIR EL KEBIR, a considerable river of Syria, which
rises in Mount Libanus, and, after a winding course, falls
into the Mediterranean, twenty miles north-east of Tripoli.
NAIADES, in fabulous history, certain inferior deities
who presided over rivers, springs, wells, and fountains.
The Naiades generally inhabited the country, and resorted
to the woods or meadows near the stream over which they
presided. They are represented as young and beautifu
virgins, each leaning upon an urn, from which flows a stream
of water. iEgle was, according to Virgil, the fairest of the
Naiades. Their name appears to be derived from mu, to
floiv. They were held in great veneration amongst the
ancients; and often sacrifices of goats and lambs were of¬
fered to them, with libations of wine, honey, and oil. Some¬
times they received Only offerings of milk, fruit, and flowers.
NAIANT, in Heraldry, a term used in blazoning fishes,
when borne in a horizontal posture, as if swimming.
NAIN, Lewis Sebastian de, a French critic and his¬
torian, was son of a master of the requests, and was born
at Paris in 1637. At ten years old he went to school at
Port-Royal, and became one of the best writers of that m-
N A I
stitution. Sacy, his intimate friend and counsellor, pre¬
vailed with him in 1676 to receive the priesthood; which,
it seems, his great humility would not before suffer him to
aspire to. Ibis virtue beseems to have possessed in the
extreme; so. that Bossuet, seeing one of his letters to
rather Dami, with whom he had some little dispute, be¬
sought him merrily “ not to be always upon his knees be¬
fore his adversary, but to raise himself up now and then.”
He was solicited to push himself forward in the church ;
and Buzanval, bishop of Beauvois, wished to have him for
his successor; but Nain, regardless of dignities, wished
for nothing but retirement, so that he might indulge in the
mortifications of a religious life and the indefatigable cul¬
tivation of letters. He died in 1698, aged sixty-one. His
principal works are, 1. Memoirs on the Ecclesiastical His¬
tory of the first six ages of the Church, in sixteen vols. 4to;
and, 2. The History of the Emperors, in six vols. 4to. These
works are deduced from original sources, and composed
with fidelity and accuracy.
NAIRNSHIRE, a small county in Scotland. It is si¬
tuated between 57° 22' and 57° 40' north latitude, and 3° 47'
west longitude, having the Moray Frith on the north, Mo¬
rayshire on the east and south, and the county of Inver¬
ness on the west. Its extent from north to south is from
twelve to twenty miles, and from east to west from ten to
thirteen ; and its contents are 198 square miles, or 126,720
English acres, of which only about a fourth part is in cul¬
tivation, the rest consisting principally of waste and moor
ground, with about 8000 acres of wood, chiefly planted,
about two square miles of lakes, and a small proportion of
moss. It has only four entire parishes, Nairn, Auldearn,
Cawdor, and Ardclach, and portions of other five, which
belong to the counties of Moray, Ross, and Inverness.
Two detached districts, Ferintosh and Dunmaglass, belong
to Nairnshire; the former lying near Dingwall in Ross-
shire, and the latter at the head of Strathnairn in Inver¬
ness-shire.
The sea shore of Nairnshire is low, bare, and sandy ; and
the approaches to it from the Moray Frith are all beset
by numerous sand-banks, especially from Fort George to
Whiteness Point, where the free channel is narrow, and
the navigation intricate and dangerous. To the eastward
the sand has been drifted into hillocks and even hills of
sand, the parents, it is believed, of the great sand floods
which have buried the estate of Culbin, below Forres. Near
to the coast there rises to the height of about ninety feet
a bluff terrace-bank, from the top of which the country
deflects back in several gentle undulations to the slopes of
the first chain of hills on the south side of the river Nairn,
the undulating plain being from one to four or five miles
broad. The terrace-bank is part of a general one which
encircles the Moray Frith, and which, with the waving cul¬
tivated grounds behind, consists of a great deposit of sand
and gravel, the rolled debris in part of the ancient moun¬
tains, and also, most likely, of the solid rocks which at one
time filled up the basin of the frith. Owing to this pre¬
ponderance of sand in the subsoil, the alluvial covering of
Nairnshire is in general extremely slight, sandy, and porous;
and as the gravel beds are deep, rocks in situ are but sel¬
dom seen (with the exception, however, of some about the
principal town, and Boath, which form good building stones)
till we reach the south-western bank of the river Nairn.
I here the nearest chains of hills, which, rising gradually
rom the east to an altitude, on the confines of Inverness-
shire towards the west, of perhaps 1500 feet, are skirt-
ed by a narrow strip of the old red sandstone formation,
with its associated coarse conglomerate, dip beneath the
gravely beds. Immediately behind, the whole country,
extending from the river Nairn to the Findhorn, and in
one part beyond it to Duthel in Strathspey, consists of
primitive rocks, the only stratified member of which is
N A I
687
Etone88’ liwif/*"'”CCasl0n.al .beds of bluish granular Natashire.
• All the rest are varieties of grranite, the most ^ - -
erai^T1 Va"ety bfinS a red or flesh-coloured and laro-e-
ntic wirhT116’ W11Cl? ab°Ut Park is beautifully porphy-
Jhosl nf tV ge/ryStals °f felsPar- A11 th* rocks, as well
those of the sandstone deposits on the north, as of the pri-
the lntenor’ exhibit undoubted and very
tions ofespndlCaitl0nS’m their shattered a»d uplifted posh
^differenti|mesfreat gramt,c eruPti°ns having ocJrred
erand .^hehnis^h11 ^ SCenery is in %eneral wild and
g and , the hills above are moorish, lumpish, and unbroken
in their outlines; the banks of the Nairn, excepting the
short distance they are enlivened by the contiguPousSplea-
sure grounds attached to the several seats of Kilravock
o m and Contray, are tame and uninteresting; but alono-
the course of the streams traversing the sandstone rocks&,
we meet scenes of simple picturesque beauty. Such espe-
cially is the burn of Cawdor, which, for about two miles
above the Castle of Cawdor, has cut down the conglome¬
rate rocks into most beautiful pyramidal curves, the deep
dell stretching around them being clothed with the most
luxuriant vegetation, from either side of which a fine old
oak torest, and more recent plantations of pines and oaks,
cover for miles the lower slopes of the hills constituting
the beautiful grounds of Lord Cawdor.
Nairnshire cannot boast of a peculiar Flora ; but some
i ai e plants occur, as potamogeton pradongus in Lochlee
and along with nymphaa alba in Loch Littie ; gagea lu-
tea and ranunculus auricomus near Blackhills; carex ve-
sicaria and lycopus europaus near Millhill; salicornia
nerbacea, teesdalia nudicaulis, and carex incurva, about
Nairn ; milium effusum, festuca calamaria, convallaria ma-
jahs, lycopus europaus, listera ovata, goodyera repens, sco-
lopendrium vulgare, lycopodium inundatum, about Cawdor.
I he territory of Nairnshire, exclusive of the lands be¬
longing to and held of the burgh of Nairn, is divided into
nrteen estates, of which nine are under the valuation of
L.500 Scots, other three under L.2000, and the remainino-
three above L.2000. The valued rent is L. 15,062. 15s. Ich
Scots, of which about one fourth is entailed. The real
rent is now (1837) supposed to be fully L.16,000. The prin¬
cipal residences are, Cawdor Castle, the Earl of Cawdor;
Kilravock Castle, Rose ; Lethen House and Coulmon}',
Brodie; Kinsteary, Gordon ; Boath, Dunbar; and Geddes,
Mackintosh.
This county is further subdivided into farms, in general
small and unenclosed. Although it is far behind the neigh¬
bouring counties of Moray and Ross in its agriculture, yet
the gradual introduction of the use of lime along with the
turnip husbandry is fast ameliorating the appearance of
the cultivated districts of the county. Its live stock pre¬
sents nothing worthy of particular notice; the cattle are
generally small and puny, a sort of mongrel breed inter¬
mediate between the Highland and the Morayshire, but in¬
ferior to both.
This county sends a member to parliament along with
Elginshire; and the town of Nairn joins with Inverness,
korres, and Fortrose, in the election of a member for
these burghs. The number of county electors is 116, and
those of the burgh amount to seventy-one. The counties
of Elgin and Nairn are under the jurisdiction of the same
sheriff, who has a substitute for the latter county in the
town of Nairn.
Nairnshire formed a part of the ancient province of
Moray. A few miles to the east of Nairn, at a place call¬
ed Harmuir, Macbeth, according to Shakspeare, met the
witches on his way to Forres. Near to the village of Auld¬
earn, Montrose obtained a great victory over the Covenan¬
ters in 1645. The county contains the ruins of several
castles, and other remains of an early age. The castles of
688 N A M
Naim Cawdor and Kilravock, both of great antiquity, are still the
seats of their proprietors.
NAM
In the county of Nairn there are no manufactures pro- Name,
perly so called. It is almost exclusively agricultural. v-
Name.
YEAR.
HOUSES.
1811 : 1946
1831 2074
By how
many Fa¬
milies oc¬
cupied.
2021
2246
OCCUPATIONS.
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Agricul-
68
92
ture.
870
742
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Trade, Ma¬
nufactures,
or Handi¬
craft.
341
487
All other
Families
not com¬
prised in
the two
preceding
classes.
810
1017
PERSONS.
Males.
3530
4307
Females.
Total of
Persons.
4721
5047
8251
9354
Nairn, the county town, and a royal burgh, is a place of
considerable antiquity, pleasantly situated on the northern
bank of the Nairn, near its mouth. It has no manufactures,
and but little trade, and contains about 2000 inhabitants.
The National Bank and the British Linen Company have
opened branches here, and an academy has lately been
erected by subscription. Nairn has an excellent inn, with
hot and cold salt-water baths; and from the dryness and
salubrity of the climate, it is much resorted to in summer
for sea-bathing.
NAISSANT, in Heraldry, is usually applied to any ani¬
mal issuing out of the midst of some ordinary, and show¬
ing only his head, shoulders, fore feet, and legs, with the
tip of his tail, the rest of his body being hid in the shield,
or some charge upon it. In this it differs from issuant,
which denotes a living creature arising out of the bottom
of any ordinary or charge.
NAJOO, a small island in the Eastern Seas, near to the
west coast of the island of Celebes. Long. 124. 25. E.
Lat. 129. S.
NAM ACUL, a town of the south of India, and district of
Baramahl, subject to the British. It has a strong fort, situ¬
ated on a rock of granite. Long. 78. 5. E. Lat. 11. 22. N.
NAMAGANG, a small island in the Eastern Seas,
situated in long. 123. E. and lat. 6. 45. N.
NAMBOODY, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Aurungabad. It belongs to the Mahrattas, and is six¬
teen miles north from Ahmednuggur. Long. 73. 3. E.
Lat. 19. 15. N.
Originally every person had but one name, as amongst
the Jews, Adam ; amongst the Egyptians, Busiris; amongst
the Chaldees, Ninus ; the Medea, Astyages ; the Greeks,
Diomedes; the Romans, Romulus ; the Gauls, Divitiacus;
the Germans, Ariovistus ; the Britons, Cassibelaunus ; the
English, Hengist, &c.; and so of other nations, except
the savages of Mount Atlas, whom Pliny and Marcellinus
represent as anonymi, or nameless. The Jews gave the
name at the circumcision, viz. eight days after the birth ;
the Romans, to females on the eighth day, to males on the
ninth ; at which time they held a feast, called nominalia.
Since Christianity has obtained, most nations have follow¬
ed the Jews, baptizing and giving the name on the eighth
day after the birth ; excepting our English ancestors, who,
until recently, baptized and gave the name on the birth¬
day. The first imposition of names was founded on dif¬
ferent views, amongst different people; the most com¬
mon was to mark the good wishes of the parents, or to
entitle the children to the good fortune which a happy
name seemed to promise. Hence Victor, Castor, Faus-
tus, Statorius, Probus, and the like. Accordingly, we find
that such names, by Cicero called bona nomina, and by
Tacitus, nomina, were first enrolled and ranged in
the Roman musters, because those bearing them were
first called to serve at the sacrifices, in the foundation of
colonies, &c. And, on the contrary, Livy calls Atrius
Umber, abominandi omnis nomen ; whilst Plautus, on oc¬
casion of mentioning a person named Lyco, or greedy
wolf, says,
NAME denotes a word by which men have agreed to
expresss some idea, or which serves to denote or signify
a thing or a subject spoken of. This the grammarians
usually call a noun, nomen, though their noun is not of
quite so much extent as our name. Seneca {de Benejieiis,
lib. ii.) observes, that there are a great number of things
which have no name, and which, therefore, we are forced
to call by other borrowed names. Ingens est, says he,
rerum copia sine nomine, quas cum propriis appellationibus
signare non possumus, alienis accommodatis utimur ; which
may show why, in the course of this work, we frequently
give various senses to the same word.
Names are distinguished into proper and appellative.
Proper names are those which represent some individual
thing or person, so as to distinguish it from all other things
of the same species; as Socrates, which represents a cer¬
tain philosopher. Appellative or general names are those
which signify common ideas, or which are common to se¬
veral individuals of the same species; as horse, animal,
man, oak, and the like. Proper names are either called
Christian, as being given at baptism, or surnames; the
first being imposed for distinction of persons, answering to
the Roman proenomen ; the second, for the distinction of
families, answering to the nomen of the Romans, and the
patronymicum of the Greeks.
Vosmet nunc facite conjecturam cseterum
Quid id sit hominis, cui Lyco nomen fiet.
Hence Plato recommends it to men to be careful in
giving happy names; and the Pythagoreans taught express¬
ly, that the minds, actions, and successes of men were ac¬
cording to their names, genius, and fate. Thus Panormi-
tan, ex bono nomine oritur bona prcesumptio; and the com¬
mon proverb, Bonum nomen bonum omen ; and hence the
foundation of the onomomantia. It is an observation de¬
serving attention, says the Abbe Barthelemi, that the
greater part of names found in Homer are marks of dis¬
tinction, and appear to have been given in honour of the
qualities most esteemed in the heroic ages. From the word
polemos, which signifies war, have been formed Tlepolemus
and Archepolemus, the names of two heroes mentioned in
the Iliad. The former name signifies able to support, and
the latter, able to direct, the labours of war. By adding to
the word mache, or battle, certain prepositions and different
parts of speech, which modify the sense in a manner always
honourable, are composed the names Amphimachus, Anti-
machus, Promachus, Telemachus. Proceeding in the same
way, with the word strength or intrepidity, they formed the
names Agapenor, “ he who esteems valour,” and Agenor,
“ he who directs it.” From thoes, swift, are derived Alca-
NAM
Name.
Pa^oes Perithoes, &c.; from nous, mind or intelli¬
gence, come Astynoes, Arsinoes, Autenoes; from medes
counsel, Agamedes, Eumedes, Lycomedes, Thrasymedes; and
from c *™, glory, Amphicles, Agacles, Iphicles, Patroclus,
Cleobulus, and many others. Hence Camden takes it for
granted, that the names, in all nations and languages, are
significative, and not simple sounds for mere distinction’s
sake. 1 his holds not only amongst the Jews, Greeks, and
Latins, but even amongst the Turks, with whom Abdallah
signifies Gods servant, Soliman, peaceable, Mahommed,
glonjied, &c.; and also amongst the savages of Hispaniola,
and throughout America, who, in their languages, name
their children Glistering Light, Sun, Bright, Fine Gold, &c.:
whilst those of Congo call them by the names of precious
stones, flowers, &c. To suppose names given without any
meaning, however their signification may be lost by the
alteration of language, that learned author thinks is to re¬
proach our ancestors, and that too contrary to the sense of
all ancient writers. Porphyry remarks, that the barbarous
names, as he calls them, were very emphatical, and very
concise; and accordingly it was esteemed a duty to be
^iwvyoi, or sui nominis homines. Hence Severus, Pro¬
bus, and Aurelius, are called sui nominis imperatores. It
was the usual way of giving names, to wish the children
might discharge their names. Thus, when Gunthram king
of ir ranee named Clotharius at the font, he said, Crescat
puer, et hujus sit nominis executor. The ancient Britons,
Camden says, generally took their names from colours, be¬
cause they painted themselves; but these names are now
lost, or remain hid amongst the Welsh. When they were
subdued by the Romans, they took Roman names, some
o which still remain corrupted; though the greater part
became extinct upon the admission of the English Sax¬
ons, who introduced the German names, as Cridda, Pen-
da, Oswald, Edward, and the like. The Danes, too,
brought with them their names; as Suayne, Harold, Knute,
&c. Ihe Normans, at the Conquest, brought in other
German names, having originally used the German tongue;
such as Bobert, William, Bichard, Henry, Hugh, &c. in
the same manner as the Greek names Aspasius, Boethius,
oymmachus, &c. were introduced into Italy upon the divi¬
sion of the empire. After the Conquest, our nation, which
had ever been averse to foreign names, as deeming them
unlucky, began to take Hebrew names; as Mattheio, David,
bamson, &c. Camden mentions it as an opinion, that the
practice of giving surnames for Christian names first began
ln ^ m Edward VI. and was observed by such as
would be godfathers, when they were more than half fa¬
thers; upon which some were persuaded to change their
names at confirmation, which seems to have been usual in
other countries. Thus, two sons of Henry II. of France,
c ristened Alexander and Hercules, changed them at con-
rmation into Henry and Francis. In monasteries, the re-
igious assume new names at their admission, to show that
t ey are about to lead a new life, and have renounced the
world, their family, and even their name; as, for instance,
sister Mary of the Incarnation, brother Henry of the Holy
acrament, and the like. The popes also changed their
names at their exaltation to the pontificate; a custom first
introduced by Pope Sergius, whose name till then, as Pla-
ina informs us, was Swine's Snout. But Onuphrius refers
it to John XII. or XIII. and at the same time adds a rea¬
son for the change different from that of Platina, namely,
t at it was done in imitation of St Peter and St Paul, who
were first called Simon and Saul.
Amongst the ancients, those deified by the heathen con¬
secrations had new names given them ; thus, Romulus was
called Quirinus; Melicertes, Portunus or Portumus, &c.
ew names were also given in adoptions, and sometimes
Y testament. Thus L. ACmilius, adopted by Scipio, took
the name of Scipio Africanus; and Augustus, who was
VOL. xv.
N A M
689
ThuTinu3' beinS ad°P*ed by Nampt
ook thell nf ^ •US V,5" ^t0 his "ame family, wi<*
were IL m f Mus C(Bsar Octavianus. Names II
were also changed at enfranchisements into new citTes Namur
Thus, Lucumo, on his first being made free of Rome took
madeT/, ^ and Slav™"wh“n
Those c“ied m fhfSUmed-the ”ames of their “asta-s.
nose called to the equestrian order, if thev Ind
ernred’ n°minib<‘s iWnuorum vete-
it was the fancy of the wits and the learned men of the aie’
EsiSrones"- Ifs '°chanSe ‘heir. baptismal names fo^
assical ones, as Sannazanus, for instance, who altered
is own plain name o( Jacopo to Actius Syncerus. Numbers
a ntri’ and;amTgSt the rest’ PI^tina the historian
r% 7/°’ n°, W1.th°Ut a solemn ceremonial, took the
name of Callimachus, instead of Philip. Pope Paul II. who
reigned about the same time, unluckily chanced to be sus¬
picious, illiterate, and obtuse in comprehension. He had
theldhadhat PerKT ^°U-ld Wish t0 alter their names unless
they had some bad design; and actually scrupled not to
mploy imprisonment and other violent methods to dis¬
cover the fancied mystery. On this frivolous pretence
Platina was most cruelly tortured; but he had nothing to
confess, and so the pope, after endeavouring in vain to
convict him of heresy, sedition, and other crimes, released
him after a long imprisonment.
NAMPTWICH, or Nantwich, a market-town of the
hundred of its own name, in the county of Chester, an hun-
dred and sixty-five miles from London. It is situated on
the banks of the river Wever, and has by canals good
water communication in all directions. It is one of the
largest and best-built towns in the county, with regular
streets and handsome houses. It was known to the Ro¬
mans by the name of Salinis, and must at all times have
been a place of importance, from the vast quantities of salt
procured from its vicinity. This product is partly made
from brine springs highly saturated; and prodigious masses
of rock-salt are drawn from mines, or rather quarries, near
tlie town. I hese mines are many acres in extent. The roofs
are supported by pillars, both of the same substance; and the
translucent nature of the salt affords a pleasing and pic¬
turesque appearance. Many thousands of tons of this rock-
salt are annually exported from Liverpool to the ports of
Prussia, Russia, and Sweden, on the Baltic Sea. The
country around yields a large portion of the best Cheshire
cheese; and the trade in that article is carried on upon a
very extensive scale, especially with London. The mak¬
ing of shoes is one source of employment; and many of
them are sent to the metropolis and other parts of En°-land.
There is a well-supplied market, which is held on Saturday.
Ihe population of the town amounted in 1801 to 3463, in
1811 to 3999, in 1821 to 4661, and in 1831 to 4886 ; but
the parish includes five other townships, which, by the last
census, appear to make the inhabitants of the whole 5357.
NAMUR, a province of the Netherlands. It is formed
out of a large portion of the French department of the
Sambre and the Meuse, of parts of the ancient duchy of
Namur, of some parcels of Liege, Luxemburg, and Bra¬
bant, and of the cantons of Philipville and Couvin, ceded
to the Netherlands by the peace of 1815. It extends in
north latitude from 49. 47. to 50. 49. and in east longi¬
tude from 4. 15. to 5. 13. It is 1342 square miles in
extent; it is formed into three circles, fifteen cantons,
and 313 communes; and it contains 165,000 inhabitants.
The surface is covered with hills and mountains, with
many valleys between them, in which channels are form¬
ed for numerous springs. There are scarcely any ex-
4 s
N
NAN
Nancy*
690 ^ 4 oca qroandthem, and by some elegant triumphal arches. There Nanda.
Nancowry tensive plains; but the lower hills, exceed public collegiate school, with a library of 50,000 PrW
" feet in height, are for the most part covered ^ ^ botanic gaBrden) and cabinets of natural history. ^
.The sod in the northern division is of moderate f U ty, ^ contains 6000 houses and 30,500 inhabitants, and is
' but in the south it is stony, chalky, ?r slaty;, beina a bb a piace Df active industry. The chief articles made are cot-
destitute of mould, and covered with heat . { Jn and thin woollen goods, paper, pottery and porcelain
woods. Agriculture is well conducted m the arroni ■ h liqueurs, starch, snuff, leather, and chemical prepa-
ment of Namur, but neglected in other parts ; 80 tha1; wl'b Lon’ 7. 5. 11. E. Lat. 48. 41. 55. N.
the help of potatoes, which are extensively cultivate , ^ ANDAPRAYAGA, a celebrated place of Hindu wor-
province barely furnishes corn sufficient tor its sea y { ^ Northern Hindustan, being situated in the province
pulation, rye and winter barley being tb® sP^ie® d^cod of Serinagur, at the confluence of the Alcananda with the
chiefly grown. Flax, hemp, and rape-see P ^ Nandacni. This is one of the most northerly places of
but in small quantities. Fruit is abundant, espec a y Hindu worship. Long. 79. 22. E. Lat. 30. 22. N.
nuts. The vine is but partially cultivated, e wo NANDERE, a district of Hindustan, in the Deccan, 150
vineyards not exceeding thirty acres. Mines o ‘ . d about 33 in breadth, being intersected
coal are found in several andfwor^rt0°u^rao” ^ by the river" G^davery. The soil is fertile, well watered
tent, that about 10,000 tons of cast an T1“ are ma_ a„d capable of being much improved. The capital is of
procured, and soon converted m o u •, b besides the same name, and contains a good fortress built of stone,
nufactures of glass paper Parcela1"’which is garrisoned by the nizam’s troops. It is situated
manv breweries and distilleries. Ihe inhabitants are o   ^
Te Wahoon race, and much attached to the old customs
and religion ; they for the most part speak only their pecu¬
liar patois, and are almost entirely destitute of education.
The two principal rivers, the Sambre and the Meuse, serve
to carry off the waters of the numerous small streams, and,
when united, become navigable, but only for small craft.
The city of Namur is the capital, as well of the arron-
dissement as of the province. It is situated between two
hills in a valley, on the left bank of the Meuse, where that
in long. 77. 35. E. and lat. 19. 6. N.
NANDOOR, a town of the south of India, in the North¬
ern Circars, seventy-four miles south-west by south from
Vizagapatam. Long. 82. 25. E. Lat. 17.27. N.
NANGA, a sea-port of the island of Niphon, situated
on a bay on the south coast, fifty-five miles south-west from
Jedo. Long. 139. 16. E. Lat. 35. 52. N.
NANGASAKI, one of the sea-ports of Japan, at the
south-western extremity of the island of Ximo, and one of
imio, .v.—y7 --- - , is <stTonpi- the largest commercial sea-ports in the island. It is the
river is joined by the Sambre and the Bederm. g b empire at which Europeans are permit-
ly fortified, and has a powerful citadel, commanding the ^ Pa ^ thisP ission is confined to the Dutch,
city, as well as the passage over the river. ^ i a weU-bui t ^d ^ rade ’ an isP arated from Nangasaki only by
place, though with no buildings of a remarkable character. Ihe island oi^ a P^ one Qf which56looking t0 the
It contains 16,800 inhabitants, who are t e chiefman f - . ^ the Dutch> and is guarded by
turers of the province. Long. 4.45. 7. E. La-5^:~8;^Y' 1 j’nese. The other looks to the harbour, which is
NANCOWRY, one of the Nicobar Islands, s tuated in the Japa e and one in breadth. The Dutch town
the Bay of Bengal. It is about twenty-five mi es m cn- lengthwise, and contains several large storehouses,
cumference, and has a rich soil, which however, is bu fire-proof. The other houses are
little cultivated. Between this, the island of Cornarty, and wood day and tiles, with paper windows, and
another island, is a very capacious bay, in which s ips may strawf The Japanese interpreters have a large
lie in the most perfect security. The best entrance ts on «““r;mats who are l son of spies, and
the east side. The western entrance ts narrow, being only house, and a so the uttona^w ^ The Dutch com-
100 fathoms wide, and the tide rolling through it with great report all that t ey an Arivate tradcrs seventy-live
force, though it is sufficiently deep to admit the largest pany pay fi P . J NTnncrasaki theJananese
vessels. The natural productions of this island are cocoa- P^.^^s bufit at"the head of the harbour, and has neither
nuts, papias, plantains, limes, tamarinds, betel-nut, and a , .• There are two towns: the inner,
species if bread fruit. Rice is unknown; but yams and wafls nor fortifications, are^two towns ^
other roots are cultivated; and the mangosteen tree and which conta These streets are neither straight nor
nine apples grow wild. The inhabitants are Mahomme- sixty-one streets. Ihese streets arepe‘me .fi ? -d
Pdans,aPndarega civil, quiet people. They are stout and well spacious, a!^^
made, but, like all barbarous people, nowise industrious, in them. ^ 16 C. ■ mountains The most hand-
They rear a great number of poultry, which they barter for ing from the ne.ghbounng p T"e “““
cloth, cutlery8, tobacco, and other articles. Their houses some houses are the ^The™ ^StS
are built on piles so near the shore as frequently to admit and of other punces an g • r- and ais0
of the tide flowing under them. The Danes had formerly temples built on eminences, se g
a small settlement here, consisting of missionaries and a for recreation. Long. • • • • • ’ , :tv
few sddiers. It existed as late as the year 1791, and was NAN-H1UNG, or
withdrawn on account of the sickness amongst the troops, of China, in the prov ince o QuaaB , between pekin
and of the little advantage derived from it. The island is of a mountain, which crooses t &
annually visited by from fifteen to twenty large prows, with and Canton. . father
Malays and Chinese from the coast of Malacca, in quest of NANI, John Baptist was bom m ^
edible bird-nests. Long. 93. 43. E. Lat. 7. 57. N. was procurator of St Mark and
NANCY, an arrondissement of the department of the to Rome. He was educated with ’ , . d 0f
Meurthe, in France, extending over 420 square miles. It considerable improvement. Urban . g J » ^
is divided into six cantons, and subdivided into 137 com- merit, soon perceived that of young a . bortiy
munes, containing 115,500 inhabitants. The city of Nancy, mitted into the college of senators in ’ p wbpre he sig-
the capital of the arrondissement, is also the capital of the afterwards nominated ambassador to Franc , nrnrured
department of the Meurthe, and the seat of the several ad- nalized himself by his complaisant manners. ^ P:n5,t the
ministrative boards. It is finely situated at the foot of a considerable succours lor the war of Can la g rjn.
hill covered with woods, and watered by the river Meurthe. Turks, and, after his return to \ emce, be P bse-
It is surrounded with ancient walls, and is well built, having tendent of the war-office and ot finances. , g
beautiful squares, highly adorned by the several buildings quently ambassador to the empire, where fie r
ijanka
.lands
II
'{antes
NAN
services to his country which, as a zealous and intelligent
citizen, he was so well qualified to discharge. He was a^ain
sent to France in the year 1660, to solicit fresh succours for
°n 118 re^urn was appointed procurator of St
Mark. He died on the 5th of November 1768, at the age
of sixty-three, much regretted by his countrymen. The
senate had appointed him to write the History of the Re¬
public, which he executed to the satisfaction of the Vene¬
tians, although the work has not been admired by foreign¬
ers. This history was printed at Venice in 1662 and 1679
in two vols. 4to.
NANKA Islands are three in number, and are situat¬
ed near the west coast of Ranca. They produce wood for
fuel, and excellent water. Long. 105. 41. E. Lat. 2. 22. S.
NANKANG, a city of China, of the first rank, in Ki-
angsee. It is situated on a branch of the Povane Lake
Long. 115. 39. E. Lat. 29. 33. N. J b ■
NANKING, a large city of China, and at one time the
capital of the southern division of the empire ; but, since
Pekin became the seat of government, it has lost its for¬
mer importance, and its population has also diminished.
Nanking is situated on the southern bank of the river
Yang-tse-Kiang ; it was formerly visited by vessels of great
burden, and still communicates by smaller barks with all
the interior of the empire, and with Pekin by the great
canal. It has fine manufactures of silk, which are consi¬
dered as its staple ; and also plain and flowered satins, be¬
sides thin woollen stuffs. It is considered as a seat of Chi¬
nese learning, being the residence of many great doctors ;
and the booksellers’ shops are better furnished than any in
the empire. The city is kept very clean, though the streets
are narrower than those of Pekin. The public eating-
houses are numerous, and well supplied. Formerly Nan¬
king had a magnificent palace, which was destroyed in
1645, by the Mantchoo Tartars. It is still adorned with
lofty and splendid gateways, and with temples attached to
them. It has also a very curious porcelain tower. This
celebrated pagoda is of an octagonal form, nine stories in
height, and the date of the structure is 1411. Long. 118.
34. E. Lat. 32. 4. N.
NAN-NING, a city of China, in Quangsee, situated in
the midst of rivers and small lakes, and of mountains con¬
taining iron mines. Long. 107. 44. E. Lat. 22. 44. N.
NANPAREH, a town of Hindustan, in the territories
of the Nabob of Oude, eighty miles north-north-east from
Lucknow. Long. 81. 30. E. Lat. 27. 52. N.
NANTES, a city of France, the capital of the arrondisse-
ment of the same name, in the department of the Lower
Loire. It is one of the principal sea-ports of the kingdom,
and owes much of its importance to its local situation.
It stands in a fine country on the right bank of the river
Loire, about thirty miles from its mouth, and opposite to
the point where the river Sevre falls into that stream.
The entrance to the Loire is very dangerous, on account
of the many sunken rocks near its mouth. Of these,
the most remarkable are, Le Turque, uncovered at low
water; La Couronne, a most dangerous reef, having ten
fathoms of water close to it; and the Lamborde, a rock
level with the water at low spring tides. These are all
on the north-west side of the entrance; but on the south¬
west side the dangers to be avoided are, the Leven, a
rock nearly covered at half tide; Pierre Percee, an islet,
elevated about thirty feet above low water; the Bague-
nard, another rock nearly covered at half tide, upon which
a bank of sand is visible; the Grand Charpentier, Petit
Charpentier, and La Vieille, three rocks of nearly equal
height, and even with the sea at neap tides ; and Les Mo-
rees and La Truye, appearing about eight feet above the
water at neap tides. The commercial importance of Nantes
depends in a great measure upon the length of the river
Loire, which is nearly 500 miles, and the means afforded,
NAP
691
by the help of canals, which connect it with the Seine, the Nantua
Rhone, and the Soane, of conveying to its harbour a nor- II
tion of the productions of every department in France. Napier.
-the trade by sea is shown by the number and tonnage' Y 
of vessels which entered the port in the year 1831; the
one being 3344, and the other 146,258 tons. Of the fo¬
reign ships, seventeen were British, estimated at 1780 tons.
1 he amount duty on exportation and importation, in-
°n Sa t’Twhich is very heavy, was, in 1831,
3 907 ion franCS’ °r Hoo,00°5 in 1832 11 counted to
13,907,400 francs, or L.522,000. Nantes is also a place
of considerable manufacturing industry. One of the most
prominent branches is ship-building, includin g thefabrica-
tion of cables, cordage, sailcloth, and anchors, wit h other
articles made of iron. Weaving and spinning of woollen
linen, cotton, and silk, occupy a great number of hands’.
Glass and earthen ware are also made, and many hats, and
much leather of all kinds. Sugar-mills, and other enmnes
used in the sugar colonies, are extensively prepared^ and
the refining of sugar is a vast branch of trade. There are
also many distilleries, in which the most delicious cordials
are prepared, and possess great celebrity.
. Nantes is finely situated on the banks of the river, some
islands in which are covered with houses. Though many
of the buildings are old and not regular, some are hand¬
some, especially in the parts recently erected. The for¬
tifications have been destroyed, and are now formed into
fine promenades. The river, which is very wide, is crossed
by a succession of bridges connecting the five islands, and
the passage over them is nearly three miles. The city has
seventeen churches, and several other public buildings,
amongst which is the cathedral built in the Gothic style.
There is a university, a lyceum, an anatomical and naval
school, a public library, a botanic garden, and a cabinet of
natural history. There is likewise a theatre. This place
is remarkable in history for the edict which gave freedom
to 1 rotestantism, and for the horrible cruelties perpetrated
in it during the Revolution, by means of the noyades. The
city contains 8{,500 inhabitants. The arrondissement in
which it is situated extends over 776 square miles, and
is divided into seventeen cantons, and sixty-seven com¬
munes, containing 205,627 inhabitants. Long. 1. 22. 44.
W. Lat. 47. 13. N.
NANTUA, an arrondissement of the department of
the Ain, in France, 310 square miles in extent. It com¬
prehends six cantons, divided into sixty-one communes,
and contains 51,500 inhabitants. The capital is the city
of the same name, situated in a narrow valley between
two mountains, on the border of the lake of Nantua. It
has 340 houses, and 3860 inhabitants, who carry on seve¬
ral tanneries, paper and silk mills, and make hats and
cotton goods. Long. 5. 33. E. Lat. 46. 8. N.
NAN YANG, a town of China, of the first rank, in Ho¬
nan. It is situated in a mountainous country, where pro¬
visions are cheap. Long. 112. 14. E. Lat. 33. 36. N.
NAPAKIANG, the principal sea-port in the great
Loochoo Island, situated about five miles from the capital.
I he ships Lyra and Alceste lay here for some time, in a
roadstead which afforded good anchorage. Long. 127. 37.
E. Lat. 26. 13. N.
NAPHTHALI, or Nephthali (Josh, xix.), one of
the tribes of Israel, having Zabulon on the south, Asher
on the west, the Jordan on the east, and on the north the
Anti-Libanus.
NAPIER, John, Baron of Merchiston in Scotland, and
the inventor of the Logarithms, was the eldest son of Sir
Archibald Napier of Edinbellie and Merchiston, by his first
wife Janet Bothwell, and was born near Edinburgh, in the
year 1550. Having given early indications of great natu¬
ral parts, his father was careful to have them cultivated by
a learned education. After passing through the ordinary
692 NAT
Napier, courses of liberal study at the University of St Andrews,
' v he is said to have made the tour of France, Italy, and (aer-
many. Upon his return to his native country, his litera¬
ture and other accomplishments soon rendered him con¬
spicuous, and might have raised him to the highest offices
of the state ; but declining all civil employments, and avoid¬
ing the bustle of the court, he retired from active life to
pursue scientific and literary researches, in which he made
such uncommon progress, as to favour mankind with divers
useful discoveries. He applied himself chiefly to the study
of mathematics, and to that of the Holy Scriptures ; and in
regard to both, he has evinced the most extensive know¬
ledge and profound penetration. His Commentaries upon
the^Apocalypse indicate the most acute investigation, and
an uncommon strength of judgment; and though time
has discovered that his calculations concerning particular
events proceeded upon fallacious data, his reasonings aie
not on that account the less ingenious. This work was
printed abroad in several languages; particularly in brenc i
at Rochelle in the year 1602, in a quarto volume, an¬
nounced in the title as revised by himself. Nothing, it
has been observed, could be more agreeable to the people
of Rochelle, or the Huguenots of France, at this time, than
the author’s annunciation of the pope as antichrist, which
in this book he has endeavoured to set forth with much
zeal and erudition. But what has rendered his name for
ever illustrious was his great and fortunate discovery of the
logarithms, by which the science of astronomy and the
arts of practical geometry and navigation have been won¬
derfully aided and advanced. That he had begun before
the year 1594 the train of inquiry which led to this great
achievement, appears evident from a letter to Crugeius,
written by Kepler in the year 1624, wherein, mentioning
the Canon Mirijicus, he wrrites thus : “ Nihil autem supra
Neperianam rationem esse puto ; etsi Scotus quidem Uteris
ad Tychonem, anno 1594, scriptis jam spem fecit canonis
illius mirifici.’’ This allusion agrees with the idle story
mentioned by Wood in his Athcnai Oxonicnsisy and ex¬
plains it in a way perfectly consonant to the rights of Na¬
pier as the inventor.
When Napier had communicated to Mr Henry Briggs,
mathematical professor in Gresham College, his wonder¬
ful Canon for the Logarithms, that learned professor set
himself to apply the rules in his Imitatio Nepierea ; and
in a letter to Archbishop Usher, written in the year 1615,
he thus expresses himself:—“ Napier, Baron of Merchis-
ton, hath set my head and hands at work with his new
and admirable Logarithms. I hope to see him this sum¬
mer, if it please God; for I never saw a book which pleased
me better, and made me more wonder.” The following
passage from the life of Lilly the astrologer gives a pictu¬
resque view of the meeting between Briggs and the inven¬
tor of the logarithms, at Merchiston, near Edinburgh.
NAP
    7    7   O
will acquaint you,” says Lilly, “ with one memorable story
related unto me by John Marr, an excellent mathemati¬
cian and geometrician, whom I conceive you remember.
He was servant to King James I. and Charles I. When
Merchiston first published his logarithms, Mr Briggs, then
reader of the astronomy lectures at Gresham College in
London, was so much surprised with admiration of them,
that he could have no quietness in himself until he had
seen that noble person whose only invention they were.
He acquaints John Marr therewith, who went into Scot¬
land before Mr Briggs, purposely to be there when these
two so learned persons should meet. Mr Briggs appoints
a certain day when to meet at Edinburgh ; but failing
thereof, Merchiston was fearful he would not come. It
happened one day as John Marr and the Baron Napier
were speaking of Mr Briggs ; ‘ Ah, John,’ said Merchis¬
ton, ‘ Mr Briggs will not come.’ At the very instant one
knocks at the gate: John Marr hasted down, and it proved
to be Mr Briggs, to his great contentment. He brings Napier.
Mr Briggs up to the baron’s chamber, where almost one''-"V'*"
quarter of an hour was spent, each beholding the other
with admiration before one word was spoken. At last
Mr Briggs began : 4 Sir, I have undertaken this long jour¬
ney purposely to see your person, and to know by what
engine of wit or ingenuity you came first to think of this
most excellent help into astronomy, viz. the Logarithms ;
but, Sir, being by you found out, I wonder nobody else
found it out before, when now being known it appears so
easy.’ He was nobly entertained by the illustrious baron;
and every summer after that, during the baron’s life, this
venerable man, Mr Briggs, went purposely to Scotland to
visit him.”
There is a passage in the Life of Tycho Brahe by Gas¬
sendi, which might lead some to suppose that Napier’s
method had previously been explored by Herwart at Hoen-
burg. This passage occurs in Gassendi’s observations on a
letter from Tycho to Hervvart, written on the last day of
August 1599. “ Dixit Hervatus nihil morari se solvendi
cujusquam trianguli difficultatem ; solere se enim multi-
plicationum ac divisionum vice additiones solum, subtrac-
tiones 93 usurpare quod ut fieri posset, docuit postmo-
dum suo logarithmorum Canone Neperus. ’ But Her¬
wart here alludes to the work afterwards published in the
year 1610, which solves triangles by prostaphaeresis, a
mode totally different from that of the Logarithms.
Kepler, who was ignorant that Napier had been de¬
ceased for more than two years, addressed a letter to him,
dated 28th of July 1619 (prefixed as a dedication to his
Ephemerides for the year 1620), in which he expresses his
high admiration of the Canon Mirijicus, and his astonish-
• ment and delight on first becoming acquainted with the
importance of Napier’s great discovery. “ And, indeed,
to use the words of one of his biographers, 44 if we consi¬
der that Napier’s discovery was not, like those of Kepler
or of Newton, connected with any analogies or coinci¬
dences which might have led him to it, but the fruit of
unassisted reason and science, we shall be vindicated in
placing him in one of the highest niches in the temple of
fame. Kepler had made many unsuccessful attempts to
discover his canon for the periodic motions of the planets,
and hit upon it at last, as he himself candidly owns, on
the 15th of May 1618; and Newton applied the palpable
tendency of heavy bodies to the earth to the system of
the universe in general; but Napier sought out his admi¬
rable rules by a slow scientific progress, arising from the
gradual evolution of truth.” But to quote this, or any
other similar observations of an ordinary biographer, may
here be considered as worse than superfluous; for the
Dissertation on the History of Mathematical and Physical
Science, by the late Professor Playfair, prefixed to this
work, contains a view of the nature and value of Napiers
great discovery, and the character of his genius, which at
once satisfies scientific curiosity, and throws into the shade
all the slighter sketches of less weighty authorities.
The last literary exertion of this eminent person was
the publication, in the year 1617, of his Rahdoloyy and
Promptuary, which he dedicated to the Chancellor Seton,
and soon afterwards died at Merchiston, on the 4th of Apia
of the same year, in the sixty-eighth year of his age.
This renowned discoverer was twice married. By his
first wife, who was a daughter of Sir James Stirling o
Keir, he had only one son, named Archibald. He was
appointed a privy counsellor by James VI., under whose
reign he also held the offices of treasurer-depute, justice-
clerk, and senator of the college of justice; and by Charles
I. he was raised to the peerage. By his second wife, a
daughter of Sir James Chisholm of Cromlix, he had a nu
merous family of sons and daughters. ,
We have two Lives of the Inventor of the Logarithms,
NAP
apier’s one by the late Earl of Buchan, with an analysis of Na-
Rods. pier’s printed works by Dr Walter Minto, published in
'-v—' 1787; the other by Mr Mark Napier, advocate, published
in 1834; both in 4to. ihe biographical notice in the
preceding editions of this work seems to have been com¬
piled from the former; and we have not seen reason to
make any material change, particularly as the Dissertation
above referred to, and the article Logakithms, contain all
that is most deserving of attention in regard to the life of
this great man. It may, however, be proper to subjoin a
correct list of his different publications.
1. A plaine Discouery of the whole Reuelation of Saint
lohn ; set downe in two treatises : the one searching and
prouing the true interpretation thereof; the other apply¬
ing the same paraphrastically and historically to the text.
Set foorth by lohn Napeir L. of Marchistoun younger.
Edinburgh, printed by Robert Waldegrave, 1593, 4to.
In republishing this work, in 1611, the author subjoined “ A
resolution of certaine doubts, mooved by some well-affected
brethren.” The “ fifth edition” was printed at Edinburgh,
1645, 4to. It was translated into French by George Thom¬
son, and printed at Rochelle, 1602, in 4to. On the title, it
is said to have been revised by the author himself (“ re¬
verie par lui-meme”), and was reprinted in 1605, and again
in 1607, in 8vo.
2. Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Descriptio, ejusque
usus, in utraque Trigonometria, ut etiam in omni Logisti-
ca Mathematica amplissimi, &c. explicatio. Edinburgi, ex
officina Andreae Hart, 1614, 4to.
3. Rabdologiae, seu Numerationis per Virgulas libri duo:
cum Appendice de expeditissimo Multiplicationis Promp-
tuario. Quibus accessit et Arithmetics Localis liber unus.
Edinburgi, excudebat Andreas Hart, 1617, 12mo. Re¬
printed at Lyons in 1626, and again in 1628, 12mo.
4. Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Constructio, eteorum
ad naturales ipsomm numeros habitudines ; una cum Ap¬
pendice, de alia eaque praestantiore Logarithmorum specie
condenda. Quibus accessere Propositiones ad triangula
sphaerica faciliore calculo resolvenda, &c. Edinburgi, ex¬
cudebat Andreas Hart, 1619, 4to. This posthumous work
was published by the author’s third son Robert Napier.
Some copies of it occur, along with the Canonis, Descriptio,
having a general title page for both, dated 1619, the ori¬
ginal title of 1614 being cancelled. Both works wrere re¬
printed at Lyons in 1620, 4to; and the first, followed with
copious “ Observations,” was included in Baron Maseres’s
large collection entitled “ Scriptores Logarithmici,” vol. vi.;
London, 1807, 4to.
It is not necessary to specify the English translations or
other works illustrative of these several publications.
Napier s Rods, or Bones, an instrument invented by Ba¬
ron Napier, whereby the Multiplication and Division of
large numbers is much facilitated. Suppose the common
table of multiplication to be made upon a plate of metal,
ivory, or pasteboard, and then conceive the several co¬
lumns, standing downwards from the digits on the head,
to be cut asunder; these are what are called Napier s rods
of multiplication. But then there must be a good number
of each ; for as many times as any figure is in the multi¬
plicand, so many rods of that species, or with that figure
on the top of it, must we have, though six rods of each spe¬
cies will be sufficient for any example in common affairs.
There must also be as many rods of 0’s. But before wre
explain the mode of using these rods, there is another thing
to be known, namely, that the figures on every rod are writ¬
ten in an order different from that in the table. Thus the
little square space or division in which the several products
of every column are written is divided into two parts by a
line across from the upper angle on the right to the lower
NAP 693
on the left ; and if the product is a digit, it is set in the Napier’s
lower division, but if it has two places, the first is set in Rods,
the lower, and the second in the upper division. The spaces
on the top are not divided. There is also a rod of digits
not divided, which is called the index rod, and of this we
require only one single rod.
Multiplication by Napier’s Rods.—First lay down the
index rod; then on the right of it set a rod whose top is
the figure in the highest place of the multiplicand; next
to this, again, set the rod whose top is the next figure of
the multiplicand, and so on in order to the first figure.
Then the multiplicand is tabulated for all the nine didts ;
for in the same line of squares standing against every fi¬
gure of the index rod, we have the product of that figure ;
and therefore we have no more to do but to transfer the
products, and sum them. But in taking out these products
from the rods, the order in which the figures stand obliges
us to employ a very easy and small addition. Thus, begin
to take out the figure in the lower part, or units’ place, of
the square of the first rod on the right, add the figure on
the upper part of this rod to that in the lower part of the
next, and so on, which may be done as fast as we can
look on them. To make this practice as clear as possible,
take the following example: To multiply 4768 by 385.
Having set the rods together for the number 4768 (fig. 2)
against 5 in the index, we find this number by adding, ac¬
cording to the rule 23840
Against 8, this number 38144
Against 3, this number 14304
Total product 1835680
To render the use of the rods yet more regular and easy,
they are kept in a flat square box, the breadth of which is
that of ten rods, and the length that of one rod, as thick as
to contain six, or as many as may be required, the capaci¬
ty of the box being divided into ten cells for the different
species of rods. When the rods are put up in the box (each
species in its own cell distinguished by the first figure of
the rod set before it on the face of the box near the top), as
much of every rod stands without the box as shows the
first figure of that rod; also upon one of the flat sides
without, and near the edge, upon the left hand, the index
rod is fixed; and along the foot there is a small ledge, so
that the rods when applied are laid upon this side, and
supported by the ledge, w’hich makes the practice very
easy. But in case the multiplicand should have more than
nine places, the upper face of the box may be made broader.
Some make the rods with four different faces, and figures
on each for different purposes.
Division by Napier’s Rods.—First tabulate the divisor;
then we have it multiplied by all the digits, out of which
we may choose such convenient divisors as will be next
less to the figures in the dividend, and write the index
answering in the quotient, and so continually till the work
is done. Thus 2179788, divided by 6123, gives in the
quotient 356. Having tabulated the divisor 6123, we see
that 6123 cannot be had in 2179; therefore take five
places, and on the rods find a number that is equal or next
less to 21797, which is 18369; that is, three times the di¬
visor. Wherefore set 3 in the quotient, and subtract 18369
from the figures above, and there will remain 3428; to
which add 8, the next figure of the dividend, and seek
again on the rods for it, or the next less, which will be
found to be five times; therefore set five in the quotient,
and subtract 30615 from 34288, and there will remain
3673, to which add 8, the last figure in the dividend, and
finding it to be just six times the divisor, set six in the
quotient. Thus,
6123)2179788(356.
694
NAP
Naples. This whole kingdom is frequently denominated the
kingdom of the Two Sicilies, being situated on both sides
of the Straits of Messina, and divided into two portions,
commonly distinguished by the natives, Naples, or the con¬
tinental part, as Dominj al di qua del Faro ; and Sicily, or
the island part, as Dominj al di Id del Faro. Although
the history of this kingdom forms a material part of that oi
Italy, and is treated of under that article in this work, yet
a short abstract of the course of events seems necessary
to connect the important parts there noticed.
In the earliest period of the history of Rome, this part
of Lower Italy was peopled by a rude people, called the
Ausonians, to whom were subjected other tribes, as the Lu-
canians and the Bruttians, occupying the mountainous dis¬
tricts of the Abbruzzi, and the Samnites. The country on
the eastern coast was called Apulia, and that on the wes¬
tern Calabria. The Greeks established colonies, but chiefly
on the sea-shore, and hence the name of Magna Graecia
was given to it. The dominion of Rome over Lower Italy
began with the subjugation of Tarentum by Fabricius,
which was defended by Pyrrhus king of Epirus, but sur¬
rendered in the year 273 before our era. It continued
till the dissolution of the western Roman empire, in the
year 4<76, an appendage to Rome ; but then came under the
subjection of the Ostrogoths. About the middle of the
sixth century both divisions of the kingdom fell under the
government of the emperor of Constantinople, to each of
which a separate commander was assigned, called Duke,
subordinate to the exarchs of Ravenna. Contests continu¬
ally existed between these exarchs and the state of Lom¬
bardy, in Upper Italy, out of which gradually arose, in the
ninth century, several independent states, which obtained
the titles of dukedoms, such as Salerno, Capua, and la-
rentum, and, above all, Beneventum; and also some re¬
publican cities, amongst which the most celebrated were
Naples, Amalfi, and Gaeta.
At this period, the Saracens, who had previously seized
on Sicily, landed on the continent, and contended for the
mastery over Calabria. They seized on the city of Bari,
and continued their hostilities till they were defeated by
the emperor of Germany, who made himself master of
Beneventum; but the country continued in an agitated
state, from the furious contests of the three parties of Ger¬
mans, Greeks, and Arabians, whose fierce and plundering
habits produced the greatest calamities in the beautiful
country for which they fought. In this state of affairs,
during the eleventh century, some warlike adventurers of
the Norman race offered their assistance to a Grecian
duke, Sergius, against Pandorf, the German prince of Ca¬
pua, and received as a reward a tract of land, on which
was built the city of Aversa, where, in 1029, Rainulf, the
first Norman count, established himself. Other bodies of
bold and greedy Normans soon arrived, with the twelve
sons of Count Tancred of Hauteville, in Lower Norman¬
dy, at their head. Amongst these young men was one
most remarkable for his bravery and sagacity, Robert Guis-
card, who drew around him the stoutest of the peasantry,
and of them formed a band of most expert warriors. With
great prudence, he accepted, as a feudatory of the pope,
the district of Apulia, which he had conquered in 1053,
and promised to the other Normans the same title to the
lands which they should seize upon in Calabria and in
Sicily. Seven years after this, he assumed the title of Duke
of Apulia and Calabria.
Roger, a younger brother of Robert, in 1072 subdued
the island of Sicily, and, after the death of Robert and of
- ■ : I*
Y
L E S.
his sons, united in himself the whole territory held by the Naples,
house of Hauteville, in which he was confirmed in 1098,'"—'v'*-
by an extraordinary bull of Pope Urban II. which gave
to him and to his successors the highest spiritual power in
his kingdom beyond the Straits of Messina.
Roger II., who succeeded his father, reduced the whole
of Lower Italy to a state of subjection by the year 1130,
having then secured to his dominions the great, free, and
commercial cities of Capua, Amalfi, and Naples. At this
period the pope conferred upon him the title of king of
Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily, which he soon exchanged
for that of king of the Two Sicilies. He acknowledged
himself as a feudatory of the holy see, and agreed, as an
acknowledgment of his allegiance, to present annually a
horse and a purse of ducats.
The union of the two kingdoms continued during a
century and a half. On the continent the Lombard law
was adopted, but in the island the feudal law of France
was exercised. The city of Palermo, in Sicily, was, during
the whole of this period, the royal residence.
William, surnamed the Good, the grandson of Roger II.
died in 1109, and with him the family of Tancred became
extinct; upon which the Emperor Henry VI. of the
house of Hohenstauffen, claimed the kingdom in right of
his wife Constantina, the daughter of Roger II. 1 he
Sicilians, however, abhorring German rule, chose Tancred,
a natural son of Roger, and, on his premature demise,
his son William, a minor. Henry invaded the country, and
exercising great severity, reduced it to his authority. He
also died early, and was succeeded by his son Frederick
II. who removed the seat of government from Palermo to
Naples.
The neighbourhood of the imperial house was an eye¬
sore to the popes, and hence Urban IV., after the death
of the Emperor Conrad in 1254), availed himself of his
feudal authority, and granted the kingdom of the Two
Sicilies as a fief to the brother of Louis IX. of France,
Charles of Anjou, who, after some opposition, took posses¬
sion, and ruled the country with an iron sceptre. The
oppressed and discontented people applied to the pope for
redress, but without effect. Upon this, John de Procida, a
nobleman of a Salernian family, a person endowed with many
estimable qualities, and of great penetration and perseve¬
rance, resolved to put an end to the sufferings of Sicily.
His whole estate had been confiscated on account of his
strong attachment to the Hohenstauffen family. In execu¬
tion of his plans of revenge, he first applied to Peter, king
of Aragon, who had married Constantina the daughter of
Manfred, for assistance. Peter showed a disposition to
assist him, but could do nothing, from the want of pecu¬
niary means, towards obtaining the Sicilian throne. Pro¬
cida undertook to procure those means, and, properly au¬
thorized by Peter, first visited Sicily, where he found all
prepared to resist Charles, and where he encouraged the
hope of revenge. He then proceeded to Constantinople,
and presented himself to the Emperor Palaeologus, who
had been alarmed by Charles with threats of invasion, and
from whom he obtained promises of a large sum to be sent
to Aragon. Having received the money, he returned to
Peter, who immediately commenced warlike preparations,
on the pretext of making an attack upon the Moors in
Africa. This awakened some suspicion in Charles, but he <
so fully relied on the security of his possession, that he ne¬
glected to make due preparations.
Peter, with his troops, crossed over to Africa, and there
made feigned demonstrations of hostility, waiting to see u
'Naples
the Sicilians would rise in insurrection against the French
as they had engaged to do. ’
On Easter Monday, the 30th of March 1332, the inha¬
bitants of Messina flew to arms at the sound of the vesper
bell. A dreadful massacre ensued, in which all the French
were put to death. In their rage the inhabitants sacri¬
ficed all, not excepting the aged, the females, and the chil-
dren; and even those women who had connected them¬
selves with Frenchmen were likewise murdered. This hor-
rible event has ever since been known by the name of the
Sicilian Vespers. The other cities of Sicily remained a
short time in tranquillity; but before the end of April they
followed the example set in Messina, and wherever a
Frenchman could be found he was instantly put to death.
As soon as Charles received the horrible intelligence, he
hastened from Orvieto, where he was on a visit to the
pope, to the city of Naples, and having collected his whole
forces, prepared to pass over to Sicily. In July, he ap¬
peared before Messina, which was ready to surrender on
conditions; but as he required unconditional submission,
the spirit of the inhabitants was so roused, that they re¬
solved on a defence, which was carried on with the most
energetic courage, even the women and children partaking
with the men in the dangers, as well as the privations and
sufferings, of a siege.
Whilst the siege was in progress, intelligence was re¬
ceived that Peter of Aragon had landed at Trapani with an
army of 10,000 foot soldiers and 800 mounted men at arms,
and that I alermo had received him with rapturous joy.
Chailes, disturbed by this occurrence, became also alarmed
foi the state of Calabria, and having instantly embarked
his troops, leaving his military stores behind him, sailed
across the strait; but before he reached the continent his
fleet was attacked by that of Peter, under the command
of his admiral, Roger de Loria, who captured twenty-nine
of his vessels, and then ravaged the coast of Naples. Pe¬
ter was received with joy in Messina, and assumed the
government, although the pope issued a bull placing him
and the Sicilians under the ban of the church. The next
year Constantina arrived with her sons, and was acknow¬
ledged as the legitimate inheritor of the crown, which it
was then settled should descend to her second son James.
Although Charles continued to make attempts to regain
his authority in Sicily, they were all unavailing. Contrary
to the usual practice of kings in that day, he discovered
great personal hostility to Peter, and even charged him
with treachery, hoping thus to produce a single combat.
The French, however, lost Sicily, and James was firmly
seated on the throne. In consequence of this, the two
kingdoms were separately ruled during a hundred and
sixty years. Whilst the Spanish family ruled the island,
the continent was under the subjection of Charles of An¬
jou, who agreed to hold it as a fief of the papal see, and
to pay a yearly tribute of eight thousand ounces of gold.
Robert, the great-grandson of Charles, who in succes¬
sion filled the throne of Naples, was, in the year 1307,
elected king of Hungary by the states of that country.
After his death, in the year 1343, in the reign of his grand¬
daughter Johanna, great commotions broke out in Naples.
She had married Andrew duke of Calabria, who wished to
be acknowledged as king, and is said to have intrigued
with that view. He was however murdered, not with¬
out strong suspicion that his wife had been participator in
the crime. Owing to this charge, and the notorious profli¬
gacy of her conduct with other men, the pope, Urban VI.,
conferred the crown of Naples upon Charles of Durazzo,
an Hungarian, who had married a sister of Johanna. He
was a short time owned as king of Naples and Hungary;
but was assassinated in the latter kingdom about a year
afterwards. Two competitors for the crown appeared in
Naples ; one the son of Durazzo, and the other an adopted
NAPLES.
SOn of Johanna; The of Durazzo, named
fT™ ’ { 7 r T6 struSSIes> conquered Louis of An¬
jou, the son of Johanna. He also carried on other miii-
time maSTf great .viS0Ur’ made himself at one
R°me’ and aimed at the sovereignty of all
?ear Uu h’" ProJefcts ^ere terminated by death, in the
year ITH. His sister, Queen Johanna II., who succeed-
hf 1420 fr6!? KLng A1Phonso V* of Aragon as her heir
m 1420 ; but when he had ascended the throne, a rival ap¬
pealed in the person of the French prince Louis V. of An-
lenUl inT^fiT8^^^8 exPediti<™> and at
length, in drove Alphonso out of the kingdom. This
created jealousies between France and Spain, which to-
wards the end of the fifteenth century, set the whole of
Italy in flames. The contest was carried on with great bit¬
terness, and for a time with varied success, whilst the pros-
pect of the final issue remained doubtful. But at length
tne crafty king of Aragon, Ferdinand the Catholic, in 1504
of Naples6 COmplete mastei7 of the whole of the kingdom
During the two succeeding centuries both portions of
the kingdom of Naples remained under the government of
the kings of Spain. In the former of these centuries, the
continued agitation between the people, the nobles, and
the crown, had begotten a kind of constitution; and some
assemblies or parliaments, which had originated with the
house of Anjou, were instituted, and convened both in
Naples and in Sicily. The feudal system was introduced;
and the barons continually obtained an extension of their
privileges, especially the power of life and death over their
vassals, by granting which, the successive monarchs cal¬
culated upon securing their service in the wars. By this
the people were sunk in the greatest misery, and at no
time could the Neapolitans make any successful opposi¬
tion to foreign invaders. The aristocracy were under sub¬
jection to the higher ranks of their own body; and a ge¬
neral corruption of morals, especially as regarded the in¬
tercourse of the sexes, which had been introduced by the
two profligate queens, Johanna I. and II., prevailed amongst
all classes. After the Spanish family was firmly seated,
few meetings of the assembly of the states were convened
either in Naples or in Sicily; and the viceroys managed
matters so, that only committees of the ancient statesln-
terfered with public business, whilst the city of Naples
had almost the whole administration centred within itself,
but under the absolute control of the viceroy. By such
means the power of the crown w'as gradually extended,
but could only be maintained by very heavy taxation. The
imposition of new taxes, and the oppressive modes of en¬
forcing the payment of them, led sometimes to turbulent
scenes in the capital, most of which were speedily sup¬
pressed ; but one of them was of so singular a character
as to deserve a short relation.
In the year 1647 it was thought necessary to impose
some tax upon all fruit sold in the city ; which, being in the
summer the chief food of the poor, caused great uneasiness,
but no immediate insurrection. A fisherman of Amalfi,
named Masaniello, whose wife had been recently detect¬
ed in smuggling some meat into the city, and fined for it,
had conceived an implacable hatred against the suggest-
ers, the farmers, and the collectors of the new tax. He
was a powerful speaker, and a leader of one of the parties
of the populace who had agreed to have a sham fight upon a
festival. On that day he first roused the populace, and ex¬
cited them to destroy the office where the tax was collect¬
ed, and the dwellings of those who had proposed or farmed
it. In the course of the rioting, the viceroy, instead of
ordering the Spanish and German guards to suppress the
disturbance, fled, and was personally insulted; but at length
he escaped to a sanctuary, where the archbishop joined him ;
and they conjointly issued a notice that all taxes on pro-
696
Naples.
NAPLES.
visions should be abolished. Besides this, an attempt was
'made to gain Masaniello by an offer of a pension. But,
either from patriotism, or from the vanity of increasing his
influence with the mob, he refused to accept the offer,
declaring that if the viceroy kept his word he would find
the people obedient subjects. . .
On the following day, however, being joined by some
more of the popular leaders, the followers of Masamello
committed some violent outrages, which induced the vice¬
roy to enter into a kind of treaty with this leader, who,
though half naked and in rags, found himself at the head
of 100,000 armed followers, filled with fury. Some ot his
followers having been purchased by the court, agreed to
kill him, and whilst he was in treaty with the viceroy and
archbishop, the attempt was made ; but it failed, and those
who were thus shown to be traitors to their chief were in¬
stantly put to death. The viceroy himself with difficulty
escaped the same fate ; but the power of Masaniello was
greatly strengthened, and he exercised it with much ap¬
pearance of fairness and impartiality. Ihe viceroy was
fearful that the French might take advantage of the com¬
motion, and create some annoyance, and therefore hasten¬
ed to make peace with the leader of the insurrection. On
the fifth day after it broke out, a treaty was concluded, by
which it was stipulated that the taxes imposed since the
reign of Charles V. should all be abolished ; that in future
no new taxes should be levied except by electors; that the
people were to elect as well as the nobles ; that an act of
oblivion should be passed, and the people remain in arms
till the ratification of the treaty was completed.
Great rejoicing followed this arrangement. Masamello
having repaired to the viceroy, was appointed captain-
general, and induced to change his dress for more appro¬
priate apparel; he also received a present of a gold chain.
The following day he began to exercise the authority of a
sovereign, judging all crimes, whether civil or military, and
ordering to instant execution on a gallows he had erected,
those whom he had doomed to death. It is said that in
these summary proceedings no innocent person suffered and
no guilty person escaped. His grandeur was but of short
duration. In two or three days he became distracted and
delirious, and committed some most extravagant actions;
and on the 18th of July he was put to death, with the con¬
sent, if not by the orders, of the viceroy.
The tumult did not however terminate with the death
of its author. In the capital, as well as in all the other
cities of the kingdom, the people rose and drove out those
Spaniards who were found in them. The Duke of G uise,
who happened to be at Rome, was induced, at the instiga¬
tion of the pope, to offer his services to the Neapolitans
against the Spaniards; and to this he was further encou¬
raged by having some distant pretensions to the throne.
The Spaniards in the mean time made a vigorous attack on
the city of Naples, but were repulsed by the people, who
thereupon formally renounced their allegiance to the Spa¬
nish family. In a short time, however, a new viceroy, Count
d’Oniate, arrived from Spain. He took the city by sur¬
prise, made the Duke of Guise prisoner, and thus frus- Naples,
trated all the designs of France against the Spanish power
in Naples.
From that time the whole of the united kingdom con¬
tinued under the dominion of Spain, till the war of the
succession broke out, in the beginning of which, in 1707,
it was taken by Prince Eugene, and continued subject to
the Emperor till the peace of Utrecht in 1713. By this
peace, confirmed by the quadruple alliance of 1718, the
two divisions of the kingdom were separated ; the conti¬
nental portion being delivered to the house of Austria, or
rather to the Emperor Charles, who had been competitor
with Philip of Anjou for the whole Spanish dominions;
whilst the island of Sicily was given to the Duke of Sa¬
voy, who afterwards attained the dignity of king of Sar¬
dinia.
In the year 1717 Philip V. of Spain, at the instiga¬
tion of his minister Cardinal Alberoni, seized upon Sicily,
but in 1720 gave it back to Austria, whilst the Duke ot
Savoy was satisfied with the island ot Sardinia. Thus the
two parts were again united under one head, and weie
ruled by Austrian viceroys until the war which broke out in
1733, respecting the election of a king of Poland. At
that period Spain invaded Naples and Sicily, and secured
both divisions; and, at the peace of Vienna in 1735, it
was settled that the territory should be held by the In¬
fant Don Carlos. When, on the death of King Charles
IV. in the year 1759, Don Carlos succeeded to the
throne of Spain, the kingdom of the Two Sicilies was de¬
livered over entire to his third son Ferdinand, vrith a
guarantee or stipulation that it should never in future be
again united to the Spanish monarchy.
The kingdom of Naples partook of the calamities which
were inflicted upon all Europe by the French revolution ;
but as the history ot these events is already treated ot in
former parts of this work, under the articles h range,
Great Britain, and especially Italy, it is not neces¬
sary here to do more than refer to them. Hie transac¬
tions occasioned by revolutionary attempts made since the
fall of Bonaparte are pretty fully narrated under the ar-
tide Italy.
This kingdom, as a whole, comprehending both the con¬
tinental and the island portion, is bounded on every side
by the sea, except that on the north ; and in the conti¬
nental portion it is in contact with the territory ol the
church. It extends in north latitude from 35. 40. 10. to
42. 51., and in east longitude from 11. 54. to 18. 34.; but
some few of the islands, especially Lampedosa, extend be¬
yond these limits.
The two great divisions are commonly distinguished by
their position regarding the narrow sea which divides
them, called the Faro or Straits of Messina : thus the con¬
tinental part is described as Dominj al di qua del Faro,
and the island part as Dominj al di Id del Faro.
The following table shows its actual state according to
the divisions before noticed.
Continent.
Provinces.
Naples, the city of that name included.
Terra di Lavoro 
Citeriore 
Ulterior   
Extent in
English
Square Miles
Carry forward.
193
2,430
2,717
1,953
Population.
7,293
745,390
675,349
492,228
370,930
Cities.
8
30
31
30
Towns.
5
22
18
22
2,283,897
99
67
Villages.
77
389
332
114
912
NAPLES.
Continent— ( Continued?)
Provinces.
Brought forward.
Molise 
Abruzzo Ulteriore I 
Abruzzo Ulteriore II 
Abruzzo Citeriore 
Capitanata   
Bari 
Otranto 
Basilicata 
Calabria Citeriore 
Calabria Ulteriore II 
Calabria Ulteriore III 
Extent in
English
Square Miles.
7,293
1,261
2,289
1,172
1,755
3.854
1,780
2,767
2,604
3,654
1,542
1.854
31,825
Population.
Cities.
2,283.897
331,328
185,144
283,694
266,948
296,793
425,706
357,205
458,242
385,360
250,802
333,017
99
9
27
17
12
16
24
21
31
37
22
17
5,858,136 I 332
Towns. Villages.
67
16
14
21
24
25
27
32
30
29
28
32
912
77
93
61
103
101
175
112
109
108
107
88
345 I 2046
The Island.
Provinces.
Palermo 
Messina 
Catania 
Siracusa  
Caltanisetta.
Girgenti  
Trapani 
Extent in j
English I Population.
Square Miles.
Cities.
1,782
2,018
1,848
1,364
1,584
1,672
1,078
11,346
467,778
290,451
335,647
233,956
168,525
226,114
171,396
1,893,867
Towns. Villaa:es.
61
54
53
47
31
66
40
352
6
9
11
7
8
9
4
54
16
19
35
21
4
8
7
110
697
Naples.
«
The above enumeration of the inhabitants of the conti¬
nental part of the kingdom is taken from a minute account
of the year 1831. Since that time, an official document,
which gives only the final results up to the beginning of
1835, states the population of that part to be then 5,883,273
persons.
The disproportion between the number of cities and
that of the towns and villages in the island, as compared
with the continent, may be attributed to the ancient state
of the latter. Sicily had been partly peopled with colo¬
nists from Greece. These had established governments,
in some measure independent, but always jealous, and fre¬
quently in a state of hostility with their neighbours. Thus
fortified places were generally constructed by each of the
small communities, as places of refuge to which the culti¬
vators repaired, and where they most commonly dwelt.
Such places still retain the titles of cities, though many of
them have very few inhabitants, and their defences are
mostly in a dilapidated state.
As this kingdom possesses so large an extent of sea
coast, our attention is naturally first drawn to a descrip¬
tion of it; and this leads us to notice the celebrated strait,
which has been depicted by the poets of antiquity in most
terrific colours, but whose horrors have been so overcome
by the progress of nautical science. Captain W. H. Smyth,
a scientific officer, long occupied in surveying the Medi¬
terranean Seas, took accurate measurements by theodolite
angles, with a good base line, of the distance across this
passage, at four different points. The shortest distance,
from the village of Ganziri to Point Pezzo, is three thou¬
sand nine hundred and seventy yards ; the next in length
VOL. xv.
is from Messina light-house to Point del Orso, five thou¬
sand four hundred and twenty-seven yards; the next, from
Faro Point to the castle of Scylla, is six thousand and
forty-seven yards; and the last, from Messina light-house
to the cathedral of Reggio on the continent, is thirteen
thousand one hundred and eighty-seven yards.
The. currents in the strait are numerous and various. In
settled seasons there is a central stream running north and
south, at the rate of from two to five miles an hour, and
which, though properly speaking only a current, when un¬
influenced by strong winds, is governed by the moon. On
each shore there is a counter or returning set at uncer¬
tain distances from the beach, often forming eddies to the
central current; but in very fresh breezes, the lateral
tides are scarcely perceptible, whilst the main one in¬
creases, so as to send at intervals slight whirlpools to each
shore. There is an uncertain rise and fall of a few inches
in the tide, but at the equinoxes it amounts to eighteen
or twenty inches. There is usually an interval of from
fifteen to fifty minutes between the changes, and the tide
runs six hours each way. In light breezes1 the current
may be stronger than the ship’s effort, and, by turning her
round, often alarms a person unacquainted with the phe¬
nomenon, although there is no actual danger. The great¬
est risks, however, are occasioned by the heavy gusts of
wind which at times rush down through the openings of
the mountains on either side, and often prove dangerous
to small vessels.
This passage has long been clothed with imaginary
terrors; yet as the Athenians, and the Syracusans, and the
Locrians, and the Rhegians, fought in it, it could not have
4 x
698
NAPLES.
Naples, been considered so fearfully horrible by ancient sailors as
'by ancient poets; and the language ot the former would
probably have borne a very different tenor from the em¬
bellishments of the latter, notwithstanding that the passage
through it might have been an affair of some moment wit i
their small vessels and inexperienced seamen.
Nelson with his fleet passed through this channel; but,
in applauding him for doing so, and attributing to him the
merit of first attempting it, his biographers have over¬
looked the gallant Walton,1 who had, nearly a century be¬
fore, passed securely through. _ _ . „
There is a curious aerial phenomenon in the btrait ot
Messina, noticed by the ancients, and denominated the
Fata Morgana by the Sicilians, who believe that the spec¬
tacle is produced by the fairies. Most extraordinaiy ac¬
counts of this phenomenon have been given by those who
have witnessed it, but more especially by bather Ange-
lucci, whose account is thus quoted by Swinburne : “ As
I stood at my window, I was surprised with a most won¬
derful and delectable spectacle. The sea that washes the
Sicilian shore swelled up and became for ten miles in
length like a chain of dark mountains ; whilst the waters
on the Calabrian shore grew quite smooth, and in an in¬
stant appeared as one clear polished mirror, reclining
against the ridge. On this glass was depicted, in chiaro¬
scuro, a string of several thousand pilastres, all equal in al¬
titude, distance, and degree of light and shade. In a mo¬
ment they lost half their height, and bent into arcades
like Roman aqueducts. A long cornice was next formed
upon the top, and above it rose innumerable castles, all
perfectly alike. These soon split into towers, which were
shortly afterwards lost in colonnades, then ended in pines,
cypresses, and other trees, even and similar.
This deception is only to be seen under a peculiar con¬
currence of circumstances. The spectator must stand with
his back to the east, on some elevated place behind the
city, which commands a view of the whole bay, beyond
which the mountains of Sicily rise and darken the back¬
ground of the picture. The winds must be hushed, the
surface smooth, the tide at its height, and the water press¬
ed up by currents to a great elevation in the midst of the
channel. All these events coinciding, as soon as the sun
surmounts the eastern hills, behind the city of Reggio, and
rises high enough to form an angle of forty-five degrees on
the water before that city, every object existing or mov¬
ing in Reggio will be repeated upon this marine looking-
glass ; each image will pass off rapidly in succession as the
day advances, and seem to be carried down the wave on
which it appeared. Thus the parts of this moving picture
will vanish in the twinkling of an eye. Sometimes the air
is so impregnated with vapours, and undisturbed by the
winds, as to reflect objects in a kind of aerial screen, rising
about thirty feet above the level of the sea. In cloudy
weather they are drawn on the surface of the water, bor¬
dered with fine prismatic colours.
On this subject, which so much engaged the attention
of the ancients, Captain Smyth, a cool and accurate ob¬
server, says, “ I much doubt the accuracy of the descrip¬
tions I have heard and read, as I cannot help thinking that
the imagination strongly assists these dioptric appearances,
having never met with a Sicilian who had actually seen
any thing more than the loom or mirage consequent on a
peculiar state of the atmosphere ; but which, I must say, I
have here observed many times to be unusually strong. It
is spoken of by some as a luminous ignescent phenome¬
non, infallibly predictive of an approaching storm.”
In a maritime survey of the Neapolitan shores, we be- ^ Naples,
gin on the western side of the continent, where the domi-'V''"
nions of the kingdom join the papal territory. The whole
coast, though ill furnished with good harbours for large
vessels, has some deep indentations and capacious bays,
with good anchorage. Of these bays the most northern is
that of Gaeta, which is capacious, with good anchoring
ground at a depth of from twelve to fourteen fathoms at
the north-west of the fortress of that name, situated on a
promontory. It is very strong, and is defended by a cita¬
del ; notwithstanding which it was taken by the French in
1797, and by the English and their allies in 1799. A little
to the south of the bay of Gaeta, the small rivers Erivan-
do, Garigliano, and Volturnus empty themselves into the
sea. .
The next bay to the south is that of Naples, distin¬
guished at its entrance by the islands of Ischia and Pro-
cida to the north-west, and by the island of Capri and the
promontory of Campanella to the south-east. The breadth
of the entrance between these points is five leagues, and
vessels ride in security ; but when the wind blows strongly
from the north-east, it causes a very considerable swell.
The bay of Naples is considered as the most beautiful and
interesting indentation of the sea that the world presents.
Its curiosities, both of nature and art; its remains of clas¬
sical antiquity ; its varied and wonderful scenery ; its vol¬
canic eruptions and earthquakes ; its cities, founded, es¬
tablished, and at length overwhelmed, in all the pride of
luxury; its mountains converted into lakes, and lakes into
mountains ; these form a combination of circumstances and
events which is nowhere else, upon an equal space, to be
found ; and its shores have therefore exercised the descrip¬
tive pens of many writers.
On the north-west side of this bay, between Cape Mi-
seno and Pozzuoli, the coast is sterile and mountainous.
Cape Miseno is a block of tufa or limestone of consider¬
able height, and was evidently a volcano, the crater of
which may be traced from the south, though nearly worn
away by the action of the sea. In the interior of the moun¬
tain are vast caverns and subterranean streets, supposed
to have been magazines for the Roman fleets, which ren¬
dezvoused in a port sheltered by the cape, the piers of
which are still to be seen level with the water. The re¬
mains of the town of Misenum, situated on the cape, con¬
sist of a theatre, and the ruins of some monuments. On
the north of the cape is the Porto di Miseno and Mare
Morto, known to the ancients as Acheron.
The ruins of some grand buildings on the shore and
under water, at two miles and a quarter to the northward
of Cape Miseno, exhibit the site of the voluptuous Baia ;
opposite to which, on the east, is Pozzuoli, and within half
a mile of the latter is the Solfatara, or Sulphur Hill. The
vapours which exhale from the various craters, from the
Solfatara, from the lakes and hot springs, and from the
marshes formed by the waters which anciently flowed in
superb aqueducts, infect the atmosphere of these shores ;
and hence between Cape Miseno and Pozzuoli there is
scarcely a habitation. The more healthy situation of the
latter, on a point of land advancing into the sea, has re¬
tained some inhabitants; whilst beyond it to the eastward
the scene improves, and the little island of Nisita is seen
covered with verdure.
The Lago d’Averno, and theLagoLucrino, at the bottom
of the bay of Baia, to the north-west, are surrounded by
elevated grounds, and, having in some parts a considerable
depth, they might be formed into a good harbour, by cut-
1 This was the officer who, after the action between Sir George Byng and the Spanish fleet, wTas detached in pursuit of six sail of
the line and some smaller ships, that had escaped, and reported his success in the following laconic terms: “ SiR,—We have taken
or destroyed all the enemy’s ships and vessels on the coast, as per margin. Yours, &c.”
NAPLES.
Naples, ting a communication tolhe sea of less than Haifa mile in
—V’-' length. The poisonous qualities ascribed to these waters
by the ancients no longer exist; for they now possess fish
in abundance, the birds fly over and men bathe in them
with impunity. The Lago Lucrino, which is to the south
of the Averno, covers three or four acres, and is distant
from the sea only about ten yards, a sluice forming the
communication between them.
In rounding the north shore towards the city of Naples
a new scene opens to the eye, the shore being thickly dot¬
ted with noble buildings in the midst of beautiful planta¬
tions. That city presents itself rising in the form of an
amphitheatre on the side of a mountain, and beyond it a
vast plain, richly cultivated, and watered by the winding
little river Sabeto. On the eastern side of the bay, Vesu¬
vius, with its double summit, rises in majestic solitude
from the surrounding plain; and two thirds of its height
are cultivated, the summit only being bare of vegetation.
On its sides and at its base are scattered villages and vil¬
las, built on the lava of successive eruptions, which time
has converted into the most fertile of soils. But whilst
the eye rests with complacency on this smiling prospect,
a sentiment of melancholy cannot fail to accompany the
remembrance that, many fathoms deep, lie buried the
palaces and gardens of some of the ancient masters of the
world.
Portici, three miles from Naples to the south-east, is
built over, or nearly over, Herculanum, which, as well as
Pompeii, has for many years been exhuming or uncover¬
ing, so that now the traveller, with a feeling of astonish¬
ment and veneration, walks in streets and enters houses
which have been buried for seventeen centuries. These
overwhelmed cities are chiefly built of and paved with
lava, and beneath their foundations are several alternate
strata of this substance and of vegetable soil, in which the
remains of plants are discovered ; whence it seems highly
probable, that long before the establishment of the people
whom we call the ancients on these coasts, nations absolute¬
ly unknown to them, as well as to us, inhabited this soil,
and were driven from it by great physical convulsions.
The south-east and the south shores of the bay of Naples
rise perpendicularly, in volcanic cliffs, to a great height;
immediately behind which are high mountains, clothed with
verdure to their summits, and having their sides decorated
with villages. On this side stands Castella Mare, with its
littlp haven formed by a mole, where vessels of war are
built; and two leagues farther to the south-west is Sor¬
rento, the ancient Surrentum, one of the most handsome
towns in the kingdom.
In noticing the islands situated on this portion of the
coast, Ischia, already named, first presents itself. It was
the Pithecusa of the ancients, and consists of one large and
several lesser hills, all formed by volcanic eruptions, and
abounding in metallic substances. It has many hot springs,
and is fertile, producing figs, oranges, pomegranates, chest¬
nuts, and aloes. It is five and a half miles in length, and
the hill called Monte Epomeo, in the centre, is of great
height. It was formerly a volcano, a dreadful eruption
from which is recorded to have happened in the year 1301.
The town is on the eastern side, being well fortified, and
protected by a citadel connected with it by a stone bridge
four hundred j^ards in length, near to which vessels may
anchor securely in between three and four fathoms water,
fastened to the shore.
Between Ischia and Cape Miseno are the islands of Pro-
cida and Vivara, between which there is secure anchorage
for vessels in four fathoms water, open only to south or
south-east winds. The first of these is two miles and a
fourth across, being partly covered by the town, whilst the
rest produces vines, figs, and orange trees. The latter is
about a mile in length, and chiefly occupied by fishermen.
After passing to the south by the island of Capri, the
extensive gulf or bay of Salerno opens. In this, covered
y some islets, but at a distance of three leagues, stands the
town of Amalfi. It was once celebrated for that trade to
the Levant which was afterwards concentrated in the city
o Venice. It was at this place that the mariner’s compass
was perfected by Flavio de Gioja in 1302. The road is
open to the south ; but vessels are secure from such winds
as blow at any point between north-west and south-west.
Not far from thence is the city which gives its name to the
ay. kaleino is large and populous, and stretches along
the beach, with a ruined castle on a hill behind it. The
road is much exposed to northerly winds ; but there is a
mole, behind which small vessels may find shelter. The
country near it is fertile and pleasant, presenting a range
of hills covered with olive groves, orchards, and corn-fields.
From Salerno to Cape Licosa, the southern point of the
bay, the coast continues with a smooth sandy beach, on
which is the ancient Paestum, with the remains of its an¬
tiquated fortifications, more than two miles in circumfe¬
rence, and the ruins of several beautiful temples, and other
public buildings. From Licosa, the land trends towards
the south-east, with no good port, but safe anchorage off
Palenuro, by which town is a communication with the city
of Policastro, the ancient Buxentum, but now a place of
small importance. In proceeding still southward are found
the gulf or bay of St Euphemia, and that of Gioja. They
both have some anchoring places near small towns, but
no port; and the whole coast is rocky and foul. All this
part of the coast has suffered severely from earthquakes,
but particularly from that most ravaging one which occur¬
red in 1783, when most of the towns were destroyed. These
bays are followed by the strait already noticed, on the
northern point of which is the town of Scylla, standing
partly on the shore, but the greater part above the rocks.
The streets are narrow, and nine different rows of houses
rise the one immediately above the other. The dangers
arising from an approach to this place have been long pro¬
verbial ; but the only real hazard is when the current and
wind are so opposed as to impel a vessel towards the rocks.
Scylla was dreadfully injured by the memorable earth¬
quake of 1783, when a part of its promontory was thrown
into the sea.
In the Faro of Messina, the only place of importance
on the continental side, is the city of Reggio, celebrated
for its manufactures of stockings, gloves, waistcoats of
thread and of silk, and some other articles. The environs
abound in oranges, citrons, mulberries, and grapes, and
produce some sugar-canes.
On clearing the Faro, and proceeding round to the
Adriatic, Cape Spartivento, the ancient promontory of
Hercules, is passed, being the southernmost continental
spot of the kingdom, and situated in latitude 37. 56. north.
F'rom thence to Cape Rizzuto, the land forms an irregular
concavity. It has several small towns, villages, and towers,
near the coast, but no harbour or anchoring place, except
with the wind off shore; the water is very deep close to
the shore, but there is no secure part where vessels can
obtain shelter, in case of finding themselves on a lee shore
with a strong gale of wind. Cape Rizzuto has a light
tower upon it; and there is another on Cape Nan, four¬
teen miles distant from it. Not far from the latter cape
stands the port of Crotona, a poor place, in an unhealthy
situation, from which some corn and cheese are exported,
and only remarkable for its having been the place where
the school of Pythagoras flourished.
The great gulf or bay of Taranto, to the eastward, ex¬
tends across about sixty-two miles from the extreme points
which form it, namely, Point Alice to the south, and
Santa Maria di Leuca to the north. No part of the west¬
ern shore of the great gulf affords any harbour or shelter
699
Naples.
NAPLES.
for a vessel with the wind blowing on the shore ; but there
are many villages and watch-towers on the coast, and a
great number Sf small rivers. The city of Taranto stands
in the bottom of the gulf, and had once an excellent port
which is now nearly choked up, from neglect. It has about
18,000 inhabitants, wdth a fort of some strength. It stands
on an island connected with the mainland by two bridges.
It has some extensive fisheries. Another tmvn stands on
the eastern side of the gulf, now called Gallipoli, but
known in antiquity as Callipolis. Near to it is a road¬
stead, with good anchorage, within gun-shot of the town ;
but farther in shore the ground is rocky, and there are
several shoals. The trade of this town consists chiefly
in the export of oil, well known by its name; and in cot¬
ton, which is grown in the neighbourhood, hrom Gal¬
lipoli to Cape di Leuca are eight leagues, and from thence
seven more to Cape Otranto, the easternmost point of land
in Italy. The port of Otranto is capable of affording shel¬
ter to vessels when the wind is south or south-west; but
a northerly wind blows right into it. It admits vessels of
150 tons, and is a place of some trade, lo the north¬
west, on this shore, between Cape Cavallo and Cape Oal-
lo, is the city of Brindisi, the Brundusium of antiquity.
This was once a celebrated port, and that from which the
Romans usually crossed in their way to Greece ; mostly
at Dyrrachium, the modern Durazzo. Both places are
remarkable from the war between Csesar and Pompey.
Brundusium was once the best harbour on this side of the
Adriatic; but in the fifteenth century the Prince of ia-
ranto sunk some ships in the middle of the passage, to
prevent his enemies from entering, and thereby formed a
resting place for sea-weeds and sand, an accumulation of
which has choked it up. Stagnant water at length pro¬
duced a pestilence which carried off two thirds of the in¬
habitants. The present population scarcely exceeds 8000
persons.
The coast from Brindisi proceeds north-west, on which,
on rather low ground, is the city of Monopoli, containing
10,000 inhabitants. It is open to the sea, and is defended
by a castle. Not far from it are the towns of Mola and
Polignano, and then comes the city of Bari, the largest
place on this side of the kingdom. It has good anchorage
without, and a small haven, into which vessels can enter.
It is a fine city, with 30,000 inhabitants, who export large
quantities of wine, oil, and soap. Beyond this is Barletta,
the Barduli of the ancients, once an elegant and populous
place, but now much dilapidated. It has some trade in
the export of wine, oil, salt, corn, almonds, and liquorice.
The gulf or bay of Manfredonia is next to Barletta, in the
bottom of which is the city of that name. It was founded
as late as the year 1526, and at present contains about
6000 inhabitants, who export corn and salt. It is cele¬
brated for the excellence of its esculent vegetables, par¬
ticularly its lettuces. Fish is abundant, and very cheap.
On the western side of the bay is the Laguna di Salpi, the
Palus Sakipina of antiquity, a salt lake eleven miles in
length, from which much culinary salt is obtained, owing
to the evaporation caused by the sun.
Between Manfredonia and the boundary line towards
the papal territory there are no harbours, though there
are some spots where there is tolerable anchorage. The
best is near the towns of Viesti and Rodi, and behind the
islands of Dominico and St Nicolo. There are a number
of small towns and villages, defended by forts, along a
coast low and sandy. The names of the most important
are Termoli, Vasto, Ortona, Francavilla, Pescara, and Giu-
lianova. The Neapolitan territory terminates at the river
Tronto, a stream which descends from the Apennines.
It has appeared necessary to take this notice of the sea-
coast, because the kingdom of Naples possesses, including
the continental and island division, a greater extent of
sea-shore than any of the other countries of Europe ex¬
cept the united British kingdoms. The most productive
parts of the dominion, as well as the most dense in popu¬
lation, are near the coast; and, in surveying it, the most
interesting recollections of classical history are revived
or created. For these reasons we shall proceed to pass in
review the several shores of the island of Sicily.
The first appearance of the coast of Sicily is romantic,
and it is formed by nature into strong positions of de¬
fence. Vessels from the westward generally touch first at
Cape St Vito, the northernmost point, in north latitude 38.
13. and east longitude 12.45. In proceeding eastward from
thence there are some strong towers, once maintained as
places of alarm, and with a few guns mounted ; but of late
most of them have been neglected. They serve, however,
as beacons, with fires ready to be kindled; and the alarm
given by them is sounded along the coasts with conch-
shells, similar to the tuba of the Romans. Cape St Vito
forms one of the points of the Guli of Castell-a-lMare, an
indentation about ten miles in depth, at the bottom of which
is the town of the same name, containing 5000 inhabi¬
tants, in a highly cultivated district; and near to it are the
interesting remains of a Doric temple, with vestiges of an
ancient theatre. To the eastward of this is the bay of Pa-^
lermo, with the city of that name on the western side of
the bay. There is good anchoring ground in almost every
part of this bay, near to the shore. To the north-east of the
city is a fine mole, near a quarter of a mile in length, ex¬
tending into water of the depth of nine or ten fathoms;
and it forms a noble port, capable of containing a great
number of vessels. Along the whole, at the most favour¬
able points, there are establishments for the tunny fish¬
eries. The next point on the coast is Cape Zaffarana,
which looks like an island ; and five miles beyond it are
the towns of Mandero and Milicia. In a bay known as the
bay of Solento stands the city of Termini, which has some
trading privileges, and from which is exported some oil,
wine, sumac, corn, and rice; but the anchorage is exposed
during two thirds of the year, when the boats must be
drawn up upon the beach.
Five miles to the eastward of Termini is the site of the
ancient Himmra, celebrated on account of one of the most
disastrous battles that history has recorded, and which
was subsequently destroyed by Hannibal. Near to it the
Fiume Grande, one of the most considerable streams of
Sicily, discharges its waters into the sea, through one of
the most unhealthy but most fertile districts of the island.
About twelve miles to the east of Fiume Grande stands
the city of Cefalu, on a low projecting point of land, under
a conical mount, on the summit of which are the ruins of
an ancient Phoenician edifice and a Saracenic castle.. The
city has a fine cathedral, and contains 9000 inhabitants.
From Cefalu to Caronia is six leagues. The district is the
most extensively wooded with oak, elm, and ash trees of any
in Sicily, and most of the trees are converted into char¬
coal. On the shore there is good anchorage, which conti¬
nues by the towns of Santa Agata and San Marco, quite to
Cape Orlando. Here is a dangerous reef of rocks; but be¬
tween it and the shore there is good ground, where smal
vessels may anchor in safety. Cape Orlando is distinguish¬
ed by the Brolo Castle, a ruinous structure, and a rock
between sixteen and seventeen feet in circumference, and
twenty feet above the level of the water, behind which a
ship may ride in safety, except when a southerly wind
blows with great violence. ^ , r
Next to Cape Orlando is the bay of Patti, a perfectly safe
anchorage in all parts except in the centre, w here there is
a large rock; but as it appears above water, all danger is
easily avoided. The unhealthy town of Oliver! stands on
the banks of the small river Elicona. From Oliveri a
sandy beach extends along a fertile plain studded with
NAP
the towns of Fornari, Barcelona, Pozzo di Gotto, and some
villages, and terminates at the promontory and city of
Milazzo.
Milazzo, the ancient Mylts, is situated on the southern
part of the peninsula or promontory of that name, facing
the east. It consists ol the upper and lower town, which
together contain 8000 inhabitants, who are industrious,
and subsist by the export of wine, silk, fruit, soap, red and
white argols, corn, olive oil, linseed oil, and tunny fish.
A citadel commands the city, the port, and the promon¬
tory. This northern coast of Sicily terminates with Cape
Rasaculmo, which is a deep sandy bay, with several small
streams running into it. The banks are much injured by
malaria, but the heights near them are.thickly peopled. Off
the cape is good anchorage ground, with from twelve to
twenty fathoms depth of water.
The eastern coast of Sicily begins at the north with the
Faro of Messina, which has been already noticed, and the
city of that name. That celebrated vortex known to the
ancients as Charybdis, but now called Galofaro, is formed
at the back of the tongue of land named Braccio di St
Rainiere, which is one bank of the harbour of Messina.
This whirlpool was said by the ancients to svrallow up ships,
and upon the return of the tide to throw them up again in
broken pieces. Captain Smyth describes it as an agitated
water from seventy to ninety fathoms in depth, circling in
quick eddies, which seem to be caused by the meeting of the
harbour and of the lateral currents with the main current;
the latter being forced over in this direction by the oppo¬
site point of Pezzo. The risk is proverbial; and at the pre¬
sent day small craft are sometimes endangered by it, and
ships of war wheeled round upon its surface; but, with
caution, very little danger or inconvenience is to be appre¬
hended from it, especially since a light-house has been con¬
structed.
In our progress westward is Scaletta, a small town of 700
inhabitants ; then Cape Grosso, Point St Alessio, and Cape
St Andrea, near to the last of which, in a bay of the same
name, is the city of Taromina, in a fine situation, but not
very healthy ; but it has good anchorage ground, in water
from eight to thirty fathoms in depth. About two miles be¬
yond it, the Alcantara, one of the most considerable rivers
of Sicily, falls into the sea. Near to this is the district of
Mascali, which is most fertile, and, amongst other pro¬
ductions, yields annually about 90,000 pipes of excellent
wine.
Beyond this, at the distance of five miles, is Point Toc-
co, formed of a precipitous mass of basaltic lava, convert¬
ed into a mole, and forming a small port called the Ma¬
rina of Aci. Not far from it is the city of Aci Reale,
standing on extensive streams of lava. It is in a healthy
and fertile spot, is clean and well built, and is said to con¬
tain 14,000 inhabitants. Another remarkable promontory,
three miles from it, Cape Molino, is formed of lava ; and
the town of La Trezza, near to the latter, is built wholly
of that substance, the very dark hue of which, contrasted
with the white-washed lintels and door-posts of the houses,
has a singular appearance. Near La Trezza are the re¬
markable rocks called the Cyclops^ which have a bold and
striking appearance; for the basalts that form them are
mostly vertical, and consist of prisms of from four to eight
sides.
The whole coast from thence, including the great bay
or gulf of Catania, may be considered as within the line
of the base of Mount ./Etna, which towers over every part
of it. That base is calculated to extend in circumference
about eighty-seven miles, and its summit is ascertained to
be 10,870 feet above the level of the sea. The summit is
fourteen and a half miles northward from the city of Ca¬
tania.
The bay upon which Catania stands is seven and a half
L E S.
miles in extent from La Trezza to Cape Santa Croix; the
ground is generally clean, and ships may anchor in any
part of it during the fine season. The city, originally a
Greek colony, has been most dreadfully ravaged by wars,
earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions. We avoid noticing
the manifestations of volcanic power which have at va¬
rious periods been exhibited, with the exception of the
tremendous one in 1693, in which more than 50,000 per¬
sons perished, and the whole of the buildings were de-
stroyed, except a few which were subsequently taken down
to carry on the plan laid down for rebuilding the new city.
It is now regular, spacious, and handsome. "The churches
and other public buildings are magnificent, being for the
most part constructed of lava, faced with magnesian lime¬
stone, and enriched with marble. It is the residence of
many of the Sicilian nobility, and has many literary and
charitable institutions. The population amounts to about
75,000. The environs of the city, excepting those parts
covered with lava, are fertile and well cultivated, but have
a black and repulsive appearance. The harbour of Cata¬
nia is generally filled with small craft, which repair to it
for corn, maccaroni, potatoes, olives, figs, silk, wine, al¬
monds, cheese, oil, soda, manna, cantharides, amber, snow,
and lava. The beauty of the situation, according to Gene¬
ral Cockburn, exceeds all power of description, "it is a fine
well-built city, close on the sea shore, overshadowed by
the gigantic majesty of iEtna, and encompassed by the
several minor volcanic hills, which appear like so many
branches arising from the parent stock ; whilst the placid
brilliancy of the sea-view in front, and the solemnity of
the inland scenery behind, contribute to form as magnifi¬
cent a prospect as any part of the island can exhibit.
A little to the south of Catania the river Trachino en¬
ters the sea; and near to it is the city of Aguni, with its
port of La Bruca, with a harbour looking like a work of art
rather than of nature, as the rocks rise vertically to the
height of forty or fifty feet. The city of Augusta, after
passing Point Grosso Longa, presents itself on a peninsula.
It is large, strong, and well fortified ; the inhabitants, about
8000 in number, subsist chiefly by collecting salt from some
salines near them, and by the export of oil and wine. The
western sides of the harbour are watered by several streams
abounding with fish. On the same side are the mountains
of Hybla, celebrated by the ancients on account of the ho¬
ney produced on them, especially on those hills called Hy-
bla-Galatea and Hyhla-Maegara. The inhabitants still ob¬
tain excellent honey, the sale of which is the chief as well
as the most profitable trade. There is a fort and a light¬
house, which, with the cathedral, form the marks for reach¬
ing the anchorages ; the latter are good, although the inner
one is deemed unhealthy.
The next place to Augusta is the city of Syracuse, oc¬
cupying only one of the four portions included in its ex¬
tent when in ancient times it was a Greek colony, found¬
ed by Corinthians; it is said to have then contained half a
million of inhabitants. The whole of the present city now
scarcely covers the island of Ortj'gia. It suffered most
dreadfully by an earthquake in 1693, w'hich destroyed a
great part of the population; and the present inhabitants
do not amount to more than 13,000 persons.
The city constitutes a fortress of considerable strength ;
and the entrance of the harbour, which is half a mile wide,
is defended by a fort on the south of the town. The ad¬
jacent country being copiously irrigated, and possessing a
marly soil, is exuberantly fertile, producing wheat, oil,
hemp, tobacco, fruit, pulse, and several kinds of delicious
wines; but, from the marshes of the alluvial plains on the
west side, pernicious miasmata have frequently arisen, and
occasioned the destruction of human life, ihe port is a
very secure one, easy of access, and sufficiently capacious
to admit a large fleet, with good conveniences for shipping
<02 NAP
Naples, provisions and water, as was experienced by Lord Nelson,
—^ who, in five days, obtained supplies sufficient for bis me¬
morable pursuit of the French fleet in the year 1798.
Between Syracuse and Cape Passaro, the southernmost
spot in Sicily, is the extensive bay, the northern point of
which is Cape Icongo. In the whole of it there is good
shelter for large as well as small vessels, which may be
compelled to bear up in the channel of Malta by a westerly
gale of wind. The anchorage is good in from nine to
thirty fathoms of water, with a good holding ground of stiff
clay. The places on this bay are Avola and Noto. The
former has 7000 inhabitants, who carry on a considerable
traffic in wine, corn, almonds, oil, honey, and some sugar
made from the only plantation of canes now left on the
island. The city of Noto, with 13,000 inhabitants, is
within four miles of the shore. It is finely situated and
well built, and the country around is fertile; but the air
is unhealthy, especially near the river Abysso, the ancient
Hebrus, which winds through the plain on which it stands.
There are, besides, the smaller towns of Vindicari, Marza-
memi, and Pechino, the inhabitants of which chiefly de¬
pend on the fishery.
That part of the coast of Sicily the direction of which
is from south-east to north-west, extends from Cape Gra-
nitola in the west, to Cape Passaro in the east. It com¬
pletes that irregular triangular figure of the island which
induced the ancients to bestow upon it the name of Tri-
nacria. The coast between the two points here named is
generally low and arid, and does not possess a single har¬
bour for large ships, although there are several tolerable
summer anchorages. Of these the principal are, Sciac-
ca, Siculiana, Girgenti, Alioata, and Port Paolo; and the
secondary are, Palma, Port Nicolo, Terra Nova, Scoglietti,
Secca, Pozzallo, and La Marza. The most remarkable head¬
lands of the coast are, Cape St Marco, Cape Bianco, Point
Tenda, Cape Scalambra, and Cape Passaro. Towards these
the approaches are not so clear nor so deep as those of the
northern shores; but ships are safe which by day are not
in less than twelve fathoms water, or at night in about
twenty fathoms.
The tides, or rather the currents, arising from the con¬
stant evaporation and the action of the winds, observe no
regularity, rising a foot or two, according to the weather,
and the peculiarities of locality and depth. Thus, the north¬
west winds, raking the shores, produce a strong set to the
south-east, whilst the south-west wind, which is very sen¬
sibly felt during the vernal equinox, causes strong coun¬
ter-currents ; and at length, on a change of wind to the
opposite quarter, the whole body of water rushes with great
velocity to the westward. In settled weather, the currents
between Sicily and the African shore run to the eastward
at the rate of from half a mile to a mile an hour. In
the channel of Malta, the current at south-east has been
found so strong, that ships have found it difficult to beat up
to Maritime; whilst others, driven to leeward of Malta,
have been obliged to carry a press of sail in order not to
lose way, until a change of wind enabled them to make
the island again.
From Cape Granitola to Cape St Marco there is a long
but slender bay, a distance of twenty miles from the two
points. It is called the gulf of Tre Fontane. It is of easy
access, but has no good shelter except for small vessels.
In it, near to Port Paolo, are the solitary ruins of Selynus
or Selinuntum, appearing, at no great distance, like a large
city. These extraordinary vestiges of ancient greatness,
though only an incongruous mass of shafts of columns,
metopse, capitals, &c. excite great admiration, and attest
the mighty exertions of a once energetic people.
From St Marco to Cape Bianco a similar bay extends
about fourteen miles, in which there is good anchorage;
but it is only safe in the summer months, near the town of
L E S.
Sciacca, the celebrated Thermce. Selinuntice of'antiquity. Naples.
It is a poor but large place. The baths are supplied by two
springs; one of which is sulphureous and hot, being about
126° of Fahrenheit; the other cool, being about 60°, and
impregnated with the saline qualities of the rock from
which it springs. The steam-baths of Daedalus are situated
on an insulated rock, and have been in use upwards of
three thousand years.
About eight miles beyond Cape Bianco is the town of
Siculiana, having about 4500 inhabitants. It is pleasantly
situated, but in an unhealthy climate. The chief trade
consists in the exportation of sulphur, of which there are
some extensive mines in the neighbourhood. The city of
Girgenti, a few miles farther east, stands on a hill at nearly
1200 feet above the level of the sea, and is so elevated
that almost every house in it can be seen at once. It con¬
tains 15,000 inhabitants, amongst whom is an abundance
of monks and priests. It has a cathedral, a large and heavy
structure of the thirteenth century; but it is irregularly
built, dirty, and in appearance very poor. Near to it is
the site of the ancient city of Agrigentum, said to have
once contained 200,000 inhabitants, and to have been re¬
nowned for its power and commercial enterprise. The
space which was once occupied by that city is now a con¬
tinued range of orchards and gardens, and of groves of al¬
mond and olive trees. The vestiges of the city have been
amply described by Captain Smyth, in his able and accu¬
rate account of the island. The port is formed by a mole,
having on it a light-house; and without it there is good
anchorage. At this port, also, large quantities of sulphur
are shipped.
About five miles from Point Bianco is the respectable
city of Palma, at the distance of two miles from the shore.
It contains about 8000 persons, who enjoy comparative
affluence, derived from a brisk trade in almonds and sul¬
phur. The town overlooks one of the richest and best cul¬
tivated valleys in Sicily, and near to it many cattle are rear¬
ed. In the bay of Grugno, about ten miles from Palma, is
the city of Alicata. It stands at the mouth of the river
Salso, otherwise called Ciotta, one of the largest streams of
Sicily. The ground near the shore is shoal and rocky, yet
in the summer it is a place of some trade, exporting corn
and sulphur. It contains about 11,000 inhabitants. The
provinces of Mazzara and Noto are here divided by the
river Salso. At the entrance there is a bar, on which the
surf beats so heavily with southerly winds, that boats can
only enter it by a narrow passage, udiich is always difficult,
and sometimes dangerous.
At the distance of fourteen miles from Alicata, along an
open beach, is the city of Terra Nova, the Gela of anti¬
quity. About a mile from the town there is good anchor¬
age in from seven to ten fathoms water, but it is much ex¬
posed when the wind blows from the south-west. The city
is situated on table-land, considerably elevated ; and it has
a fine palace, but few other edifices worthy of notice.
The country around abounds in corn. Terra Nova con¬
tains about 9000 inhabitants, who chiefly subsist by trading
in sulphur, corn, wine, and by making some coarse cloth.
The whole coast to Cape Scalambra is within a reef of
rocks, always an object of peculiar dread to the ancients,
and, notwithstanding all the improvements made in navi¬
gation, the cause of the loss of many ships. It is not safe
to approach nearer the shore than a depth of water of
fourteen fathoms, nor, with a westerly wind, quite so near
as that depth. The eastern side of Cape Scalambra has a
small port for vessels of an easy draught of water, where
carruba beans, charcoal, wood, and some other articles, are
shipped. From Cape Scalambra the distance to Point
Spina is eight miles; at the latter place the coast is foul
and rocky; but at three leagues farther is the town of
Pozzallo, which is the chief shipping place for the produce
' of th.e distrJct. The next point is Cape Passaro, which
terminates the southern side of the island. It is the most
southern land of Sicily, being in east longitude 15. 8. 56
and in north latitude 36.41.30. Near to it the water of the
limpid stream of Busaidone irrigates the land of Spacca-
forno, a walled town three miles from the shore. It has
8000 inhabitants, with numerous churches, convents, and
public buildings. The trade is chiefly with Malta, to which
it exports grain, flax, carrubas, acorns, soda, and live cattle.
The western shore of Sicily, which extends from Cape
St Vito to Cape Granitola, will require but a short descrip¬
tion. Proceeding from the first of those capes in a south¬
ern course, we come to Point Emilia, opposite to which is
the dangerous shoal of that name, on which there is only
two fathoms of water, whilst everywhere around it there
are from six to ten fathoms. On Mount St Julian, at an
elevation of 2175 feet, once stood the famous temple of Ve¬
nus Erycina, one of the most magnificent and most sensual
of all the heathen establishments, only a few vestiges of
which now remain. The town of that name near it contains
about 8000 inhabitants. At the distance of four miles
from, this is the city of Trapani, which may be approach¬
ed with safety by vessels of from 200 to 300 tons; though,
as the ground is much broken, and there are many counter-
currents, great care is required on the part of the pilot.
Irapani is a fortified city occupying the site of the an¬
cient.is surrounded by a wall with bastions and
ravelins, and contains about 25,000 inhabitants, amongst
whom are some of the best artists, artificers, and sailors of
the island. It is a place of much enterprise and industry.
The streets are regular and commodious; the cathedral
and senatorial palace are fine edifices ; and there are many
convents, two hospitals, and forty churches. From Tra¬
pani southward to Cape Boeo and Marsala, a distance of
ten miles, the coast is altogether low, irregular, and varied
by numerous islets resting upon a base of shoal and rocky
ground, wnich in some parts extends two miles from the
shore. I he country on the main island is laid out in ex¬
tensive salt-works, by the construction of causeways about
a foot and a half high, enclosing square places which com¬
municate by dams with each other. The salt is heaped in
a pyramidical form, at a distance resembling tents, and
when quite dry is exported, chiefly to Marseilles. The
space beyond, anciently known as the Field of Hercules,
produces abundance of sweet wine, as well as of corn, oil,
and barilla.
Above Cape Boeo, in a healthy situation, stands the city
of Marsala, the ancient Lilybceum, once the capital of the
Carthaginians in Sicily, This place is moderately well
built, and surrounded by a wall; the inhabitants at present
amount to about 21,000, and produce much wine, fruit, and
barilla. Near to it there is a great establishment for ship¬
ping the wine made at Marsala to England, where it is
well known by the name of this city. The ground on the
beach is all shoal and foul, and large ships must anchor at
nearly two miles from the mole, which has been construct¬
ed near the English wine stores.
About nine miles from Cape Boeo is Point Feto, one
league from which is the city of Mazzara, the ancient Ma-
zum. It contains 8000 inhabitants, and, though so small,
has a respectable appearance from the sea, the domes rising
above the houses. It is surrounded with a Saracenic wall;
but the streets are narrow, ill paved, and dirty. It is, how¬
ever, a place of some considerable trade, exporting largely
grain, pulse, cotton, wine, fish, fruit, barilla, madder roots,
oil, and soap. The entrance of the river Salemi forms the
little haven of Mazzara, and is convenient for small craft;
but larger vessels are obliged to lie at a very exposed an¬
chorage without, in from eight to twelve fathoms water,
where the holding ground is a stiff clay. This place is about
six miles distant from Cape Granitola, where terminates
NAPLES.
703
the survey that has been taken of the shores of Sicily. Naples.
Connected with the survey there is an atmospheric phe-'
nomenon which deserves notice. It occurs principally
on the southern, coast of Sicily, but exhibits its greatest
orce in the neighbourhood of Mazzara. It commonly
Smyth name 0^marobia> and is thus described by Captain
Its approach is announced by a stillness in the atmo¬
sphere and a lurid sky, when suddenly the water rises near¬
ly two feet above its natural level, and rushes into the
creeks with amazing rapidity, but in a few minutes re¬
cedes again with equal velocity, disturbing the mud, tear¬
ing up the sea-weed, and occasioning a noisome effluvia.
During its continuance the fish float quite helpless on the
turbid surface, and are easily taken. The rapid changes
generally continue from thirty minutes to two hours, and are
succeeded by a breeze from the southward, which quickly
increases to heavy gusts.”
From the vast extent of sea coast appertaining to the
two divisions of the kingdom of Naples, the fishery has been
at all times one of the chief sources of occupation to the
inhabitants, and, next to agriculture, employs the greatest
proportion of labour. The principal branch of the fishery
is that for the tunny, or scomber-thynnus, which is carried
on by a kind of joint-stock company, in which the popu¬
lation of many towns and villages are engaged. This
fish was, according to Oppian, in the highest estimation
with the Greeks, the Carthaginians, and the Romans, who
made from it the sauce called yorum. This fish is gre¬
garious, and shoals of them enter the Mediterranean
early in the year, with an extended base for the tides
to act upon, as they swim broad and deep, in a conical
form. In the progress of the shoal to the eastward it in¬
clines over towards the European coasts, and is caught
in great abundance in May, June, and July. The average
length of the tunny is from four to eight feet, and the girth
is nearly the same; yet there are many of still greater
size, and the ffemales are always the largest.
The manner of taking them is similar to that which was
practised by the ancients. Large nets are spread out in
the shape of a parallelogram, about fifteen hundred feet in
length, three hundred in width, and from forty to a hundred
in depth, divided into four quadrilateral spaces called rooms,
having channels of communication with each other. These
nets are moved east and west at about a mile distant from
the shore, across the known route of the fish, with each of
the spaces at right angles, and secured vertically by a num¬
ber of anchors and stones at the bottom, whilst the upper
edge of the net is floated by large logs of the cork tree
and other light wood. The whole is then connected with
the shore by a stout single net of very large meshes, called
the wall, that arrests the progress of the tunny, and in¬
duces them to enter the outer room, which is thereupon
raised a little and closed by the boatmen on the look-out.
The fish, alarmed, and seeking to escape, swim from side
to side, and thus enter the next room, when their retreat
is again prevented, and thus finally they enter the fatal
part, called corpo, or chamber of death, where the meshes
are smaller and stronger, and made of rope of superior
quality to the rest of the net. When in this way the cham¬
ber is filled, which sometimes occupies two or three days,
large flat-floored boats, peculiarly constructed for the pur¬
pose, assisted by many smaller ones, close round, and, weigh¬
ing the net, secure the prey with harpoons, and another
species of sharp hook on a wooden staff, that is struck into
the head to prevent the fish from floundering. In the
management of this weapon the fishermen display great
dexterity. Although the size and shape of this fish have
rather a disgustingly coarse appearance, the flesh is agree¬
able to the taste, and it is esteemed very nutritious food.
There are often many other fishes taken with the tunnies, all
NAPLES.
of which, except the sword-fish and the palamita, belong
to the labourers as a perquisite beyond their wages.
The sword-fish passes by the shores of Sicily, in its route
to the Archipelago and the Black Sea, about the time o
the vernal equinox, and is often taken in the tunny nets ,
but in the Straits of Messina there is a particular fishery
for them, in which much activity is displayed, ihis hsfi
is taken by the harpoon, in a manner similar to that prac¬
tised in the whale-fishery. When the fish is struck it im¬
mediately dives, and the long coil of rope fastened to the
harpoon is suffered to run out till the animal becomes faint,
but it is sometimes so vigorous as to oblige the fisherme
to cut it adrift, lest it should draw the boat under water.
The length of this fish is from seven to thirteen feet, ex¬
clusive of a sword projecting from the snout, about three
feet long and three or four inches broad. The weight a-
ries from eighty pounds to upwards of two bunched and
fifty pounds. Notwithstanding this magnitude, the flesh
is esteemed very delicate food, and, when broiled in slices,
resembles veal. c , r-
The anchovy fishery is chiefly carried on for the sake ot
foreign trade. That fish is taken in shallow water during
the months of March, April, and May, by means of nets
ten or twelve feet wide, and very long. The curing ot
them occupies about a month. The fish are first thrown
into brine, to give the salters time to nip off their heads
with the finger and thumb, and pack them regularly, with
alternate layers of salt, in the barrels designed for their
exportation, which generally contain about two hundred
pounds each. When the cask is filled, a round board,
somewhat smaller than the head-piece, is placed over the
whole, and loaded with stones, by which the contents are
sufficiently compressed in a few days to allow of the casks
being properly coopered up for exportation.
Besides these large objects of the fishery, the coast
swarms with mullets, the roes of which are converted into
a sauce called botarga, which is in much request. A great
variety of testaceous and crustaceous fish, amongst which
ar£ prawns of gigantic size, is taken along the whole shore.
Coral is also fished for in many places, but yields the great¬
est profit to the seamen and merchants of Trapani, on the
western coast of the island.
The importance of the fishery in a country where the
number of days in which the inhabitants are precluded
from animal food is so great as in Italy, has induced us
to give a more extended notice of that subject, and the
shores on which it is conducted, than would have been ap¬
propriate under other circumstances.
We turn now to that branch of industry, the cultivation
of the soil, which in every country is the chief occupation
of the people, and at the same time the principal means of
their subsistence. In this work, under the head of Lom¬
bardy, the agriculture of that country is minutely de¬
scribed ; and the observations there communicated are in
a great degree applicable to the kingdom of Naples. The
difference of climate in countries removed from each other
by six to eight degrees of latitude, will necessarily cause
some difference in their productions and in the modes of
obtaining them.
Both on the continent and in the island of Sicily much
silk is procured, but very little beyond what is required for
domestic consumption. But the same diligence and skill
is not applied as in Lombardy and Piedmont to the in¬
crease of mulberry-trees. Oil is the chief article of the
agricultural kind which is exported. The olive-trees are
abundant in all the provinces, with the exception of the
Abbruzzi, Molise, and Basilicata, and the mountainous parts
of Calabria. In the provinces of Bari and of Otranto
nearly two thirds of the land are covered with olive-trees;
but in these places the quantity is more thought of than the
quality, and the oil will scarcely keep more than one year.
It is the substitute for the butter made in the more northern Naples,
parts of Italy, and enters largely into all the edible pre-^ v^-
parations of the inhabitants. A large portion of the oil is
converted into soap, and it is generally used in lamps to N
supply the place of candles. The quantity of oil exported
has of late years been, on an average, 36,300 tons, valued
at L.762,900; that exported to Great Britain is estimated
at 4500 tons, valued at L.90,000.
There is much wine grown, but of bad quality, and not
capable of being kept more than the year in which it is
made ; but some of tolerable quality and flavour, and of
durable strength, is made in Sicily, and finds a good vent
in England, to which market about 300,000 gallons are
annually exported. Cotton-wool is grown in the provinces
of Bari, Otranto, and Basilicata, on the continent, and upon
a small scale in several parts of Sicily. The annual growth
is about 80,000 bags; but this quantity is insufficient tor
the home consumption, and a supply of cotton yarn and
of cotton goods from England is required to the yearly
amount of about L.375,000. Flax and hemp are grown, as
likewise tobacco, saffron, liquorice, almonds, figs, raisins,
currants, dates, oranges, lemons, capers, manna, and a va¬
riety of other precious fruits. In most years this kingdom
arows rather more corn than is required for its own con¬
sumption. This consists chiefly of maize, upon which the
poorer classes principally subsist. Wheat, when sown, is
generally a beneficial crop, though occasionally subject to
blight, and to other accidents of the weather. In some of
the marshy portions of the country rice is cultivated with
success, in spite of its ill effects on the health of the inha-
bitants. In the best cultivated districts, the pasture-land
is inconsiderable, and the stall-feeding of cattle is gene¬
rally practised. There are, however, in the mountains,
some extensive plains, affording excellent pasture for sheep.
The whole number of sheep in the kingdom is estimated
at 2,500,000, about one half of which are migratory, being
kept on the mountains in summer, and in the valleys in
winter. The wool varies in quality, but is in general good,
and some portion of it is exported. The cows are of a race
brought from Hungary. The oxen are commonly used to
plough the land, and to draw waggons or carts. In the
warm and marshy parts of Terra di Lavoro and Puglia are
reared some buffaloes, which serve as beasts of draft, and
whose milk is converted into a kind of cheese called pro-
vole. Horses are sard to degenerate fast in Naples. Nu¬
merous mules are reared, especially in the provinces of
Otranto and Abbruzzo, whence those appropriated to the
use of the nobility in their carriages are mostly brought.
The condition of society, and the tenures of land, con¬
tribute much to the depression of agriculture, and, through
it, of every other description of industry. The soil is own¬
ed in very large portions, either by the king, by the reli¬
gious houses, or by the higher nobility. The peasants
who cultivate the land are commonly metayers, dividing
equally with the lord the annual produce; but in many
cases where the soil is peculiarly fertile, the peasant las
but one third of the harvest for his share. Under the go¬
vernment of the Napoleon family, some of the church-lands
were sold to speculators ; but the change of proprietors has
caused no alteration in the condition of the occupiers, or in
the course of husbandry. As the climate of Sicily is some¬
what warmer than that of the continental part of the king¬
dom, there is some variation in the practice of husbandry,
as well as in its productions. The wheat of Sicily, which
in ancient times contributed greatly to the subsistence o
Rome, is not now extensively cultivated, because the pea¬
sants find it much more profitable to grow hemp and flax.
A very large portion of the cultivated land is under tal¬
low, which, from the scarcity of manure, is.adoP;fd’
forms an imperfect substitute* for that material. ^
negligent culture of Sicily, the corn exported, chiefly wheat,
NAPLES.
Naples, is nearly equal In value to that of all the other commodi-
v ties which are exported. Some of the feudal rights of the
nobles have been abolished, and, instead of the personal
services of the peasants, the system of a partnership in the
products, as described in the continental division, has been
introduced.
The mineral productions are insignificant, and consist
solely of some iron extracted from mines in the vicinity of
Stilo. There are mines of rock-salt, which are but slight¬
ly worked. That substance, however, is largely collected
on the sea-shore, where, by the operation of the sun alone,
it is prepared for culinary purposes. In Sicily much sul¬
phur is obtained, and forms an important article of foreign
trade. Some alum is also collected; and in many parts
quarries of marble, of various descriptions, are extensively
worked; but most of that substance is used for the build¬
ing in and around the cities of the kingdom.
The manufactures of this kingdom are for the most part
of the domestic kind. The females spin the flax, hemp,
or wool, and the coarse cloths made from those substances
satisfy the majority of the inhabitants. Silk goods are
made in some establishments of greater magnitude than
those adapted for the manufacture of other articles. There
are manufactures of coarse woollen goods in many of the
provincial cities, and also of cotton goods. Leather, paper,
hardware, glass, earthenware, and porcelain, mostly of in¬
different workmanship, and in small portions, are also made
in several parts of the kingdom. The condition of the great
body of the people compels them to be satisfied with coarse
clothing, little or no domestic furniture, or even cooking
utensils, and to procure what little they do use of the
cheapest and most durable kind.
No country of Europe has so little foreign trade, in pro¬
portion to its extent and population, as the kingdom of
Naples. It produces almost every thing that is necessary
for the inhabitants, and has a very magnificent surplus of
productions to give in exchange for the few luxuries which
the condition of the population requires. The chief part
of the foreign trade centres in the city of Naples, to which
the greater portion of the spare products are brought by
small coasting vessels, and whence also are dispensed what
foreign commodities are required. The nature and extent
of the trade, as far as these can be obtained, will be found
in the account of that city.
The face of the country displays great inequalities. The
Apennines enter the kingdom on the north-west side, from
the papal territory, and at Rappolla divide into two branch¬
es. The left branch runs through Basilicata to the pro¬
vince of Otranto, where they terminate in the sea at Capo
di Leuca; though it is asserted that a continuation of them
under the sea extends to the island of Corfu and the Turk¬
ish dominions. The right branch runs through the three
provinces of Calabria to the southernmost part of the pe¬
ninsula, near the Straits of Messina. The highest point
of this range of mountains within the kingdom is Tassa
dTtalia, 8255 feet in height, near to which are some others
of about equal height, but which have not been accurately
measured. The next loftiest are, Monte Calvo, 4810 feet;
Monte Celevo, 4800; Sila, 4634; Vesuvius, 3500; Bolgario
de Salerno, 3496; and Epomeo dTschia, 2364 feet. From
each of these chains of hills there are many spurs, some
insulated, and others connected with the main branch.
Those on the western side have at some period had volca¬
noes of greater or less igneous production, the existence of
which is manifest by the lava and tufa which their erup¬
tions have left, though none but Vesuvius is now in acti¬
vity. These minor branches of mountains, projecting from
the main range, are so far distant from each other as to
leave spaces for plains of various extent, which open on
both sides towards the sea. Upon the eastern side some
of these are extensive steppes, and the mountains looking
VOL. xv.
705
in that direction are in a great degree naked and barren ; Naples,
but the smaller hills, and the valleys between them, are for's—“'y''-
the most part pleasing to the view, and highly fertile. On
the western side of the main range, especially near the
coast, tnere seems to exist a subterraneous fire, which
finds vent in \ esuvius, and in other parts, as is manifest
by the tremendous visitations of earthquakes.
The kingdom of Naples, taken as a whole, is scantily
supplied with water, though in some parts there is so much
that it renders the air unwholesome. As the mountains
run through the middle of the country, and the rivers
have their souices in them, their courses are necessarily
short. The eastern side of the Apennines is by far the
driest, and the rivers are of the shortest course, whilst
many of them are nearly or altogether destitute of water
in the summer months. The chief rivers are, the Garig-
liano, which enters it from the papal states, and runs to
the sea in the province of Terra di Lavoro; the Volturno,
which receives the smaller streams Cavaliene, Lorda, Ta-
rano, and Salone, and enters the sea near the town of
Mondragone, on the western coast; the Crati, which
rises in Calabria Citeriore, waters the plains of Cosenza,
and enters the gulf of Tarento near St Mauro; the Silaro,
which rises at the foot of the mountain Paflagone, in Prin-
cipato Citeriore, receives the waters of the Galore and the
Negro, and falls into the sea at Altavilla; the Ofanto,
next to the Garigliano the largest river in the kingdom,
but in no part navigable, rises in Principato Citeriore,
passes through Capitanata, and empties itself into the
Adriatic Sea; and the Pescara, which is composed of
two mountain streams of Abbruzzo, runs to the north,
and falls into the Adriatic. The shorter streams are nu¬
merous, and mostly destitute of water in the hot months.
There are no canals available for the purposes of na¬
vigation, but many of short length have been construct¬
ed in order to irrigate particular districts. There are
several internal lakes, but only one of considerable ex¬
tent. The lake of Cellano, sometimes called Fucino, in
the province of Abbruzzo, is fifteen miles in length and ten
in breadth, and receives the waters of three small rivers.
It has a river issuing from it, but frequently overflows the
surrounding country, and generates pestilential malaria.
Amongst the smaller lakes, that of Agnano, in the province
of Naples, between the mountains Astroni and Pausiiippo,
has the singularity of being without any streams either en¬
tering or issuing from it, but is kept in motion resembling
the rise and fall of tides in the sea by subterraneous gases,
which are constantly escaping from it, and have a pestife¬
rous effect upon those who approach too near to it. Some
baths in the vicinity are found beneficial in cases of si-
philis, gout, and rheumatism. The smaller lakes are very
numerous.
The climate is healthy, excepting in the spots where
stagnant water produces malaria, and at the time when
the easterly wind, called the sirocco, prevails. The heat of
the sun is tempered by the breezes from the sea, which
surrounds the kingdom on three of its sides. The quantity
of rain which falls annually is about twenty-nine inches,
or one third more than falls in Paris. Snow is rarely
seen, except upon the high mountains, and the rivers are
never frozen.
The government of this kingdom is an unmixed and ab¬
solute monarchy; but in the Sicilian division there is a sort
of mixed constitution, and a body with the name of a par¬
liament. The power of the parliament is, however, of so
little weight as scarcely to deserve notice. The only check
on absolute power is the rigid adherence which the great
mass of the people evince to their ancient customs, and to
their civil, judicial, and religious practices. After the dis¬
turbances of 1821, a body of the most respectable inhabi¬
tants was formed by the king, one on the continent and an-
4 u
706
NAPLES.
Naple*. other in Sicily, under the name of Consultas, who were re¬
presented to the people at large as securities for the good
government of the two portions of the dominion, and were
to exercise supervision rather than control over the seve¬
ral branches of the executive administration. Like all such
half or evasive measures, no good effect has been produced
by them, nor have they any legislative influence.
The religion of the whole kingdom is strictly that of the
Roman Catholic church, which all the inhabitants profess,
except about 80,000 Greeks, who follow the ritual of their
church, and about 2000 Jews, who are tolerated. The
church establishment comprehends fourteen archbishops,
seventy-seven bishops, 129 assistant bishops, 26,800 priests,
11,730 other clerical persons in rank below the priesthood,
and 9520 female religious persons. Education is at a low
ebb. In Naples there is a university with 1350 students,
another in Palermo with 400, and a third in Catania with
300. There are also many Latin schools for citizens, and
a few primary schools.
The revenues of the kingdom arise chiefly from taxa¬
tion of various kinds. Nearly one third is derived from a
land-tax; the remainder is collected from an excise on con¬
sumption, from a stamp-tax, a lottery, from the post-office,
and from a deduction of ten per cent, on all the salaries
of public officers. By the accounts of 1831, the amount
of the whole was 26,650,000 ducats, or, taking the ducat
at 4s. 3d. sterling, about L.5,360,000. The expenditure of
the government in the same year amounted to 27,340,000
ducats. By the growing increase of the taxes, the revenue
amounted, in the year 1834, to 30,900,000 ducats, thus
leaving a surplus applicable to the sinking fund for dimi¬
nishing the national debt. The debt consisted of two por¬
tions, viz. somewhat more than one million sterling within
the kingdom, and a loan made by the Rothschilds in Eng¬
land, amounting to two millions and a half. By the in¬
crease of revenue these debts are in course of liquidation,
and it is estimated that, if no interruption of the present
progress should intervene, in the year 1842 the whole
debt will be discharged. The income and the expendi¬
ture of Sicily are stated to be nearly one third part of that
of the united kingdom. The expenditure of the royal
family is about L.420,000 a year, and that of the army
L.1,700,000.
The army consists of the royal guards, which compre¬
hends a corps of horse artillery, two of grenadiers, one of
jagers, and two of cavalry ; and the troops of the line, which
comprehend a corps of engineers, two regiments of artil¬
lery, a brigade of veteran artillery, a brigade of artificers
and miners, eleven regiments of infantry, of which four
are Swiss, and three regiments of cavalry; the whole
amounting to about 30,000 men.
The cities in the two divisions of the kingdom, which
contain a population of more than 11,000 persons, are the
following:
Naples 358,994
Palermo 173,015
Messina  70,111
Catania  55,400
Trapani  24,330
Foggia  20,687
Marsala  20,559
Modica    19,702
Bari  18,937
Barletta   17,695
San Severino  16,640
Ragusa  16,616
Canicatti  16,455
Caltanisetta  15,627
Monopoli  15,536
Castello a Mare  15,001
Chieti 12,666
Lanciano 12,576
Corleoni 12,527
Lipari 12,483
Salemi 12,258
Nicosia 12,064
Sarno 11,933
Piazza 11,904
Ariano 11,718
Sciacca 11,514
Aci Reale 14,994
Girgenti 14,882
Gaeta 14,812
Castel Vetrano 14,782
Termini 14,150
Taranto 14,111
Lecca 14,081
Randazzo 14,000
Siracusa 13,851
Aversa 13,826
Trani 13,787
Mascol 13,705
Bitonto 13,700
Avellino 13,467
Alcamo 13,000
Monreale 12,776
Monte St Angiolo... 11,500
Molfetta 11,496'
Catanzaro 11,464
Licata 11,250
Matera 11,158
Castro Reale 11,146
Castro Giovanni 11,143
Francavilla 11,108
Noto 11,058
Partanna 11,006
Naples.
Naples, a city of Italy, the capital of the kingdom of
the same name, though frequently called the kingdom of
the Two Sicilies. The exact position, as taken from the
light-house, is 14. 15. 45. east longitude from Greenwich,
and 40. 50. 10. north latitude. This city stands on the
shore of a bay or gulf of the same name, the beauty of
which has been so long and so generally celebrated, that
it requires only a short notice here. This bay, taken as a
whole, may be considered as one of the most interesting,
as well as most beautiful, on the globe. The curiosities
both of nature and of art; the remains of classical antiqui¬
ty ; the varied and wonderful scenery; the volcanic erup¬
tions and earthquakes which it has experienced ; the cities
founded and established in all the pride of luxury, but
since overwhelmed; mountains converted into lakes, and
lakes turned into mountains; all of these form a combina¬
tion of circumstances and events, which is to be found in
no other spot within the same compass on the earth’s sur¬
face.
After the lapse of many centuries, the vestiges of the
terrible subterranean fires that convulsed these coasts are
still visible. The lakes Acheron (Mare Morto), Avernus
(Averno), and others which border the sea, are incontestibly
the craters of ancient volcanoes, as well as the enormous
cones reversed, which are everywhere seen on the shores,
on the summits of the mountains, on their sides, and at their
bases. The remembrance of the most ancient convulsions
was conveyed by tradition, and, being embellished by the
poetical imaginations of the Greeks, whose colonies were
established on these shores, gave birth to the mythology
concerning the infernal gods. The yawning fissures, seve¬
ral of which showed the existence of internal fires by the
smoke that issued from them, whilst others emitted pesti¬
lential vapours, were easily conceived to be the gates of Tar¬
tarus, and the entrances to the realms of death. Temples
were erected on their edges, at which the worshippers ar¬
rived by subterranean passages; and hence are derived
the fables of the Sybils, and the poetical descents to the
infernal regions. Nature having reposed for ages, the
fertility of these districts was renewed, and men, invited
by that fertility, as well as by the serenity of the climate,
crowded to their shores. The city of Cumae was founded
probably by a colony of Greeks ; and others succeeded,
which formed many petty sovereignties, sometimes at war
with each other, sometimes allied, until all were finally ab¬
sorbed in the Roman empire.
The Romans, masters of the known world, and enriched
by the spoils of the East, thought only of enjoyment.
Tired of the monotonous splendours of their capital, they
sought in the country the charms of tranquillity mingled
with luxury. But no part of Italy offered such natural
advantages as the shores of the Bay of Naples, which, be¬
ing blessed with a genial climate and a serene sky, and pos¬
sessing abundance of warm springs for the formation of
baths, were gradually covered with villas and temples by
the now effeminate Romans. Thus, the whole country from
Cape Miseno to Sorrentum, seemed to the eye but one con¬
tinued city. Within this extent were built the towns of
Misenum, Baia, Direachea or Puteolis (Pozzmo/?), Neapo-
lis (Naples), Herculanum, Pompeii, Stabia, and Sorrentum,
each of which had its theatre, amphitheatre, forum, and
NAPLES.
pies, an incredible number of temples, the ruins of which at-
" test their former magnificence.
Amidst these circumstances of pomp and luxury, fre¬
quent earthquakes at length alarmed the voluptuous inha¬
bitants, and were the precursors of a dreadful crisis. Ve¬
suvius at that time presented the aspect of an ancient
volcano, but nothing indicated that its fires were not en¬
tirely extinct; its sides were highly cultivated in their
whole circumference, and its summit alone appeared arid
and burned. In the first year of the reign of Titus (a. d.
79), its fires burst forth suddenly ; rivers of fluid lava and
mud issued from it, as well as clouds of ashes and pumice-
stone, which overwhelmed all the eastern shores of the bay ;
and, from Herculanum to Stabia a chain of hill composed
of those substances occupied the place of fertile fields.
These two towns, as well as Pompeii, disappeared, whilst
the western shore suffered nothing, the lava stopping at
Naples, which itself received but little damage.
The nobles of Rome, however, continued to pass part
of the year on the shores of Naples, and the period when
they were generally deserted is unknown; but it is sup¬
posed to have been during the ages of barbarism which
succeeded the fall of the Roman empire. The appear¬
ance of the shores, and the ruins which cover them, from
Cape Miseno to Pausilippo, attest the ravages of one or
more convulsions posterior to that which occurred in the
reign of Titus. The mountains have been torn into frag¬
ments, the passages to the subterranean temples filled up,
and the temples themselves either destroyed or displaced ;
whilst the sea must have rushed with rapidity over the
lands from which it is now again slowly retiring. The
only convulsion of which the date has been preserved is
that of 1538, in which the Lucrine Lake, so famous for its
oysters, was greatly reduced, and a mountain rose in its
place.
The bay, the history of which has been here sketched, is
distinguished at its entrance by the islands of Ischia and
Procida to the north-west, and by the island of Capri and
the promontory of Campanella to the south-east. The
breadth of the entrance is about five leagues ; and there,
as well as within the bay, is good anchorage, with a depth
of nearly seven fathoms water. The bay is well sheltered
from all winds, excepting those which blow from any point
between east-south-east and due south ; and it is exposed
to the sea only by the passage between Capri and the main,
which is of little or no consequence. In the bottom of the
bay a harbour has been formed by the construction of a
mole in the shape of the letter L, in which merchant ships
and most of the royal navy lie, and where boats may al¬
ways land. There is no regular tide, but a rise and fall of
waters is occasioned by the winds in south-west gales.
Ships can be conveniently supplied with water at the mole.
The extent of the bay is about thirty miles, and the city
is built at the bottom of it, and extends along the shore in
the same circular shape as its form. It rises from the shore
like an amphitheatre, and, as a whole, can be most advan¬
tageously seen from the water. The entire line of build¬
ings, including the suburbs, is between four and five miles.
Towards the sea, the sameness of the range of buildings is
relieved by many beautiful quays, and the great number
of vessels and boats approaching to or proceeding from
them, and by two forts which defend the town, called
L’Uovo and San Elmo.
This city may, in regard to extent and population, be
considered as the fourth in Europe, following after Lon¬
don, Paris, and Constantinople, unless the late rapid in¬
crease of Moscow shall cause it to rank after that recon¬
structed metropolis. The streets of the city are mostly in
a circular direction, and many of them are narrow. They
are well paved with lava, and of late years have been light¬
ed by lamps hung in the French manner in the middle of
707
the streets. They are generally kept clean, the filth being Naples,
carried away by large subterranean sewers. From their s'—“v-w'
narrowness, and the height of the houses, they have for
the most part a gloomy aspect. The Strada di Toledo is
however an exception, and is one of the finest streets in
Europe. It extends half the length of the city, is border¬
ed on both sides by magnificent houses, and is terminated
at one extremity by a square, the Piazzo di Mercato, and at
the other by the royal palace. The houses in it are of sin¬
gular architecture, and more remarkable for their size than
their elegance. They are mostly six or seven stories in
height, have flat roofs, and are covered with a kind of stuc¬
co made of pozzolano sand, which becomes indurated by
exposure to the atmosphere. Most of them have balconies
in front; and the roofs are frequently covered with flowers,
shrubs, and small trees, planted in boxes filled with earth.
The attention of visitors is much attracted by the Largo
del Palazzo, by Santa Lucia, and the Platamone, but more
than all by the Chiaja, which comprehends a public gar¬
den called the Villa Reale, extending more than half a
mile in length on the margin of the bay, and reaching to
the grotto of Posilipo. This garden is ornamented with
luxuriant trees, shrubs, flowers, and modern statues, and
has the basin of a fountain standing on the backs of four
lions; a group found at Paestum, and placed here in the
spot which was previously occupied by the celebrated Toro
Farnese, now removed to the Museum.
In noticing the public institutions of Naples, the most
prominent object is that now called the Studii Publici.
This university was erected by the viceroy Fernando Ruez
de Castro, according to the plan furnished by Fontana, and
opened in 1616 by his son and successor Don Pedro de
Castro. In the year 1790, King Ferdinand I. removed
the university to the convent of Gesu Vecchio, and con¬
verted the edifice built by De Castro into a Royal Museum,
which has been since enriched by the antiquities found in
Minturnae, the ancient Capua, Herculanum, Pompeii, Nu-
cera, Nola, and Paestum, together with the collection of
paintings once placed in the palace of Capo di Monte; and
thus this Museunr, may now be considered as the finest in
Europe, more especially with respect to Grecian and Ro¬
man antiquities.
Although few objects of the kind are more worthy of
detailed description, yet the nature of this work necessarily
forbids any other than mere cursory notices of the most
distinguished of them. In the quadrangle which the build¬
ing forms there is a colossal statue of Alexander Severus,
another of the Genius of Rome, and one of Urania, report¬
ed to have been found in Pompey’s theatre at Rome. The
staircase is ornamented with a lion in Carrara marble, and
two statues in Greek marble, taken from Herculanum.
Surrounding the quadrangle are the schools for drawing,
and the apartments appropriated to antique fresco, statues,
and other works of art. The division of this institution
next to be noticed is the gallery of ancient paintings found
in Herculanum, Pompeii, and Stabia, wdiich have been re¬
cently removed from Portici. These are so elegant in re¬
gard to composition, and yet generally so badly executed,
that it is supposed the greater part of them may have been
copies made by common house painters from the most re¬
nowned pictures of antiquity. Recent excavations at Pom¬
peii have, however, produced large historical pictures, far
too well executed to have been the work of common paint¬
ers, and so admirable with respect to accuracy of outline
and beauty of composition, that even the frescos of Raffaelle
in the Vatican do not excel them. The recently disen¬
tombed paintings are now added to those brought from
Portici, and amount, including the latter, to nearly one
thousand six hundred ; a number which must increase al¬
most daily, as long as the excavation of Pompeii is conti¬
nued. This unique gallery has been so well arranged, that
NAPLES.
708
Naples, there is every reason to suppose it may in future become
N^-^the favourite study of modern painters. The subjects
represented in these pictures are too numerous to be
even named; and where so many are exquisite it would be
difficult to make a selection for the purpose of describing
them.
The gallery of ancient sculptures, or rather three galle¬
ries appropriated to them, contain numerous pieces of Gre¬
cian as well as of Roman workmanship, exhibiting busts of
celebrated personages both male and female, especially of
the family of the Balbi; several equestrian statues; groups
of figures representing the actions of Bacchus, Cupid, Ve¬
nus, Apollo, Cybele, Ganymede, and Euterpe. The great¬
er part of these have been obtained by excavation from
Herculanum or Pompeii.
The hall of Flora, the hall of Apollo, the hall of the
Muses, the hall of the Venuses, the hall of Jupiter, the
hall of Atlas, and that of Antinous, are filled with statues
which have some connection with the names they seve¬
rally bear. Many of these are from the Grecian chisel,
some attributed to, or known to be the work of, Phidias and
Praxiteles. In the hall of the Muses is the large beauti¬
ful vase of Greek marble, an inscription on which shows it
to ‘have been the work of an Athenian sculptor of the
name of Salpion. It is adorned with bas-reliefs relative
to the education of Bacchus. In the cabinet connected
with these galleries there are some statues highly valued,
especially one attributed to Praxiteles, called Venus Calli-
pige, the rival of the Venus de’ Medici. There are also
many smaller figures and groups which never fail to excite
admiration.
One apartment is appropriated to the celebrated group
of the Toro Farnese, and bears that name. This piece
was originally brought from Rhodes to Rome, but remov¬
ed thence to Naples about the close of the seventeenth
century. It is supposed to represent Dirce bound with
the hair of her head to the horns of a bull by Amphion
and Zethus, the sons of Lycus king of Thebes, and their
mother, Antiopa, commanding them to detain the bull
and set Dirce free. Antiquaries are of opinion that this
group was formed from one solid block of marble, by two
Rhodian artists, Apollonius and Tauriscus, about two
hundred years before the Christian era. It was found
cruelly mutilated in the baths of Caracalla, and restored
by Giovanni Battista Bianchi of Milan. The head of the
bull and the upper parts are modern. The trunks alone
of the figures of Amphion and Zethus are antique ; but the
statues of Antiopa and the youth seated are nearly in their
original state.
These galleries also contain columns of precious mar¬
bles, found in Herculanum, Pompeii, and other parts of
Magna Graecia ; and the statue of the priestess Eumachea,
from Pompeii, has been lately placed near the open court
also. There are the measures of capacity found at Pom¬
peii, and a small perpetual almanac of marble, corn-mills
of lava, and a machine of lava for bruising olives in order
to extract oil, all of which have been brought from Pompeii.
An apartment on the ground floor is wholly filled with
antiquities of the Etruscans, or those of the more ancient
people the Osci, or some brought from Egypt. Amongst
the first are many curious vases; and among the others,
well-preserved mummies of the human species, in painted
cases of sycamore wood. Another of the rooms is wholly
filled with bronze sculpture of animals and human figures
of various sizes, in different positions and actions. These
have been mostly obtained from the excavations in Pom¬
peii and Herculanum.
Above these rooms, on the large landing place, in an
apartment on the left, are the papyri found about the year
1753, in a villa of Herculanum, unrolled. This library
of papyri was discovered under what is now the garden of
the Augustine monks in Portici; but as the scrolls of pa- Naples,
pyri found in Herculanum were so precisely like char-v-*-
coal that they had been constantly taken for it, the scrolls
in question might have shared the same fate, if the order
in which they were placed, one above another, had not
excited curiosity, and produced an examination, which led
to the discovery of Greek and Latin words written on
these supposed pieces of charcoal. The diligence of the
excavators was in consequence redoubled ; and seven ink-
stands, with a stylus case, all of ancient pottery, together
with three small busts in bronze, one of them representing
Epicurus, were found in the same room with the papyri,
which, amounting to 1730 scrolls, were deposited, by or¬
der of Charles III. then king of Naples, in the Royal
Museum at Portici, whence they were conveyed to the
Museum at Naples; and notwithstanding they are so much
scorched as to resemble tinder, the Padre Antonio Piaggio
invented a machine capable of separating and unrolling
them. Those hitherto unrolled are 408 in number, of
which eighty-eight only are legible ; the others being frag¬
ments, are very difficult to decipher. Two volumes of these
papyri have been published, one in the year 1793, and the
other in 1809 ; a third is, we understand, in preparation for
the press. The first volume contains a work of Philode-
mus on music; the second contains a fragment of a Latin
poem, supposed to have been written by Rabirius, and two
books, the second and eleventh, of Epicurus upon Nature.
The third volume will contain, amongst other matter, the
tenth and eleventh books of Philodemus, the former on
economy, and the latter on pride. It is conjectured, that
of the manuscripts still remaining to be unrolled, twenty-
four are Latin, and the remainder Greek.
The library, the door of which is on the landing-place,
is a magnificent apartment, being 212 feet in length,
eighty in width, and eighty-one in height. This library
is stated to contain 300,000 printed volumes, and 6000 ma¬
nuscripts. The collection of books printed in the fifteenth
century is particularly valuable, because it comprises those
published during that period at Naples, many of which are
unknown to librarians in general. There is likewise a su¬
perb collection of works published by Bodoni; and amongst
the manuscripts are the works of St Thomas Aquinas,
the Aminta of Tasso, the Acts of the Apostles written in
the tenth century, and many illuminated missals of un¬
common beauty, which had been executed for the Far¬
nese family.
Other and spacious apartments in this Museum are
furnished with those treasures from Herculanum which
show the domestic manners and lives of the Romans. One
contains the personal ornaments, such as rings, necklaces,
brooches, ear-rings, medals, gems, gold chains, gold nets,
bracelets, mirrors, pins for fastening the hair, and many
similar objects. One room is the repository for kitchen
furniture of bronze, exhibiting kettles, saucepans, and
other utensils. Another is the repository for steelyards,
scales, weights, measures, lamps, and candelabras ; whilst
others are miscellaneous repositories for various descrip¬
tions of objects, some valuable for their antiquity, others
for their beauty, and all interesting, as tending to illustrate
the history and the manners of the ancients. A gallery
of paintings, the Farnese collection, forms a part of the
Museum. It contains many most admirable pictures, but
is especially rich in portraits of distinguished personages,
and in historical Scripture pieces.
As there is not a museum in any country which, in all
respects, can be compared with this, and as it forms the
chief object of curiosity in the city, we have thought it pro¬
per to give some account of its contents. It deserves to be
mentioned, that access may be always had to it, from eight
in the morning to two in the afternoon, on all but festival
and gala days.
NAPLES.
One of tlioso public buildings in Naples which deserve
-'notice is the Palazzo liealej the town residence of the
king. It was erected by the Count di Lemnos, on a plan
designed by the eminent architect Fontana. It contains
magnificent apartments, handsomely furnished, and en¬
riched with fine pictures. The most distinguished pieces
are, the Madonna of Monte Casino by Raffaelle; the Car¬
dinal Virtues, copied from Raffaelle by Annibal Carracci;
Orpheus, by Caravaggio, and Christ disputing with the
Doctors, by the same master. There is one fine hall hung
round with portraits of the several viceroys, by Massimo
and Paolo Mattei; and a handsome chapel, with an altar
of agate, lapis lazuli, and other precious marbles. The
residence of Prince Leopold, which stands nearly opposite
to the Palazzo Reale, contains the finest collection of pic¬
tures in Naples.
As in other purely Catholic cities, the churches are ob¬
jects of particular attention. In Naples they are very nu¬
merous. The archiepiscopal church or cathedral is dedi¬
cated to St Januarius or San Gennaro, the patron saint of
the city. It is a Gothic edifice, more magnificent than
tasteful, having been built on the site of an ancient temple
erected in the time of the Emperor Constantine, which
was destroyed by an earthquake. The outside is incrust-
ed with white marble, and ornamented with two columns
of porphyry. The inside is not splendid, though support¬
ed by upwards of a hundred columns of Egyptian granite,
or Grecian and other marbles, taken from the temples of
Apollo and Neptune. The font, placed near the principal
entrance, is an ancient vase of basalt, adorned with the
attributes of the heathen god Bacchus. The high altar is
composed of precious marbles, and ornamented with two
antique candelabras of jasper. Under it is a subterranean
chapel, supposed to be the remaining part of a temple of
Apollo, in which are the relics of the patron San Gennaro.
Within the cathedral is the chapel called 11 Tesoro, built
in consequence of a vow made by the city of Naples during
a plague in 1526. The entrance to this chapel is through a
magnificent bronze door, adorned with fine columns of rare
marble, and statues of St Peter and St Paul. The interior of
the edifice is a rotunda, embellished with a cupola, paint¬
ed by Lanfranco, and supported by forty-two Corinthian
columns, between which are placed, on festival days, thir¬
ty-six silver busts of saints, and eighteen busts in bronze,
all executed by the most eminent artists. Over the altar is
a statue of San Gennaro in the act of blessing the people;
and a silver tabernacle containing the head of that saint,
and two small vessels filled with his blood, supposed to
have been collected by a Neapolitan lady during his mar¬
tyrdom. The ceremony of liquefying the blood of this
saint takes place three times a year, namely, in May, Sep¬
tember, and December, and is thought an interesting sight
by many foreigners. If it liquefy quickly, the joy express¬
ed by the Neapolitans is great; but if there be any un¬
expected delay, the tears, prayers, and cries, are excessive,
as the non-performance of this miracle is supposed to an¬
nounce some dreadful impending calamity.
Our limits do not admit of noticing all, or even the
names, of the numerous other churches within this city.
The paintings and statuary in many of them are the finest
pieces of art, and executed by the best masters; and the
buildings themselves display the best models of architec¬
ture. Of these religious edifices, the number of parochial
churches is fifty-five, and the churches in the monasteries,
nunneries, and hospitals, are 149, besides about 150 cha¬
pels, and numerous oratories.
There are numerous hospitals in the city, and various
charitable institutions for relieving distress, some of them
well endowed. Amongst the most remarkable, is an ex¬
tensive and magnificent building called Albergo de’ Poveri.
It is an asylum for orphans, and for children whose parents
cannot afford to give them the advantage of a good educa¬
tion. In it the boys are instructed in reading, writing,'
drawing, and engraving; and the girls in sewing, knitting,
spinning, and weaving linen, and in other arts beneficial in
their station.
Naples abounds in theatres. The Teatro Reale de San
Gailo is the largest and most splendid opera-house in Italy.
It was destroyed by fire in 1815, and nothing was left stand¬
ing but the front and the party walls ; but in eleven months
afterwards it rose from its ashes, ornamented with even
moie than its original splendour. It contains six rows of
boxes, has a parterre capable of containing 670 persons sit¬
ting, with 150 standing, a stage, the dimensions of which
are vast, spacious corridors, excellent stairs, and an edifice
adjoining, called the Ridotto, which comprises ball-rooms,
eating rooms, and apartments for gambling, the last of
which have been closed since the last revolutionary disturb¬
ances. I he leatro Reale del Pondo is another opera-
house, smaller than San Carlo, but very elegant. The Tea¬
tro de’ Fiorentini and the Teatro Nuovo are appropriated
to buffas, operas, and plays. I he leatro San Fernando is
larger than any other except that of San Carlo. The
1 eati o della Fenica and that of San Carleno are very
small, but much frequented on account of Puncinello, who
is the prominent actor, and great favourite of the populace.
Ihese two houses are opened twice in every twenty-four
hours.
Amongst other gratifications, Naples is furnished with
some beautiful promenades. The most frequented are the
Villa Reale, the Chiaja, the Giardino, and the Botanico,
all constructed by the French, as was the Strada Napo¬
leon, a magnificent work, which extends from the city to
Capo di Monte. The road begun by Murat, extending from
Mergellina to Capo Coroglio, is a beautiful promenade, two
miles in length, leading to Pozzuoli.
The excursions which may be made in the environs of
the city are of the most inviting nature, and especially at¬
tractive to all persons familiar with the writings of the clas¬
sical ages. We have space to do little more than mention
the names of the most prominent objects. In an excur¬
sion to Baiae may be seen the tomb of Virgil; the grotto
of Pozzuoli, 2316 feet in length and twenty-two feet in
height; the Lucrine Lake ; the villa of Nero ; the ruins of
Caesar’s villa; the temples of Venus, of Mercury, and of
Diana; an amphitheatre, ruined by an earthquake, capa¬
ble of containing 45,000 persons; and the sepulchre of
Agrippina.
An excursion to Cumae may enable the traveller to visit
Solfatara, the Forum Vulcani of the ancients, where alum,
vitriol, and sal-ammonia are now made from the volcanic
substances in the vicinity; the villa of Cicero ; the Lake of
Avernus, with the temple of Monte-Novo, supposed to
have been dedicated to Pluto or Proserpine ; the remains
of the aqueduct called Arco Felice; and the ancient city
of Cumae itself, with the grotto of the Sibyls.
To the Lake d’Agnano is a common excursion. It
leads to the crater of a volcano; to the vapour baths of
San Germano; the grotto Del Cane, the memphitic air of
which throws a dog into convulsions, extinguishes a light¬
ed torch, and prevents a pistol from going off; the Piscia-
relli, a rivulet of boiling water ; and the Astroni, the ro¬
mantic crater of an extinct volcano, now converted into a
royal hunting park.
A visit to Caserta, and especially to the grand aque¬
duct five miles beyond it, is highly gratifying. This cele¬
brated work of modern date collects the water from nine
springs, and conveys them through lofty mountains, and
under a bridge of stupendous height and beautiful con¬
struction, a distance of nearly twelve miles. The Palace of
Caserta, the most splendid royal residence, is a prodigious
pile, of a rectangular form, 746 feet in length, 576 feet in
709
Naples.
710 NAP
Naplous. breadth, and 113 feet in height. Superb columns orna-
s-—v'—^ ment the outside of this edifice, the principal court of which
is 507 feet in length, and particularly magnificent, as is
also the grand staircase. The vestibule of the chapel, and
the chapel itself, excite admiration ; and the latter contains
a fine painting by Mengs. The theatre is decorated with
twelve columns of basalt, taken from the temple of Jupi¬
ter Serapis. The royal apartments, though vast and beau¬
tifully proportioned, are so ill furnished as to be but little
worthy of attention.
As the three greatest objects of curiosity, Vesuvius,
Herculanum, and Pompeii, are fully described in this work,
the reader is referred to them in their alphabetical order,
where the space allotted to them is more appropriately
occupied than it would have been in a description of the
city of Naples.
The French, whilst masters of the city, erected a fine
and commodious market, which is in communication with
the Strada Toledo. It is in imitation of an ancient Forum
Venalium, and the centre is ornamented with an allegorical
figure of Abundance. It is well supplied with all kinds of
provisions from the fertile fields in the vicinity. The
prices of the chief articles of sustenance are moderate, as
stated by the British consular returns, viz. bread and flour
2d. per pound, beef 4d., mutton 2^d., pork 3d., cheese 6d.,
butter Is. 4d., coffee Is. 2d., and sugar 7d. The supply
of vegetables is of the greatest importance, and the rates
of all of them are very low. The fishing supplies abun¬
dance of food, and gives occupation to a large portion of
the male population ; and, besides what is caught in the
neighbouring water, a considerable part of the cod-fish
cured in Newfoundland finds a vent in Naples, as well as
in the other Catholic countries which border the Medi¬
terranean.
The foreign trade of Naples, in which city that of the
greater part of the kingdom is carried on, consists in the ex¬
portation of silk, oil, wool, linseed, liquorice, wine, and a
few smaller articles. The imports consist, as far as regards
NAPLOUS, the ancient Sechem, a populous andflourish-
ing city of Palestine, and the chief city of the Samaritans.
In the time of Vespasian it was called Neapolis, or the
New City; and it is mentioned by Pliny and by Josephus
under the name of Neapolis. It continued long af terwards
to be known chiefly by its Greek name, which has now
been changed to that of Nablous or Naplous. It is situ¬
ated in a long valley, which, according to the accounts
both of Dr Clarke and Mr Buckingham, is beautiful, being
covered with woods of olives, corn-fields, reservoirs of wa¬
ter, gardens, aqueducts in different directions, and all the
marks of industry, opulence, and abundance. It is situated
between the two hills of Gerizim on the south, and Ebal
on the north, and completely fills up the intermediate val¬
ley, so that there is no room for its extension in breadth.
The town consists of tw o long streets running nearly east and
west through the centre of the valley, and these intersected
by smaller ones mostly crossing at right angles. The town
contains six mosques, five baths, a Greek church, an ex¬
cellent covered bazaar for fine goods, and an open one for
provisions; besides numerous cotton cloth manufactories,
and shops of every description. One of the mosques, built
within the precincts of a ruined church of St Helena,
presents on its eastern front, which is still perfect, a fine
pointed arch, supported by Corinthian columns. The in¬
habitants are mostly employed in the manufacture of soap;
NAP
Great Britain, principally of cotton wool, cotton twist, and Naplous.
cotton manufactures, which, in value, are four fifths of the s—v^.
whole. Cod-fish and pilchards amount to about one half of
the remainder, and the rest is composed of colonial articles.
There is at some seasons a considerable importation of
corn, chiefly of wheat, from Odessa, Taganrock, and the
other ports in the Black Sea and the Sea of Azof. This
wheat, distinguished by its hardness, and reduced to flour
by pounding instead of grinding, is found to be the best
for making macaroni, vermicelli, and similar kinds of food,
which form a much more common kind of sustenance with
the Neapolitan people than bread.
The climate of different parts of the city varies much
with respect to its salubrity; and in some parts, especially in
that called St Lucia, it is found to be dangerous, not merely
for invalids, but for persons in health. This arises from
the vicinity of the sea, the dampness of which, combined
with that of a tufa under which the houses are built, is very
prejudicial. On the other hand, in the district called the
Largo del Gastello, the air is very soft, warm, and conge¬
nial to those who are afflicted with weak lungs. Naples
is abundantly supplied with water; but all of it is by no
means good. Some of the fountains, such as the Largo
del Gastello, that of Fontana Medina, and that of Fontana
di San Pietro, yield excellent and salubrious water; but
most of the rest have a tendency to produce dysentery, or
other putrid diseases, especially in strangers.
The population of the city amounted in 1833 to 358,990,
and was estimated in 1836 at 372,000. Amongst these are
more than 40,000 called Lazaroni; a poor class, with no ha¬
bitations, but sleeping in the streets, and picking up a
scanty subsistence by occasional slight and servile occupa¬
tions. Those who are best acquainted with the Neapoli¬
tan character give a favourable report of their manners:
their passions are easily excited to acts of violence, but,
when treated with mildness and kindness, they can, with¬
out much difficulty, be prevented from committing any
very grievous excesses. (g.)
but the other products supply a very widely extended
neighbourhood, and are carried by caravans to Egypt and
Damascus, and to the rest of the neighbouring countries.
Several relics of antiquity are here exhibited. Amongst
these may be mentioned the tombs of Joseph and of Jo¬
shua, which are, as usual, hewn in the solid rock, and are
thus calculated to endure. There is little doubt amongst
the learned as to the identity of these relics. About three
miles on the road to Jerusalem is a spot called Jacob’s
Well, to which still greater reverence is attached by the
inhabitants, as the place where our Saviour conversed with
the woman of Samaria. The resident population of Nap¬
lous has been estimated at 10,000, though Mr Bucking¬
ham seems to think this estimate somewhat high. They
are almost all Mahommedans, the few Greek Christians
scarcely amounting to fifty. The town is governed by a
mutezellim, or magistrate, subject to Damascus; and he has
at present about 402 Arnaut soldiers. The dress of the
men is partly Turkish and partly Arabic, more nearly ap¬
proaching to the former than the latter. The laces of the
women are covered with a coloured veil, as in the towns of
Yemen ; they also wear a scarf of a yellowish white, with
a deep red border, which is thrown over the head and
shoulders. No Jews are permanent residents in this place.
It is twenty-four miles north of Jerusalem. Long. 35. 22.
E. Lat. 32. 16. N.
711
poleon
NAPOLEON.
: A Napoleon Buonaparte or Bonaparte was born at to studies which might be useful to him nnrtiVnWi,, l- \r ,
Ajaccio, in Corsica, on the 15th of August, in 1769. He tory and the mathematics, the former ’of which devebpes'^^
was descended of a patrician family, which had been of the genius, whilst the latter regulates its action His hT
some note m Italy during the middle ages; and one of his tellectual faculties exerted themselves without 'any grea[
ancestors, the gonfalomere Buonaparte of Saint Nicolas, effort on his part. He had a lively and prompt conception
had governed the republic of Florence about the middle a strong memory, and a cool and decided judgnient He
of the thirteenth century. But to this fortuitous circum- thought more rapidly than others, and thus had always
stance he himself attached no importance whatever. A time for reflection. His mind was too active to find amuse
captain who had rendered his country illustrious, and by ment in the ordinary diversions of youth, to which how"
his own merit re-estabhshed the throne of Charlemagne, ever, he was not an absolute stranger. He commonly sou^
had little need of ancestry. “ I am the Rodolph of my for something to interest him, and this disposition placed
race, said he; “ my patent dates from Montenotte.” him in a species of solitude, where he communed only with
• ji , ler’ ^liarles Buonaparte, was an advocate of con- his own thoughts; a state which afterwards became habi-
siderable reputation; and his mother, Letitia Ramolini, a tual to him in all the situations of his life,
woman eminent alike for personal beauty and uncommon His birth having destined him for service, Napoleon had
strength of character. When the Corsicans under Paoli just completed his sixteenth year, when, in August 1785
rose in arms to assert their liberty against the pretensions after being examined by Laplace, he obtained his first com-
of France, Charles Buonaparte espoused the popular side, mission as lieutenant of artillery in the regiment of La Fire.
and, through all the toils and dangers of his mountain Never did he receive any title with so much pleasure as*
campaigns, was attended by his lovely and high-spirited this. He was delighted beyond measure with his promo-
wife. Upon the termination of the war, the father of Na- tion, and the highest pitch to which his ambition then as-
poleon meditated accompanying Paoli into exile; but his pired was, that he might one day wear a couple of epau-
relations dissuaded him from taking this step; and being lettes d bouillons. A general of artillery seemed to him the
afterwards reconciled to the conquering party, he was pro- ne plus ultra of human grandeur. But if he was not yet
tected and patronised by the Comte deMarbceuf, the French ambitious of power, he was already desirous of fame, and
governor of Corsica. At the date above mentioned, the had conceived the idea of making himself a name by writino-
man of his age was born upon a temporary couch covered the history of the war in Corsica. He communicated his ii>
with tapestry, representing the heroes of the Iliad. He tention to Paoli, at the same time requesting that that offi-
was the second child of his parents, Joseph, afterwards cer would furnish him with the necessary information ; but
king of Spain, being the eldest born; but he had three an historian of eighteen did not probably inspire any great
younger brothers, Lucien, Louis, and Jerome, and three confidence, and Paoli took no notice of his proposal. His ad-
sisters, Eliza, Caroline, and Pauline, all of whom grew up, vancement, however, indemnified him for this little mortifi-
and several still survive. Five others appear to have died cation. In the year 1789, he obtained a company of artil-
in infancy; and at the age of thirty Letitia became a widow lery; and the Revolution, which broke out immediately af-
by the death of her husband, who seems to have left his terwards, seemed to open up a new and more enlarged sphere
family but indifferently provided for. , ~c—i"'— : " xl 1—-
Napoleon’s career has been so extraordinary, that his ad¬
mirers have sought for prognostics of his future greatness
in the circumstances of his infancy and youth. But these
persons have deceived themselves. In his early years he
betrayed no marked singularity, and when his character
began to be formed, its development was too profound and
too essentially intellectual to attract the notice of ordinary
observers. His education was such as was then usually given
in all the military schools. At the age of ten years, he was
admitted at that of Brienne, where he spent several years
devoted to his studies, and afterwards removed to the mi¬
litary school of Paris, where he appears to have completed
his education. That he laboured hard both at Brienne
and at Paris, may be judged from the vast quantity of in¬
formation which his strong memory ever placed at his
disposal, and which, from the nature of his after life, must
have been nearly, if pot wholly, accumulated at this pe¬
riod. He succeeded in all that he undertook, because his
will was resolute and his perseverance inflexible. His pur¬
pose was strong, and his character decided ; circumstances
which afterwards gave him an advantage over all the
world. The will depends upon the temper and disposition
of the individual ; it is not in the power of each person to
obtain the mastery over himself. This was singularly il¬
lustrated in the character of Napoleon. If at times an ap¬
pearance of uncertainty may be discovered in his resolu¬
tions, this did not arise from any defect of will nor infirmity
of purpose, but from the extraordinary force of his imagina¬
tion, which, with the rapidity of lightning, presented to his
mind every side or view of a subject. He applied himself
of action. This is not the place to enter into any formal
exposition of the causes which ultimately produced that
violent shock of interests, out of which resulted the Revo¬
lution, with its long train of crimes and innovations; still
less is it our intention to trace the progress of that mighty
movement from the date of its immediate commencement
until the moment when the subject of this notice first ap¬
peared upon the scene. Such a task is compatible neither
with the object of the present article nor with the limits
to which it is necessarily restricted ; nor have we yet ar¬
rived at the time when, even if the case were otherwise, it
could be executed in a manner corresponding to the mag¬
nitude and the importance of the subject. It appears, how¬
ever, that Napoleon, young as he was, formed a very ac¬
curate estimate of its general complexion, as well as of its
true bearing and direction. Aware that revolutions almost
always proceed from opinions or interests compressed, or
from opinions allied with interests, he was equally con¬
vinced that, when demands founded on justice and reason
remained unsatisfied ; when the mass of the nation had ar¬
rayed itself against the privileged orders, and a collision
had in consequence taken place; the commotion, however
violent, would in time subside, leaving the field open to
genius, valour, and fortune, when happily united in one
individual. But in order ultimately to command events, he
saw that it was in the first instance necessary to go along
with them ; to profit by circumstances up to a certain
point; and to remain in observation until the time for ac¬
tion should at length arrive. Hence he declared for the
Revolution, because he foresaw that with it all his hopes
and prospects were identified. “ Had I been a general,”
712
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, said he, in the evening of his life, “ I might have adhered
to the king ; but being a subaltern, I joined the patriots.
Happening to be in Paris in the year 1792, he witnessed
the scene of the 20th June, when the revolutionary mob
stormed the Tuileries, and placed the lives of the king ami
his family in the greatest jeopardy. He followed the crowd
into the garden before the palace, and when Louis XV .
appeared on a balcony with the red cap on his head, he
could no longer suppress his contempt and indignation.
“ Poor driveller,” said Napoleon; “ how could he suffer tins
rabble to enter ? If he had swept away five or six hundred
of them with his cannon, the rest would soon have disap¬
peared.’’ He was also a witness of the events of the 10th
of August, when the throne was overturned, a provisional
council established, the king confined in the lemple, the
republic proclaimed, and a national convention called to
frame a charter. At this time he was without employ¬
ment, and poor; wandering idly about Paris, living at the
shops of restaurateurs, projecting a variety of schemes some
of them wild enough, and in a great measure dependent
upon the scanty resources of his class-fellow Bourrienne.
But the circumstances of the times were such that he was
not suffered to remain long inactive. Being offered the
command of a battalion of national volunteers destined to
join the expedition to Sardinia, he readily accepted it; and,
upon the return of the expedition, he re-entered the artil¬
lery with the rank of superior officer, or commandant. Till
the siege of Toulon, however, he led an insignificant life.
But this operation proved, in some measure, decisive of his
fortunes. He saw that, from the situation which he held,
as second in command of the artillery, he might have some
influence on the result of the siege ; and the event justified
his anticipations.
When, towards the close of August 1793, Toulon, the
great port and arsenal of France on the Mediterranean,
had, along with the fleet, been delivered into the hands of
the allies, the situation of France was truly deplorable.
Lyons had raised the standard of the Bourbons ; civil war
raged in Languedoc and Provence; the victorious Spanish
army had passed the Pyrenees, and overrun Roussillon ;
and the Piedmontese army, having cleared the Alps, was at
the gates of Chambery and Antibes. Terror, discord, and
defection reigned within ; whilst, on the frontiers, one re¬
verse followed hard at the heels of another. But the allies
were not sufficiently sensible of the importance of the acqui¬
sition which they had just made. If thirty thousand Sardi¬
nians, Neapolitans, Spaniards, and English, had united with
the twelve thousand federes in Toulon, this army of forty
thousand men and upwards might have advanced upon
Lyons, connecting itself by the right with the Piedmontese,
and by the left with the Spanish army, and by this move¬
ment might have decided the fate of the Revolution. But
the allies did not understand the real importance of their
position, nor appreciate the advantages which it afforded.
About six weeks were passed in assembling the force and
means necessary for the siege. On the loth of October,
a council of war was assembled at Olioulles, where the
conventional proconsul Gasparin presided; and on this oc¬
casion, there was read to the council a memoir on the con¬
duct of the siege of Toulon, which had been drawn up by
the celebrated engineer D’Arcon, and approved by the com¬
mittee of fortifications. Napoleon opposed the adoption of
this plan, and proposed one much more simple. It was pro¬
bable, he thought, that the allies would not abandon twelve
thousand men in Toulon if the besiegers occupied the two Napoleo;:
forts which commanded the roadstead at its extremities;
on the contrary, as soon as the communication between the
English fleet and the garrison should be seriously threaten¬
ed, it might be calculated that they would either evacuate
the place or be made prisoners. “ Your object,” said he,
“is to make the English evacuate Toulon. Instead of attack¬
ing them in the town, which must involve a series of ope¬
rations, and ruin the place, endeavour to establish bat¬
teries so as to sweep the harbour and roadstead. If you
do this, the English ships must take their departure, and
the English troops will certainly not remain behind them.
He then pointed out a promontory nearly opposite the
town, by establishing batteries on which the desired effect
might be; attained. “ Gain La Grasse,” said he, “ and in
two days Toulon will be yours.” Had this suggestion been
adopted in time, the result would have been as Napoleon
prognosticated; but the English had leisure allowed them
to construct Fort Mulgrave, and to render it so strong that
it went by the name of Little Gibraltar. Nevertheless,
Napoleon’s system prevailed. Instead of attacking the body
of the place, the principal effort was directed against bort
Mulgrave, the reduction of which would secure the com¬
mand of the narrow passage between the port and the Me¬
diterranean, thus rendering an immediate evacuation ine¬
vitable ; and in a month the desired end was obtained. On
the 18th of December the besiegers entered Toulon, but
were able to save only the half of the squadron ; the other
half, the arsenal, and the dock-yards, having been consumed
by the conflagration kindled by the English as they aban¬
doned the place.1
The recovery of Toulon was a service of the very first
importance to the revolutionary government. It suppressed
the insurrectionary spirit in the south of France, restored
the credit of the republican arms, and rendered disposable
the force which had been employed in the siege. But the
man to w hose genius alone success was due did not im¬
mediately obtain the credit of this important achievement,
the absurd vanity of the representatives of the people hav¬
ing led them to claim the merit of expelling the English.
The truth, however, was too generally known to be effectual¬
ly concealed. Napoleon was appointed general of brigade,
and, in the beginning of 1794, sent to the army of Italy to
command the artillery. The general-in-chief, Dumerbion,
was old, and incapable; the head of his staff, though a man
of information, wTanted talents; and, between them, war
was carried on without art or skill in the Maritime Alps.
Napoleon proposed a plan for turning the famous position
of Saorgio. His suggestion was adopted ; Saorgio, with
all its stores, surrendered, and the French obtained posses¬
sion of the Maritime Alps. He then proposed another,
which had for its object to unite the army of the Alps and
that of Italy under the w'alls of Coni; an operation which
would have secured Piedmont, and enabled the combined
force, without any great effort, to establish itself on the Po.
But it was found impossible to come to an arrangement
with the staff of the army of the Alps, because it would
have been necessary to fuse the twro armies into one, under
a single chief, and neither general was disposed to yield.
Besides, such an operation could not be undertaken with¬
out the approbation of the committee of public safety,
which affected to direct the war from Paris, as the aulic
council did from Vienna. Napoleon, however, indemni¬
fied himself by carrying the army of Italy as far as Savona,
1 During the siege of Toulon, Napoleon, whilst constructing a battery under the enemy’s fire, had occasion to prepare an order,
and called for some one who could write with facility. A young seijeant stepped out, and, leaning on the breast-work, wrote as he
dictated. The writing was just finished, when a shot struck the ground by the side of the volunteer secretary, scattering dust over
him and every thing near him. “ Good,” said the serjeant, laughing; “ we shall this time have no need of sand.’’ The cool gaiety o
the remark pleased Napoleon ; he kept his eye on the man ; and Junot for it was he—rose in the sequel to the rank of a marshal
of France, and was created Duke of Abrantes.
ipokon. and to the gates of Ceva; by which means he disengaged
-n 'Genoa, then threatened by the allies, and would have
achieved more important results had not his progress been
stopped by the approach of winter and the imperative or¬
ders of the committee. He was superseded on the 6th of
August G94, apparently in consequence of the labours of
Aubry, who had reformed the organization of the army, in
order to impart to it greater solidity.
Before the end of the year he went to Paris in order to
solicit employment, but at first experienced a very coldre-
ception, probably on account of his supposed connection
with Robespierre, whose younger brother he was known to
have lived with on terms of friendship. The re-action con¬
sequent on the downfall of that extraordinary personage
was then at its height, and threatened France with evils
not less terrible than those from which it had just escaped.1
Every thing was in an unsettled state, and the monthly re¬
newal of the committee of public safety served only to in¬
crease the confusion. After a time, however, Napoleon
was placed amongst the generals of infantry appointed to
serve in La Vendee; but he refused to act in a situation
which he considered as altogether unsuitable to him, and
resolved to remain at Paris, where he might be more use¬
fully employed. This proved a fortunate determination,
and soon led to service of a more congenial kind. Keller-
mann had just allowed himself to be beaten in the Apen¬
nines. The committee were anxious to repair the disaster,
and with this view attached Napoleon to the board of mi¬
litary operations, with orders to prepare such instructions
as might seem calculated to bring back victory to the na¬
tional standards. I his afforded him an opportunity of mak¬
ing his talents known, and probably contributed not a little
to the future advancement of his fortunes. Soon afterwards,
he was appointed to command a brigade of artillery in Hol¬
land, where for some time the war had languished; but be¬
fore he could avail himself of this appointment, his services
were required upon a nearer and more important field of
action.
Since the conquest of Holland, the armies had remained
half a year inactive behind the Rhine ; but though mili¬
tary operations were suspended, the agitation of the interior
increased, and the clamours of faction became much more
violent than ever. The Jacobins, wishing to resume their
hold of power, which the fall of Robespierre had wrenched
from their grasp, raised the faubourgs against the Conven¬
tion ; famine excited their adherents, and Paris was threat¬
ened w ith conflagration and massacre. The majority of
the inhabitants, however, declared for the Convention, or,
to speak more correctly, against the terrorists; the depu¬
ties were delivered from the daggers of the assassins ; and
Pichegru, at the head of some troops, disarmed the revolted
faubourgs. But the Jacobins, though defeated, were by no
means subdued. The momentary triumph of the Convention
became the signal of partial re-actions; civil war raged in
all the provinces of the south ; and the royalists, believing
that the moment for striking a vigorous blow had arrived,
landed at Quiberon an expedition, consisting of the corps
°h' eniiSrants t^!e Pay °f Great Britain. The result of
this ill-fated attempt is well known ; it was defeated by the
energy and activity of Hoche; and the unhappy victims
whom the sword had spared were destroyed by the pro-
consuls of the Convention. Still the power and influence
of that body rested on a very precarious foundation. The
monstrous government of the provisional committees could
not fast. A commission named by the Convention was
napoleon.
713
SilvSf ™th/™minS a. Chafjer 5 and at its head figured Napoleon
Sieyes, who flattered himself with the idea of establishing'
an equiponderance of powers, and governing the state by
means of popular elections. His constitution of the year
il. established a legislative council of five hundred mem¬
bers, and a council of ancients as a chamber of revision.
Ihe councils were renewable by thirds annually; and the
executive power was intrusted to a Directory of five ner-
sons, renewable by a fifth annually, and entirely subordi¬
nate to the legislative power. Although these institutions
were preferable to the revolutionary committees, yet they
were not less dangerous in their application ; nevertheless,
they were at first received as a plank of safety by a nation
fatigued and harassed with all sorts of horrors and revolu¬
tions. But the Convention, dreading the influence of their
adversaries in the elections, and taking warning by the con¬
duct of the Constituent Assembly, decreed, first, that the
electoral bodies, in choosing representatives to the new
councils, should be obliged to elect two thirds of the actual
members of Convention ; secondly, that if two thirds were
not returned, the Convention should have the right to sup¬
ply the deficiency out of their own body; and, thirdly, that
the lelations of emigrants should be excluded from the ex¬
ercise of legislative functions.
This precaution was incontestably in the interest of the
republicans, as it served to postpone for two years a re-ac¬
tion which there seemed good reason to apprehend. But
the enemies of the Convention took advantage of the hatred
inspired by the Jacobins in order to raise the whole popula¬
tion of Paris against decrees which seemed dictated only
by a clesiie, upon the part of that body, to perpetuate their
power. Of the forty-eight sections, there were at least
thirty opposed both to the decrees and to the actual mem¬
bers of the Convention ; and all of them were armed, each
having his battalion in the national guards. The royalist
agents were also on the watch to profit by a movement
which, if successful, might in a moment change the politi¬
cal aspect of France. Both parties, therefore, resolved to
have recourse to force ; the Convention, to carry into ef¬
fect its decrees ; and the sections, to constrain it to dissolve
itself, in terms of the constitution. In these circumstances,
it was proposed to Napoleon to command, under Barras,
the armed force destined to act against the Parisians. He
consented, upon condition of being left free from all interfe¬
rence, and lost not a moment in sending to Meudon for
the artillery. He had five thousand men and forty pieces
of cannon, a force more than sufficient to put down a riot,
but not too much against a national guard well armed, and
provided with artillery; and he was reinforced by fifteen
hundred patriots, organized in three battalions.
On the 13th of Vendemiaire (4th of October), the sec-
tionaries marched against the Convention. One of their
columns, debouching in the Rue Saint-Honore, advanced
boldly to the attack; but it was instantly checked by the
fire of the artillery, which swept the street with grapeshot,
and soon afterwards it gave way in confusion. A num¬
ber of the fugitives attempted to make a stand on the steps
of the church of St Roche, where, owing to the narrow¬
ness of the street, they were in a great measure sheltered
from the fire of the artillery. Napoleon, however, promptly
brought a gun to bear upon them, and in a few minutes
this crowd was dispersed, leaving behind them a number of
dead. The column which debouched by the Port-Royal
was not more fortunate. Exposed to the direct fire of the
guns stationed below the Tuileries, and taken in flank by
It appears that Robespierre was overthrown by the party of the terrorists themselves, because he had announced that it was time
o put an end to their horrid system, and to return to a less expeditious kind of justice. Terror was with him a means, not an end ;
and it would have ceased with his triumph, as it did in some measure with his fall. The character of this astonishing personage has
not yet been well developed, and it is even probable that it will continue to be misunderstood or misrepresented in history. ”
VOL. XV. 4 x
714
NAPOLEON.
Napoleo
that of the Chet batted hy which *^8^™
- mantled, all its efforts to^estabhsh ■“'/“P»"v of Ita|v. To this command he had pre-eminent,
after a Wry short strng-
gle, it dispersed, and fled^o all d.rectmn. In le. than ^ ""9^andan, „f artillery, he had turned,h_e
& the whole was ended, and the Convention victorious
This event, so trivial in itself, and which scarcely cost two
hundred men on each side, had important consequences.
It prevented the revolution from retrograding; it enabled
the Convention to disarm the sections ; and, above all, i
had a marked influence upon the future fortunes ot Napo¬
leon The eminent service he had rendered was imme¬
diately rewarded with the rank of general of division ; m
five days he was named second in command of the aimy
of the interior; and soon afterwards, on the resignation ot
Barras, he was advanced to the chief command. He bad
now passed into the order of marked and distinguished
men/ But the situation which he held was by no means
suited to his views. He longed to make war upon a more
extended theatre of action, and to profit by the advantages
which fortune had thrown in his way. _ , ,
It was at this time, when his residence in Pans had be¬
gun to appear insupportable to his active mind, that ic
became acquainted with the widow of General Beauhar-
nais, whom he afterwards married. At the moment when
the sections were disarmed, the sword ot her husband,
who had perished by the guillotine, a victim of the ty¬
ranny of Robespierre, had been taken from her ; and she
now sent her son Eugene, a boy of fifteen, to beg that it
might be restored to her. Her request was at once com¬
plied with, and the boy shed tears as he received from the
hands of Napoleon the sword of his unfortunate tather.
This scene touched Napoleon ; and, having gone to give an
account of it to the mother of Eugene, he was so enchanted
with her elegance and grace, that he soon afterwards made
her a tender of his hand, which was accepted. _ ^uch ap¬
pears to be the simple truth in regard to the origin of his
relations with Josephine, concerning which so many ab¬
surd and injurious stories have been circulated. Napoleon
had little relish for the society of women, which accorded
neither with his tastes nor his character, and in which he
important position of Saorgio, and disengaged Genoa, then
threatened by the allies; when employed at the board ot
military operations, he had digested a plan of campaign,
the result of which was the signal victory gained at Eo-
ano, and the possession of the line of the Apennines, as
far as Savona and the sources of the Bormida; and now,
when brought into more direct contact with the government,
he satisfied Carnot, to whom the direction of military ope¬
rations was intrusted, that his plan in regard to Piedmont,
which had been rejected by the committee of public safety
in 1794, might still be executed, with every prospect of
success. These circumstances, independently of his ser¬
vices at Toulon, and also against the insurgent sections of
Paris, naturally pointed him out as the person best qualified
to obtain that success of which the Directory, at this time,
stood so much in need, in order to support its credit and
consolidate its power. That his talents were fully appre¬
ciated, and that to the opinion entertained of them he was
solely indebted for this splendid command, admits of no
doubt whatever. “ Advance this young man,” said Barras
to one of his colleagues, “ or he will advance himself with¬
out you.” Napoleon quitted his wife ten days after their
marriage, and, after a rapid journey, arrived at the head¬
quarters of the army at Nice. From that moment the most
brilliant scene of his existence began to open. “ In three
months,” said he, “ I shall be either at Milan or at Paris ;
and before a year elapsed, he had grown old in victory.
The plan which he proposed for the campaign united
all suffrages; for, though at once bold and original, it was, in
reality, extremely simple. It had been agreed that he should
manoeuvre by his right, in order to descend by Montferrafc
upon Lombardy, directing all his efforts against the Aus¬
trians, in the hope of detaching Piedmont from the impe¬
rial alliance. The armies of Germany being reorganised,
were to resume the offensive by the end of April, and to
be&re ha sat out to assuute the —1 of the anuy of j;« poposetl .that
Tranquillity being now restored at Paris, the Directory both should unite m the heart of Bavaria. As‘o Xapo-
had rime to turn their attention to the state of affairs, ieon, he had no other task to perform than that of advan-
narticularlv to that of the army of Italy, the condition of cing on the Adige; provided he succeeded by his vicMnra
SEtX nomeans Satisfactory, ft was determined in detaching Piedmont from the coalition, o-n dethroning
to supersede Scherer, who had disappointed the expecta¬
tions of the Directory, and to give it a new general; and
as the chief command of the army of the interior natu¬
rally led to that of an active force, provided the individual
the king of Sardinia, if the latter should refuse to make
peace. In a word, this plan was merely a copy of that
which Napoleon had previously drawn up for the commit¬
tee, and the execution of which that body had recklessly
1 At one time any slanderous or infamous story derogatory to Napoleon readily gained credit m this crolknatbnal
slanderous or the more infamous the tale, the greater became the certainty that it would be beheved The ^
hatred was not shocked by ordinary improbabilities. For instance, it was commonly said and, we may add, universal y ^
that Josenhine was a woman of indifferent character, or worse; that she possessed more than legitimate influe h u.
first Director • and that Napoleon, by his marriage with her, cemented his connection with the society of the Luxen i g, p
fariywS Berras and iailie'n, then /he most powerful men in France. The common belief however is
evidence in as far at least as we have been able to discover ; and there are many circumstances which see t faige.
that both the imputation itself, and the inference deduced from it as to Napoleon’s views in marrying this lady, w 4 7 was
It is not denied that her subsequent conduct was admirable and exemplary ; that the influence she possessed over i he was
alwavs exerted on the side of humanity ; and that she alone could overrule, by gentleness, those ebullitions of t j^ ^
liable. Why, then, on the faith of mere slanderous rumour, impeach her conduct previous to her marriage vv P
probable that he who so fully recognised the necessity of discountenancing immorality, and who afterwards dio /person of
and his service all women of questionable reputation, would have done so had he been conscious person
doubtful or indifferent reputation ? Can any one be so silly as to imagine that the supposed filegitimate influence “ theParmy
was necessary to the man who had saved the government from destruction, and had been appointed commander- - 1 ’
of the interior before he knew of her existence ? Napoleon, indeed, always believed that his fortunes were bound upinsomemy^
terious manner with those of this graceful and accomplished woman. But this was the superstition of deep-roo ^ tomarket.
talism of a love which could never have been excited by the hackneyed endearments of a woman who had carried her
ifapoleon^ intrusted to the incapable Scherer. Its distinctive cha-
ractenstic consisted in the mode by which it was proposed
to gain access to the fertile regions of Italy. Former in¬
vaders had uniformly penetrated the Alps at some point
or other of that mighty range of mountains. Napoleon
judged that the same end might be more easily attained by
turning them ; that is, by advancing along the narrow
gorge of comparatively level country which intervenes be¬
tween these huge barriers and the Mediterranean, and by
forcing a passage at that point where the last elevations
of the Alps pass by gradual transition into the first and
lowest of the Apennine range. The military advantages
of operating in this direction will be immediately apparent.
Napoleon arrived at Nice on the 27th of March, and there
found the army in a very precarious as well as destitute
condition. Perched upon the summits of the Apennines,
from Savona to Ormea, it was too much disseminated, and
its communications with France, running along the coast in
a parallel direction between the enemy’s line and the sea,
were everywhere exposed ; whilst the soldiers were in rags,
without shoes, and a prey to almost every species of mi-
NAPOLEON.
715
sery. Napoleon lost not a moment in placing the army
in more advantageous positions, and in announcing that he
was about to assume the offensive, with a view to provide
for its wants, at the same time that he consulted its glory.
This announcement had the desired effect. The soldiers
forgot their privations, and eagerly longed to signalise
their courage and devotion under the young chief who had
promised to lead them to victory. Having occupied the
principal roads leading from Nice to Italy, particularly that
which sweeps to the north by Saorgio, and crosses the chain
of the Alps at the Col di Tende, forming the great road
to Turin by Coni, the Corniche, or road leading to Genoa,
along the coast between the rocks and the sea, and other
lines of communication, Napoleon demanded of the senate
of Genoa a free passage by the city and the Bochetta,
along the road leading from Genoa to Alexandria, pro-
mising, in return, to carry the theatre of war beyond its
frontiers, and to insure it the alliance and protection of
the French republic. This demand was exceedingly art¬
ful. If the senate complied, Napoleon would debouche by
Genoa in order to overpower the left of the Austrians, drive
them back on Alexandria, take all the defences of Piedmont
in reverse, detach it from the imperial alliance, effect a junc¬
tion with the army of Kellermann, and pursue Beaulieu as
far as the Tyrol. If the senate refused, he foresaw that that
body would immediately make a merit of its refusal with
the allies, and that the latter would extend their left in
order to anticipate the French at the Bochetta ; a move¬
ment which would place the mass of the enemy’s forces at
the two extremities, near Ceva and Genoa, and thus leave
the centre isolated and exposed. But before this plan
could take effect, Beaulieu, excited by the aulic council,
had resolved to assume the offensive, and to advance upon
Genoa with the third of his army, whilst the remainder
occupied the attention of the French in front.
On the 10th of April the Austrian general descended
from the Apennines by the Bochetta, at the head of his
left wing, and having dislodged the advanced guard of the
French from Voltri, attacked three redoubts which cover¬
ed the important counterfort of the Apennines that de¬
scends upon Savona. Two of these redoubts were carried,
but, by the intrepid valour of Colonel Rampon, the third was
maintained against enormous odds during the whole of
the day, and in the night he was reinforced by the divi¬
sion of Laharpe. Meanwhile Napoleon assembled the Napoleon,
mass of his rorces against the Austrian centre, which had'
advanced from Sassello upon Montenotte ; and on the 12th,
Argenteau, who commanded it, was attacked in front and
reverse^ defeated, and thrown back upon Dego. This first
success was the more important, as it completely discon¬
certed the combinations of the enemy. In order to profit
by it, Napoleon, leaving Laharpe to observe Beaulieu,
marched against the Piedmontese under Colli, and on
th!u1onnndffeated them afc Millesimo, cut off Provera
with 2000 Austrians, and forced him to lay down his arms
on the morning of the 14th. But the defeat of Monte¬
notte having given the alarm to the Austrians, they now
sought to concentrate on Dego. Napoleon instantly sus¬
pended his march against the Piedmontese, and returning
to the Austrians, defeated them in a double combat at
Dego; overpowering in succession the corps of Aro^en-
teau, and that of Wukassowich, which had hurried to5 his
assistance. He then resumed his operations against Colli,
who, pressed with superior forces in front, whilst his left
was. menaced by Augereau, was obliged to evacuate the
camp of Ceva, and forced to retire behind the Cursaglia
and the Elero. Napoleon pursued him warmly, and having
again beaten him at Vico near Mondovi, drove him behind
the Stura as far as Carmagnola. Another battle would have
put him in possession of Turin, from which he was distant
only about ten leagues, and in which disorder and terror
were now at their height. But this calamity was averted by
the submission of the court; and at Cherasco the conqueror
concluded a sort of armistice, by which the king of Sar¬
dinia engaged to deliver up Coni, Alexandria, and Ceva,
to withdraw from the coalition, and to send the Count de
Ravel to Paris to treat of a definitive accommodation.
Thus, in somewhat less than a month, Napoleon, with an
army destitute of everything, had gained six victories, taken
twenty-one standards, fifty guns, and several strong places,
conquered the richest part of Piedmont, made fifteen thou¬
sand prisoners, and killed or wounded ten thousand men ;
he had reduced the Austrians to inaction, destroyed the
army of the king of Sardinia, detached him from the impe¬
rial alliance, wrested from his hands the keys of the Alps,
and established a solid basis for his future operations. In
a few days he had done more than the former army of Italy
in four campaigns; he had displayed consummate genius
in achieving victory, and proved that he combined with it
the still rarer talent of turning it to profit, by promptly ga¬
thering up its fruits. But his hopes were not yet realised.
To deliver Italy from the German yoke, and to falsify the
proverb which regarded that country as the tomb of the
French, was the task which he still reserved for himself,
and which he hesitated the less to undertake, as the ar¬
mistice had left him at liberty to direct his whole force
against the isolated army of Beaulieu, now too much en¬
feebled to resist his attacks with any chance of success.
No commander ever appreciated more justly than Na¬
poleon the value of time in military operations. The day
after the signature of the treaty of Cherasco, he put his
divisions in motion, and directed them upon Alexandria.
Beaulieu, having already passed the Po at the bridge of
Valenza, which he destroyed, had taken a position at Va-
leggio on the Ogogno, pushing detachments on the Sesia
and to the left of the Tesino. By a very ingenious stra¬
tagem, Napoleon had led the Austrian general to believe
that he would pass the Po in the neighbourhood of Va¬
lenza,2 * * and attack his adversary in front on the Tesino, in-
1 The allies called the French, in derision, “ the heroes in rags,” and they were right ; the soldiers of the republic, though desti¬
tute of every thing, were nevertheless heroes in the best sense of the term.
2 In order to mislead Beaulieu as to his intentions, Napoleon had caused to be inserted in the armistice with the Piedmontese a
clause in which it was stipulated that he should be at liberty to effect the passage of the Po in the neighbourhood of Valenza. The
stratagem succeeded beyond his expectation. The intelligence was conveyed to Beaulieu, and completely deceived the unwary
Austrian.
716
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, stead of operating on his rear; and, under this impression,
’ Beaulieu directed his whole attention to the space between
the Ogogno and Valenza. Io confirm him in his error,
Napoleon moved a detachment on Salo, as if for the pur¬
pose of passing the Po at Cambio, and, under cover of this
demonstration, carried his army by its right, and rapidly
descended the river, himself conducting the van-guard, in
order to accelerate its march. He arrived at Piacenza on
the 7th of May, closely followed by his divisions, disposed
en echelons; and immediately commenced the passage of
the river by means of the small craft which he found at
that place and its environs. On the opposite bank the
Austrians had two squadrons, which were promptly re¬
pulsed by Cannes, at the head of the van-guard, and the
passage continued, though slowly, until the whole army
had crossed.1 Meanwhile Beaulieu, being at length in¬
formed of the movement on Piacenza, manoeuvred to op¬
pose it; but, instead of advancing vigorously against the
portion of the French army which had already passed the
river, he took only half measures, insufficient to arrest the
progress of the enemy, and resolved to support his left on
the Adda, without abandoning the line of the Tesino, where
he had placed his right. On the 8th of May General Lip-
tay, commanding the Austrian left, established himself at
Fiombino, in front of the French van-guard ; but being
instantly attacked by Cannes, he w’as defeated, separated
from Beaulieu, and forced back on Pizzighetone. In the
night following this affair Beaulieu arrived on the ground
where his lieutenant had just been beaten, and some con¬
fusion took place at Codogno, which was occupied by the
division of Caharpe; but finding himself, with a few bat¬
talions, in the presence of a greatly superior force, he was
obliged to withdraw, and to endeavour to concentrate his
army towards Codi, where he had a bridge on the Adda,
leaving his right to gain Cassano as it best might; an at¬
tempt in which it would not have succeeded, if the difficulties
inseparable from the passage of a great river had not re¬
tarded the march of the French troops.
Although the road to Milan had thus been laid open,
yet the possession of that important place could be of
but little avail, and would necessarily be very insecure, as
long as the enemy were able to maintain themselves be¬
hind the Adda. It was therefore of primary importance
to force them to retire; and with this vie w Napoleon march¬
ed on Codi, at the head of the grenadiers and the corps of
Massena and Augereau, leaving before Pizzighetone a di¬
vision to mask that place and cover his right, and taking
measures for the safety of his left, by directing Serrurier
upon Pavia. On the 10th he arrived before Codi, where
Beaulieu, having retired with the main body of his army
to Crema, had left General Sebottendorf with ten thousand
men to defend both sides of the Adda. By means of this
strong rear-guard the enemy had hoped to preserve the
bridge of Codi, which was defended by twenty pieces of
cannon established on the left bank ; but they soon found
that they had reckoned without their host. A battalion
and some squadrons which occupied the town of Codi were,
without much difficulty, dislodged, and the French reached
the bridge before the enemy’s workmen had time to cut it
down. Napoleon instantly formed his grenadiers in close
column, and rushed along the bridge. The troops advanced
with loud shouts to the attack, but, being assailed by a per- Napoleon,
feet storm of grape-shot, they hesitated for a moment, and v'-—v—'
began to waver. The generals, including Napoleon him¬
self, hurried to the front, cheering and animating the men
by their example. The effect was electric. The column
dashed along the bridge in spite of the tempest of fire which
thinned their ranks, overthrew all that opposed their pro¬
gress, carried the enemy’s batteries at the point of the
bayonet, and dispersed his battalions.2 Sebottendorf re¬
treated upon Crema, with the loss of fifteen guns, and two
thousand men killed or wounded. This, though only an
affair of the rear-guard, was a daring feat of arms; and its
immediate consequences were the occupation of Pizzighe¬
tone, the retreat of Beaulieu towards the Mincio, and the
triumphal entry of Napoleon into Milan, where his presence
had become absolutely necessary. As the French troops
had been in continued motion for a month, it was judged
expedient to allow them some days rest, and hence Beau¬
lieu was not pursued.
Having thus descended like a torrent from the Apen¬
nines, overthrown and dispersed all that opposed him,
separated Piedmont from the coalition, received the sub¬
mission of the Dukes of Parma and Modena, driven the
Austrians behind the Mincio, and entered the capital of
Lombardy in triumph, Napoleon immediately directed his
attention to the internal administration of the country, pre¬
scribed the measures necessary for the reduction of the ci¬
tadel of Milan, imposed contributions, and made arrange-
mentsforestablishingthe republican system in Italy; that is,
for destroying the ancient regime, in order to substitute in
its stead that equality which formed the pole-bolt of the re¬
volution. His career of victory had been one of unexampled
r-apidity, and he now sought to secure and consolidate the
conquests he had made. The intelligence of his success,
however, appears to have excited astonishment and suspi¬
cion in the minds of the French Directory, who perceived
with alarm that their young general had already made
himself master of Italy. Scarcely had he reached Milan,
when he received orders to divide his army in two ; to give
up the command of that of Italy to Kellermann, wTho was
to observe the Austrians on the Mincio; and with the re¬
maining 25,000 men, forming an army of the south, to ad¬
vance upon Rome, and even to act against Naples. But
this division of force, at the moment when it was about to
contend against all the resources of the house of Austria,
was a great deal too absurd to be submitted to by a com¬
mander like Napoleon : he answered by resigning his com¬
mand, and thus saved the army from inevitable destruc¬
tion. Meanwhile he resolved to drive Beaulieu into the
Tyrol, and with this view he addressed to his soldiers one
of the most remarkable proclamations that ever proceeded
from his pen. He knew well the men with whom he had
to deal; he knew that the French soldiery, full of fire and
enthusiasm, would be transported by an appeal which
awakened in their minds heroic sentiments ; he knew that
such an address would produce at Rome or at Naples the
same effect as it had done at Turin ; he knew, also, that
in proportion as he exalted the courage of his troops, he
struck terror into those of the enemy, and at the same
time bequeathed to posterity a monument of his talent for
command. The revolt of Lombardy for a moment en-
1 No operation in war is more critical than the passage of a great river in the face of an enemy; yet, singularly enough, none has
more frequently succeeded. The Po, which scarcely yields to the Rhine in the breadth and depth of its bed, is a bander difficult to
pass. On this occasion, however, Napoleon, although he had no means of constructing a bridge, and was obliged to content himself
with the small boats which he found on the river itself, effected the passage, with very trifling loss, and established himself upon the
communications of Beaulieu.
2 1 he success of this attack was facilitated by the very circumstance which seemed to prognosticate instant failure. Whilst the
troops hesitated under the storm of fire with which they were assailed on the bridge, some soldiers slid down by the piles into an
island in the river, where they hoped to find some point of attack less exposed to the enemy’s fire. Here they discovered that the
second branch of the Adda was fordable, upon u'bich a battalion immediately spread itself out cn tirailleurs^ in order to turn the
Austrian line; and, thus favoured, the mass of grenadiers passed the bridge at the pas de charge.
apoleon. dangered the success of his plan. On the day when he
quitted Milan to advance against the Austrians, the tocsin
sounded in the rear ol his army ; the people flew to arms,
and having seized upon Pavia, put the garrison to death.
The least hesitation on his part would have rendered this
rising general. Without stopping the march of the army,
he proceeded in all haste to Pavia, followed by 300 horse
and a battalion of grenadiers, at the head of which he
forced the gates, penetrated into the city, which was de¬
livered up to pillage, ordered the municipality to be shot,
and thus, by one vigorous blow, extinguished the insurrec¬
tion in its principal focus. At Benasco Lannes acted with
equal promptitude and severity; and at Lugo, where a squa¬
dron of French horse had been destroyed, a number of the
male inhabitants were shot.1
After the defeat of Lodi, Beaulieu had not ventured to
halt behind the Oglio, nor even behind the Chiesa. He pre¬
ferred the stronger line of the Mincio, flanked on the left
by the fortress of Mantua, and on the right by the Lago di
Garda and the mountains of the Tyrol. Behind this barrier
he established his army, with his centre posted at Vallegio,
his left at Goito, and his right at Peschiera, a small place
belonging to the Venetians. As the wings thus rested upon
two strong places, Napoleon resolved to force the centre ; at
the same time making demonstrations on the side of Pes¬
chiera, which covered the enemy’s line of retreat to the Ty¬
rol. On the 30th of May, he arrived at Borghetto with the
mass of his army, and immediately dislodged an advanced
guard of the enemy, stationed on the left of the Mincio.
Having repaired the bridge of Borghetto, which the Aus¬
trians had partly destroyed in their retreat, he was preparing
to force the passage of the river, when a column of grena¬
diers threw themselves into the stream, carrying their arms
on their heads, as the water reached to their shoulders.
Ihe enemy, believing themselves about to be attacked by
the redoubtable column of Lodi, gave way, and, taking the
road to the Tyrol, allowed the French to effect the passage
without opposition. Beaulieu attempted to make a stand
upon the heights between Villafranca and Vallegio; but
having learned the movement of Augereau on Peschiera,
he immediately retired beyond the Adige, and ascended
the right bank by Dolce as far as Caliano. Part of his
left ascending the Mincio to join him at Vallegio, came
suddenly upon the French head-quarters, and nearly cap¬
tured the general-in-chief, but was soon dispersed by the
troops under Massena; and the remainder of this wing,
being detached from Goito, entered Mantua, the garrison
ot which now exceeded 13,000 men. Thus far the combi¬
nations oi Napoleon had been completely successful; yet
whatever might have been his desire to pursue the remains
ot Beaulieu’s army, he found it necessary to stop. He was
not strong enough to penetrate into the heart of the Aus¬
trian states, whilst the armies of the Rhine were still be¬
hind that river; besides, he had rather overrun than con¬
quered Italy, and the possession of Mantua could alone
establish the French power in that country on a solid foun¬
dation. The investment of that fortress was therefore de¬
cided on; materials for the siege having previously been
prepared at Alexandria and Tortona, whence they were
directed in all haste on Lombardy.
Meanwhile Napoleon took measures for strengthening
himself upon the Adige, where his situation had become
complicated, and in fact presented a variety of new com-
NAPOLEON.
71V
binutions. The investment of Mantua required that he Napoleon,
should be master of the course of the Adige; and the key ‘
or this river is Verona, the position of which forms the
basis of every system upon that line of operations. He
therefore took it upon him to summon the city, which was
surrendered without resistance, on the 1st of June ; and
by this precious acquisition he procured three fine bridges
on the Adige, and a strong central position, defended by
bastions, and protected by two forts perched on the last
slopes ot the Tyrolese mountains, so as to shut up hermeti¬
cally the valley of the Adige on the left bank of the river.
He also placed garrisons in Crema, Peschiera, and other
strong places belonging to the Venetians; and having con¬
cluded armistices with the king of Naples and the pope,
occupied Leghorn, where he seized a large amount of Eng¬
lish property and merchandise. The investment of Mantua
was now converted into a regular siege, the labours of which
were intrusted to Serurier’s division, ten thousand strong,
whilst the rest of the army remained in observation upon
the Adige, as far as the western bank of the Lago di
Garda; a position in which, by concentric interior move¬
ments, the whole French force might be united on either
bank of the Mincio, according to the manner in which the
enemy might choose to develope any fresh attack. The
trenches were opened on the 18th of July. But a new act
of the drama was about to commence.
Ihe cabinet of Vienna, justly alarmed at the progress
of Napoleon, had resolved to check his career by opposing
to him a new army and a new general. Beaulieu was
replaced by Wurmser, who, having set out from Manheim
with twenty thousand picked troops drafted from the ar¬
mies on the Rhine, reached Trent towards the end of July,
and there found himself at the head of more than sixty
thousand combatants, including the powerful reinforce¬
ment he had brought along with him. At this time Na¬
poleon had not more than thirty thousand men under his
immediate command, and ten thousand were engaged un¬
der Serrurier in the siege. The Austrians had therefore
a superiority of force which seemed to insure them the
victory. In fact, they already triumphed in anticipation of
success, and their calculation seemed just; but in their es¬
timation of the respective forces, they forgot to take into ac¬
count the relative values of the generals-in-chief, and this
slight omission disarranged all. In the last days of July,
Wurmser debouched from the Tyrol; Quasdanovich, with
25,000 men, moving by the left bank of the Lago di Gar¬
da upon Salo and Brescia; and the marshal, with the re¬
maining 35,000, descending the Adige in three columns.
Experience had not yet taught the Austrians the advan¬
tage of compact movements, and dearly did Wurmser pay
for the blunder which he committed in thus dividing his
force, and exposing it to be beaten in detail. Napoleon,
on receiving the news of his advance, accompanied with
the intelligence that Sauret had been forced back on De-
zenzano, and Massena expelled from Rivoli, instantly re¬
solved to attack Quasdanovich before he could form a
junction with Wurmser on the Mincio. This was his only
chance of success, and to secure it he quitted every thing.
The siege of Mantua was raised; a hundred and forty
pieces of cannon were abandoned in the trenches ; and, by
the evening of the 30th, Napoleon had assembled between
Peschiera and Goito the divisions of Massena and Auge¬
reau, with the reserve of Serrurier’s division.
1 We have been told that “ these bloody examples,” though they quelled the insurrections, nevertheless “ fixed the first dark and
indelible stain on the name of Napoleon Buonaparte.” This is easily said, but is it well founded ? Was no atonement due for the
lives of the brave men who had been cruelly massacred by an infuriate rabble? Upon what principle can impunity be claimed in be¬
half of assassins ? On such an occasion, clemency on the part of Napoleon would have been a crime against his army. “ 11 faut
quelquefois un peu de sang, pour en arreter une plus grande effusion ; pardonner a des perfides qui faisaient succeder le poignard aux
acclamations, c’eut etc exposer le sang des nos braves a couler dans de nouvelles Vepres Siciliennes." (Vie de Napoleon, rucontLc par
lui-mernc, tom. i. p. 10U.)
718
Napoleon.
NAPOLEON.
Next day he passed the Mincio to encounter Quasdano-
vich. The Austrian general, assailed by a superior force,
was driven from Lonato, Brescia, and Salo, and compel-
Quasdanovich, which, in executing a reconnoissance with Napoleon p
a view to a junction with Wurmser, had crossed on the
march the columns of St Hilaire and Sauret, and had fallen
led to fall back on Gavardo. But this success was not de- upon the trench head-quarters at the very moment when
cisive and the defeat of the Austrian plan of operations the camp of Gavardo was unexpectedly attacked by the
might have been repaired, if Wurmser had passed the Min- French troops. „ , .
do on the 31st of July, and occupied Lonato. By this means The combat which decided the final success of this ope-
he would have effected a junction with Quasdanovich, and ration took place on the 5th of August, near Castighone.
Napoleon would have been forced to regain in all haste Wurmser, still infected with the mama of detachments, had
the Tesino or Piacenza. But instead of following the only pushed one in the direction of the Lower Po, and left
course calculated to insure success, Wurmser proceeded to another to blockade Peschiera, so that there remained
make his entry into Mantua, amidst the sound of bells, and under his immediate orders not more than 2o,000 men.
did not pass the Mincio to advance upon Castiglione until The divisions of Massena and Augereau, with the reserve,
the evening of the 2d of August; thus allowing Napoleon presented a force equal to that of the enemy, and the arn-
time to defeat his lieutenant, and drive him from San Mar- val of the division of Serruner turned the balance decid-
co, Lonato, and even Brescia.1 2 On the 3d, Augereau’s edly in favour of the French. As soon as the latter came
division, supported by the reserve, advanced upon Castig- up, Napoleon attacked the enemy s left with his nght and
lione- that of Massena directed its march on Lonato; and centre, defeated it, and forced him to repass the Mincio
Guyeux received orders to debouche on Salo, in order to in- with the loss of twenty pieces of cannon. Massena in¬
duce Quasdanovich to continue his retreat by threatening stantly crossed the Mincio at Peschiera, and falling upon
his communications with the Tyrol. Napoleon conceived the enemy’s right wing, established before that place,
that he was directing his effort against Wurmser, but, on routed and put it to flight. Wurmser now perceived that
the contrary, it fell upon the left of Quasdanovich, who was a prompt retreat couM alone save him, and, leaving in
now making another attempt to operate his junction by Mantua a garrison of 15,000 men, he fell back along the
Lonato, and had with this view resumed the offensive, ad- valley of the Adige, warmly pursued by the French as far
vancing, as usual, in several isolated columns. As might as the entrance of the Tyrol, which he regained with a
be expected, the Austrian was again defeated, and, being total loss of 12,000 men and fifty pieces of cannon
warmly pursued, was forced to direct his columns on their * Aneirinns. Vmwpvpr. had srarrplv re-entered
former position at Gavardo. The same day Augereau at
tacked and defeated the advanced guard of Wurmser at
Castiglione. Napoleon had as yet obtained only partial
successes; but they strengthened him in his central posi¬
tion, and gave him the means of dealing heavier blows.
The first of these was directed against Quasdanovich, who,
on the very next day, was surprised at Gavardo, threaten¬
ed with an attack in reverse, and obliged to fall back in
great disorder upon Riva ; thus definitively ridding Napo¬
leon of a corps formidable from its strength, as well as from
the strategic direction which had been assigned to it.
But if fortune seconded Napoleon in this juncture, he
was at the same instant exposed to the greatest danger in
the midst of his very head-quarters. Massena’s division
had just quitted Lonato, where Napoleon remained with
1200 men, when all of a sudden an alarm was given that
the place had been surrounded by an enemy’s corps, and
soon afterwards an Austrian officer came to summon him
to surrender. Happily his presence of mind did not for¬
sake him. He presumed that this could only be one of the
detachments of Quasdanovich which had been separated
from the main body in the recent affair of Lonato ; and he
resolved to extricate himself by audacity from a situation
which must have been not a little embarrassing. Assum¬
ing a menacing tone, “ What means this insolence ?” said
he. “ Do you dare to beard the French general in the
midst of his army ?” The Austrian officer was confound¬
ed, and hearing the word “fusillade” significantly pronoun¬
ced by Napoleon, he became so terrified that he consent¬
ed to surrender. Two thousand men, provided with four
pieces of cannon, then laid dow n their arms, and discover¬
ed, when it was too late, that if they had stood firm, the
French general-in-chief and all his staff must have been
their prisoners. This corps formed the advanced guard of
The Austrians, however, had scarcely re-entered the Ty¬
rol, when,being joined by considerable reinforcements, they
once more found themselves stronger than their adversa¬
ries. It was easy to foresee that they would not suffer Na¬
poleon quietly to effect the reduction of Mantua; and
Wurmser, having received positive orders to relieve that
place, imagined that he could attain this end without
fighting, by means of manoeuvres alone. Davidowich was
to cover the Tyrol with 20,000 men disseminated from the
environs of Feldkirch as far as Roveredo ; whilst Wurmser
himself, with the remaining 26,000, should descend the valley
of the Brenta, to debouche on Porto-Legnago and the rear
of the French army. The Austrian general, who supposed
that Napoleon’s views were as narrow as his own, conceiv¬
ed that his adversary had no other course to follow but to
retire behind the Mincio, and that he would thus become
the deliverer of Mantua by the sole effect of his combina¬
tions. But the young chief of the French army was not the
man to allow himself to be deceived by false demonstrations.
At the moment when Wurmser was meditating this false
movement, Napoleon received a reinforcement of 6000 men
from the army of the Alps, and being thus strengthened,
he resolved to penetrate into the heart of the Tyrol, and
to fall upon the right of Wurmser at the moment when he
was draining the Tyrol in order to manoeuvre by his left.
He directed on Roveredo the divisions of Augereau and
Massena posted at Verona and, at Rivoli, and these were
to be joined on the march by the division of Vaubois, de¬
bouching from Salo by the western bank of the Lago di
Garda ; a force which could scarcely fail to overpower the
corps of Davidowich, left alone to guard the Tyrol, and
dispersed in several detachments. On the 4th of Septem¬
ber, Wukassowich, who commanded his advanced guard,
was expelled from the camp at Mori, and driven back, first
on Roveredo, and then on Calliano, where he formed a
1 The Austrians seem never to have known the value of time in war. They occasionally form able plans ; but it is always by the
calculation of distances or of time that they misgive.
2 The theatre of Wurmser’s defeat was that on which Prince Eugene had succeeded so well in his celebrated campaign of 1705
against the Duke of Vendbme ; and if these events be compared, it will be found that Napoleon displayed more ability than the ge¬
neral of Louis XIV. Although Vendome had Mantua for him, whilst Napoleon had it against him, yet he had not the skill to
maintain himself on the Adige and the Mincio, and allowed himself to be assailed on the left by Prince Eugene, who transported his
infantry in boats by the Lago di Garda to Gavardo. This movement lasted six days; but in half that time Napoleon would have
destroyed an army which ventured to perform such an operation in his presence.
poleon. junction with the mass of the corps. The position of Cal-
-v ^'nano seemed inexpugnable; but Davidowich, beino- at¬
tacked by a greatly superior force, was compelled to aban¬
don this redoubtable gorge, leaving in the hands of the
assailants twenty-five guns and two thousand prisoners.
Ihe Austrians retreated in the greatest disorder, and next
day the Trench entered Trent. Meanwhile Davidowich
rallied the remains of his corps behind the Lavis ; Napo¬
leon however, resolved to dislodge him; he was attacked
by Vaubois, and having in vain attempted to defend the
passage of the river, he was thrown back upon Salurn and
Neumarck.
In the course of this victorious march, Napoleon learn¬
ed the movement of Wurmser on the Brenta ; but, far from
being intimidated by it, he judged rightly that it would
become to him a more certain pledge of victory. An ar¬
my divided into two, with its centre penetrated, its right
overthrown, and its left at once isolated and turned ; what
more could he desire ? The occupation of Trent was the
more important that, in opening to the French the head
of the valley of the Brenta, it also uncovered the rear of
Wurmser. Napoleon was not the man to let slip so fa¬
vourable an opportunity. He resolved at once to profit
by the false movement of the enemy, and not to allow him
time to destroy the troops that remained before Mantua.
On the 6th he directed Massena and Augereau by Levico
in the valley of the Brenta, in order to mask “his own
movement, and keep Davidowich in check; whilst Vau¬
bois was left upon the Lavis. On the morning of the 7th
the advanced guard of Augereau encountered and over¬
threw a strong detachment of the enemy, posted at Primo-
lano to guard the passage of the gorges of the Brenta, and
which, being pursued by a regiment of dragoons, was over¬
taken and obliged to surrender. Wurmser had already
attained Bassano, where, finding that Napoleon was march¬
ing upon his communications, and not knowing whether to
advance or retreat, he took up a position on the heights in
advance of the town, placing his vanguard at Solagna and
Campo-Lungo. Here the latter was attacked, on the
morning of the 8th of September, and driven back in dis¬
order on Bassano. The French instantly pursued, and
reaching the town close on the heels of the fugitives, car¬
ried it by main force. Not knowing where to make head,
Wurmser, with the left of his corps de bataille, retired on
Fonteriva, where he passed the Brenta, and took the direc¬
tion of Vicenza; whilst Quasdanovich, with the right, find¬
ing it impossible to gain the Brenta, fell back upon Friuli.
In this affair, two thousand prisoners, thirty pieces of cannon,
and an immense quantity of baggage, fell into the hands of
the hrench. The situation of Wurmser seemed despe¬
rate. His communications with Austria were intercept¬
ed ; he had lost the greater part of his artillery and bag¬
gage ; and he now found himself in a country, all the out¬
lets of which were in the hands of the enemy, with little
more than 14,000 men, discouraged by repeated discom¬
fitures. Nothing, therefore, remained for him but to en¬
deavour, at any sacrifice, to throw himself into Mantua,
and there await the arrival of fresh succours from Aus¬
tria ; and such, accordingly, was the resolution adopted by
the gallant veteran, who, though outwitted and out-gene-
ralled, was not dispirited by defeat.
But to accomplish this object, it became necessary to
force a passage somewhere on the Adige ; and the Aus¬
trian general, having lost his pontoon train, seemed desti¬
tute of all means of escape, and about to be overwhelmed
by the forces skilfully directed to prevent his escape. A
niistake committed by Sahaguet, however, proved the
napoleon.
719
means of his salvation. That officer, who was at Castel- Napoleon.
Jano, had received positive orders to cut down all the' v 
budges of the Moimella, and to avail himself of this ob¬
stacle to arrest the enemy; but, happily for the Austrian,
enahWpf that °f ImPinta’ bJ which Wurmser was
abled to escape the certain destruction that awaited
tll ’ 3 peries of bloody skirmishes, in which for-
intn MJ'fd 1herufaV1°T Pretty etlually> to throw himself
befnr^b , 6 u &*ttered h[ms^ with appearing
before that fortress at the head of 26,000 victorious troops ;
^ l^onr Y G ^ hlmselfioto the place with no more
than 000 men, discouraged by defeat, and, instead of
raising the siege, about to be themselves invested. At
first he encamped his troops without the place, between
the suburb of St George and the citadel, in the hope of
keeping the field, and collecting supplies from the coun-
i y, and, in this position, some partial advantages obtain-
ed over the troops of Sahaguet and Massena, on the 13th
and 14th, inspired him with a security which Napoleon
ost no time in punishing. The entire garrison having sal-
hed out to forage on the 15th, Napoleon attacked them
with his whole force; penetrated as far as St George, which
he carried at the point of the bayonet; and having com¬
pelled Wurmser to retire within the body of the place,
completed the investment of the city and the fortress. The
charge of the blockade was intrusted to General Kilmaine,
with Serrurier’s division, and the rest of the army were
placed in observation before the Tyrol.
The position of Napoleon, however, was by no means with¬
out difficulty, to say nothing of danger. The defeat of the
french armies of the Rhine rendered it highly probable
that Austria would reinforce her army in the Tyrol and in
1 nuli, and make fresh efforts to deliver Mantua ; Wurmser
was in his rear, at the head of an army of more than 20,000
men ; the french troops were established in a marshy
country, where malignant fevers usually prevail in autumn ;
and the political horizon of the south of Italy began to as¬
sume a very threatening aspect. On the other hand, in or-
dei to strengthen the french interest, new republics were
founded ; the pope, through the interference of Spain, was
prevented from throwing himself into the arms of Austria;
peace was concluded with Naples ; a treaty was concluded
with Genoa, which had agreed to shut its port against the
English; and the French party had triumphed in Corsica.
To counterbalance these advantages, the epidemic fevers
had encumbered the hospitals, diminishing considerably the
number of combatants ; reinforcements arrived too slowly
to repair the losses which had been sustained; and the
Austrians were actively preparing once more to try the
fortune of arms. By the middle of October, Davidowich
had received reinforcements which raised the force of his
corps to 20,000 men ; that of Quasdanovich now amount¬
ed to 25,000 combatants; and the Croats were perma¬
nently organised into regiments, to facilitate the arrival of
the levies drawn from the Tyrol, and the recruits raised
in the interior. Ihe supreme command was conferred on
General Alvinzi, a veteran of high reputation, who, having
joined the corps of Davidowich, resumed the offensive, di¬
recting that corps by Bassano on Verona, where he hoped
to effect a junction with Davidowich, who had received
orders to descend the Adige.
Napoleon s situation had thus become extremely criti¬
cal. He could not advance to encounter Alvinzi without
abandoning Verona, and consequently enabling Davi--
dowich to overthrow Vaubois, unite with Wurmser under
Mantua, and thus establish in his rear an army superior in
number to all the troops he had been able to collect. On
1 Napoleon never forgave Sahaguet for this oversight, which deprived him of one of the fairest fruits of his victory of Bassano.
•His plan had been so ably formed, that, but for Sahaguet’s blunder, the destruction of Wurmser would have been inevitable.
720
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, the other hand, he could not concentrate the mass of
'his force on Iloveredo without opening to Alvinzi the road
to Mantua, which, in an inverse sense, would have led to
the same results. There was also an inconvenience in as¬
sembling the mass of his troops at Verona, since.in V118
case the communication between Alvinzi and Davidowich
would have been re-established by the valley of the brenta.
Nevertheless, as it had become almost equally necessary
to prevent the junction of these two generals, and to op¬
pose the union of one of them with Wurmser, the adoption
of a mean term, or intermediate plan, was the only course
that remained open to Napoleon.
Vaubois was too weak to defend the approach to Irent,
but, in ordering him to assume the offensive, Napoleon
hoped to impose on Davidowich. In this, however, he was
deceived. On the 3d of November Vaubois was forced to
fall back on Galliano; on the 4th Davidowich entered
Trent; and on the same day the army of Alvinzi arrived
at Citadella and Bassano. At the approach of the enemy
Massena fell back on Montebello. Davidowich now march¬
ed on Galliano, and Alvinzi prepared to move upon Verona
by Vicenza. Napoleon now decided to repeat from right
to left the manoeuvre which had succeeded against Wurm¬
ser from left to right; that is, after first trying to de¬
feat Alvinzi, and drive him behind the Piave, he proposed
to ascend the Brenta, in order to fall upon the rear of
Davidowich. With the divisions of Augereau and Mas¬
sena he advanced towards the Brenta, which the enemy
had already passed, and on the 6th attacked their left
under Provera at Carmagnano, and their right under Quas-
danovich at Lenove, though with only partial success.
Provera repassed the Brenta, and Quasdanovich withdrew
to Bassano, without suffering any serious loss. Meanwhile
Vaubois, being warmly pressed on the Adige, was, after
two days’ fighting, driven from the strong position of Gal¬
liano, and obliged to retreat on La Corona. Napoleon flew
to this division, harangued the 39th and 85th regiments,
which had given way at Galliano, and threatened to in¬
scribe on their colours that they were no longer worthy to
belong to the army of Italy. Moved with these reproaches,
the soldiers shed tears, and swore to conquer or die when
next led against the enemy. Napoleon, however, found it
necessary to renounce his projects, and to retire on Verona,
where he established the head-quarters of the army. The
whole country between the Brenta and the Adige being
now in the hands of the enemy, the French general began
to be closely pressed, and, not choosing to be more so,
resolved once more to fall upon Alvinzi. On the 11th he
left Verona with the divisions of Massena and Augereau,
and next day attacked the enemy, whom he found in posi¬
tion at Caldiero. But a violent tempest which beat in the
faces of the troops, and the strong position of the enemy,
rendered all his efforts unavailing ; he was repulsed with
loss, and forced to return to Verona, where his situation
now became more critical than ever. He was everywhere
too weak ; and the fortune which had hitherto so signally
befriended him, seemed at length to abandon her favour¬
ite. Any other general, in his circumstances, would have
thought only of repassing the Mincio, and would thus have
lost Italy. But in war it often happens, that to gain all,
a general must risk all. Reduced to this predicament,
Napoleon determined to pass the Adige below the left of
Alvinzi, and thus to act on his rear. The project was haz¬
ardous in itself; but it was nevertheless wise, because it
was the only one which still left him some chance of success.
General Alvinzi, in presenting himself before Verona by
the Caldiero road, had on his right impracticable mountains,
on his left the Adige, and in front a place secure against
a coup-de-main. The ground which he occupied, being
thus closed upon three sides, had no other outlet than the
defile of Villa Nova, by which alone he could retire in
the event of defeat. By passing to Ronco, Napoleon Napoleon,
would therefore approach this defile, oblige the enemy to'^-~v-'
fiMit/ace enarriere, in order to open a passage, and place
his inferior army on marshy ground, traversed by three
dikes, where he would have all the advantage of the de¬
fensive, joined to the individual superiority of his soldiers.
It has indeed been said, that by passing at Albaredo, Napo¬
leon would have avoided the Alpon, its marshes, and the
defile of Arcole; and it is certainly true that he would thus
have more easily gained Villa Nova, which was the great ob¬
ject of his movement. But he was not strong enough to
throw himself headlong on the only road of Alvinzi; all he
could do was to menace this communication, without quit¬
ting;, the support of the Adige, and at the same time ap¬
proaching as quickly as possible to Verona and the division
of Vaubois. The movement on Albaredo would have been
too wide to accomplish this triple object; and besides, it
would have been too hazardous to offer battle on the Alpon
at Villa Nova, facing to the rear in the direction of Verona.
The project which he actually executed was sufficiently
daring, inasmuch as the unsafe nature of the ground, and
the narrowness of the dikes, by which alone he could ad¬
vance on Arcole, rendered victory difficult, whilst a serious
reverse would have decided the fate of the campaign, and
that of Italy. ,
Having recalled Kilmaine with tw7o thousand men from
the blockade of Mantua, Napoleon confided to him the de¬
fence of Verona, which it was the more indispensable to
maintain, as it barred the passage of the Adige, and pre¬
vented Alvinzi from giving his hand to Davidowich ; and
on the night of the 14th of November, he set out from Ve¬
rona for Ronco, where he threw a bridge over the Adige.
On the 15th he passed the river, with the divisions of Mas¬
sena and Augereau, and the reserve of cavalry, forming in all
about 20,000 men, and advanced by the three dikes which
conduct to Arcole. A brigade of Croats, however, profiting^
by the advantages of the ground, repulsed the attack of
Augereau, whose column had been directed on the bridge of
Arcole, and afforded time to Alvinzi to come to their assist-
The latter also sent Provera with six battalions to
ance.    
attack Massena at Porcil, and with the mass of his army
retrograded on St Bonifacio. But this unforeseen obstacle
did not discourage Napoleon. Perceiving that if he could
not attain Villa Nova by the left bank of the Alpon, he
might act more directly by Porcil on Alvinzi’s line of re¬
treat, and sensible that, with this view, as well as to se¬
cure his right, and preventhimself from being taken in a cul-
de-sac, it had become absolutely necessary to make him¬
self master of the village and defile of Arcole, he made
fresh efforts to carry the bridge. The greater part of his
generals being wounded, he seized a standard, and urged
his grenadiers once more to the charge. Ihey advanced
boldly amidst a tremendous firet; but the head of^ the co¬
lumn being shattered, the troops gave way, and Napoleon
being thrown into the marsh, was in imminent dangei o
being taken. At this critical moment Belliard charged
with a company of grenadiers, and rescued the geneial-in-
chief, when about to fall into the hands of the enemy.
Nevertheless, towards evening, the Austrians abandoned
Arcole, on the approach of a brigade which had passed the
Adige at the ferry of Albaredo, and was advancing along the
left bank of the Alpon. But it was now too late ; and Napo¬
leon, not choosing to run the risk of passing the night wit
his troops crowded in the marshes, in presence of the hostile
army deployed between St Bonifacio and San Stephano,
and fell back to Ronco, on the right bank of the Adige.
The combat of the second day proved not more decisive
than that of the first. It. was maintained with equal bravery
on both sides; and in the evening, Napoleon, from the same
motives as before, repassed the Adige. But the third con¬
flict proved decisive. At daybreak on the 17th, the r ren
^oleon. troops resumed their march to the bridge, and drove back
the Austrians on Porcil and Arcole. It was not against this
point, however, that Napoleon had resolved to direct his
pnncipal efforts. Leaving Robert with a demi-brigade to
keep the enemy in check, he therefore directed Massena
with another demi-brigade on Porcil, whilst the rest of his
division remained in reserve near the bridge; and he or¬
dered Augereau to throw a bridge over the Alpon, near the
embouchure of the rivulet, so as to be in a condition to act
against the Austrian left, and thus take Arcole in reverse.
As Napoleon had foreseen, the Austrians, reinforced at Ar¬
cole, assumed the offensive, and drove back Robert, whom
they pursued with reckless impetuosity. Proud of this suc¬
cess, their deep column continued to advance, and sudden¬
ly came upon the main body of Massena’s division, placed
in ambuscade amongst some willows, who instantly assailed
them in flank, cut off three thousand men, and forced the
remainder to retire in disorder on Arcole. The decisive
moment had now arrived. Augereau developed his attack,
whilst some cavalry appeared on the enemy’s flank; Mas¬
sena debouched by Arcole and St Gregorio; the little gar¬
rison of Legnago threatened the enemy’s rear; and the lat¬
ter, unable to maintain themselves in ground favourable for
acting on the defensive, were reduced to the alternative
of either accepting battle in an open country, or com¬
mencing a precipitate retreat. Alvinzi durst not risk the
former, and on the 18th he retired on Montebello, leaving
Napoleon at perfect liberty to turn upon Davidowich.
This general, who, during eight days, had amused him¬
self before the intrenchments of La Corona, at length at¬
tacked Vaubois on the 16th. The latter maintained his
ground, but the following day retired behind the Mincio
at Peschiera. On the 18th Davidowich advanced to
Castel Novo. Resolved to punish him for this rash move¬
ment, Napoleon sent only the reserve of cavalry in pur¬
suit of Alvinzi, and with the main body of his infantry fell
back from Villa Nova upon Verona, which he entered in
triumph. He then directed the divisions of Massena and
Vaubois to attack Davidowich in front, whilst Augereau
advanced from Verona upon Dolce to cut off his retreat;
a combination which would have insured his destruction,
had he not accidentally learned the defeat of Alvinzi, and
hastened to regain Roveredo, which he effected with much
difficulty, and the loss of his rear-guard. Alvinzi, on his side,
seeing himself followed only by cavalry, returned to Villa
Nova; but as Napoleon had already disposed of Davido¬
wich, and was now preparing to debouche once more by
Verona on the left bank of the Adige, the Austrian, sepa¬
rated from his lieutenant, did not venture to keep the field,
and immediately fell back behind the Brenta. Meanwhile
Wurmser remained quietly in Mantua. Alvinzi, in com¬
mencing his operations, had calculated that he could not
appear before Mantua until the 23d of November, and had
engaged Wurmser not to make any sortie until that day.
But things not having turned out as the enemy had hoped,
this projected effort proved fruitless. Kilmaine had al¬
ready returned with his detachment, and the corps em¬
ployed in the blockade succeeded without difficulty in re¬
pulsing the besieged. The rapid combinations of Napo¬
leon had thus rendered abortive all the efforts of Austria;
a fourth army had been baffled; and for two months after
the last day of Arcole, the French general remained un¬
disputed master of Lombardy. To him this interval was
of great importance, as it enabled him to take the neces¬
sary measures for consolidating his conquests, and also to
procure reinforcements sufficient not only to put him in a
condition to maintain himself, but also to insure the fall of
Wurmser, and to strike a blow at the very heart of the
Austrian monarchy.
All that Napoleon had yet done seemed like the web of
Penelope ; it was invariably undone by the constancy with
napoleon.
721
VOL. XV.
which the cabinet of Vienna reinforced its army of Italy, Napoleon,
and by the negligence of the Directory, which had so long'
delayed to afford him adequate support. In fact, he was
treated by the government of France as Hannibal had been
by the senate of Carthage. But public opinion forbade
the sacrifice of a general and an army that had gained so
many victories; and, as the battles of Arcole showed that
both were within a hair’s breadth of being expelled from
Italy, it was at length resolved to adopt decisive measures.
Accordingly, the fine divisions of Bernadette and Delmas,
ravin from the armies of the Rhine, were, notwithstand¬
ing the winter, directed across the Alps, and, on joining
the hrench army, would have made its total strength about
Vo,000 men. On the other hand, by the end of Decem¬
ber, Alvinzi having under his orders upwards of 40,000
men, resolved to descend from the mountains, and make
another effort for the relief of Mantua. For the fourth
time, therefore, the possession of that important place was
to be submitted to the arbitrement of arms.
Whilst waiting the arrival of the reinforcements which
he expected from the Rhine, Napoleon, apprized that Al¬
vinzi had assumed the offensive, flew to the Adige, to watch
the development of his attack. At this moment the divi¬
sion of Serrurier was before Mantua; that of Augereau
occupied the line of the Adige from Verona to Legnago
and beyond it; Massena was at Verona ; and Joubert, with
a fourth division, held the important positions of La Co¬
rona and Rivoli. Each of these divisions was about ten
thousand strong, and Rey, with a reserve of four thousand,
occupied Desenzano. The imperialists, as if determined
to profit by no lesson, advanced at once on the centre and
the two wings of the French army, by Roveredo, Vicenza,
and Padua; but Napoleon, as he had not yet ascertained
in which of these three directions Alvinzi was carrying
the mass of his force, resolved to keep his positions until
the Austrian general had developed his projects. On the
12th of January 1797, the column w hich advanced by Vi¬
cenza approached Verona, and drove in the advanced
posts of Massena. But the division of that general hav¬
ing debouched on St Michel, the enemy was repulsed with
loss ; and Napoleon acquired the certainty that he was not
in force upon that point. Next day, however, he received
intelligence that Joubert, pressed in front by superior forces,
and threatened by strong columns on his two flanks, had
been obliged in the morning to evacuate the position of La
Corona, and to fall back on Rivoli, whence he reckoned on
continuing his retreat on Castel Novo. All doubt as to
the enemy’s projects was now at an end. It was clear that
the column of Vicenza, and that which directed its march
on the Lower Adige, were only diversions to facilitate the
march of the principal corps, which was advancing by the
valley of the Adige. The great object of Napoleon, there¬
fore, was to beat this corps, by attacking it with the main
body of his army. He instantly set out from Verona, with
the greater part of Massena’s division, leaving two thousand
men to keep in check the column of Vicenza; and at the
same time he sent orders to Rey to advance from Salo on
Rivoli, where he had resolved to assemble the mass of his
force. As Alvinzi had not only weakened himself by the
corps directed on Verona and Legnago, but had even dis¬
seminated the troops under his immediate orders, Napo¬
leon saw that, by occupying the plateau of Rivoli, where
the'ditterent paths which traverse that mountainous coun¬
try unite, he would gain the advantage of acting in a mass
against columns separated from one another by insurmount¬
able obstacles. With this view, he sent orders to Joubert
to maintain himself, at any sacrifice, in advance of Rivoli
until his arrival.
When these orders reached Joubert, however, he was in
full retreat; but he instantly countermarched his division,
and regained the position of Rivoli, which the enemy had
4 Y
722
NAPOLEON.
, , . nfYor rm'rlniolit Nann- his flanks, and ffettins upon his line ofretreat, made 5000 Napoleon,, ^
Napoleon, not yet had t.me to occupy Soon after midnight Napo ms nan , g g , Austr.an , 
Icon arrived. It was peaks of now withdrew ?he remainder behbd the Piave, lelving
enemy s watch-fires, which . . ^ nnlv 8000 men for the defence of the Tyrol; and the French
Montebaldo, he could easily d‘stl,?|u;sJ1 3e his dis- army resumed the positions which it had occupied before
campments. On the morning of th.e th^combats of Arcole. Such, then, was the famous battle
positions for battle, and commenced the attac y & Rivoli in which Napoleon, with only thirty thousand
Joubert against die Austrian 1^0 ^ thousand prisoners. iL its 1st impor.
was detached to keep in chec ' tj e tantresult was the capitulation of Mantua, which surrender-
tained the shock with great firmness, and, becoming the FebruPa thus rendering the French undis-
assailant in his turn, forced Joubert to give way Via , who Lombardy. The terms granted to Wurm-
commanded the right, also xetrogra PN ser were much more favourable than he had any reason to
seemed about to be carried. At this critical moment Najm were^ reduced t0 the ]ast extremity, and
Icon, favoured by the vigorous s ^n ^ direct- suffering from almost every species of privation and misery.1
regiments in the centre, flew ^SU Whilft Napoleon was at blows with Alvinzi, the court
of Rome, seduced by the instigations of Austria, had bro-
.1^1 • i *0^ c T'rnmhalnra The danger however, was ken the armistice concluded in the month of June imme
xt ^ Aus- diately preceding and raised a considerable body of troops,
not yet past, i ne rig . .,0-LL0.ht(! oan Marco • the command of which was intrusted to General Colli,
Quas^anovicbfh^ivin^lbrced'the^tr^nchme'ntf of Osteria' whom the cabinet of Vienna bad sent for the purpose,
was also bTgiming to ascend the plateau of Rivoli; and Thinking ,t necessary to pumsh that hos ,le demonstration
Lusignan was moving by Affi upon the rear of the French, partly as an example to others, and partly also to get rid of
 . i,„i-irvctont’a rcflpp- ah enomv seldom dangerous but always inconvenient, Na-
Napoleon wiTnS si^ed; but an in^nt's reflec- an enemy seldom dangerous but always inconvenient, Na
tion convinced him, that if he could overpower Quasdano- poleon formed a division, which he placed under the com
- i i  i.i i  .,...i,:fo.r from T.nsiirnftn. and mandof Victor, and directed to march uponImola m theRo
vich, he would have nothing to fear from Lusignan, and
that matters might easily be re-established on the right.
This intuitive judgment decided the fortune of the day.
As soon as the head of Quasdanovich’s column appeared on
the plateau, it was assailed on both flanks by the infantry,
and in front by the cavalry under Lasalle; and being forced
back into the ravine, it was thrown into complete disorder
mand of Victor, and directed to march upon Imola in the Ro¬
magna, where it arrived on the 2d of February, the very day
on which Mantua capitulated. The campaign was neither
long nor bloody. A corps of 4000 papal troops, which at¬
tempted to defend the Senio, was totally routed; Faenza
was carried at the point of the bayonet; and Colli, with
about 3000 men, were made prisoners. On the 9th Vic-
DclCK intO til6 idVlllt:} 1L Wdo tiiiwwii . - . i u yi i i onr\ 4.„
by the explosion of an ammunition waggon in the midst of tor arrived at Ancona, where he compelled 1~ me to
the troops when crowded together in the hollow. Confusion lay down their arms ; on the 10th his van-guard entered
and terror reigned supreme ; infantry, cavalry, artillery, fled Loretto, and rifled the treasury of the Santa Casa ; and by
nell-mell by Canale. Having thus got rid of Quasdano- the 18th he had reached folentino, where his progress was
vich, Napoleon directed his efforts to support Vial, who was stopped by the conclusion of peace, ihe terms were such
now in full retreat. The Austrians, pursuing with head- as Napoleon thought fit to dictate. The pope confirmed
long impetuosity, had got into disorder, when a charge of the cession of Avignon, the Comtat, and the legations ot
two hundred horse completed the confusion; the panic Ferrara and Bologna ; he also ceded the Romagna, obliged
communicated itself to the centre, which immediately dis- himself to pay a contribution of L.1,200,000, and agreed
banded ; and it was only behind the Tasso that Alvinzi to execute, in the fullest manner, the provisions ot Bolog-
succeeded in rallying the fugitives. The fate of Lusignan na respecting works of art. These stipulations were too
was now sealed. Attacked by Massena in front and by harsh not to render the holy see an irreconcilable enemy;
Rey in the rear, his corps was destroyed, and he regained but they were not severe enough to deprive it of all means
Montebaldo with only a few hundred men. of future hostility. _ . „
On the evening of the battle, however, Napoleon learned The splendid victory gained at Rivoh, the surrender 0
that Provera, having forced the centre of Augereau’s divi- Mantua, the evacuation ot Corsica by the English, the peace
sion, scattered along the Adige, had succeeded in passing with Naples and Rome, and the approach ot powerful rein-
the river at Anghiari on the 13th, and was directing his forcements, having completely changed the face ofafrairs
march on Mantua. On the 14th the Austrian general was
at Nogara, and on the 15th he arrived before Mantua,
into which he hoped to make good his entrance by the
suburb of St George. But finding it retrenched and occu-
in Italy, Napoleon, being now definitively assured of that
country, hastened to carry the war into the hereditary do¬
minions of Austria. The divisions drawn from the army
of the Rhine having arrived in the course of the month ot
feUUUIU U1 OL Vjeuigt. IJUL IlllUlllg It I CLi CUL/ilCvl dll VA *****. ^~ ...  
pied by the besiegers, he next day attacked the post of La March, he found himself at the head of 75,000 veteran
Favorita, whilst Wurmser sallied out against that of San troops ; but of this number he was obliged to detach about
Antonio. Serrurier, however, succeeded in maintaining 20,000 to garrison strong places, and to observe the south-
his ground; Wurmser retired into the body of the place ; ern part of the peninsula. With the remainder, however, he
and Provera, assailed on all sides by the forces which Na- resolved to advance against the enemy; and the Directory,
poleon had promptly directed against him, was forced to with a view to second him, ordered Moreau to repass the
lay down his arms. Meanwhile Joubert, acting with equal Rhine at Kehl, whilst Hoche, after re-organizing the army
vigour, pursued Alvinzi without intermission, turned both of the Sambre and Meuse, should again advance upon the
1 At the time of the surrender, the garrison, though much weakened by disease, amounted still to 13,000 men under arms, who
were declared prisoners of war, and sent to Trieste, to be there exchanged. In Mantua, Napoleon found the battering train which
he had abandoned in the trenches at the epoch of Castiglione, and 350 pieces of cannon on the ramparts or in the arsenal.
On this occasion the French general acted with equal delicacy and generosity towards his gallant but unfortunate adversary.
When the aged veteran came out to surrender his sword, he found only Serrurier ready to receive it, Napoleon having generously
avoided being present to witness his humiliation. The terms granted to Wurmser were also more favourable than the Directory
approved. Eut the victorious general treated their remonstrances with scorn. “ I have granted the Austrian,” said he, in reply
to their expostulations, “ such terms as were, in my judgment, due to a brave and honourable enemy, and to the dignity of the
French republic.” This is one of the most pleasing traits in his history, and gives a favourable impression of the natural character
of the man.
•Meyn. The cabinet of Vienna had entertained the idea
of carrying the theatre of the war into Italy; but it was
not till after the capture of Kehl by the Archduke Charles,
and the disaster of Alvinzi at Rivoli, that it was resolved
to act upon this principle. Accordingly, about the middle
of January, the archduke, who had just distinguished him-
a masterly campaign, set out with three divisions
of chosen troops, to traverse the Tyrol, and to oppose the
conqueror of Italy. Meanwhile, as the divisions of Ber¬
nadette and Delmas had actually joined the French army,
whilst the Austrian reinforcements were as yet only tra¬
versing Bavaria, Napoleon, finding himself ready to take
the field before the enemy, resolved to profit by this ad¬
vantage, anticipate his adversary, and attack him d out-
rance, before his whole force should be assembled. Having
arranged his plan of operations, and recalled Victor from
Ancona to the Adige in order to cover his communications,
he put his army in motion on the 10th of March, and with
the mass of his force advanced towards the Tagliamento.
To give the details of the sixth campaign, which now
commenced, would only be to repeat the story which has
already been five times told. The archduke, fettered, it is
said, by the aulic council, found himself obliged to exe¬
cute a plan which he had judgment enough to condemn ;
in other words, to repeat the error, which had so often
proved fatal, of acting on a double line of operations. But
there is no reason to believe that he was thus trammelled
by any preconcerted plan. His first interest was to avoid
a decisive battle before the arrival of those reinforcements
which were marching to join him ; and upon this principle
all his movements were regulated. On the other hand,
the plan of Napoleon had for its main object to force him,
at all hazards, to fight, or so to cripple him that the arrival
of the divisions from the Rhine would have no material
effect upon the results of the campaign. In order to at¬
tain this end, he had the choice of two lines of operations;
one to the north, by the valley of the Adige or the Tyrol;
and the other to the east, by Friuli and Carniola. Both
of these lines, which form a right angle having its vertex
at\'erona, were occupied by the Austrians; but Napoleon
preferred the latter for various reasons, more especially be¬
cause, if the enemy should attempt to defend Friuli behind
the parallel positions of the Piave, the Tagliamento, and the
Isonzo, his right wing, in rear of which was his only line
of retreat, might be turned by the coast, and his army de¬
feated and driven into the Adriatic. This consideration
alone determined the choice of Napoleon. Besides, as the
reinforcements from the Rhine had not yet joined, the Aus¬
trian army did not exceed 35,000 men ; whilst Napoleon
had under his immediate command 38,000, supported by
three divisions under Joubert amounting to 17,000 men.
As already mentioned, Napoleon put his army in mo¬
tion on the 10th of March, and advanced straight towards
the Tagliamento, whilst Massena was directed to move on
Feltre, in order to push the brigade of Lusignan, left in ob¬
servation on the Piave, and also to menace the right of the
archduke. This secondary movement was immediately
successful. Lusignan retired, ascending the Piave ; but
on the 13th, his rear-guard, being overtaken at Longaro,
was overpowered, and the general himself made prisoner.
Satisfied with having thrown the Austrian brigade on Ca-
dore, Massena now directed his march on Spilimbergo and
Gemona, in order more effectually to turn the Austrian
right, and occupy the important route of Poteba, of which
the enemy might take advantage in order to retire upon
Villach. On the 16th Napoleon arrived at Valvasone, on
NAPOLEON.
723
the Tagliamento. The archduke had already commenced
his retreat, leaving only a rear-guard on the Tagliamento.
But the river being fordable, the French columns rushed into Napoleon,
the stream, overthrew the enemy, and pursued them along'
the road leading to Palmanova. Prince Charles having
now divided his army, he himself fell back on Goriza; one
of his columns, commanded by Gontreuil and Bayalitsch,
with the greater part of the materiel, moved by Cividale
and the valley of Natisono upon Caporetto; and Ocksay,
with the brigade of Lusignan, covered the road from Vil-
ach to Ghiusa-Veneta. But the Isonzo, from its source as
ar as Goriza, flows between two chains of mountains which
are nearly impassable on the side of Krainburg. Napoleon,
therefore, manoeuvred against the left flank of the arch¬
duke, with the view of throwing him back into the valley
of the Isonzo, where his army would have found themselves
in the Caudine forks ; and, for a moment, he entertained
some hope of accomplishing his object. The left of the
enemy was covered by the town of Gradisca, occupied by
four battalions. On the 17th Bernadotte attacked the place
in front; whilst Serrurier, passing the Isonzo between the
city and Montefalcone, took it in reverse, and forced the
garrison to capitulate. Directing Guyeux by Cividale on
Caporetto, Napoleon now ascended the left bank of the
Isonzo, for the purpose of cutting off the enemy from the
road of Czernita, or obliging him to plunge into the valley
of the Isonzo by Canale. But as soon as the French ge¬
neral had developed his movement, the archduke fell back,
in all haste, upon Laybach, taking the road by Czernita and
Adelsberg, closely followed by Bernadotte. Disappointed
in one object, Napoleon instantly turned his attention to
another, and directed all his efforts against the column of
Gontreuil and Bayalitsch, which, being headed by Massena
at I arvis, was thrown back into the gorges of Oberpreth,
and being there surrounded, was forced to lay down its
arms. On this occasion, 4000 prisoners, twenty-five pieces
of cannon, and 400 baggage waggons, fell into the hands
of the conquerors.
from Laybach the archduke had marched by Klagen-
furth on St Veit, where he was joined by the first of the
reinforcements sent from Germany ; but not believing him¬
self even yet in a condition to deliver battle, he fell back
upon Neumarck, and on the 30th Napoleon arrived at St
Veit. On the 2d of April Massena forced the gorges of
Dirnstein, and at Neumarck and Hundsmarck defeated the
enemy’s rear-guard, consisting of the grenadiers who had
just arrived from the Rhine. The archduke continued his
retreat on Vienna, and on the 5th Napoleon arrived at Ju-
denburg. But the contest had now reached its term. Two
days afterwards, the Austrians, who had received instruc¬
tions from Vienna touching a letter which Napoleon had
addressed to Prince Charles from Klagenfurth, manifest¬
ing a desire of accommodation, demanded an armistice,
with a view to treat of the preliminaries of peace. To this
proposal Napoleon gladly consented. His position was in
fact more brilliant than solid. He had not sufficient force
to strike a decisive blow against the Austrian monarchy ;
the armies of the Rhine, notwithstanding the superiority
which they had acquired since the departure of the archduke,
still remained inactive in their cantonments ; he could not
for a long time hope for any effectual co-operation on their
part; a suspicion even crossed his mind that the govern¬
ment wished to sacrifice him, by causing him to be beaten ;
and, besides all this, he had just cause of disquiet in regard
to his communications, which were seriously endangered
by an alarming insurrection in his rear. In these circum¬
stances, the negociations speedily advanced towards a fa¬
vourable issue; and, on the 18th of April 1797, the pre¬
liminaries of peace were signed at Leoben, to which the
French head-quarters had been transferred.1
1 The views of Napoleon, on this occasion, were admirably seconded by the cabinet of Vienna ; and the precipitation it displayed
in the negociations disclosed the terror which his successes had inspired. With his characteristic penetration, he availed himself of
the anxiety thus manifested to dictate the law in regard to the provisional treaty.
724
NAPOLEON.
I'lfol
Napoleon.
The conclusion of peace with Austria was almost imme¬
diately followed by the annihilation of the republic of Ve¬
nice. The government of that state had done every thing
to call down the vengeance of the conqueror. Being exas¬
perated by a democratical movement which occurred at
Brescia and Bergamo, it had taken advantage of the ap¬
proach of an Austrian column under Laudon, to excite a
General insurrection in rear of the French, and thus en¬
danger the communications of the army whilst engaged in
a series of complicated and critical operations. A repeti¬
tion of the Sicilian Vespers had also taken place at Verona,
where every Frenchman found in the streets or houses was
butchered in cold blood, and the commandant, General bai-
land, forced to retire into the castles with 3000 men. But
when the armistice of Judenburg had recalled Laudon to
the Tyrol, the Venetians, being thus abandoned to their own
resources, were completely defeated by a corps ot lo,00U
men under Victor, and the insurgents everywhere dis¬
persed. Napoleon now hastened to regain his communi¬
cations, by re-entering the Venetian territory, and also to
pour the full storm of his wrath on the devoted republic.
The senate, in despair, made the most abject offers of sub¬
mission ; but it was too late. The archduke, on whose suc¬
cess they rested all their hopes, had shared the fate of
Beaulieu, Wurmser, and Alvinzi; and Napoleon resolved
that the Lion of St Mark should lick the dust. Besides,
the acts of hostility committed by the senate of Venice
were actually to him a piece of good fortune. At Leoben
he had promised Austria compensation for the loss of Bel¬
gium and Lombardy ; but he would have been much
puzzled where to find the means of indemnification, it the
Venetians had not furnished him with an occasion for dis¬
posing of part of their states. The price paid by the re¬
public for its perfidy and cruelty was the surrender of large
territories on the mainland, and five ships ot war ; the pay¬
ment of three millions of francs in gold, and as much more
in naval stores ; and giving up twenty of the best pictuies,
along with five hundred manuscripts.1
After the occupation of Venice, and the dissolution of
its oligarchical government, Napoleon established his head¬
quarters at Passeriano, near Udine, where he awaited the
arrival of the plenipotentiaries which the emperor was to
send to treat of a definitive peace. In order to accelerate
the progress of the negociations, he had, on the 24th ot May,
signed a preliminary convention with the Duke de Gallo;
but the cabinet of Vienna having refused to ratify this act,
he repaired to Milan to hasten the organization of the Cis¬
alpine Republic, by annexing to it Modena, Reggio, Bres¬
cia, Bergamo, Ferrara, and Bologna, the whole destined to
constitute a single state, with about three millions of inha¬
bitants. He also profited by his stay at Milan to direct the
democratic revolution, which overturned the oligarchy of
Genoa, and placed all the friends of change in entire de¬
pendence on France ; an event which was soon followed by
the establishment of another mushroom state, under the
name of the Ligurian Republic. Napoleon regarded Genoa
as the most useful dependency which France could then
procure to consolidate his work in Italy; and, as political
propagandism was the order of the day, he appears to have
judged correctly.2
In the meanwhile the negociations with Austria made
no progress whatever. Scarcely had the preliminaries been Napoleon. ^
signed when misunderstandings arose. The plotters of^”~v~w
counter-revolutions had, by means of the elections, suc¬
ceeded in forming a powerful party in the councils, at the
head of which were Pichegru, Villot, and Imbert-Colomes ;
and a violent struggle was about to take place between the
depositaries of the executive power and the legislative bo¬
dy, which last, far from seconding, sought to embarrass the
operations of the government. These disorders revived
the hopes of Austria. It was believed that some new crisis
was approaching in France ; the conspiracy of Baboeuf en¬
couraged this notion ; the royalists corresponded with the
exiled princes and the imperial government; the Directory
held its power by an uncertain tenure, amidst so many ele¬
ments of opposition ; and every thing seemed to prognosti¬
cate that some important change was at hand. But the
events of the 18th of Fructidor (4th of September 1797)
destroyed all these illusions. The Utopian constitution of
the year III. was dissolved; Pichegru and other royalists
in the assemblies were arrested and sent into exile; Carnot
and Barthelemy, who had opposed the majority of the Di¬
rectory, were likewise banished; and the government for the
moment recovered the semblance of security. Astonished
at this sudden revolution, and conceiving that it could no
longer calculate upon a royalist re-action, the cabinet of
Vienna immediately despatched the Count de Cobentzel
with full powers to treat; and henceforth the negociations
proceeded in a fair train towards a definitive adjustment of
differences. The result was the treaty of Campo-Formio,
concluded on the 3d of October 1797, and so called from
the village at which it was signed. By this act Austria
yielded to France Belgium and the boundaries of the
Rhine and the Alps, recognised the Cisalpine Republic,
and received, as an indemnification for the loss of territory,
Venice and her Italian provinces ; whilst France assumed
the sovereignty of Dalmatia and the Ionian Islands. This
peace was glorious, and might have been solid, because,
whilst France attained her natural limits, Austria had re¬
ceived ample compensation for the provinces which she
ceded in virtue of the treaty. Peace having been thus
concluded with Austria, it still remained to negociate with
the princes of the empire; and for this purpose a congress
of all the German powers was summoned to meet at Ras-
tadt, whither Napoleon repaired as head of the French
legation. But perceiving that the discussions would be
protracted, he abandoned to his colleagues the conduct of
the diplomatic business, and quitted Rastadt, after hav¬
ing provided, by a military convention, for the execution
of the treaty of Campo-Formio, in as far as regarded the
evacuation by the imperialists of Mayence and the other
places on the Rhine.
Napoleon having thus terminated the most wonderful
series of campaigns recorded in the history of war, set out
for Paris, where he arrived in the beginning of December.
The reception which he met with, on this occasion, was
such as would have elated the most modest, and encouraged
the least ambitious. It was easy to see that he might as¬
pire to every thing in France. Nevertheless, the time had
not yet arrived to profit by his fame, and take advantage
of his popularity; it was necessary to wait until the Di¬
rectory had completed its discredit with the country, and
1 Napoleon has been severely censured for his conduct to Venice, which some have represented as a species of felony ; and Botta
the historian, after mentioning with admiration the philippics of the priests who preached insurrection and recommended assassination,
seems to think it very culpable in the French to have treated these persons as enemies. French blood had been treacherously shed;
but for this, it seems, no reparation was due, no punishment exigible. In its last agony, the senate of Venice attempted to propiuae
the conqueror, by offering him a purse of L.300,000. He rejected the offer with scorn, telling them that if they could offer him e
treasures of Peru, the atonement would be insufficient. Yet he is represented as a monster, because he refused to huckster tor t e
blood of his murdered soldiers; and it is thus that history is sometimes written. f <v
2 Cette fortresse immense, perchee sur des rocs centre lesquels il serait difficile de pousser les travaux reguliers d’une siege, po *
vait etre le clef de la Lombardie alors que le Piemont n’etait pas k nous, et que la route du Simplons n’existait pas encore. ( w
de Napoleon, tom. i. p. 217-)
i
I
N A P O
poleon.^ lost all hold of public opinion. France had indeed pro-
' "'Y^*L claimed him as its hero ; but this was not enough, and to
become the head of the state, it was necessary to be at the
same time its deliverer and restorer. Whatever might be
his claims to national gratitude, these could not give him
a right to overturn the established government, to which he
had been indebted for his rapid advancement and part of
his glory it was essential that it should destroy itself by
its incapacity, and by the disasters which it brought on
France ;—then only could he appear on the scene in the
character of the deliverer of his country. And as he knew
well with whom he had to do, he did not doubt that sooner
or later this would occur; for, independently of the weak¬
ness of the individuals composing the Directory, he was
convinced that the actual state of affairs could not endure
long, and that, in any view, the fall of that body was in¬
evitable. Still the part which he had in the meanwhile to
play was sufficiently embarrassing. The pompous but empty
title of general-in-chief of the army of England had in¬
deed been conferred upon him ; but at this time no pre¬
parations had been made for effecting a descent upon Eng¬
land ; and all that could have been done would have been
to throw twenty or thirty thousand men into Ireland, an
enterprise which, however advantageous in itself, was by
no means suited to his views. Napoleon, however, was too
important a person to remain at Paris with his arms folded,
a mere passive spectator of events.1 For although the Di¬
rectory had mingled its acclamations with those of all
France, he knew that Rewbel and Merlin cherished secret
enmity towards him, arising, no doubt, out of their fears;
that they blamed the resolution which he had taken of
concluding the peace of Campo-Formio without waiting for
authority from the government; that they accused him of
having treated with Austria, instead of marching to Vien¬
na, which, according to these sages, would have revolu-
tioned Germany, and afforded them the gratification of con¬
structing some democratical republics out of the ruins of
the holy Roman empire. These declamations were no doubt
sufficiently absurd and revolting; but it was not the less
necessary on that account to adopt some course, especially
as the most opposite factions came daily to knock at his
gate. An alternative presented itself, which was, either to
LEON.
725
conspire against the Directory, or to make common cause Napoleon,
with it. He chose to do neither; and the only reasonable
pai t which remained for him to take was to withdraw for
a time, but to do it in such a manner as to fix attention
upon himself, and by his achievements to keep his name
in the mouths of the country.
During the negociations at Campo-Formio, Napoleon
had suggested the idea of a descent upon Egypt, though
he did not then think of undertaking it himself. The pro¬
ject had been relished by Talleyrand, who, after Fructidor,
had replaced Charles Delacroix in the ministry of foreign
relations. Napoleon now offered to carry it into execu-
tmn. The results of such an enterprise might be immense,
and this sufficed to render the task worthy of his talents
and ambition. On the other hand, the majority of the Di¬
rectors, to whom his presence gave umbrage, gladly enter¬
tained a proposition calculated to rid them of a pacificator
whose popularity they dreaded. They were, in fact, en¬
chanted to find him outrunning their wishes by a voluntary
exile. Some statesmen, it is true, wished to retain him,
representing that, by the force of circumstances, he would
be called to take the helm of affairs. But he replied that
the pear was not yet ripe, and that he was going to esta¬
blish new claims to their confidence. Besides, the East
presented a field of conquest and glory on which his ima¬
gination delighted to dwell. Europe he considered as but
a mole-hill in comparison of Asia, whence “ all the great
glories” had come. And from the view which he took of
the state of India at the time, he conceived, that in under¬
taking to open a direct communication with that country,
he was taking the surest means to strike an effective blow
at England. The expedition to Egypt had three objects:
first, to establish on the Nile a French colony, which, with¬
out having recourse to the system of cultivation by slaves,
should supply the produce of St Domingo and the sugar
islands; secondly, to open new outlets for French manu¬
factures in Africa, Arabia, and Syria, and to obtain, in re¬
turn, all the productions of these countries; and, thirdly,
setting out from Egypt as a base of operations, to carry an
army of fifty thousand men to the Indus, and make com¬
mon cause with the Mahrattas, the Hindus, the Mussul¬
mans, and all the oppressed races of the Indian peninsula.
On his return to Paris, Napoleon took up his residence in the same small and modest house which he had occupied before his
departure for Italy, in the Hue Chantereine, where he resumed his favourite studies and pursuits ; contented, apparently, with the
society of his friends, and carefully avoiding any act which might seem intended or calculated to invite popular notice or distinc-
tion. His society was much courted in the highest circles, and he occasionally received company at home; but pride as well as
policy led him to shun notoriety, and shrink from being stared at in the streets or saloons as the wonder of the day. On one occa¬
sion, when greeted with some noisy demonstration of popular favour, “ Bah,” said he, “ they would crowd as eagerly around me if
I were on my way to the guillotine.” At this period he was reserved and thoughtful, like one too much occupied with serious de¬
signs to take any pleasure in the elegant frivolities of fashionable conversation. Wherever he appeared he was the man of Lodi, of
Arcole, and of Itivoli, disdaining to disguise his military bluntness in those brilliant circles where a man of an inferior stamp of cha¬
racter would have been ambitious to shine. Piqued by this haughty demeanour, Madame de Stael made various attempts to enlist
him amongst the number of her votaries, but without success. “ Whom,” said she, one day addressing herself to the victorious soldier,
“ whom do you consider as the greatest of ’women V’ insinuating a compliment, in expectation of an equivalent. “ Her,’’ replied
Napoleon, dryly, “ who has borne the greatest number of children.” This keen retort was not forgotten, and the daughter of
Necker became his declared enemy.
In the camp, as well as in the capital, he had maintained a similar reserve, especially with his officers. It has been said that his
character changed with his elevation, and that, in proportion as fortune lavished on him her favours, his coldness and reserve in¬
creased. But this is evidently a mean and narrow view of his conduct. No great captain was ever more beloved by his officers, as
well as by all who served under him; but to those who were immediately about him, he felt it necessary to observe a certain degree
of dignity in his demeanour, in order to insure that ready, unquestioning obedience which is all-important in war. With the com¬
mon soldiers, however, he often put himself on a footing of perfect familiarity. In the field, he disdained not to share the rations,
or to drink from the canteen, of the sentinel; and the French private soldier, often as intelligent as those whom fortune has placed
above him, used to accost the general-in-chief with more frankness than he would have ventured to display in addressing his own
captain. In his despatches, and particularly in his conversations at St Helena, he often mentioned the pleasure he derived from his
intercourse with the men, and at the same time gave many instances of their intelligence and observation. On one occasion, during
his Italian campaigns, a common trooper addressed him, as he was riding past, and told the general that he thought he could sug¬
gest the movement which ought to be adopted. Napoleon listened to him, and heard him detail some operations which he had
himself resolved on but a little before. In this way he won the hearts of the soldiers, and encouraged the display of talent and genius,
which, throughout his whole career, he missed no opportunity of rewarding. No one perhaps ever possessed, in the same degree,
the secret of calling forth, at his pleasure, all the energies, physical, mental, and moral, of those under his command, and of sus¬
taining the courage and perseverance of his troops on occasions of the severest trial, where, under any other chief, defeat would
have been inevitable.
726 N A P 0
Napoleon. The last was the grand and ultimate object aimed at. An
^army composed, one half of Europeans, and the other hal
of natives, transported by ten thousand horses and as many
camels, carrying with them provisions for fifty or sixty days,
water for five or six, and one hundred and fifty pieces of
field artillery, with a double allowance of ammunition, might
arrive in four months on the Indus, and in less than as many
more decide the fate of India. T-he desert, he thought,
would be no obstacle to any army provided with abundance
of camels and dromedaries. Such an enterprise would give
a high idea of the power of France ; it would fix attention
on its leader; it would surprise Europe by its boldness;
and, if attended with success, it might be productive of
mighty results. Such were the motives which appear to
have actuated Napoleon in proposing an expedition which,
from very different views indeed, was now detei mined on
by the French government.
Egypt, it is true, was then a tributary of the Porte, one of
the most ancient allies of France; but as the Mamlukes were
the real masters of the country, and in open revolt against
the Sultan, it was thought that the Divan, already occu¬
pied with the war against Paswan Oglou, pasha of Widin,
and that against the Wahabees, and obliged, from weak¬
ness, to tolerate the independence of a number of refrac¬
tory pashas, would not, for a mere shadow of sovereignty,
throw itself blindly into the ranks of the enemy. The pre¬
parations were accordingly carried on with great activity,
but with the utmost secrecy. All was under the direction
of Napoleon, and his characteristic energy everywhere ap¬
peared. To draw the attention of England from the ports
of the Mediterranean, he visited those of the Channel, and
affected to occupy himself with the project of crossing it,
when his thoughts were directed towards the invasion of
Egypt. At length, all being ready, he repaired to Toulon
on the 10th of May 1798, and, on the 19th, sailed from that
port with thirteen ships of the line, six frigates, and a fleet
of transports, having on board 25,000 men. He was joined at
sea by the squadrons which had sailed from Bastia, Genoa,
and Civita Vecchia, with from 7000 to 8000 men on board,
destined to form part of the expedition ; and on the 9th of
June the whole arrived before Malta. The subsequent
history of the expedition, until the return of Napoleon to
France, is fully detailed under that head; and in the ar¬
ticle Egypt will be found an account of the final conquest
of that country by the British under Abercromby and
LEON.
Hutchinson. To these articles the reader is therefore Napoleon
referred for ample information respecting both branches
of the subject. It is clear, indeed, that, after the destruc¬
tion of the French fleet at Aboukir, all the chances of suc¬
cess were changed. It is no doubt true that Napoleon
might still hope to maintain himself in possession of the
country, provided he succeeded in attaching the inhabi¬
tants to his cause. But two serious obstacles presented
themselves to the attainment of this object; namely, the
maritime blockade, which obstructed all exportation; and
the peculiar nature of the Mahommedan religion, which
forbids all obedience or submission to an infidel power.
Nor were these difficulties lessened by the failure of the
attack on St Jean D’Acre, which, in proving that the in¬
vaders were not invincible, encouraged resistance and in¬
vited hostility.1 The truth of this was soon exemplified by
the landing of a Turkish army of 15,000 men in the penin¬
sula of Aboukir, the fort of which they immediately stormed
and carried, putting the garrison to the sword. But they
paid dear for this momentary success. Napoleon pounced
on them like an eagle on its prey, and, by one blow, anni-
bilated a force which, if joined by the Mamlukes (who
had re-appeared in Lower Egypt) and by the insurgents of
the country, might have proved too formidable to be re¬
sisted with any prospect of success. This victory, gained
on the 25th of July 1799, gave the more pleasure to Na¬
poleon, that it served to wipe out the stain which the sig¬
nal defeat sustained by the French fleet under Brueys
had attached to the name of Aboukir.
The destruction of the Turkish army having consolidated
the position of the French in Egypt, Napoleon decided on
returning to France. Even when before St Jean d Acre,
he ascertained that a new coalition had been formed; and
at a later period he received, through Sir Sidney Smith,
several English journals, and the French gazette of Franc-
fort, which informed him of the reverses sustained by the
armies of Italy and the Rhine, as well as of the successive
revolutions which had completed the disorganization and
debasement of the Directory. The consummation which
he had contemplated before leaving France seemed to
have at length arrived ; and no obstacle stood in the way
to prevent his return to that country. A letter which he
had received from the government announced that Admi¬
ral Bruix was to sail from Brest, in order to rally under his
flag the Spanish squadrons and that of Toulon, and, having
iipol
/Y
1 There are two points connected with this expedition, in regard to which it may he necessary to say a few words. 1 hese are, first,
the massacre of Jaffa; and, secondly, the poisoning of the plague patients, at the same place, during the retreat from St Jean d’Acre
Fir’st^ as to the massacre, it has been urged, that Jaffa having been taken by storm, the garrison might, in the heat of the assault,
have been put to the sword. But, on that occasion, about two thousand men, the remains of the garrison, were made prisoners ; and
the question then arose, how they were to be disposed of. On the one hand, the French army wras too weak to admit of detaching suffi¬
cient escorts to guard them. On the other, it would have been worse than imprudent to send away on parole men amongst whom
the point of honour had no existence ; and, besides, a part of the prisoners consisted of Janissaries, who, having been taken at D-
Arish, had been liberated on a promise not to serve against the French during the war. In these circumstances Napoleon ordered
them to be shot, and the whole perished in consequence. Judged according to the principles of the law of nations, this revolting
butchery was wholly unjustifiable. At the same time, some allowance must be made for the circumstances in which he found him¬
self placed. Situated as he was, the safety of his army appeared to him to constitute the supreme lawr; a supposed necessity alone
rendered him cruel. Besides, had the case been reversed, these barbarians would have done the same thing ; they would have put
their prisoners to death, and gloried in sending their heads to Constantinople. These and other circumstances may in part account
for and excuse, but can never justify, the deed; and it cannot be denied that it leaves a deep stain on his memory.
Next, as to the poisoning of the plague patients, this is a subject in regard to which the most extravagant exaggerations hare
been disseminated. The facts are few, and may be briefly stated. Having raised the siege of St Jean d’Acre in order to return to
Egypt, he caused the hospitals containing the sick and the wounded to be evacuated, every means being put in requisition to trans¬
port them across the desert. But fifty, who had been seized with the plague, were not in a condition to be removed ; they might have
spread the pestilence in the army ; and if abandoned to the ferocious Djezzar, they would certainly have been massacred. In these cir¬
cumstances, Napoleon caused opium to be distributed to them, in order to give them death without suffering. He did wrong, and he
confessed it. But that he was actuated by a sentiment of humanity, and did to these men what, in like circumstances, he would have
wished done to himself, seems beyond doubt. This is proved by his conduct during the siege, as well as during the retreat. W hen
the plague w7as raging in the army, and the name of this horrible scourge shook the nerves of F.uropeans; when the sick despane
utterly, and the healthy, filled with indescribable horror, trembled to minister to them in their misery ; Napoleon went through the
hospitals, breathed hope into the sufferers, rebuked the cowardice of their attendants, and with his own hands relieved the foul ulc®r*
which no one dared to touch. On the retreat to Egypt, his attention to the sick was equally conspicuous. He issued an order tha
every horse should be given up for their service; and he himself marched on foot, exhibiting to the whole army an heroic exampe
of endurance and compassion. That Napoleon judged w'rong in regard to the plague patients, we, however, readily and fully adnn .
He should have left them to the mercy of the Turks, since such was the rigorous fate which their destiny reserved for them.
N A P O
I ipoleon. thus gained an ascendency in the Mediterranean, to bring
' back the army of Egypt, if circumstances rendered it ne¬
cessary to do so. Napoleon was at the same time authoriz¬
ed to return to France. But Bruix had not appeared, nor
was there any probability that he would, considering the
force and vigilance of the British squadrons. What mo¬
tive, then, could Napoleon have had to remain in Egypt ?
On the one hand, he felt himself capable of restoring to
his adopted country the lustre of victory, and the benefits
of internal and external peace. It was evident that the
people were sick of the Revolution, and that the time had
arrived for putting an end to it by securing the fruits of
that mighty convulsion. On the other hand, all] that re¬
mained to be done in Egypt was to colonize a conquered
country, for which the principal dispositions had already
been made; and Kleber was as capable of completing the
enterprise as Napoleon, provided success were still possible.
The latter conceived that he could be more serviceable to
his country in Europe; and, besides, having resolved to re¬
turn to France, the moment seemed propitious for carrying
his design into effect. This proceeding has been made
the subject of vehement declamation and virulent censure,
but, as it appears to us, without a shadow of reason. At
first Napoleon had received carte blanche from the Direc¬
tory ; next he had obtained express authority to return ;
and, in either case, it was perfectly competent for him to
do so. But, not to rest altogether upon this, the expedi¬
tion was either desperate, or it might still sustain itself.
In the one case, all that remained to be done was to sign
a convention of evacuation, which the humblest officer in
the army could do as well as its chief. In the other,
Kleber, who succeeded to the command, was capable of
contending against all the enemies then existing in those
countries, as he fully proved by his subsequent conduct,
particularly by the victory he gained at Heliopolis.1 In
these circumstances, Napoleon, having left the chief com¬
mand to this distinguished veteran, sailed from Alexan¬
dria on the 24th of August 1799, with a small squadron
of four ships, and, after a passage full of marvellous es¬
capes, landed at Frejus on the 6th of October. His pre¬
sence excited the enthusiasm of the people, and was con¬
sidered by them as the certain pledge of victory. His pro-
gress to the capital had all the appearance of a triumphal
procession, and, upon reaching Paris, he found that every
thing was ripe for a great change in France.
The circumstances attending the revolution of the 18th
of Brumaire (9th of November) have been narrated in the
article France. That event was not produced, but only
accelerated by the return of Napoleon. The necessity of
a change in the existing order of things had, for some time,
been generally felt and acknowledged. The constitution
of the year III., with its preposterous anomalies, was univer¬
sally detested, and the authorities which it had produced
were deficient in capacity; but it was more easy to indi¬
cate the evils which it had produced than to suggest the
remedies proper to be applied. At first view, the most sim¬
ple and regular mode appeared to be, to confide to the le¬
gislative body the important task of modifying the consti¬
tutional compact. But, in adopting this system, there was
reason to apprehend that the councils, eager to encroach
on the executive power, would seek every opportunity to
abridge it; whilst, on the other hand, if the initiative in
these changes were intrusted to the executive authority,
the danger became still more imminent that, on one pre¬
tence or another, the independence of the legislature would
LEON. 72-
he destroyed, and the councils driven to commit an act of Napoleon,
suicide similar to that which had decimated the legislative
body on the 18th ot Fructidor. Besides, what confidence
could be inspired by any reform, the duration of which de¬
pended upon the caprice of magistrates whose powers and
duties the constitution had so imperfectly fixed and defin-
i • Vn , e arriva^ °f Napoleon, however, the difficulties
w nc i had presented themselves in a great measure disap-
peared, and the idea of reforming a bad system by means
of itself was at once abandoned by all parties. The Direc¬
torial government having lost all hold on public opinion,
and become equally feeble and contemptible, it seemed ne¬
cessary to replace it by an imposing authority; and there
is none so much so as that which is founded upon military
glory. Napoleon perceived this in all its force. The Direc¬
tory could only be replaced by him or by anarchy ; and, in
such a case, the choice of France could not for a moment
be doubtful. Accordingly all parties now ranged them¬
selves under two distinct banners: on the one side were
the republicans, who opposed his elevation ; and on the
other all France, which demanded it. A coup d'etat was
nevertheless necessary to produce the revolution of the
18th of Brumaire; and this was effected by the employment
of the troops, although without spilling a drop of blood.
Napoleon had for a moment hoped that the projected change
would be carried by acclamation. He was disappointed.
But, after a short and noisy struggle, the republic, born
amidst anarchy, and baptized in blood, expired in cla¬
mour and uproar, Sieyes assisting in the demolition of his
own work; and the Directory was replaced by a provi¬
sional consulate, with Napoleon at its head. The dissolu¬
tion of the councils was followed by the appointment of a
legislative commission, and to a committee of this body was
assigned the task of preparing a new constitution, which
was afterwards denominated that of the year VIII.
Some of those who assisted in the revolution of Bru¬
maire seem to have supposed that Napoleon, satisfied with
the elevation he had attained, would not concern himself
about civil affairs, and would leave in their hands a large
share of the authority and patronage of the state. Great
as had been the ability displayed by him in the field, they
little expected that he would evince equal talents and ap¬
titude for government. But these persons, amongst whom
were Sieyes and Talleyrand, speedily discovered their mis¬
take. At the very first meeting of the consuls, a length¬
ened discussion took place concerning the internal condi¬
tion and foreign relations of France, and the measures not
only of war, but of finance and diplomacy, which it either
was or might be expedient to adopt. To the astonishment
of Sieyes, Napoleon entered fully into all these subjects,
showed perfect familiarity with them even in their mi¬
nutest details, and suggested various resolutions which it
was impossible not to approve. “ Gentlemen,” said Sieyes,
on reaching his house, where Talleyrand and others await¬
ed his arrival, “ I perceive that you have found a master;
one who can do and will do every thing himself.” The Abbe
was in the right. Napoleon had obtained the first place in
the state ; and it soon became evident, that whilst he fully
understood the nature and duties of his position, he claim¬
ed the undivided exercise of the supreme authority. The
mass of the nation confided in him, because it knew that
the Revolution could have no better guarantee than his;
that his elevation held out the prospect of victory abroad,
and of a stable government at home, under which life and
property would enjoy security; and that whilst he had no
1 “ Ce central, instruit, spirituel, vaillant, etait un des plus beaux hommes de I’Europe. Cetait I’iddal du dieu Mars; terrible
dans les combats, calme £t froid dans les combinaisons, grand administrateur, cheri du soldat, il ressemblait en tous points au Mare-
chal de Saxe. S’il n’eut pas [’occasion de se placer parmi les capitaines du premier rang, il avait 1 etoite pour le devemr; peut-etre
n’entendait il pas la strategie dans toute 1’etendue de ses combinaisons, mais il y tut parvenu par son genie et 1 habitude de commande-
ment.” (Fie de Napoleon, &c. tom. i. p. 302.) But all these high expectations were cut short by the dagger of an Arab assassin,
hired to revenge the defeat sustained by the Turks at Heliopolis.
728
Napoleon.
NAPOLEON.
force except in placing himself at the head of the interests
which the Revolution had created, he would employ every
means to repress that anarchy under which the nation had
so long groaned. Nor were these expectations disappoint¬
ed. The work of reform proceeded rapidly and surely;
order was everywhere established, and vigour infused into
all the departments of the state. The situation of Fiance,
however, occasioned him some disquietude ; and, notwith¬
standing the chances of success in his favour, he resolved
to sue for peace, which he could then do in good faith,
because the misfortunes of the preceding campaigns were
not his work. But Pitt turned a deaf ear to the applica¬
tion, and never did statesman commit a greater fault, for
that was perhaps the only moment at which the allies could
with safety have concluded a peace, as France, in suing
for it, virtually acknowledged herself vanquished. By this
refusal, the English minister obliged Napoleon to enter
upon that course of victory and conquest which ultimately
extended his empire over the greater part of the Continent.
War being thus inevitable, the First Consul issued a de¬
cree, dated the 7th of January 1800, ordaining the forma¬
tion of an army of reserve, to consist partly of veterans, who
were ordered to rejoin their respective corps, but princi¬
pally of a new levy of 30,000 conscripts. At this time
France had three armies on the frontiers, exclusively of the
force under General Brune, which watched the partisans of
the house of Orange in Holland. The army of Italy, redu¬
ced to 30,000 men, had taken refuge on the rocks of Ge¬
noa ; 10,000 more guarded the Cottian Alps and Dau-
phine; and the army of the Rhine, which reckoned above
100,000 combatants, was cantoned in Alsace and Switzer¬
land, from Strasburg to SchafFhausen. In the presence of
the superior forces which the enemy had assembled in the
valley of the Po, the French durst not venture to repass
the Alps; but it was nevertheless essential either to pene¬
trate at once into Italy and Germany, or to strike such a
decisive blow on the Danube, that the peninsula might there
be reconquered by dictating peace to Austria in the heart
of the hereditary states. In the one case, a double plan of
operations would be necessary ; in the other, Mantua, Alex¬
andria, and Milan, were to be recovered at Vienna. Napo¬
leon did not long hesitate as to the course to be adopted.
He called out the conscripts; caused arms to be forged;
appealed to the sentiment of national honour, which is
never altogether dormant amongst the French; and as¬
sembled an army, young, it is true, but full of enthusiasm.
The miserable state of the army of Italy has already been
noticed; but that of the Rhine, when united to the army
of Italy, presented a fine and formidable body of men, the
command of which Napoleon intrusted to Moreau, at the
same time sending him the recruits necessary to complete
his different corps, and to put him in a condition to assume
the offensive. The remainder of his disposable troops was
directed on Dijon, where he organized an army of reserve,
amounting to 40,000 men, which, from that central point,
might be ready to march into Suabia, Switzerland, or Italy,
according as circumstances should require. The nucleus
of this army was formed by two fine divisions, originally
drawn from that of General Brune, and which had just
completed the subjugation of La Vendee.
Napoleon’s first thought was to leave the army of Mas- Napoleor: ^
sena in defence on the Apennines, and to carry the army of
reserve and that of the Rhine into the valley of the Danube.
As the constitution of the year VIII. did not permit the con¬
suls to command the army in person, his intention was to
intrust that of the reserve to a lieutenant, and to leave the
grand army to Moreau, but at the same time to accompany
the head-quarters of the latter, and thence to direct the ope¬
rations of both. This, however, was warmly opposed by
Moreau, who refused to command under Napoleon if the
latter should come to his army, and at the same time ob¬
jected to the plan of operations which the First Consul had
proposed.1 2 Being not yet sufficiently strong to break with
a man who had numerous partisans in the army, and who,
had he possessed energy, might have occupied the first
place in the state, Napoleon was obliged to yield ; and, ac¬
cordingly, leavingto hisrival thecommandof thefinest army
which France had yet seen, with full power to direct it on
the Danube in his own way, he then decided to conduct
his conscripts by the St Gothard into Lombardy, ordering
Lecourbe to second his operations as soon as Moreau should
have developed his plan of campaign, and gained the first
success. Finding, however, that the attention of Melas was
exclusively fixed on Genoa, into which Massena, with the
remains of his force, had been obliged to throw himself;
and being anxious, if possible, to relieve that place, which
was closely invested ; he resolved to give the preference to
the shorter route of the Great St Bernard, leaving that of
the St Gothard to be followed by the corps which were on
their march from the Rhine. In the beginning of May Na¬
poleon set out for Dijon, and on the 8th he arrived at Ge¬
neva, where he made the necessary dispositions for effect¬
ing the passage of the Alps. The operations which followed
have been pretty fully detailed in another place. (See the
article France.) By a series of well-combined manoeuvres
and demonstrations, Napoleon deceived Melas as to his
movements, descended like a torrent from the Alps upon
his line of communications, and, by a single march, con¬
quered Italy. Genoa had indeed surrendered ; but the
battle of Marengo, fought on the 14th of June, repaired
every thing, and, by a victory snatched from the enemy,
after he thought the fortune of the day decided, completed
at one blow the conquest of Italy. Never as yet had Napo¬
leon been in such imminent peril, not even at Arcole; never
had genius and fortune more happily conspired to change
the fate of battle. The victory was glorious, and its re¬
sults were immense. A convention was entered into, by
which Melas obtained permission to retire with his army
behind the Mincio ; and, in return, he consented to give up
Coni, Alexandria, and Genoa, with the fort of Urbino, the
citadels of Tortona, Milan, Turin, Pizzighetone, Piacenza,
Ceva, and Savona, and the castle of Arona. The armistice
of Alexandria was soon afterwards extended to the armies
of Germany, and negociations ensued, which, however, in
the end proved unsuccessful.
Meanwhile both parties continued their preparations for
a renewal of the contest; and as all hopes of peace had
entirely vanished, Napoleon resolved to put an end to the
armistice in the middle of November, and, notwithstand¬
ing the severity of the season, to recommence hostilities.
1 The form of the refusal was somewhat extraordinary. Napoleon had addressed himself directly to the king of Great Britain,
but his letter remained unanswered. The secretary of state for foreign affairs, however, transmitted a note to Talleyrand, in which
he indicated the return of the Bourbons to France as the only means of putting an end to the troubles of Europe. It was, to say the
least, curious to see a government which had twice treated at Lille, and recognised both the Republic and the Directory, refusing to
treat with a more solid authority, sanctioned and supported by all France, and deposited in the hands of a man whom victory had
illustrated.
2 The plan proposed by Napoleon was, in a military point of view, preferable to that adopted by Moreau. He wished the latter
to pass the Rhine at Schaffhausen, to take Kray in reverse, and to cut him off from Vienna, by driving him into the angle formed
by the Mayn and the Rhine ; in a word, to operate against the left of the Austrian general, as he himself did five years afterwards
against the right of Mack at Donawerth. Had this plan been adopted, the French would have marched without difficulty on Aus¬
tria, and would have reconquered Italy in Germany, perhaps at Vienna.
NAPOLEON.
729
the armistice, and between^lm mrfndS2°7ttalUhe pSy dum-ed^OnIhrone^tal^1 CT' NaP°Ie0n'
ceived the daring project of attacking the Austrians under forced to receive the law of Foli/nn
BeHegarde on the Mincio, by causing Macdonald, with the had taken place between the ^nS'ffovernmeTand th^
army of the Gnsons, to clear the whole chain of the Rhae- court of Rome ; the Emperor of Russia hadThrown him
tian Alps, in order to debouche upon Trent, and drive back self into the arms of France ; and the new order of things
the Austrians on the lagoons of Venice, at the same time established in that country had acquired a consistent
that Brune assailed them in front. And this plan was, to a which justified its formal recognition.4 On the other hand!
England had obtained important advantages
certain extent, executed. Macdonald effected the passage
of the Splugen, at a time when the mere traveller dreads
to expose himself amidst its snows, ice, and storms, with
every customary precaution j1 * * and Brune, being thus join¬
ed by the army of the Orisons, defeated the Austrians,
and advanced to within a few miles of Venice. But these
were, after all, only secondary operations. The fate of the
contest was to be decided in Germany, where hostilities
recommenced towards the end of November ; and, in a few
days afterwards, Moreau obtained a decisive victory at Ho-
henlinden. The battle was obstinate and bloody, but never
for an instant doubtful; indeed it is one of the few instances
to be met with in war where complete success was obtain¬
ed by the literal execution of the plan previously devised
by the general-in-chief. Moreau lost not a moment in
taking measures to improve his success. The Austrians
were vigorously pursued, and being driven from Salzburg,
and other positions on the Inn, where they had endeavour¬
ed to make a stand, were forced to sue for an armistice,
which was concluded at Steyer on the 23d of December ;
the cabinet of Vienna having consented to detach itself
from England, and to treat for a separate peace. The
operations of the army of Italy were also suspended, in
consequence of an armistice which Brune had taken it
upon him to conclude at Treviso; and, early in February
1S01, a definitive treaty of peace was signed at Luneville,
by which France secured the boundaries of the Rhine and
the Alps. This treaty, in fact, differed but little from that
which, in 1797, Napoleon had concluded atCampo-Formio.
But amidst all these successes, the event of the 3d of Ni-
vose (24th of December) convinced Napoleon that he was
still upon a volcano. This conspiracy was unforeseen ; in¬
deed it was the only one which the police had not baffled
beforehand. It took effect, because the conspirators had
no confidants. The plan was simple, for it consisted in
obstructing the progress of Napoleon’s carriage as it pass¬
ed along the Rue St Nicaise, and in the same instant ex¬
ploding a machine crammed with all sorts of combustibles,
and hence called the infernal machine. Napoleon escaped
by a miracle ; and the interest evinced by the people in his
preservation amply indemnified him for the danger to which
he had been exposed. The time had not been well chosen
by the conspirators, for in France nothing was yet ready
for the Bourbons. The assassins were tried, condemned,
and executed, glorying in their design, and lamenting that
it had not been successful.
The second coalition being thus dissolved, England alone
maintained an attitude of hostility to France ; but the pro¬
gress of events soon developed a prospect of an accommo¬
dation. Pitt, sensible that the war had no longer any le¬
gitimate object, retired from the ministry; and his succes¬
sor in office lost no time in renewing with M. Otto the ne-
gociations which had been broken off towards the close of
- i «&v.o. The north¬
ern confederacy had been dissolved, or rather destroyed,
by the victory of Copenhagen, followed, as it had been, by
vigorous demonstrations against Russia ; and the ultimate
expulsion of the French from Egypt was no longer a mat¬
ter of doubt. On both sides there existed the strongest
motives for accommodation, because neither had apparent¬
ly any thing more to gain by continuing the contest, and
because each could now treat without any great sacrifice of
honour or of dignity. Egypt and Malta were at first stum¬
bling blocks in the way of an arrangement; but the con¬
quest of the one led to an adjustment respecting the other ;
and at length, after a tedious negociation, preliminaries of
peace were signed at London on the 1st of October 1801,
and these were afterwards followed by a definitive treaty,
which was concluded at Amiens on the 27th of March 1802.
But the peace of Amiens, like that of Campo-Formio,
proved merely an armistice. It was signed in the midst ©f
mutual suspicion ; and, before the ink was dry, difficulties
arose, and from day to day accumulated the elements of a
speedy and inevitable rupture. It is not our business here,
however, to enter at all into these matters; and in what re¬
mains of this article we must confine ourselves exclusively
to what is personal to Napoleon.
During this short cessation of arms, the attention of the
First Consul was occupied with the re-establishment of re¬
ligion, and the arrangement of a Concordat with the pope.
The churches were deserted and in ruins ; and, since the fa¬
mous civil constitution of 1791, the clergy had been in a
state of complete schism. His object was to restore the one
and to reconcile the other, but without suffering them to
acquire the power and influence they had formerly possess¬
ed ; and, in pursuing it, he was actuated by the same motive
which had led Henri IV. two centuries before to espouse
the Catholic religion. His next measure was the estab¬
lishment of a system of National Education, the necessity
of which had been much felt ever since the universities and
schools under the management of the clergy had been
broken up amidst the first violence of the Revolution; and
this was followed by the commencement of the great and
difficult but highly important task of providing France with
an uniform Code of Laws. Innumerable works of public
utility were likewise begun. Roads and bridges were plan¬
ned ; museums were founded ; and the vain were gratified
with rising monuments of magnificence, whilst the reflect¬
ing recognised in every such display the depth and fore¬
cast of a genius formed for empire. This was more fully
evinced in the measures by which Napoleon sought to se¬
cure the prolongation of his power. The establishment of
the consulate for life, which was decreed on the 2d of Au¬
gust 1802, proved a grand step towards the completion of
his design, and formed the primary base of the edifice
which it yet remained for him to construct. This dignity
1 When the project for effecting the passage of the Splugen was communicated to Macdonald, he declared the enterprise imprac¬
ticable, and sent the head of his staff to state his objections, as well as to explain the inadequacy of his means. Napoleon listened at¬
tentively to the statement of this officer, and, after interrogating him on a variety of matters, and at the same time analysing the
different hypotheses which the vast theatre of the Alps suggested for his combinations, he replied, “ Je ne changerai rien a mes dis¬
positions. lietournez promptement; je vais rompre 1’armistice. Dites a Macdonald qu'une armee passe toujours, et en tout saison, par-
tout oii deux hommes peuvent poser le pied. II faut que, quinze jours apres la reprise des hostilites, I’armee des Grisons se trouve aux
sources de I’Adda, de I’Oglio, et de I’Adige.”
VOL. XV. 4 z
730
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, had already been prorogated for ten years by a senatus-
’ consultum of the 6th of May; but on referring the matter
to the people, it was decided that the consulate should be
conferred upon him for life. He was now virtually sovereign
of France. His task was to terminate the Revolution by
giving to it a legal character, that it might be recognised and
legitimated by the public law of Europe. But he knew,
that before proposing to do so it was necessary to estab¬
lish its principles, consolidate its legislation, and destroy
its excesses. He believed himself strong enough to suc¬
ceed in this, and he did not deceive himself. The prin¬
ciple of the Revolution was the extinction of Castes, not
that of Ranks; it was the equality of Rights, not that of
Classes; and by legislating in this spirit, Napoleon main¬
tained all that was worth preserving. With the same view,
and in accordance with the same principle, he instituted a
new order of chivalry, called the Legion of Honour, which,
if it served to further his scheme of empire, did not mili¬
tate with that equality which alone he sought to maintain.
This is not the place for entering into any disquisition re¬
specting the causes which so soon led to the rupture of the
hollow truce of Amiens. Where a pretence is wanted for
coming to blows, it will always be found. Napoleon in¬
sisted on the evacuation of Malta, in terms of the treaty,
declaring that he would rather see the English encamped
on the heights of Montmartre than see them in possession
of that island. The British government, on the other hand,
professing to discover, on the part of Napoleon, a desire
to colonise Egypt, refused to give up Malta; and, after
much diplomatic discussion, they presented an ultimatum,
in which, as the French ministers had offered to subscribe
any arrangement which might satisfy England on the sub¬
ject of Egypt, they consented not to retain Malta as a
possession, but only to reserve the right of occupying it
for a period of ten years ; at the same time stipulating that
the French troops should evacuate Holland and Switzer¬
land, and that an indemnity in Italy should be secured for
the king of Sardinia. On these conditions they offered to
recognise the king of Etruria and the Ligurian Republic.
But, firm in his resolution not to deviate from the condi¬
tions of the treaty of Amiens, Napoleon rejected all these
different articles, and nothing remained but again to have
recourse to arms. On the 18th of May 1803, Great Bri¬
tain declared war against France ; and that fierce contest
recommenced which, after an unexampled career of victory
on the part of Napoleon, was destined to terminate in his
downfall. His first measures were, the occupation of
Naples and of Hanover; the one undertaken in the view
of excluding English commerce from the ports of the south
of Italy, and the other for the purpose of holding that he¬
reditary possession until England should discover the ne¬
cessity of fulfilling the article of the treaty of Amiens re¬
specting the surrender of Malta. His next project was
one of a far more daring and formidable character, namely,
that of invading England, and thus striking a blow at the
heart of his inveterate and implacable enemy. This ope¬
ration, though difficult, he always regarded as practicable;
the various chances he had carefully analysed and investi¬
gated ; vast combinations were formed with a view to fa¬
cilitate the descent; and enormous preparations were made
for the purpose of carrying it into effect. During the years
1803 and 1804, the French coasts opposite England were
covered with camps, in which troops to the amount of
160,000, mostly veterans, were assembled; considerable
squadrons were prepared at Brest, Rochefort, and Toulon ;
and vast flotillas, intended to convey the troops across the
Channel, were formed and exercised at various ports, par¬
ticularly at Boulogne. On the other hand, the spirit of
England was effectually roused, and immense preparations
were made to repel the threatened invasion. The menaced
descent rendered it necessary to organize a system of de¬
fence which entailed enormous burdens on the country, Napoleon., (ipol
and this to Napoleon was so much gained.
But notwithstanding the vast extent of the means called
forth for the defence of the country, the English ministry
were not without serious apprehensions as to the result of
the threatened invasion ; and, to cause a diversion, they are
said to have countenanced the unwarrantable warfare of
plots and conspiracies. The projects of Pichegru, Georges
Cadoudal, and others of the same stamp, are all well known,
and have already been described in the article France.
That assassination was contemplated by most of them, ap¬
pears, from the evidence produced, to admit of no doubt
whatever ; indeed Cadoudal candidly and boldly admitted
the fact, at the same time expressing his regret that the
project had failed. This must be kept in view in order to
judge fairly of what followed. Finding himself exposed to
the attempts of desperadoes who aimed at his life, Napoleon
resolved to deal a decisive blow, which he considered as
indispensable, at once to strike terror into his enemies, and
to fix the opinion of those millions of Frenchmen who had
adhered to the Revolution, and combated in its defence. A
distinguished Bourbon was at the gates of Strasburg; the
police pretended to have discovered evidence which impli¬
cated him in the designs of those who had plotted against
the life of the First Consul; and, under the first excitement
produced by this information, the fatal command was issued
to seize the prince and bring him to Paris. The order was
promptly obeyed, and the Duke d’Enghien, having been
seized at Ettenheim, in the territory of Baden, was carried
to Paris, where, on his arrival, he was tried by a military
commission, as an emigrant who had borne arms against
France, condemned, and shot almost immediately after the
sentence had been pronounced. This was the most un¬
warrantable occurrence in the life of Napoleon. Through¬
out the whole affair he seems to have been hurried on by
a species of fatality, which blinded him to the true cha¬
racter of the proceeding, and prevented him from reflect¬
ing on the consequences of which it was certain to be pro¬
ductive. That he was misled by the infamous reports of
the secret police, and by the perfidious suggestions of those
around him, may perhaps be true; indeed there is good
reason to believe that such was the case. He was likewise
kept in ignorance of the afflicting circumstances which ac¬
companied the catastrophe; and the appeal made to his
clemency by the unfortunate prince was infamously with¬
held until after the sacrifice of the ill-fated victim had been
consummated ; but, with every allowance which can justly
be made, it must nevertheless be admitted that, in com¬
manding the seizure of the duke in a neutral territory, he
became answerable for all the consequences which ensued,
and that he had the double misfortune to incur the guilt
of a public crime, and at the same time to commit a politi¬
cal error of the greatest magnitude.
The conspiracies intended to subvert the power of Na¬
poleon, however, served only to confirm it; and the neces¬
sity of restoring to France an hereditary and stable govern¬
ment had now become equally obvious and urgent. An
elective authority gives occasion to continual convulsions;
it is contemptible even where it is connected with a legi¬
timate dynasty, as in Poland and in the Germanic empire ;
and in a country situated like France it would have been
the height of absurdity. A motion was accordingly made
and carried in the Tribunate, that the imperial dignity
should be conferred upon Napoleon ; the legislative body
without hesitation adopted the proposition; and a sena-
tus-consultum appeared, in which he was declared Empe¬
ror of the French, with remainder to his male line, or, in
the event of his having no children, to any son or grand¬
son of his brothers whom he might chuse to adopt as his
heir. This decree was sent down to the departments, and,
on the 1st of December 1804, the prefects reported that
N A P 0
ipoleon. between three and four millions of citizens had subscribed
their assent to the proposed measure ; a result which cer¬
tainly indicated the approbation of the French people. By
the army the elevation of Napoleon was hailed with en¬
thusiasm ; and when he visited the camp at Boulogne, he
was received with an excess of military devotion. His
coronation took place at Paris on the 2d of December,
amidst all ^that was most splendid and illustrious in that
capital. The ceremony was performed in the cathedral of
Notre-Dame, where the pope officiated on the occasion,
and consecrated the diadems, which Napoleon placed on
his own head and on that of the Empress Josephine. In
like manner, on the 25th of May 1805, he placed on his
head the iron crown of the Lombard kings, in their ancient
capital, and henceforth styled himself Emperor of the
French and King of Italy; announcing, however, that
the two crowns should not be held by the same person
after his death. Never was any revolution so easily ef¬
fected as that which overturned the French republic, in
defence of which so much blood had been shed. And the
reason is plain ; the substance of all that had been fought
for was maintained; the name only was changed.
The history of the wars of the empire belongs to that of
Fi ance, Spain, Austria, Prussia, and Ilussia, to which the
reader is accordingly referred. To give details of these
various contests would fill many volumes, and even the
most meagre abridgment would occupy a space far ex¬
ceeding the limits prescribed to this article. The Em¬
peror Napoleon again made an offer of peace, which was
rejected, and a new coalition, being the third, was formed
against France. The ostensible objects of this league were
to restore the independence of Holland and Switzerland,
to free the north of Germany from the presence of the
French troops, to deliver Piedmont, and to compel the
evacuation ot Italy ; but its grand aim and design, in as
far as concerned England, was to find employment for the
French troops on the Continent, and to avert, for a time
at least, the dangers of a threatened invasion. The hopes
of the allies were, however, speedily crushed by the de¬
cisive victories of Ulm and Austerlitz; and Napoleon would
soon have been at liberty to turn his arms against England,
had it not been for two events, one of which served in a
great measure to counterbalance his successes in Germany.
We allude to the battle of Trafalgar, in which, on the 21st
of October 1805, the very day after Mack surrendered at
Elm, the French grand fleet was annihilated by one mighty
blow, and the means of effecting a descent on England
completely destroyed. The other event above referred to
was the declaration of war by Prussia, after Austria had
been crippled and forced to receive the law from the con¬
queror, and whilst the Russian army was still behind the
Vistula. This rash and headlong conduct was dearly ex¬
piated at lena and Auerstadt, and the dismemberment of
the Prussian monarchy formed a just retribution for the
double perfidy and presumptuous confidence of the cabi-
net of Berlin. The campaign of 1807, after a prodigious
effusion of blood, terminated with the battle of Friedland ;
and the peace of Tilsit, which followed, not only confirm¬
ed the humiliation of Prussia, but appeared to throw Rus¬
sia into the arms of France. The French emperor had al¬
ready made a gigantic stride towards the establishment of
an European monarchy, and the effectual exclusion of Eng¬
lish commerce from the ports of the Continent, by which
means he vainly hoped eventually to reduce Great Britain
to the necessity of listening to terms of accommodation.
LEON. Y3]
In prosecution of this system, which ultimately proved Napoleon,
the mam instrument of his ruin, when, to all human appear-
ance, it seemed about to be crowned with success, Napo¬
leon commenced his aggressions on Portugal and Spain, and
thus entangled himself in a struggle which, like a festering
ulcer, continued to gnaw at the vitals of his power, and be¬
came the proximate cause of his ultimate overthrow. In
vain did he bring all his means to bear upon this unhappy
contest; in vain did he drive the English under Sir John
Moore out of Spain. If permitted to finish his task, the
subjugation of the Peninsula could not have been long de-
fen ed; but the formation of a fourth coalition again called
him away into Germany, where Austria, scarcely dissem¬
bling her aversion to the continental system, was actively
preparing to take up arms, in the hope of recovering what
she had lost, and freeing herself from the yoke of France.
Ihe attempt, however, proved unsuccessful; and though
accident gave her a temporary advantage at Aspern, the
battle of Wagram placed her once more at the feet of the
conqueror. At this moment the power of Napoleon seem¬
ed irresistible. No enemy opposed him on the Continent
except the insurgents in Spain, aided by the English;
and had he instantly directed his whole energies to termi¬
nate the w'ar in the Peninsula, it is probable that his power
would have remained unshaken by any reverse likely to
befall him. But he judged otherwise ; and, in seeking to
attach Austria to his interests by a marriage with a prin¬
cess of the imperial family, he became involved in a sys¬
tem of policy, the ultimate term of which was the abdica¬
tion of 1814. From this moment his ascending movement
was stopped ; he had reached the culminating point of his
greatness ; and though his genius had as yet lost nothing
of its vigour, his power began to decline.
The events of 1810 and 1811 belong chiefly to the his¬
tory of Spain, where the impassible system of Wellington
was gradually but steadily breaking down all opposition,
and maturing a resistance which every day became more
formidable. Those of 1812 were fraught with the destiny
of Napoleon. He had long regarded a war with Russia as
inevitable. The co-existence of two such empires as those
of France and Russia seemed to him incompatible ; and dif¬
ferences speedily arose which prognosticated a terrible col¬
lision. The preparations on both sides were immense ; the
fate of Europe, or rather of the empire of the world, was
about to be decided in a single campaign ; but Napoleon
contemplated the conflict without dread, because, in his
view, it afforded the only means of terminating for ever the
long struggle which had consumed his life. Russia was too
strong ever to enter voluntarily into the European system,
such as Napoleon wished to reconstruct it, with France as
its pivot; but the development of that system he consi¬
dered as indispensable to his own safety, not to mention the
stability of his power; and hence war seemed to him to
be inevitable. Russia, on the other hand, resolved stern¬
ly to abide the terrible onset, and to trust to her cause, her
climate, and her arms. The result is known to all. Amidst
the frozen steppes of the Scythian wilderness perished those
invincible legions which had carried the imperial eagles in
triumph to Vienna, to Berlin, to Warsaw, and to Moscow.
No such catastrophe had ever been witnessed in modern
times; all preceding examples of suffering and disaster in
war sank into nothing in comparison with it.1 Yet Napoleon,
undismayed by the magnitude of the calamity, displayed
the almost miraculous resources of his genius in repairing
the losses he had sustained; and his appearance in Ger-
The causes which led to the disastrous termination of Napoleon’s Russian campaign appear to have been various. 1. The neces¬
sity of advancing beyond Smolensko in the first campaign, a necessity imposed by circumstances which only left to Napoleon the choice
of proceeding further or retracing his steps. 2. The circumstance of no decisive battle having taken place between Wilna and the Dwi-
na, within which limits a repetition of Austerlitz or of Friedland would have placed Europe at his feet. 3. The imbecile conduct of
Jerome, in not destroying Bagration after he had been cut off by the movements of Napoleon. 4. The indifference of the Poles of
732
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, many early in 1813, at the head of a powerful army, is per-
v v haps the most astonishing circumstance in his extraordinary
career. But fortune had now completely changed sides.
Victorious at Lutzen, at Bautzen, and at Dresden, he was,
through the treachery of his allies, and the faults of his
lieutenants, defeated at Leipzig, and forced to retreat
beyond the Rhine. Still he maintained the struggle with
incomparable energy and perseverance; and never did his
transcendent genius for war display itsell more lesplen-
dently than in the astonishing campaign of 1814, when,
by incredible efforts, he struggled, though in vain, to ex¬
pel the invaders from the territory of France. But the
battle of Montmartre, followed by the capitulation of Paris,
decided the fate of the campaign, and with it that of Na¬
poleon. He might indeed have retired behind the Loire, and
there rallied under his banners Soult, Suchet, and Auge-
reau, with a mass of from 120,000 to 130,000 men ; but
the marshals were tired of war, the spirit of the nation
had sunk under its misfortunes, the people demanded that
a term should be put to their sufferings, and Napoleon
himself shrunk from entailing upon France the still great¬
er calamities of a civil war. In these circumstances, he
resolved to abdicate, and, on the 18th of April, signed an
instrument by which he renounced for himself and his heirs
the thrones both of France and of Italy.
The allies having left Napoleon the choice of his retreat,
he chose the island of Elba, near to Corsica, where he was
born, and close to Italy, the first theatre of his glory; and
set out, accompanied by four commissioners, one from each
of the great allied powers. He was allowed to retain the
title of Emperor, and to take along with him a small num¬
ber of those veteran soldiers who had accompanied him in
so many dangers, and whose attachment was not shaken by
his misfortunes. In traversing France on his way to the
place of his exile, he had occasion to observe the extreme
divergence of opinion respecting himself; for in propor¬
tion as he was beloved and regretted in the environs of
Paris and the provinces of the east, he was detested in
those of the south, where even the respect due to misfor¬
tune was denied him ; and he was more than once obliged
to put himself under the protection of the stranger, to de¬
fend his life against the people who had been so often in¬
toxicated with his triumphs. On the 4th of May he land¬
ed in Elba, wherein, being separated from his wife and son,
and without any projects for the future, he seemed to re¬
gard himself as politically dead to Europe, with no other
task remaining for him to perform but that of writing the
history of the rise and fall of his power.
But the march of events advanced so rapidly, that he Napoleon.
* 1 1 .    1 » nm ^. 1 X . M 4* I J % A «~v V— A. ITT 1
Jipol
was surprised by them even in his retreat. He perceived'
that Louis XVIil. had not discovered the secret of his
age ; he was convinced that the majority of France desired
to secure the results of the Revolution ; and he knew that
this majority would ultimately dictate the law. Louis
XVIII. had no doubt granted a charter, which was excel¬
lent in itself, as all charters are when taken by themselves ;
but such acts are valuable only with reference to the autho¬
rity charged with defending them ; and in France the king
was not so much the head of the state, as the head of a
party which regarded the charter with aversion, as a con¬
cession to the revolutionary principle, and hoped to destroy
it piecemeal, according as opportunities oftered for doing
so. Napoleon anxiously watched the progress of events,
which outrun his expectations ; he was also well informed
as to what passed at the congress of Vienna ; and having
learned in time that the ministers of Louis XVIII. had
proposed to the congress to remove him from Elba, in
order to send him in exile to St Helena, he conceived a
project which will appear audacious in history, but which,
in reality, circumstances indicated as the only reasonable
course to be followed. He resolved to return to France.
His preparations were not long; he brought nothing with
him but arms, and trusted that France would provide the
rest. After a passage of five days, he landed without op¬
position at Cannes, near the spot where, fifteen years before,
he had disembarked on his return from Egypt. This me¬
morable event took place on the 1st of March 1815. He
had no determinate plan, because he wanted particular data
as to the state of affairs ; his intention was to be guided by
events, making provision only for probable contingencies.
Nor was he at all embarrassed as to the route he should
take ; for he required a point of support, and as Grenoble
was the nearest fortress, he lost no time in directing his
march on that place, which opened its gates to receive him.
The enthusiasm of the troops knew no bounds, and the re¬
ception which he everywhere met with confirmed him in
his project. In fact, his march to Paris was throughout a
triumphal procession. In twenty days this new revolution
was terminated without having cost a single drop of blood.
Amidst the acclamations of all France, Napoleon was rein¬
stated on the throne. The grandeur of his enterprise had
effaced the recollection of his misfortunes ; it had restored
to him the confidence of the French people ; and he was
once more the man of their choice.
Napoleon had refused the peace which was offered him
at Chatillon, because he was then on the throne of France,
Volhynia and Podolia, who did not second Napoleon’s projects with the ardour he expected, though it was undoubtedly their interest
to aid him by every means in their power. 5. The total want of resources in Lithuania, occasioned partly by the deficient harvest ot
the preceding year, and partly by the contributions levied to fill the Russian magazines. 6. The distance of the French magazines
established at Kbnigsberg, which were twenty-five marches in the rear, so that it required fifty days for a convoy to go and return,
a circumstance which prevented the possibility of regular distributions. 7- The inexplicable delay at Wilna, where Napoleon remained
fifteen days inactive, instead of pushing at once on Glubokoe and Polotsk, or falling upon Bagration at Minsk, either of which would
have led to important results, though the false direction given to the principal Russian army on Drissa pointed it out as the main ob¬
ject of attack. 8. The inefficient conduct of Murat, in command of the van-guard, who, with thirty thousand horse, failed to make
any serious impression on the enemy during their retreat. 9, The tactical error committed at Borodino, in crowding the troops into
masses; a circumstance which prevented the extreme left of the Russians from being assailed with sufficient vigour by the old Smo-
lensko road, where success would, in all probability, have been decisive. 10. The discontinuing the pursuit of the Russian army on its
departure from Moscow, when it was much weakened in numbers, and greatly shattered by the dreadful conflict in which it had re¬
cently been engaged. 11. Want of knowledge of the country, the existing maps of which were detestable, and often served to mis¬
lead, whilst no accurate information could be obtained from the inhabitants. 12. The peace with Turkey, and the alliance of Ber-
nadotte with the Russians, which altered all the chances, by giving two armies more to the enemy. 13. The progress made by the
Russians in the art of war, which was particularly evinced in the conduct of the retreat from Drissa, and subsequently in the move¬
ment which united the different masses of the Russian troops on the Berezina, one of the most remarkable military operations of the
age. 14. The capital fault committed by Napoleon, in not uniting under one vigorous and able chief the corps of Macdonald, Oudi-
not, St Cyr, and Victor, and in leaving, "disseminated on the Dwina, 100,000 men, who, if united, would have destroyed Wittgenstein,
and rendered his position secure. 15. And, lastly, the great efforts made by the Russian nation, and the resolute character displayed
by the Emperor Alexander. Such appear to us to have been the principal causes which led to the disastrous termination of Napo¬
leon’s Russian campaign. The whole calamity has usually been attributed to the cold ; but this was so far from being the primary
cause of failure, that it continued to be very supportable till the arrival of the French on the Berezina, where, out of 300,000 men
whom Napoleon had either moved on the Dwina or carried to Moscow, not more than 50,000 remained in a condition to fight.
N A P O
ipoleon. and the terms proposed would have made him descend
—too much ; but he could accept that which had been grant¬
ed to the Bourbons, because he had just returned from
Elba, and because one at the head of a great movement
may stop short when ascending, but never when descend¬
ing. Peace, however, was denied on any terms. It was
declared by the Congress of Vienna, in’ a proclamation
published by them to all Europe, that Napoleon, “ by ap¬
pearing again in France, had deprived himself of the
protection of the law, and manifested to the world that
there could neither be peace nor truce with him.” No¬
thing remained, therefore, but to commit the future des¬
tiny of Europe to the arbitrement of arms. The most
active preparations were accordingly made on both sides;
by Napoleon, to repel the threatened aggression ; and by
the allies, to overturn the government which had been so
suddenly reconstituted in France. Various attempts were
made to open a negociation with the allies, but all proved
abortive ; and as Napoleon had no intention to await the
onset of his enemies, he resolved to fall upon the Anglo-
Prussians, before the troops of Austria or Russia could
be in a condition to take part in the conflict. By the end
of May he had about 180,000 ready to take the field,
and by the middle of July this number would have been
increased to 300,000 ; but by transporting the seat of war
into Belgium, he would save France from invasion, draw
on the enemy six weeks sooner than he would have come
of his own accord, and perhaps also take him unprepared.
These considerations decided him to become the assailant.
On the 12th of June he set out from Paris, and on the
14th he established his head-quarters at Beaumont, where,
in order to profit by the dissemination of the enemy, he
judged it necessary to open the campaign without a mo¬
ment’s delay.
Accordingly, he passed the frontier of Belgium on the
15th, and on the following day advanced to Fleurus, where
he discovered the Prussian army ranged in order of battle
between St Amand and Sombref. Ney had received orders
to push forward with 42,000 men by the Brussels road as far
as Quatre Bras, an important point situated at the intersec¬
tion of the roads leading to Brussels, Neville, Charleroi,
and Namur, and there to keep the English in check, and
prevent them from advancing to the aid of the Prussians,
whom Napoleon proposed to attack with the 72,000 men
that remained under his command. The battle of Ligny fol¬
lowed, in which the Prussians were defeated ; and so com¬
plete was the rout, that, of 70,000 men, their generals were
never afterwards able to assemble more than about 30,000.
A night pursuit would have annihilated them. But Ney
had been much less fortunate at Quatre Bras, where he
displayed great infirmity, neither bringing his whole force
to bear on the English, nor throwing himself back on
Bry to act on the rear of the Prussians. The Prussian
army being thus defeated, Grouchy was detached in pur¬
suit of it with 35,000 men, whilst Napoleon proceeded to
turn his efforts against Wellington. We have no space to
detail the operations which followed, nor even to describe
that fierce conflict which decided the fate of Napoleon,
and with it that of Europe. The result, more fatal to
France than that of either Agincourt or Poictiers, is known
to every one. By the timely arrival of the Prussians, who
had given the slip to Grouchy, and their junction with the
English, the French army was not only defeated, but to¬
tally dispersed. In the conduct of the battle Napoleon cer¬
tainly committed faults, particularly in forming his troops
into too deep masses, and also in employing his cavalry
too early in the action ; but these sink into nothing compar¬
ed with the gross blunders of his lieutenants, by which both
the French army and himself were utterly undone.
LEON.
He returned to Paris, in the hope that the national spirit Napoleon,
might be roused, and that all good Frenchmen would unite
in defending their country against another foreign invasion.
But he soon found that he had deceived himself. Misfor¬
tune had deprived him of all consideration ; he experienced
opposition where he least expected it; the chambers rose
in a state of insurrection against him ; and, in a short time,
e was compelled to sign a second abdication. He then
decided to retire to America, and at first proposed to em¬
bark at Bordeaux, where his brother Joseph had hired a
met chant-vessel for the purpose. But he afterwards chan¬
ged his purpose, and set out for Rochefort, where he ar-
lived on the 3d of July. Finding it impossible, however,
to put to sea, and nearly equally perilous to return to the
interior, he took the resolution of throwing himself upon
the generosity of the prince regent of England; and, on
the 15th, embarked on board of the Bellerophon, in Aix
roads. It is universally known in what manner this appeal
was answered. By a formal decision of the English go¬
vernment, he was sent as a prisoner of war to St Helena,
where he pined away in hopeless exile, until death put an
end to his misery on the 3d of May 1821. In his will he
had expressed a desire that his body should be conveyed
to France and buried on the banks of the Seine, “ amongst
the French people, whom he had loved so wellbut this
request could not, it seems, be complied with ; and he was
interred in a spot near Longwood, the place of his resi¬
dence in the island, where a huge block of stone uncarved
with a name covers the remains of him who needs no
epitaph.
Posterity will judge of the treatment which Napoleon
experienced at the hands of England. A prisoner in ano¬
ther hemisphere, he laboured to defend the reputation
which he knew history was preparing for him, and which
various parties exaggerated or blackened, according to the
dictates of their respective prejudices or passions. But
death surprised him at the moment when he was putting his
commentaries into shape, and he consequently left them
imperfect. They contain much, however, that is not only
valuable in itself, but calculated to dispel prejudice, and
to throw light upon some of the most important events
in his life; and no one can read them attentively without
experiencing a feeling of respect and sympathy, mixed
with admiration. No man, perhaps, was ever made the ob¬
ject of such unsparing abuse, such bitter detraction, such
inveterate and unrelenting rancour ; but it is already cer¬
tain, that neither envy, nor malice, nor hatred, nor slander,
will ultimately succeed in depriving him of his just fame.
By his victories of Montenotte, Castiglione, Rivoli, the Py¬
ramids, Marengo, Ulm, Austerlitz, lena, Friedland, Abens-
berg, Ratisbon, Wagram, Dresden, Champaubert, Mont-
mirail, and Ligny, he acquired enough of glory to efface
the single disaster of Waterloo ; and his five codes embody
a system of jurisprudence, in the formation of which he had
a principal share, and which has not only proved a boon of
inestimable value to France, but is even at this day re¬
ceived as authoritative in a great portion of Europe ; thus
justifying his own proud anticipation, that he would go
down to posterity with the codes in his hand. The monu¬
ments which he has left in France and in Italy will also
attest his grandeur to the most remote ages ; and though
he can neve*- be freed from the reproach of ambition, yet,
in extenuation of this “ glorious fault,” he might say, like
Mahommed,
Je fus ambitieux     
Mais jamais roi, pontife, ou chef ou citoyen,
Ne consul un projet aussi grand que le mien. (A.)
734
Napoleon’s
Land
II
Narain-
gunge.
N A R
NAPOLEON’S LAND, a tract of land on the southern
coast of New Holland, which extends about fifty leagues,
from long. 138. 58. to 140.10. E., and from lat. 35. 40. to
37. 36. S., in the course of which there is no river nor inlet.
It was discovered by Captain Baudin in the year 180^.
The French, who also sent a squadron of discovery to
the coast of New Holland, comprehend under this tit e a
much larger extent of coast, commencing at about HU.
E. long, and stretching from 33. to 39. S. lat., includ¬
ing the whole coast from Cape Leeuwin on the west, to
Wilson’s Promontory on the south. Part of this was, how¬
ever, previously explored by the expedition under Captain
NAPOLI DI ROMANIA, a city of the Morea. It is
situated near the upper end of the fine gulf ot Napoli, at the
distance of seven leagues from the north-west end of the
island of Pezza, or Spezzia. The gulf is irregularly formed,
and has in it several islands. It was at one period the seat
of the Greek government, having been taken from the
Turks in December 1822.
It is a place well situated both for defence and tor com-
merce; it has an excellent and secure harbour, and has
been sometimes described as the Gibraltar of the Archi¬
pelago ; but it is not at present in the best state of defence.
Before 1821, this place was the d6pot of almost the whole
of the exportable produce of Greece, and it carried on a
most extensive commerce in sponges, silk, oil, wax, and
wines. At present it has not recovered from the effect of
the war which so long desolated the country. Though the
first appearance is striking, from its position at the foot of
a gigantic and abrupt promontory, with impregnable castles
on its summits ; yet, on entering, the narrow streets, the
meanly built houses, the humid air impregnated with foe¬
tid odours, and the general filthiness, are most disgusting
to every new comer. This condition of the place has
produced epidemic fevers, which at various periods have
swept away a large portion of the population. The num¬
ber of inhabitants is very fluctuating, and no very accurate
statements are attainable. They have been recently esti¬
mated at from 14,000 to 20,000; but if even the smaller
number be correct, it must be the most populous place of
its size of any city in Europe, for the houses are so small
that in every room there must be four or five persons.
The manners of the people are still purely eastern, few of
the females, except the very poorest, being to be seen out
of their dwellings.
NAPPAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Gu-
jerat, thirty miles east by north from Cambay. Long. 73.
15. E. Lat. 22. 27. N.
NARAINGUNGE, a considerable trading town of Ben¬
gal, in the district of Dacca, pleasantly situated on the
western branch of the river Brahmapootra, denominated the
Luckia. It is a place of great trade and industry ; its prin¬
cipal commodities being grain, salt, tobacco, and lime. A
considerable quantity of fine muslin is also manufactured
here ; and a scene of activity is exhibited in this place which
is very seldom seen in a community purely Hindu. During
the rainy season the greater part of the country is inun¬
dated. There are still many remains of ill-constructed
fortresses, which were raised in this vicinity in the seven¬
teenth century, to protect the country against the Hughs
or Arracauners, who at that time made inroads into Bengal
with their war-boats, and not only pillaged whole villages, but
also carried away the inhabitants and sold them for slaves.
On the opposite side of the river is a noted place of Mahom-
medan pilgrimage called Cuddumresoul, where is shown
the impression made by the prophet’s foot on a stone ; it is
much reverenced by the pious Mahommedans, who resort
to it in great numbers from Dacca and the adjacent vil¬
lages. The inhabitants amount to 15,000. The principal
merchants are not natives of the town, but come from dif-
N a R
ferent districts, and bring their families along with them.
Long. 90. 35. E. Lat. 23. 37. N.
NARAINGUR, a town of Bengal, in the province of
Orissa, and district of Midnapoor. It was formerly sur¬
rounded by a thick wood, defended by batteries at the en¬
trances ; but during the contests between the Afghans and
the Moguls such defences were found available against the
incursions of cavalry. It is sixty-six miles south-west
from Calcutta. Long. 87. 35. E. Lat. 22. 11. N.
NARANGABAD, a town of Hindustan, in the terri¬
tories of the nabob of Oude, seventy miles north-north¬
west from Lucknow. Long. 80. 30. E. Lat. 27. 45. N.
NARANJOS, a cluster of small islands amongst the
Philippines, twelve miles north-east of Masbate. Long.
123. 54. E. Lat. 12. 29. N.
NARASINGHAPOOR, a town of the south of India,
in the province of Mysore, situated on the banks of the
Cavery, immediately below its junction with the Capini.
It contains about 300 houses, and the surrounding country
is productive. The only ferry-boats here are what are
called donies, which are circular baskets, eight or ten feet
in diameter, and covered with leather, in which the inha¬
bitants cross the river. Long. 77. 5. E. Lat. 12. 8. N.
NARBERTH, a town of South Wales, in the hundred
of its own name, in Pembrokeshire, 254 miles from London.
It is situated on a hill, contains two townships, and has
a market, which is held on Wednesday. The population
amounted in 1801 to 1531, in 1811 to 1779, in 1821 to
2395, and in 1831 to 2589.
NARBONNE, an arrondissement of the department of
the Aude, in France, 610 square miles in extent. It is
divided into six cantons, and these into seventy communes,
containing 51,200 inhabitants. The capital is the city of
the same name, which is the seat of an archbishop. It is
situated in a deep valley, surrounded with mountains, out
of which the river Aude issues, and by a canal it is con¬
nected with the Mediterranean Sea. This canal, construct¬
ed by the Romans, divides the city into two parts. The
cathedral is a fine object, with a magnificent portal lead¬
ing to it. It contains 2100 houses, and 10,500 inhabitants,
who make woollen cloths, and trade largely in wine, oil,
honey, silk, and other productions of the soil. It was a
city of much importance under the Romans ; and many in¬
scriptions of that age are still found. Long. 2. 54. E. Lat.
43. 10. N.
NARCISSUS, in fabulous history, the son of the river
Cephisus, and of Liriope the daughter of Oceanus. He
was a youth of great beauty; and Tiresias foretold that he
would live until he should see himself. He despised all
the nymphs of the country, and made Echo languish till
she became a mere sound, by refusing to return her pas¬
sion ; but one day returning weary and fatigued from the
chase, he stopped on the bank of a fountain to quench his
thirst, and, seeing his own form in the water, became so
much in love with the shadowy image, that he languished
till he died. The gods, being moved by his fate, changed
him into the flower which bears his name.
NARCONDAM, a small uninhabited island in the Bay
of Bengal, but so high that its peak may be seen at a
great distance, and, in fact, serves as a land-mark. It is
twenty-seven leagues to the eastward of the Great Andaman,
and is covered with wood. Long. 94. 12. E. Lat. 13. 25. N.
NARIAD, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Gujerat, formerly belonging to the Guicowar Mahratta
chief. This town, with the adjoining district, was ceded
by the Guicowar to the British in 1803, in part payment
of the subsidiary force ; and at that time the territory was
estimated at 175,000 rupees. It is twenty-five miles north-
north-east from Cambay. Long. 72. 59. E. Lat. 22. 42.
NARIKEE, a town of Hindustan, situated in the
province of Agra. It is twenty-eight miles east-north-
N A R
Long. 78. 20. E. Lat. 27.
arlah east from the city of Agra.
, II 18. N.
'a^ses^, NARLAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Orissa, possessed by independent native chiefs. It is thirty
miles east from the town of Bustar. Long. 83. 5. E. Lat
19. 50. N.
NARNALLAH, a town and fortress of Hindustan, in
the province of Berar, belonging to the rajah of Nagpoor.
It is a place of considerable strength, being built of stone,
and situated upon the top of a mountain. Long. 77. 30.
E. Lat. 21. 40. N.
NARNOUL, a town and district of Hindustan, in the
province of Agra, being situated principally between the
28th and 29th degrees of north latitude. It belongs to
several independent chiefs. The principal towns are Nar-
noul and Rewary. Narnoul, the capital, and the residence
of an independent chief, is situated in long. 76. 8. E. and
lat. 28. 4. N.
NARNI, a city of Italy, in the delegation of Spoleto, in
the ecclesiastical territory. It is beautifully situated on
the side of a hill, at the foot of which the river Nera runs
through a valley of great fertility, producing abundance of
figs, raisins, and currants. The town is neat, but not well
peopled, the inhabitants not much exceeding 5000, though
it is the see of a bishop, and has a cathedral, five parish
churches, seven monasteries, and five nunneries. Here
are the remains of an aqueduct, which furnishes spring
water to the city. It was built by the Emperor Augustus,
and is a prodigious pile of masonry. Long. 12. 16. 15. E.
Lat. 42. 31. N.
NARO, a city of Sicily, in the province of Mazzara,
about seventy-five miles from Palermo. It stands on a
height at the mouth of the small river of its own name,
known to the ancients as the Hypsa. Articles of commerce
from this place are shipped at the mole of Girgenti, a work
constructed with large blocks of marine exuviae, consist¬
ing almost wholly of petrified shells, which were brought
from the ruins of the temple of Jupiter Olympius in the
year 1756. There is here a presidio for criminals con¬
demned to hard labour, who work chiefly in clearing the
harbour of the deposits occasioned by the southerly winds.
This place is remarkable from the peculiar properties of
its granaries, which consist of large conical cisterns or re¬
servoirs excavated in a calcareous rock, and entirely free
from the effects of humidity, so that the corn can be kept
twenty years without injury. No charge is made for thus
housing the corn, but when it is exported the government
derives some benefit. Naro contains about 10,000 inhabi¬
tants, and is esteemed a healthy place.
NARRATION, in oratory, poetry, and history, a reci¬
tal or rehearsal of facts as they occurred, or as it is sup¬
posed they occurred. Lord Karnes, in his Elements of
Criticism, has detailed and illustrated, at great length,
the rules and directions which appeared to him necessary
to be observed in the use of narration ; and, in other works
of a similar description, the same subject is also treated of,
with greater or less minuteness, according to the particular
objects which the authors had in view.
N ARSES, an eunuch, who emerged from obscurity, and
rivalled Belisarius in heroism, under the reign of the Em¬
peror Justinian. From the domestic service of the palace,
and the administration of the private revenue, he was sud¬
denly advanced to the head of an army ; and he is ranked
amongst the few eunuchs who have rescued what Lord
Byron contemptuously calls “ the third sex” from the con¬
tempt and hatred of mankind. A feeble diminutive body
concealed the soul of a statesman and a warrior. His youth
had been employed in the management of the loom and
the distaff, in the cares of the household, and in the service
of female luxury; but, whilst his hands were busy, he
secretly exercised the faculties of a vigorous and a discern-
N A R
735
mg mind. A stranger to the schools and the camp, heNarsingah
ade it his study in the palace to dissemble, to flatter, and II
to persuade ; and as soon as he approached the person of Narva-
e emperor, Justinian listened with surprise and pleasure'
o the manly counsels of his chamberlain and private trea¬
surer. 1 he talents of Narses were tried and improved in
requent embassies. He also led an army into Italy, ac¬
quired a practical knowledge of the war and the country,
and presurned to rival the genius of Belisarius. Twelve
years after his return, the eunuch was selected to achieve
the conquest which had been left imperfect by the first of
the Roman generals. Instead of being dazzled by vanity
or ambition, he seriously declared, that unless he were pro-
vmed with an adequate force, he would never consent to
risk his own glory and that of his sovereign. Justinian
granted to the favourite what he might have denied to the
hero; the Gothic war was rekindled from its ashes; and
the preparations were not unworthy of the ancient majesty
of the empire. Narses defeated the Goths, the Franks, and
the Alamanni; the Italian cities opened their gates to the
conqueror, who entered the capital in triumph ; and, hav¬
ing established the seat of his government at Ravenna, he
continued to govern Italy under the title of exarch during
fifteen years. His virtues, we are informed, were stained
with avarice ; and in this provincial reign he accumulated
a treasure of gold and silver which surpassed the modesty
of a private fortune. His government was oppressive and
unpopular; and the general discontent was expressed with
freedom by the deputies of Rome. Before the throne of
Justinian they boldly declared that their Gothic servitude
had been more tolerable than the despotism of a Greek
eunuch; and that unless their tyrant were instantly re¬
moved, they would consult their own happiness in the
choice of a new master. His disgrace was thus the effect
of popular disaffection ; and his death, though in an ex¬
treme old age, was unseasonable and premature, since his
genius alone could have repaired the last and fatal error of
his life. He died about the year 567, and, as some say,
though it does not appear very probable, at the advanced
age of ninety-five.
NARSINGAH, a town of Hindustan, province of Orissa,
belonging to an independent Hindu chief, fifty-eight miles
west by north from the town of Cuttack. Long. 85. 20. E.
Lat. 20. 41. N.
NARSINGUR, a town of Bengal, in the district of Mid-
napore. It formerly possessed a good fortress, which has
been allowed to fall into decay ; but the town continues to
flourish, being favourably situated for inland trade. Long.
86. 40. E. Lat. 22. 34. N.
NARSIPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the Northern
Circars, and in the district of Ellore. It is situated on the
southern branch of the Godavery, and is forty-eight miles
north-east from Masulipatam. Long. 81. 50. E. Lat. 16.
21. N.
NARUNGPORE, a town of Hindustan, province of Al¬
lahabad and district of Ghazypore, being delightfully si¬
tuated on the western bank of the Ganges, opposite Buxar.
NARVA, a city of the government of St Petersburg, in
Russia. It is the capital of the circle of the same same,
which is extensive, but it contains only 16,000 inhabitants.
The city is situated on the river Narowa, is surrounded
with walls, and divided into the old and the new town. It
contains three Greek and two Lutheran churches, with
460 houses, and 3750 inhabitants, who have several saw¬
mills and flatting-mills, and make many nails. It has a
small harbour, from which wood, flax, and hemp are ex¬
ported, about a mile below the city. The place is remark¬
able for the battle fought there between the Swedes and
Russians in 1700, when the army of the latter, amounting
to 100,000 men, was defeated by the former with only
7000. Long. 27. 44. 25. E. Lat. 59. 21. 40. N.
736 NAS
Narwar NARWAR, a town and district of Hindustan, in the
II province of Agra. The town is situated on the south-east
Nassau. £rn side of the g;n(ie river, and is of considerable antiquity,
having been conquered by the Mahommedans as early as
1251. It afterwards recovered its independence, and in
1509 was again under the government of a Hindu prince,
from whom it was subsequently taken. This place was, in
1810, surrendered to Scindia. Long. 78.12. E. Lat. 25. 41.
N. The district is situated principally between the 25th
and 26th degrees of north latitude, and is a woody and hilly
country, of a rich soil in many parts, and extremely pro¬
ductive. The Sinde is the principal river, and the chief
towns are Narwar, Collarass, and Shepoory. Ihe lion has
been found in this district.
NARYM, the chief town of a district of the same name
in Asiatic Russia, traversed by the small river Narymka.
It is situated on the Obi, near its confluence with the Ket.
It was originally a simple ostrog or palisadoed fort, but now
contains a church and 100 inhabitants. It is 200 miles
north of Tomsk. Lat. 59. 13. N.
NASEBY, a parish of the county of Northampton, in
the hundred of Guilsborough. It is situated in an agri¬
cultural part of the county, containing, in 1801, 538 inha¬
bitants ; in 1811, 598; in 1821, 697 ; and in 1831, 707. It
is remarkable from the decisive victory obtained near it
by Cromwell over the army of Charles I. in 1645, a vic¬
tory which terminated the civil war of that period.
NASO, a town of the island of Sicily, in the kingdom
of Naples and province of Demone, situated on a river of
the same name, 110 miles from Palermo. It is in a healthy
and lofty situation, on the site of the ancient city of Aga-
thynum, and contains 8000 inhabitants.
NASSAU, a sovereign dukedom in Germany, the reign¬
ing family of which is distinguished by its antiquity, and
the number of eminent men it produced at the most inte¬
resting period of European history. The founder of the
sovereignty of this family was Waltram of Laurenburg, the
ruins of whose castle stand on the banks of the Lahn. His
sons divided the inheritance among them; but some branches
NAS
that in case of the extinction of that branch of the family Nassau,
of Nassau which filled the throne of the Netherlands, the '"—v—-
present ducal family of Nassau should succeed to the in¬
heritance of the duchy of Luxembourg. The stipulations
on this subject seem to be at present the principal obstacles
to an arrangement between the Dutch and the new king¬
dom of Belgium.
The house of Orange-Nassau, which produced a race
of distinguished heroes favourable to the reformation, and
amongst others our King William III. was a branch, descend¬
ed from Otho, a younger son of the house separated from
the principal one in the year 1292. There were many in¬
termarriages between the families at subsequent periods,
and during the long contest in the Netherlands the Prince
of Orange drew great aid, both in men and money, from
his relations in the then countships of Nassau.
The dukedom of Nassau in its present state is bounded
on the north-west and on the north by the Prussian Rhe¬
nish provinces ; on the north-east by Hesse-Darmstadt; on
the east by Prussia, Hesse-Casel, and Hesse-Homburg; on
the south-east by the state of Francfort; and on the south
and west by the Prussian territory and Darmstadt. It
stands wholly on the right bank of the river Rhine, into
which the small but navigable river Lahn falls. The sur¬
face, independently of the rivers, extends over 1812 square
miles. It is divided into twenty-two ampts or bailiwicks.
It contains ten cities, which are mostly small, but retain
that denomination from having been once fortified, twenty-
five market-towns, and 429 villages, with a population in
1834 of 370,374 inhabitants of both sexes. This district
in 1817 contained, by the census then taken, only 301,907
individuals. In the year 1833 the births were, males 6690,
females6252; the deaths were, males4557, females 4506;
and the marriages were 3367.
The reigning house adheres to the Protestant religion;
and the two sects of Lutherans and Calvinists have been
united into one, assuming the title of Evangelical. There
are 196,387 Protestants, 167,800 Catholics, 6009 Jews,
and 184 Menonites. The Protestants of Nassau have a
becoming extinct, the whole were united again in the year bishop, twenty deans, 178 pastors, and a theological se-
1523, under Count Adolph, and continued so till 1605,
when, under Louis II. the territories were distributed
among three of his sons, who thus became sovereigns with
the title of Graffs or Counts. They were, first, Saarbruck,
divided in the next generation into two branches, called
Saarbruck-Sarbruck and Sarbruck-Usingen, both of which
were again united in 1735; but the branch became extinct
in 1797, and the land devolved on the present line: Se¬
condly, Idstein, a branch which became extinct in 1721:
Thirdly, Weilburg, on which all the states devolved, and
since 1816 have formed but one principality. During the
French revolution, the city of Saarbruck, with its territory
upon the left bank of the Rhine, was seized by the republi¬
cans. It then comprehended 430 square miles of land, with
53,000 inhabitants; for which, at the pacification in 1803,
it received an indemnification of 750 square miles and
93,000 inhabitants, which were added to the Grafschaft of
Usingen. The Count of Weilburg had lost, on the left
bank of the Rhine, 170 square miles and 19,000 inhabitants,
for which he received on the other side of that stream a
territory of 330 square miles, with 37,000 inhabitants. At
the period when Napoleon instituted the confederation of
the Rhine in 1806, the whole of these families had been
united in the person of the existing prince, who then re¬
ceived, in addition to the former territories which he pos¬
sessed, a tract of land of 650 square miles, with 84,500 in¬
habitants, and at the same time the title of duke was con¬
ferred upon the reigning prince.
At the peace which followed the capture of Paris, the
territory assigned to the dukedom, as well as the title, were
affirmed by the great powers; and by them it was stipulated,
minary. The Catholics have a bishop and a commissary,
fifteen deans, and 138 parish priests, and also a seminary
for clerical instruction. Education is much extended and
well conducted. At Weilburg there is a gymnasium or
college; there are also several respectable grammar-schools,
and 658 schools for popular instruction, under competent
teachers, so that every child is taught reading, writing, and
the common rules of arithmetic.
The government is hereditary in the present family, and,
if it become extinct, it devolves on that branch ot the Nas¬
sau family at the head of which is the king of Holland.
By a charter granted in the year 1817, there are two
houses of legislature; the upper consisting of hereditary
members, of individuals of the royal family, and of a few
mediatized princes, being six together; the lower house
is elective, and consists of twenty-one members, amongst
whom are the Catholic and Protestant bishops, and the
director of the gymnasium of Weilburg, by virtue of their
offices. These bodies rarely meet, and have little to do
when they do assemble, as few alterations are made in the
laws, and new taxes Are not wanted.
The income of the state, independently of that of the
duke, from which the public, civil, and ecclesiastical insti¬
tutions are paid, is about L.180,000 per annum ; but it has
a debt charged on it amounting to near L.500,000, which
is yearly diminished by a sinking fund. The personal in¬
come of the duke is very large, arising from his estates,
houses, and mineral springs; but the amount is unknown,
as are also the debts by which they are encumbered. The
duke has a most magnificent palace on the right bank of
the Rhine at Biberach, another at Wiesbaden, and seve-
NAT
ral hunting seats for pursuing his favourite amusement in
other parts of his dominions.
The military force of the dukedom consists of two regi¬
ments of infantry, one battalion of artillery, a company of
pioneers, and a reserve corps serving as a kind of police.
I he contingent of Nassau to the Germanic confederation
is fixed at 3026 men.
x he face of the country may be represented as in gene¬
ral mountainous, though there are some rich and beautiful
tracts of land near the river, about Hochst. There are
two ranges of hills which run through the territory, viz. the
Westerwald and the Taunus. The latter is the most pic¬
turesque, several of its points rising to 1000 feet above the
level of the river ; whilst some of the'valleys in these hills
contain the mineral springs, and the vast piles of building
erected near them for the accommodation of their visit>
ants. As these springs have been made familiar to the
English public by the popular work entitled “ Bubbles of
the Biunnens of Nassau, we need here do little more
than merely notice them. The baths of Ems are on a
beautiful stream which runs into the Rhine; and on its
banks are a great number of lodging-houses and hotels.
Langen Schwallbach, about twelve hilly miles distant, in
another valley, with the surrounding hills covered with
woods, is pleasantly situated. It too is well provided with
hotels and lodging-houses. Schlangenbad consists of but
two large buildings, though with sufficient apartments
for numerous parties. W iesbaden is the most frequented,
because the water is most highly valued for its curative
effects, and has, besides, a greater variety of amusements
than either of the other baths, being in contact with the
city, which is a well-built place, containing more than 9000
inhabitants. One of these springs is most remarkable for
the profit it yields to the duke, who is the proprietor of
it, as well as of the others. Nieder-Selters supplies that
water which is known in every part of Europe by the name
of beltzer. About one million of large and two millions
and a half of small bottles or jugs are filled from the spring
and sealed. The profit is stated to be about L.5000 per
annum, after clearing all expenses; though it is said to
have been purchased by an ancestor of the duke for a
single pipe or butt of wine.
I he agriculture of the dukedom produces sufficient corn
and cattle for the consumption of the inhabitants, though
it is generally conducted in a slovenly way. The vine¬
yards produce sufficient wine of a moderate quality, and
fruit of all kinds is plentiful and excellent.
Nassau. See Foggy Isles.
NASSUCK, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Aurangabad, ninety miles north from Poonah. Long. 73.
50. E. Lat. 19. 49. N.
NATAANA, a small village of Northern Hindustan, in
the province of Serinagur, situated amongst mountains,
and enjoying, in consequence of its elevation, a delightful
climate during the summer months. The surrounding coun¬
try has a naked appearance. Long. 78.48. E. Lat. 20.7. N.
NA1AL, or Natar, a Malay settlement on the south¬
western coast of the island of Sumatra, several miles south
of the island of Tabuyong. It carries on a pretty consider¬
able commerce ; and, besides the English, who have had a
settlement here since the year 1752, it is inhabited by set¬
tlers from the countries of Achin, Rau, and Menang Kabau.
The English settlement was destroyed by the French in
1760, but was soon re-established, and the possession se¬
cured by the treaty of Paris in 1763. There is a consi¬
derable demand here for manufactured goods, such as
piece-goods, opium, coarse cutlery, ammunition and guns,
brass-wTire, and China ware; the returns for which are
usually made in gold and camphor. The gold from the
interior is of a very fine quality, but it is frequently adul¬
terated. The anchorage is about two miles off the shore,
VOL. xv.
NAT
in five fathoms water. It is one of the worst roads on the
western coast of Sumatra, having numerous shoals in it,
and often a heavy sea running. The town is governed by
a native magistrate, who has considerable sway; and the
influence of the British East India Company was never so
predominant here as in the pepper districts to the south-
waid, owing to the w'ealth and independent spirit of the
people. Long. 99. 5. E. Lat. 0. 18. N.
NATHDORAH is a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Ajmeer, where there is a celebrated Hindu tem¬
ple, supported by considerable grants of villages, which are
considered so sacred that the contending armies of the
Rajpoots and Mahrattas have commonly respected them.
Ihe temple is occupied by innumerable Brahmins and de¬
votees.
NATION, a collective term, used for a considerable
number of people inhabiting a certain extent of land, con-
hned within fixed limits, and under the same government.
NATIONAL DEB f, the money owing by government.
See the articles England, 4unding System, Political
Economy, and Taxation.
^ National Education. In the hope that we shall be
aole, at a more advanced stage of the work, to record the
introduct ion by the legislature of a system of education for
the people, we shall defer the consideration of the subject
till we come to the article on Schools.
NATIVIDAD, a small island, situated in the North Pa¬
cific Ocean, about fourteen miles south-east of the island
of Cerros. It is of a moderate elevation, about four miles
in length, and of a dreary and barren aspect. Lone. 244.
60. E. Lat. 27. 57. N. r 5
NAlIVTl Y, or Natal Day, is the day of a person’s
birth. The word nativity is chiefly employed in speaking
of the saints; as, the nativity of St John the Baptist, &c.
But when we say the Nativity, it is understood of that of
Jesus Christ, or the feast of Christmas.
Nativity, nativitas, a term in ancient law'-books, which
signifies bondage or servitude.
Nativity, in Astrology, the theme or figure of the
heavens, particularly of the twelve houses, at the moment
when a person was born, and called also the horoscope.
Casting the nativity, or by calculation seeking to know
how long the queen should live, &c. was made felony by
the 23d Eliz. c. 2.
NATOLI A, the modern name of Asia Minor, the most
westerly part of Turkey in Asia, and consisting of a large
peninsula, which extends from the river Euphrates as far
as the Archipelago, the Sea of Marmora, and the Straits of
Gallipoli and of Constantinople, by which it is separated
from Europe on the west. It is bounded on the north
by the Black Sea, and on the south by the Mediterranean.
NATTRADACOTTA,a town of Hindustan, in the nro-
vince of Tinnevelly. Long. 78. 10. E. Lat. 8. 46. N.~
NATRUM, or Natron, the nitre of the ancients, is one
of the fixed alkalies. It is found in great abundance in
many parts of Asia, where the natives sweep it up from
the surface of the ground, and call it “ soap-earth.” The
earliest account we have of it is in the Scriptures, where
we find that the salt called nitre in those times would fer¬
ment with vinegar, and that it possessed a detersive qua¬
lity, in consequence of which it was used in baths and in
washing. Solomon compares the singing of songs with a
heavy heart, to the contrariety of vinegar and nitre; and
Jeremiah says, that even if the sinner should wash himself
with nitre, his sin would not be cleansed off. These are
properties which perfectly agree with this salt, but not at
all with our saltpetre, which is the nitre of the moderns.
N ATT AM, a town of Southern India, in the Poly gar
territory, fifteen miles east by south from Dindigul. Long.
78. 10. E. Lat. 8. 46. N.
NATTORE, a town of Bengal, in the district of Rau-
5 A
737
Nathdo-
rah
II
Nattore.
738
NAT
Natun
Isle
jeshahy, advantageously situated on the northern bank o
the Attri River. Mulberry trees abound in the surround-
i ing country, and on them are reared numerous silk-worms.
History. Between Nattore and Jaffiergunge there is a very exten-
sive morass, supposed to be the old bed of tae Ganges,
and here, during the rainy season, a sheet of water ex¬
tends as far as Dacca, which is nearly 100 miles, navigab e
by boats, and in which tract are seen the villages erected
on artificial mounds and groves of trees projecting out ot
the water to the right and left. Long. 88. 55. E. Lat.
25. N.
NATUNA Isle, Great, an island in the China Sea,
thirty-four miles in length by thirteen in average breadth.
It is mountainous, and surrounded by numerous small
rocky isles. It is situated in the 4th degree of N. lat. oft
the north-east coast of Borneo.
NATUNAS Isles, North, a cluster of very small
islands in the China Sea. The best track for ships bound
to China from October to December is past these islands
to the north. Long. 109. E. Lat. 4. 45. N.
Natunas Isles, South, a cluster of small islands on
the north-western coast of the island of Borneo, about
long. 109. E. and lat. 3. N.
NATURAL, in general, is something which relates to
or concerns nature.
Natural, in Heraldry, is a term used where animals,
fruits, flowers, and the like, are blazoned with the colours
they naturally possess, though different from the common
colours of heraldry ; and this is done to prevent armories^
being accused of falsity when blazoned with the names ot
colours unknown in heraldry.
Natural Note, in Music, is used in opposition to flat
and sharp notes, which are called artificial notes.
Natural is also employed to indicate something coming
immediately out of the hands ot nature ; in which sense it
is opposed to factitious or artificial, which signifies some¬
thing wrought or produced by art.
Definition. NATURAL HISTORY. The objects of nature may
be considered under two points of view ; first, with respect
to their form, structure, habits, and individual properties,
when viewed in a state of inactivity ; and secondly, with
respect to the mutual changes which they produce when
made to act upon each other. Hence the study of nature
may be divided into two parts, namely, Natural History
and Natural Science; the former considering bodies in
comparatively an inactive state, and the latter in a state of
mutual action.
Natural History, then, is that part of natural knowledge
which teaches us to distinguish and describe the objects
of nature ; to examine their appearance, structure, proper¬
ties, and uses ; and to collect, preserve, and arrange them.1
Immensity 1. When we take a general survey of the objects with
of nature’s which we are surrounded, we are bewildered amidst the
works. number and the variety which are everywhere presented
to our view. The air, the woods, the fields, and the waters,
teem with myriads of animals ; a large proportion of the
earth’s surface is covered with a green mantle of luxuriant
herbage, interspersed with plants and flowers of a thousand
varied tints; and when we search below this, or when we
explore the cloud-capt mountain, the gloomy mine, the se¬
questered cavern, or the rocky cliff, we discover a great
variety of mineral substances, either piled into irregular
NAT
masses, or lying in uniform beds or layers, disposed in veins Natural
or seams, or scattered at random through the other stony ^History,
matters. ,
To the casual observer, the number and variety of these
objects would appear almost infinite, and he would consi¬
der it as impossible to enumerate them as to number the
stars or count the sands on the sea-shore. This idea, how¬
ever, arises from his seeing them lying in confusion and
disorder. The naturalist, by separating them into those
groups or classes in which they often naturally present
themselves, has succeeded not only in distinguishing the
several kinds from each other, but even in guessing pretty
accurately at the number of species which have hitherto
been discovered. In fact, there are two objects which
should principally occupy the attention of the naturalist;
first, to classify natural substances; secondly, to examine
their structure.
The number of natural productions being confessedly Classifica'
very great, it is necessary to find out some means of dis-tion.
tinguishing them from each other, and of recognising them
on seeing them anew. These means are the peculiarities,
or the assemblages of peculiarities, which belong exclu¬
sively to each body. Now there is scarcely any substance
which has a simple character, that is, which can be dis¬
tinguished from every other substance by any one of its
properties singly. It is only by the combination of seve¬
ral of these properties that we can distinguish an object
from others which resemble it in possessing some one or
more of those very properties ; and the more numerous
the species we compare, the more necessary it becomes to
bring their properties together, in order to assign to each
a character that may distinguish it from the rest. Hence,
to distinguish a species, considered independently of all
others that exist in nature, it is necessary to express in its
character almost the whole of its properties; and the
greater the number of these we take into the character,
the more complete will be our description ot the object.
But no man can acquire a sufficiently accurate knowledge
of all natural objects to enable him to give a complete de¬
scription of them. Human life is too short to admit ot
the completion of such a task. All that can be expected
from our limited faculties, is to acquire a general know¬
ledge of natural objects, confining our principal attention
to such as possess some striking qualities, or appear con¬
vertible to the useful purposes of life.
To attain this end, two modes of procedure have been
adopted by naturalists. According to the first mode, cha¬
racters are employed which rise by degrees from particu¬
lars to generals. They begin by comparing together a
certain number of species which bear the nearest relation
to each other. In drawing the characters of these species,
it is requisite to express only those differences which, on
a supposition that they are the most nearly related, form
but a small part of their properties ; and a number of spe¬
cies thus brought together constitutes what is denominat¬
ed a genus or tribe.
The remainder of those properties which are common
to all the species of the genus combine to form the cha¬
racter, or rather the description, of the genus, distinguish¬
ing it from all those which might be formed by bringing
together other species; but the number of such common
properties being still very considerable, the same means
1 Some writers divide natural history into general and particular, which have been accurately defined by Cuvier. General naura
history considers, under a single point of view, all natural bodies, and the common result of all their actions in the great whole ot na¬
ture. It determines the laws of the co-existence of their properties ; it establishes the degrees of resemblance which exist between
different bodies ; and it classes them according to these degrees. The Particular natural history of any body, to be perfect, should com¬
prehend, first, the description of all the sensible properties of that body, and of all its parts ; secondly, the mutual relations ot ies
parts, the motions which they produce, and the changes which they undergo whilst they remain united ; thirdly, the active and pas¬
sive relations of this body with every other body in the universe; and, fourthly, the explanation of all these phenomena, (see «-
Ueau Elementaire d'Histoirc Naturelle.)
NAT
;atural
t iistory.
are repeated, in order to reduce the characters oFthe qe-
^ nera to smaller terms. We compare together only those
genera which most nearly resemble each other; and the
generic characters now employed must only express those
differences which form but a small part of their common
properties. The properties which are common to all the
genera compose a character which distinguishes this as¬
semblage or group from all other groups of genera. Such
an assemblage of genera is called an order.
Repeating the same operation, and bringing together
such orders as are most nearly allied, we form a more ge¬
neral assemblage, called a class; and again uniting a cer¬
tain number of classes, we form a higher division, to which
naturalists have given the name of Kingdom. This chain
of divisions, in which the higher links comprehend the lower
forms what is called a method.
The other mode of procedure is to proceed gradually
from generals to particulars, beginning with the slightest
and most obvious differences, thus forming the first divi¬
sion or kingdom ; dividing each kingdom into classes, each
class into orders, each order into genera, each genus into
species, and each species into varieties. This descending
series constitutes what is called a system, and is that which
has been generally adopted by naturalists.
In order to illustrate this systematical classification of na¬
tural objects, let us select a familiar example. Amongst the
various creatures which pass under our observation, a great
number aie possessed of life, of sensation, and voluntary
motion. These we call animals, and of them we form the
animal kingdom. On examining various groups of animals,
we find that many have four extremities, and suckle their
young by means of teats, and these we call quadrupeds
or mammalia, thus forming a class of animals. Again we
find, that of the mammalia some have hoofed feet and
blunt fore-teeth, and feed almost entirely on vegetables.
These constitute an order of the class of mammalia, to
which Linnaeus has given the name of belluce. Of this order
a certain number of animals agree in having six fore-teeth
in both jaws, and form a genus or tribe distinguished by
this particular from the other animals of the same order,
and commonly called the horse tribe. Lastly, in this tribe
we find one species which has solid hoofs, a tail bristly at
the end, an upright mane, and a black cross on the shoulder
of the male. This species is the common ass.
In framing an artificial system of natural history, most
writers have agreed on the division of natural bodies into
kingdoms, proceeding on the supposition that those marks
which are to distinguish the objects of one kingdom from
those of another are sufficiently fixed and certain. Let us
examine for a little how far this supposition agrees with
nature’s works as we find them.
Ihe division of natural objects commonly adopted is
into three kingdoms; the animal, vegetable, and mineral.
This division has been almost universally received as per¬
fectly consistent with nature, and is by most persons
conceived to be so clear and distinct, that they suppose it
impossible to mistake in referring any particular object to
its proper kingdom. This arises from their having no¬
ticed only such objects as bear evident marks of the divi¬
sion to which they belong; but if we draw their attention
to a variety of other individuals, they will acknowledge
themselves to be incompetent to the decision, or will er¬
roneously refer to one division, what has, after accurate
examination, been determined to belong to another.
There is one whole class of productions, called zoophytes
by naturalists, which appear to form the connecting links
between the different kingdoms. They are animals of
the polypus kind, mostly covered with a calcareous crust,
differing little in composition from the shells of lobsters,
shrimps, and other shell-fish, and formed, like them, from
an exudation or secretion on the surface of their bodies.
NAT
739
evpn ypl ^ connected together by thousands, or Natural
e'en millions, and assume a great variety of appearances, History.
according to their arrangement; the same species, how-"   
ever, always assuming the same, or very nearly the same,
appearance. Some are connected together in the form of
pnT ?i?d branC ies’ as,the fierce, sertularice, corallines,
and others, rnany of which have their offspring in the egg
state attached to them, and so situated as to bear exact
resemblance to the seed-vessels of plants. These are al¬
together so like to many of the sea-plants, as to be gene¬
rally confounded with them under the title of sea-weeds •
but the attentive observer may, by examining them in
their natural state, perceive the tentacula or feelers of
each polypus extended in its search for food, and hastily
retracting within its shell upon the least alarm. Many of
tins descnptmn are found attached to oysters or other
shell-fish, and often to stones and pebbles which are co¬
vered or occasionally wetted by the sea.
Other zoophytes assume less regular figures, and are
much more firm and solid, resembling the productions of
the mineral kingdom. Madrepores and millepores, called
often brainstones, are of this kind. At first sight they
look very like stones and pebbles, or like pieces of chalk
or marble ; but on an accurate inspection, any one may
perceive marks of an organic structure, and, when they are
in a recent state, may detect the inhabitants of their nu¬
merous cells.
The above examples will perhaps suffice to prove how in¬
sufficient is either affiasty examination, or the judging by
similarity of appearance, for determining to what kingdom
of nature any particular object belongs. But there are
many other productions to which few persons could, with¬
out hesitation, assign their places. For instance, where
would we arrange the green powdery substance so com¬
mon on paling ; the spotted and streaked appearance on
stones ; the mould on cheese, or the green jelly-like mat¬
ter which floats on the surface of the stagnant waters ?
Naturalists in general have assigned these productions to
the vegetable kingdom ; but Sennebier and a few others
have maintained that some of them are animals.
According to some writers, the most philosophical no¬
tion which we can form on this subject is, that the divi¬
sion of natural objects into kingdoms is artificial, and that
nature, acknowledging no such bonds, passes impercep¬
tibly from the animal to the vegetable, and from the ve¬
getable to the mineral world, without defining where the
one ceases or where the next begins.
As the appearances of natural productions are insuffi¬
cient, so are their properties and powers, for determining
which are animals or which vegetables, according to the
received acceptation of the terms. If locomotion is allowed
to be the characteristic of an animal, where shall we place
the oyster, or the zoophytes of which we have just been
speaking, or where some species of ulva and conferva, plants
that swim about detached in water ? If feeling or sensa¬
tion be the test, who shall decide that the sensitive plant
{mimosapudica) possesses it not ? and who determine that
the leaves of the fly-trap {dioncea muscipula), when they
contract, and catch the fly as soon as it alights, do not feel
the despoiler that comes to rob it of its honey ? Though
these and similar objections may certainly be made to the
artificial division of nature’s works into kingdoms, yet it is
convenient to have such a division ; and even the very dif¬
ficulty of establishing to which kingdom any object be¬
longs is an additional spur to the genius and industry of
the naturalist.
The most natural division of the works of nature is that Division of
which distinguishes them into organized and natural bo-
bodies ; and, on the whole, we have seen no attempt todies “lto
establish the differences between these so successful as
that adopted by M. Dumeril in his Trade Elementaire niCt lnor£a'“
740
NAT
NAT
Natural <1 Histoire Naturdle. “ Some objects,” says he, “ as animals
History. an(j plants, have formerly constituted a part of other ind
' viduals, similar to themselves, from which they have been
separated at a certain period, under the form of eggs,
germs, or of little living creatures; and their e^stence is
evidently owing to this generation ; they are born. Others
on the contrary, as stones, salts, water, may be formed by
certain circumstances, and even by ourselves at pleasure.
They have not necessarily made a part of other simi ar
bodies; their existence seems to depend on certain fortui¬
tous circumstances, that have produced the approxima¬
tion of their constituent principles, and their origin migh
be referred to attraction. These bodies are formed. Ve¬
getables and animals, in increasing their size, only deve-
lope themselves. Whatever may be their minuteness, we
shall, on a careful examination, find them already forme ,
with their parts requiring only to be evolved. 1 heir in¬
crease proceeds from within outwards, by intussusception.
Stones, and a great many other bodies, are augmente 1
only by the same matter from which they are produced,
their growth takes place always from without, by a sort ot
As the increase of the bodies which compose these
two great subdivisions is not alike in both, a duration very
different ought to be the result of these dissimilarities. In
fact, minerals are susceptible of indefinite increase, and
their end is always indeterminate; it is vague, and depends
on the circumstances under which they are placed. 1 lants
and animals ought, from the same circumstances which
favoured their development, to stop when their extension
has been carried to the highest degree, so that the end oi
death of these bodies is fixed and necessary.
“ The masses in which stones and other similar bodies
generally present themselves are angular, insulated, and
very variable in their size. The individuals which we call
plants and animals have always, and necessarily, a form
that is constant, for the most part rounded and symmetri¬
cal, and their extension is limited within certain bounds.
“ There is this great difference between these bodies,
that those which increase by aggregation may be divided
into molecules, or parts infinitely small, bearing a very
near resemblance to the mass from which they were taken ;
while in those which develope themselves, no portion can
be taken away and exist by itself, at least unless it deve¬
lope new parts, which replace those that are wanting.
“ The bodies which do not develope themselves are in
general formed of fluids or solids which remain constant¬
ly in the same points ; they are composed of very few ele¬
ments, which may be separated and again reunited. The
bodies which develope themselves, on the contrary, are
essentially composed of solids and fluids, which are always
changing, and in a state of renovation ; they have al¬
ways, and from necessity, more or less consistence ; they
are penetrated and augmented by fluids; and after being
decomposed, they can never be formed again such as they
were before.”
Division of For the more convenient study of natural history, the
natural his-whole subject may be divided into five great branches,
tor3r- namely, meteorology, hydrography, mineralogy, botany, and
zoology. Meteorology includes the description of all those
phenomena wdnch take place in the atmosphere that sur¬
rounds the terrestrial globe. See the article Meteorology.
Hydrography comprehends the natural history of the sea,
of rivers, lakes, and other collections of water that make
up so large a part of the earth. See the article Physi¬
cal Geography. Mineralogy is that part of the subject
which treats of the solid inorganic bodies that are found
on the surface or in the bowels of the earth. See the ar¬
ticle Mineralogy. Botany comprehends the natural
history of vegetables. See the article Botany. And
zoology includes the natural history of all animated be¬
ings, and is subdivided into many subordinate classes. The
classification followed in this work is fully explained in the
article Animal, where also the reader will find a view of
all the other systems.
It is not surprising that naturalists of taste and genius, ob¬
serving the gradation which seems to take place amongst
the works of nature, should have been led to form the no¬
tion that there exists a regular series or chain of beings,
the links of which, if we could discover them all, would
be found to resemble each other so nearly, as only to ex¬
hibit to the superficial observer a few shades of difference.
Natura non per saltum movet, has become a sort of axiom
in natural history.
The notion of a chain of being is alluring, and does not
want arguments in its favour. Ihe Esquimaux Indian, or
the inhabitant of Terra del Fuego, seems scarcely superior
in form, and very little in intellect, to the oran-utang ; the
platypus, the flying lemur, flying squirrels, and, still more,
the bats, appear to form the connecting links between
quadrupeds and birds; while the seals, the walrusses, and
the whole order of cete, connect the former with the fishes.
In this latter class, the flying fish, in its capability of sup¬
porting itself in the air, seems to approach the feathered
tribes; while some of these, as the penguins, in their ha¬
bits and manner of life bear some distant resemblance to
fishes. Again, the siren and the eels so nearly resemble
each other, that it has been disputed whether the former
should be reckoned among the amphibia or Xhejishes;
whilst one species of lizard {lacerta lumbricoides) \s so like
an earthworm, as apparently to connect the amphibia and the
vermes. Farther, the diminutive humming-bird (trochilus
exilis) and the humble-bee (apis terrestris) are so nearly
alike, both in size and manner of life, as to form no very
exceptionable links of union between- the birds and the
insects.
If, again, we compare the vegetable tribes with some of
the inferior classes of animals, we shall perceive many points
of resemblance, which may seem to indicate a continuance
of the same chain. Besides the mimosa pudica and dioncza
muscipula, already mentioned, the hedysarum giyrans or
moving plant is a remarkable instance of the mobility of
vegetables ; the carrion flower (stapelia hirsuta), and some
species of morel, bear the odour ot putrid animal substan¬
ces ; while, on the other hand, the mantis siccijolia might
be mistaken for a dried leaf; several species of pennatula
(sea pens) and sertularia, for ferns; the madrepora fun-
gites (mushroom madrepore), for a petrified mushroom;
and the tubularia magnifica and actinia, when expanded,
for the most beautiful full-blown flowers.
Lastly, on comparing the mineral kingdom with the clas¬
ses of organized beings, we find several so nearly resem¬
bling stones, as scarcely to be distinguished from them.
But although the view which we have given above,^ of
the circumstances that have led naturalists to form the iuea
of a regular chain of beings, is specious, it will not bear
the scrutiny of li strict examination. The resemblances
which we have pointed out are more apparent than real;
and anatomy and chemistry, added to a more accurate
acquaintance with the works of nature, have proved that
those links which, to superficial observers, appear most
allied, are yet separated by considerable chasms. In fact,
if we were to admit these resemblances as ever so accu¬
rate they would lead us to form, not one chain, but many.
NATURAL PHILOSOPHY is commonly defined to
be that branch of knowledge which considers the powers
and properties of natural bodies, and their mutual actions
on one another. This term serves to indicate, not one,
but a cluster of sciences. Those generally comprehendea
, i . • -i /r  !   O T-J.r/im*
Natural
Philoso¬
phy.
under it are the following, viz. 1. Mechanics ; 2. Hydro-
unuei it cumv.   —   . _
statics; 3. Optics ; 4. Astronomy ; 5. Magnetism ; 6. hlec-
tricity. There are, in this work, distinct treatises on all
N A U
Natural!- these different branches, introduced in the order of the
sation alphabet; whilst the history of the whole is traced, in a
Nau- connected method, in the second Preliminary Disserta-
machia. ^01h contained in our first volume. In connection with the
foregoing articles, the reader is also referred to those on
Philosophy and Physics, for some general views respect¬
ing the nature of philosophy, and the proper manner of
philosophizing.
NATURALISATION, in Law, the act of naturalisino"
an alien, or putting him into the condition of a natural-
born subject, and entitling him to the rights and privile°-es
of that condition.
NATURE, according to Mr Boyle, has eight different
significations. It is used to signify the author of nature,
whom the schoolmen call natura naturans, being the same
with God. By the nature of a thing we sometimes mean
its essence ; that is, the attributes which make it what it
is, whether the thing be corporeal or not; as when we at¬
tempt to define the nature of a fluid, of a triangle, or the
like. Sometimes we confound that which a man has by
nature with what accrues to him by birth; as when we
say that such a man is noble by nature. Sometimes we
take nature for an internal principle of motion ; as when we
say that a stone by nature falls to the earth. Sometimes
we understand by nature, the established course of things.
Sometimes we take nature for an aggregate of powers be¬
longing to a body, especially a living one; in which sense
physicians say that nature is strong, weak, or spent, or
that, in such and such diseases, nature left to herself will
generally perform the cure. Sometimes we use the term
nature for the universe, or whole system of the corporeal
works of God ; as when it is said of a phoenix, or chimera,
that there is no such thing in nature. Sometimes, too, and
that most commonly, we express by the word nature, a
kind of semi-deity, or other strange kind of imaginary
being.
NAUCRARI, amongst the Athenians, was the name
given to the chief magistrates of the Stj/ao/, that is, of the
boroughs or townships, called vavxgtxgtai; because each
was obliged, besides equipping two horsemen, to furnish
one ship for the public service.
NAULUM, in Roman antiquity, a piece of money put
into the mouth of a person deceased, to enable him to pay
Charon, the ferryman, for his passage. It required to be
of the current coin of the reigning emperor; and hence
from this money the time of the person’s death may be
known. The sum for poor men was about a farthing, but
the rich in general were very liberal to Charon, as appears
from the number of coins often found in the neighbour¬
hood of Rome upon opening the graves of great men. A
similar custom prevailed amongst the Greeks. The money
put into the mouth of the deceased was by them called
duvuxr].
NAUMACHIA, in Antiquity, a public show or spectacle
amongst the ancient Romans, representing a sea-fight.
These mock fights are supposed to have originated at the
time of the first Punic war, when the Romans first in¬
structed their men in the knowledge of naval affairs ; but
afterwards they were intended to entertain the populace,
as well as to improve the seamen. They were often, like
other shows, exhibited at the expense of individuals, who
thus sought to increase their popularity.
In these spectacles they sometimes strove to excel each
other in swiftness, and sometimes engaged in a warlike
manner. The naumachia of Claudius, indeed, was a most sa¬
vage diversion, where the combatants used to destroy each
other to amuse a tyrant and a cruel mob. As they passed
before him, they used this melancholy greeting, “ Ave,
Imperator, morituri te salutant,” The emperor replied,
“ Avete vos.” This they understood as an answer of
kindness, and a grant of their lives ; but they soon disco-
N A U 741
vered that it proceeded from wanton cruelty and barba- Naumburg
rous insensibility. In the time of the Emperor Domitian, II .
the number of vessels engaged would have nearly formed Naui>lius’.
two regular fleets for a real fight, and the channel of wa- 'u'
ter was equal in magnitude to a natural river. The Em¬
peror Heliogabalus is reported to have filled the channel
w iere the vessels were to ride with wine instead of water.
Iritons and sea-monsters were frequently exhibited du¬
ring the engagement. Suetonius and Dion Cassius inform
us, that at one of the sea-fights of Domitian there fell a
violent shower of rain ; the emperor, however, continued
ti the end of the engagement, often changing his clothes ;
nor would he suffer any one to depart, and as the rain
continued to fall for several hours, many were seized with
distempers, and some even died. (Sueton. cap. 4 ; Dio. lib.
Ixvii.) Naumachiae were also places fitted up for these
shows, being a sort of cirei or amphitheatres, with seats and
porticoes. There were several of them at Rome, namely,
three built by Augustus, one by Claudius, another by Do¬
mitian, and another by Nero, which served for the re¬
verse of his medals. Claudius used the Lake Fucinus as
a naumachia.
NAUMBURG, a city of Prussia, in the government of
Merseburg, the capital of a circle of its own name. It
stands on the river Saale, in a fertile district, contains a
castle and six churches, a fine market-place, and (includ¬
ing the suburbs) 1130 houses, with 9320 inhabitants. It
has several institutions for the education of the various
classes, and much trade in leather, iron, beer, corn, spirits,
wool, and other articles, which is promoted by some fairs
of long continuance. There are vineyards near it, from
which some wine, but more vinegar, is made. Long. 11.
34. 40. E. Lat. 51. 8. 55. N.
NAUPACTUS, or Naupactum, in Ancient Geography,
a city of'Akolia, at the mouth of the Evenus. The word
is derived from rauj and nriyvviu, because it was there that
the Heraclidae built the first ship which carried them to
Peloponnesus. It originally belonged to the Locri Ozolee,
and afterwards fell into the hands of the Athenians, by whom
it was given to the Messenians, who had been driven from
Peloponnesus by the Lacedaemonians. After the battle
of Algospotamos, it became the property of the Lacedae¬
monians ; but it was restored to the Locri. Philip of Ma¬
cedonia afterwards took it, and gave it to the Altolians; and
from this circumstance it has generally been called one of
the chief cities of their country. Long. 22. 20. E. Lat.
38. 0. N. On the shore there was a temple of Neptune,
and near it a cave filled with offerings, and dedicated to
Venus, where widows resorted to request new husbands of
the goddess. (Pausanias, lib. x. p. 898.)
NAUPLIUS, in fabulous history, a son of Neptune and
Amymone, was king of Euboea, and the father of the fa¬
mous Palamedes, who, by the artifice and resentment of
Ulysses, was so unjustly sacrificed by the Greeks at the
Trojan war. The death of Palamedes highly enraged Nau-
plius ; and, to revenge the injustice of the Grecian princes,
he endeavoured to debauch their wives, and ruin their
characters. When the Greeks returned from the Trojan
war, Nauplius was pleased to see them distressed in a storm
on the coasts of Euboea; and, to render their disaster still
more universal, he lighted fires on such places as were
surrounded with the most dangerous rocks, that the fleet
might be shipwrecked upon the coast. This had the de¬
sired effect; but Nauplius was so disappointed when he ob¬
served that Ulysses and Diomedes had escaped from the
general distress, that he threw himself into the sea. Ac¬
cording to some mytholo^ists, there were two persons of
this name ; one a native of Argos, the son of Neptune and
Amymone, who accompanied Jason to Colchis ; and the
other king of Euboea, who lived about the time of the
Trojan war, and, according to some, was the son of Cly-
742 N A V
Nauscopy tonas, one of the descendants of Nauplius the Argonaut.
II The Argonaut was remarkable for his knowledge of naval
Navan. affairg and of astronomy. He built the town of Naupha,
v v ^ and sold Auge, daughter of Aleus, to King feuthras, in ol¬
der to screen her from her father’s resentment.
NAUSCOPY, the art of discovering the approach of
ships or the neighbourhood of land at a considerable dis¬
tance. This pretended art was discovered by M. Botti¬
neau, who was employed in the Isle of trance from the
year 1782 to 1784. The account given of it is as follows :
‘‘ This knowledge is not derived either from the undulation
of the waves, or from the subtilty of sight, or from any pai-
ticular sensation; but merely from observation of the ho¬
rizon, which discovers signs indicating the proximity of
ships or of land. On the approximation of a ship toward
the land, or towards another ship, there appears in the at¬
mosphere a meteor of a particular nature, visible to every
one without any painful attention. It is not by any kin
of accident that this meteor appears under these circum¬
stances ; on the contrary, it is the necessary result of the
approximation of one vessel towards another, or towards
the land. The existence of the meteor, and the knowledge
of its different modifications, are what constitute the cer¬
tainty and precision of my information. If I am asked
how it is possible that the approach of a ship towards land
should give birth to any meteor whatsoever in the atmo¬
sphere, and what connection there can be between two
objects at such a distance from each other; I reply, that
I am not obliged to give an account of the hows and
wherefores ; that it is sufficient for me to have discovered
the fact, without being obliged to account for its principle. ’
Upon this we shall only observe, that the whole seems to
be the work of fancy.
NAUTPOOR, a town of Bengal, in the district of Pur-
neah, on the Cosah river, forty-two miles north-north-west
of Purneah. Long. 16. 58. E. Lat. 26. 17. N.
NAVACOTT, a town of Northern Hindustan, subject
to the Ghoorkah rajah of Nepaul, 105 miles north-east from
Catmandoo. Long. 83. 37. E. Lat. 28. 57. N.
NAVAL means something relating to a ship (navis).
Naval Camp, in Antiquity, a fortification, consisting
of a ditch and parapet on the land side, or of a wall built in
the form of a semicircle, and extended from one point of
the sea to another. This was sometimes defended with
towers, and beautified with gates, through which the an¬
cients issued forth to attack their enemies. Towards the
sea, or within it, they fixed great pales of wood, like those
in their artificial harbours ; and before these the vessels
of burden were placed, in such order that they might serve
instead of a wall, and give protection to those within. In
this manner Nicias is reported by Thucydides to have en¬
camped himself; but it seems only to have been practised
when the enemy was thought superior in strength, and
raised great apprehensions of danger. When their fortifica¬
tions were considered strong enough to defend them against
the assaults of enemies, it was frequent to drag their ships
to shore, which the Greeks called IvwXxs/v, and the Romans
subducere. Around the ships the soldiers disposed their
tents, as appears everywhere in Homer. But this seems to
have been practised only in winter, when the enemy’s fleet
was laid up and could not assault them; or in long sieges,
and when they were in no danger from their enemies by sea,
as in the Trojan war, where the defenders of Troy never
once attempted to encounter the Grecians in a sea-fight.
Naval Crown, amongst the ancient Romans, a crown
adorned with figures of prows of ships, and conferred on
persons who, in naval engagements, had first boarded an
enemy’s vessel.
Naval Tactics, the warlike operations of fleets. See
Tactics, Naval.
NAVAN, a borough-town of Ireland, in the county of
N A V
Meath and province of Leinster, about thirty miles north- Navarinoj
west of Dublin, situated at the junction of the Boyne and
Blackwater, near the canal called the Boyne Navigation.
The situation of the town, in the centre of a great corn
country, produces an excellent corn market; and its abun¬
dant supply of water affords great facilities tor flour-mills
and trading in flour. The landed property originally belong¬
ing to the corporation is said to haveamounted to about 1260
acres ; but it has been from time to time encroached upon
by the neighbouring proprietors, and otherwise disposed of,
till it has at length dwindled down to less than 150 acres.
By the census of 1831, the population of Navan amounted to
4416 ; males 2085, females 2331. The families employed in
agriculture were 403; in trade, manufactures, and handicraft,
305; not comprised in the preceding classes, 200. The pro¬
portion of Roman Catholics to Protestants is as ten to one.
There are very few Protestant dissenters in the district.
NAVARINO, Navakin, or Neo Castro, is a town
of Greece, in the Morea, celebrated for the excellence of
the harbour on which it stands. This harbour is formed
in front by the narrow island Sphagia, the ancient Sphac-
teria, which is three miles in length. The entrance, which
is at the south end of the island, is less than a mile broad,
but the harbour opens to a width of three miles, and its
general depth, with the exception of two shoal spots, va¬
ries from twelve to twenty-seven fathoms. This harbour
is so spacious, and so well secured from the sea, as to ad¬
mit of the largest fleet anchoring and riding in it with per¬
fect safety.
At two periods very remote from each other this har¬
bour has been the scene of remarkable naval victories.
The first was during the Peloponnesian war, 425 before
Christ, when the Athenian fleet under Demosthenes pur¬
sued the Spartans, who were more powerful, and entirely
destroyed their fleet within the harbour ; in consequence of
which the Spartans sued for peace. During the revolu¬
tionary war in Greece, the city was taken by the Greeks
under the command of Ypsilanti in 1821 ; but, in conse¬
quence of a mutiny of the Moreotes, who formed the garri¬
son, then commanded by Kolokotrone, it capitulated, on the
23d of March 1825, to Ibrahim Pasha, the son of the vice¬
roy of Egypt, who thus secured an important naval asylum,
from which to accomplish the subjugation of Greece. The
united fleets of Turkey and Egypt were collected in the
harbour, where they had anchored, having escaped a meet¬
ing with a united fleet of English, French, and Russian
ships, who had been authorized to prevent their advancing
to Greece. The united fleet of the three powers entered
the harbour, and some slight, possibly undesigned hostili¬
ties, having occurred, a general attack was made on the
Turkish and Egyptian fleets. The English admiral, Cod-
rington, had the chief command, whilst under him Admiral
Rigny commanded the French, and Count Heyden the Rus¬
sian squadron. The attack took place on the 20th ot Oc¬
tober 1827, and, after some hours of fierce and bloody con¬
tention, it terminated in the destruction of the Turkish and
Egyptian fleet, the greater part of which was either burn¬
ed or sunk. This action, however it may be viewed in
point of justice or policy, decided the question as to the
independence of Greece. The Egyptians were expelled
from the Morea; and the sultan, having lost his fleet, found
himself obliged to legitimate a revolution which he had
laboured in vain to put down. In fact, the battle of Na-
varino, described at the time as “ an untoward event,
proved, in its consequences, fatal to Turkey ; it secured
to Russia the undisputed command of the Black Sea, and
thus enabled her, in the campaigns of 1828 and 1829, to
obtain those advantages which ultimately led to the humi¬
liating treaty of Adrianople.
The city of Navarino stands on the south-east side of the
harbour. It is surrounded by a wall without any ditch, and
N A V
Navarre, is commanded by a fortress on a height, which is a regu-
hexagon, defended by five towers at the external an¬
gles, but without ditches, ramparts, or outworks. From
the sea a frigate or two might easily batter down the walls.
The city once contained between 6000 and 7000 inhabi¬
tants ; but many of them retired into Arcadia during the
bombardment of the Egyptians in 1825, an epidemic dis¬
ease soon after augmented the depopulation, and the peace
has not yet fully replaced these losses.
NAVARRE, an ancient kingdom, which has long exist¬
ed under this name, and is divided into two portions; one on
the south side of the Pyrenees, distinguished by the name
of Upper Navarre; and the other on the north side of the
same range of mountains, called Lower Navarre. They
remained one kingdom, with a common language and a
common constitution, till the year 1512, when Ferdinand,
king of Aragon, seized upon Upper Navarre, and added it
to his other dominions, but confirmed to it the title of a
kingdom, and agreed to guarantee its ancient constitution.
The other part continued an independent kingdom, hav¬
ing Bearn for its capital, till its king ascended the throne
of France under the name of Henry IV. His claim to
that dignity was founded on the marriage of his father, An¬
thony of Bourbon, with the heiress of the crown of Na¬
varre, who was a Protestant, and educated her son in that
profession, which, however, he abjured in order to secure
the French crown.
The country here described, and which alone retains
the name, is one of the northern provinces of Spain. It is
bounded on the northern side by the Pyrenean Mountains,
which separate it from France; on the east and south-east
by the province of Aragon; and on the south and south¬
west by the provinces of Alava and Soria. The extent is
about 2470 square English miles. No part of it touches on
the sea. It is divided into the five districts of Pampeluna,
Sanguessa, Estella, Tudela, and Olite. According to the
census of 1833, it contained 288,284 inhabitants, thus
showing an increase of 66,556 persons since the former
census of 1797. It contains nine cities, 282 towns, and
630 villages. At the census of 1797, when the whole in¬
habitants amounted to 221,728, they were thus classed by
Canga Arguelles: Nobles or gentlemen, 18,753 ; labour¬
ing proprietors, 17,358 ; 7574 renters of land, 12,578 day-
labourers, 7931 artisans, 782 merchants, 582 clerks to
traders, 5766 domestic servants, 2778 secular clergy, 1287
regular clergy, and 607 female religious. The same author
gives an estimate of the value of the whole property of the
province, which he states as worth L.1,541,478. The sys¬
tem of taxation differed in this, as in the Biscayan pro¬
vinces, from that practised in the other parts of Spain, and
produced annually in direct taxes only L.33,557, and 398
arobas of wheat; but the crown had, besides, allotted to it
several estates, certain revenues from the realpatrimonio,
and some feudal rights to personal services, which added
somewhat, though but to a small amount, to the income.
Navarre still possesses the name of a kingdom, and has
a constitution of very ancient origin, founded on the prac¬
tices of ancient times at a period long prior to its amalga¬
mation with the crown of either Aragon or Castille. Ihe
king was elected from the chiefs, and his investiture was
pronounced to him in words to this effect: “ We, who
are your equals, select you for our king, to obey and pro¬
tect our laws, which, whilst you continue to do, we shall
obey you; but when you cease to do so, we shall put an
end to your power.’’ At the installation of the succes¬
sive kings of Spain, since the Basque provinces and Na¬
varre have been under their guidance, they have sworn to
preserve to them the ancient laws and usages ; and though
frequent attempts were made by those monarchs to extend
their power, the adherence to the ancient constitution was
firm, and sufficiently powerful to act as a check on the arbi*
N A V 743
trary advances of the general government of Spain. Thus
the people opposed the introduction of the Inquisition into
these provinces, at a time when all the rest of the Peninsu¬
la was groaning under the oppression of that formidable in¬
stitution, and it was never suffered to exercise any portion
of its authority. A tradition still exists, that when the
agents of the Holy Office went from Castillo on a message
to the Biscayans, to recommend that institution* to their
adoption, they were met by the deputies on the very fron¬
tier of the states, and sternly told, “ Thus far, but no far¬
ther, shall ye come.”
Ihese northern provinces of Spain had a representative
government, in the choice of which the members of every
head of a family had a vote. It assembled every second
year, or oftener if deemed necessary. Their chief busi¬
ness was to vote the requisite sums for the public service,
to audit the expenditure of the money, and more especially
to watch over any infringements which might be attempt¬
ed on their ancient rights and privileges. The principal of
these privileges were, that the king could only nominate
natives to ecclesiastical appointments; that no native should
be civilly or criminally answerable to any Castillian tribu¬
nal ; that every man’s house was his sacred castle; that it
could not be entered to arrest him till he had been pre¬
viously summoned, which, if obeyed, he was, on his ap¬
pearing, instantly tried, and either liberated, or bailed, or
punished, according to the nature of the evidence and of
the offence. No orders from the Castillian king were com¬
plied with until they were communicated to the parlia*
ment, and approved. There were other rights claimed and
exercised, and, in fact, the condition of these provinces
with respect to the king of Spain was nearly similar to that
which existed between the emperor of Germany and the
cantons of Switzerland, at the time when the house of
Austria made the attempt to bring them under the same
system of government as its hereditary dominions.
This free constitution, weakened indeed in some of its
parts, was maintained till the invasion of Spain by Napo¬
leon ; and his whimsical project of a government was an¬
nounced, but never practically adopted. The democratic
Cortes of 1812 swept away all ancient privileges; but they
were restored on the recovery of the throne by Ferdinand
in 1814. The revolutionary Cortes of 1820 again abolished
them, and they were once more restored after the king’s
liberation from his imprisonment at Cadiz. Not long be¬
fore the death of Ferdinand, his ministers thought to ex¬
tract a larger revenue from these provinces, by the aboli¬
tion of their ancient rights; and a long investigation was
made into the nature of their fueros. On this occasion,
Don Carlos, then the heir apparent to the crown, became
convinced of the legitimacy of their claims, and is said to
have declared, that if any good should eventually arise
from adopting the proposal of the ministry, it was not to be
obtained by a positive violation of the royal faith, and that
the proposition itself was an insult to Castillian honour. To
this latter occurrence may chiefly be attributed the warm
accession of these northern provinces to the claims which
Don Carlos has since asserted, and the zeal they have ex¬
hibited during the horrible civil war which is still ravaging
the whole Peninsula.
The province is of very unequal surface. The north¬
ern part comprehends a portion of the range of the Pyre¬
nean Mountains, though none of the very highest peaks,
which are all within the French boundary; but the Sierra
de Andia, the Barbena del Rey, and the Hill of Montereal,
are of such elevation as to be covered with snow the
greater part of the year. From the main body of the prin¬
cipal range many spurs are projected into the valley, and
between them are extended tracts of undulating surface,
presenting both picturesque and fertile districts. Beyond
the termination of these mountain spurs there is an ex-
Navarre.
744
N A V
N A V
which
Navarre, tensive level country, extending to the river Ebro
1 forms the western boundary of the province.
Navarre is purely an agricultural country, except some
mining districts, arid is watered by the river Ebro, which
receives the water of the Ezca, the Arga, the Al iama,
and the Queilles, and their tributary rivulets. It is thus
abundantly irrigated, and affords rich meadows, well adapt¬
ed for the breeding and fattening of large herds of black
cattle, and for furnishing abundance of butter and cheese.
The climate is moist; and owing to that circumstance, com¬
bined with the numerous rivulets, the grazing lands pre¬
serve a perpetual verdure; but the climate, though moist,
is by no means insalubrious, nor does a more healthy or
hardy race exist than the rural inhabitants of this province.
The agriculture is very skilfully conducted, though in
the vicinity of the mountains the soil is sometimes stony,
and in almost all parts so difficult to plough as to require
a numerous team of oxen. The rotation of crops is common¬
ly one of four years; first, wheat; second, beans; third,
wheat; and fourth, maize. The product is considerably
beyond the home consumption. The other articles culti¬
vated are hemp, flax, madder, and liquorice. The woods,
consisting chiefly of beech, or fir, or chestnut, supply fuel ;
and the nuts of the latter are used as a substitute for bread.
The sheep are numerous, but, with the exception ox the
merinos, of which about 7000 lambs are yearly reared,
not of the best description, and yield only a coarse wool.
The rivers abound with fish, especially trouts, some of
which weigh from ten to twelve pounds. The woods are
well stocked with game, such as wuld goats,roebucks,'hares,
and, of the feathered tribes, pheasants, partridges, and
woodcocks ; besides which there are beasts of prey, such
as bears, wolves, and especially lynxes, which prove very
injurious to the live stock.
In the warmer spots olive trees flourish, and yield oil.
Many places produce honey and wax ; whilst, in other dis¬
tricts, wine, cider, and fruits are collected, sufficient to
supply the wants of the inhabitants.
The mineral products consist principally of iron but
some copper, lead, sulphur, and a little silver, is obtained.
The iron is converted into articles for use, or for trade
with the surrounding provinces. The articles for clothing
are provided by domestic manufactures. There are few
workmen in any fabrics, except in Pampeluna, where some
silk goods and a little paper are made ; and in Tudela and
Estella, where there are distilleriesfor providing brandy, and
where paper, parchment, combs, and barrel staves, are made.
Navarre is remarkable in Spain for the beauty and con¬
venience of the public roads, which, from the capital to
all the extremities of the province, are repaired, as often
as they require it, at the general expense ; but since their
construction in 1750 they have needed but little additional
labour or expenditure. The greatest attention is, how¬
ever, paid to them, and much zeal exercised by the autho¬
rities to preserve them in good order.
The Canal of Aragon, as it is called, may more pro¬
perly be considered as appertaining to Navarre, as it be¬
gins within that province, about two miles from Tudela,
where, by means of sluices, the river Ebro is turned into
and fills it. Barges of eighty or ninety tons’ burden can at
present navigate to the distance of eighteen leagues ; and
it was intended to carry on the work ten leagues farther,
till it reached the point where the river Martin pours its
waters into the Ebro. If this project could be accom¬
plished, it would create a continued intercourse, by inter¬
nal navigation, from the province of Navarre to the Me¬
diterranean Sea. In its present state it is of incalculable
advantage, both by facilitating the conveyance of weighty
commodities from Tudela to Saragossa, and by the power
it gives of irrigating more than 40,000 acres of land, which
the want of water frequently rendered utterly unproductive.
Nave.
This stupendous canal was commenced in the reign of Navarre
Charles V., but suffered interruption during more than
two hundred years. In the latter part of the last century,
however, the work was resumed ; and, though recent
events have caused it to languish, it has engaged the at¬
tention of the local treasuries of Navarre, Aragon, Cata¬
lonia, and Valencia, who entertained hopes of being able
to furnish supplies, so as to continue the operations. The
province of Aragon has for several years contributed
50,000 dollars; the tonnage received has amounted to
10,000 dollars, and the receipts from the irrigated lands
to 150,000 dollars. The expense of repairs and cleaning
thus leaves but a small sum applicable to the extension of
the undertaking. The canal is ten feet in depth, and
is seventy-five feet wide at the top, but slopes regularly
towards the bottom. In both dimensions it exceeds the
Canal of Languedoc, of which the French make such a
boast. The inhabitants of Navarre have all the general
characteristics of mountaineers, being brave, generous,
active, and very much attached to their old habits. Being
but thinly scattered, there is little literature amongst
them ; and though the Inquisition v/as never introduced,
yet they are most zealous adherents of the church of Rome.
There are two bishops, one at Pampeluna, the other at
Tudela, and many convents and monasteries. The com¬
mon language is the Basque; but, amongst those who
speak Spanish, a great number of French and some Cata¬
lan words are in use. The cities are few. Pampeluna,
the capital, is strongly fortified, and in war forms an im¬
portant post. It contains about 15,000 inhabitants. The
other cities and their population are, Tudela, 7000; Estella,
4500 ; Olite, 3000 ; and Sanguessa.
Navarre, Martin, surnamed Azpilcucta, because he
was born in the kingdom which bears that name, was suc¬
cessively professor of jurisprudence at Toulouse, Sala¬
manca, and Coimbra, and universally consulted as a great
oracle of law. For a part of his knowledge he was in¬
debted to the schools of Cahors and Toulouse, in which
he had studied. His friend Carewza, a Dominican, and
archbishop of Toledo, having been charged with heresy
by the Inquisition at Rome, Navarre set out, at the age of
eighty, to defend him. Pius V. appointed him assessor to
Cardinal Francis Alciat, vice-penitentiary. Gregory XIII.
never passed his gate without sending for him ; sometimes
conversed with him for an hour together on the street;
and even deigned to visit him, accompanied by several
cardinals. But these honours did not render him more
haughty. His character became so eminent, that even in
his own time the greatest encomium which could be paid
to a man of learning was to say that he was a Navarre.
Azpilcucta was the oracle of the city of Rome, and of
the whole Christian world ; and for the influence which
he had acquired he was indebted not only to his know¬
ledge, but also to his known probity and virtue. Faithful
to the duties which the church prescribed, his temperance
and frugality preserved to him a vigorous constitution;
and at a very advanced age his genius was still equal to
the severest study. His savings enabled him to give libe¬
ral assistance to the poor; indeed, his charities were so
great, that his mule, it is said, would stop as soon as she
perceived a beggar. He died at Rome in lo86, at the age
of ninety-two. His works were collected and printed in
six vols. folio, at Lyons, in 159/, and at Venice in 1602 ,
but they display more learning than judgment, and are
now very seldom consulted.
NAVE, in Architecture, is the body of a church, where
the people are disposed, reaching from the baluster, or
rail of the door, to the chief choir. Some derive the
word from the Greek vaoi, a temple, and others from
van;, a ship, by reason that the vault or roof ot a church
bears some resemblance to a ship.
745
NAVIGATION.
'/aviga- Navigation is the art of conducting a ship from one
tion. port; or place to another.
HISTORY.
The profane poets refer the invention of the art of na¬
vigation to their heathen deities, though historians ascribe
it to thei ^Eginetes, the Phoenicians, the Tyrians, and the
ancient inhabitants of Britain. Scripture refers the origin
of so useful an invention to God himself, who gave the first
specimen of navigation in the ark built by Noah under his
direction.
However, profane history represents the Phoenicians,
especially those of their capital Tyre, as the first naviga¬
tors ; being urged to seek a foreign commerce by the
narrowness and poverty of a slip of ground they possessed
along the coast, as well as by the convenience of two or
three good ports, and by their natural genius for traffic.
Accordingly, Lebanon and the other neighbouring moun¬
tains furnishing them with excellent wood for ship-build¬
ing, they in a short time became masters of a numerous
fleet; and constantly hazarding new navigations, and set¬
tling new trades, they soon arrived at an incredible pitch
of opulence and populousness, insomuch as to be in a con¬
dition to send out colonies. The principal of these was
Carthage, which, keeping up the Phoenician spirit of com¬
merce, in time not only equalled Tyre itself, but vastly sur¬
passed it, sending its merchant fleets through the Straits
of Gibraltar, along the western coasts of Africa and Europe,
and even, if we may believe some authors, to America
itself.
Tyre, whose immense riches and power are represented
in such lofty terms both by sacred and profane authors,
was destroyed by Alexander the Great, upon which its na¬
vigation and commerce were transferred by the conqueror
to Alexandria, a new city, admirably situated for these
purposes, and intended to form the capital of the empire
of Asia, of which Alexander then meditated the conquest.
And thus arose the navigation of the Egyptians, which was
afterwards so much cultivated by the Ptolemies, that Tyre
and Carthage were quite forgotten.
Egypt being reduced into a Roman province after the
battle of Actium, its trade and navigation fell into the
hands of Augustus, in whose time Alexandria was only
inferior to Rome ; and the magazines of the capital of the
world were wholly supplied with merchandize from the
commercial capital of Egypt.
At length Alexandria itself underwent the fate of Tyre
and Carthage, being surprised by the Saracens, who, in
spite of the Emperor Heraclius, overspread the northern
coasts of Africa, whence the merchants being expelled,
Alexandria has ever since been in a languishing state,
though it still has a considerable share of the commerce of
the Christian merchants trading to the Levant.
The fall of Rome and its empire drew along with it not
only the overthrow of learning and the polite arts, but that
of navigation; the barbarians, into whose hands it fell, con¬
tenting themselves with the spoils of the industry of their
predecessors. But no sooner were the braver amongst
those nations well settled in their new provinces, some in
Gaul, as the Franks, others in Spain, as the Goths, and
others in Italy, as the Lombards, than they began to learn
the advantages of navigation and commerce, and the me¬
thods of managing them, from the people they had sub¬
dued ; and this with so much success, that in a little time
VOL. xv.
some of them became able to give new lessons, and set History,
on root new institutions, for its advantage. Thus it is—v'-"—'
to the Lombards that we usually ascribe the invention
and use of banks, book-keeping, exchanges, rechanges,
&c.
It does not appear which of the European people, after
the settlement of their new masters, first betook themselves
to navigation and commerce. Some think it began with
the French, although the Italians seem to have the justest
title to this distinction, and are accordingly regarded as
the restorers of navigation, as well as of the polite arts,
which had been banished together from the time the em¬
pire was torn asunder. It is the people of Italy, then,
and particularly those of Venice and Genoa, who have the
glory of this restoration; and it is to their advantageous si¬
tuation for navigation that they in great measure owe their
glory. In the bottom of the Adriatic were a great num¬
ber of marshy islands, only separated by narrow channels,
but these well screened, and almost inaccessible, the resi¬
dence of some fishermen, who here supported themselves
by a little trade in fish and salt, which they found in some
of these islands. Thither the Veneti, a people inhabit¬
ing that part of Italy which stretches along the coasts of
the gulf, retired, when Alaric king of the Goths, and after¬
wards Attila king of the Huns, ravaged Italy.
These new islanders, little imagining that this was to be
their fixed residence, did not think of composing any body
politic; but each of the seventy-two islands of this little
archipelago continued a long time under its separate mas¬
ter, and each formed a distinct commonwealth. When
their commerce had become considerable enough to occa¬
sion jealousy to their neighbours, they began to think of
uniting into a body ; and it was this union, first begun in the
sixth century, but not completed till the eighth, that laid
the sure foundation of the future grandeur of the state of
Venice. From the time of this union, their fleets of mer¬
chantmen were sent to all the ports of the Mediterranean ;
and at last to those of Egypt, particularly Cairo, a new
city, built by the Saracen princes, on the eastern bank of
the Nile, where they traded for the spices and other pro¬
ducts of the Indies. Thus they flourished, and increased
their commerce, their navigation, and their conquests, till
the league of Cambray in 1508, when a number of jea¬
lous princes conspired to bring about their ruin ; which was
the more easily effected by the diminution of their East
India commerce, of which the Portuguese had got one
part and the French another.
Genoa, which had applied itself to navigation at the same
time with Venice, and that with equal success, was a long
time its dangerous rival,1 disputed with it the empire of
the sea, and shared with it the trade of Egypt and other
parts both of the east and west. But jealousy soon began
to break out; and the two republics coming to an open
rupture, there was almost continual war for three centu¬
ries before the superiority was ascertained, when, towards
the end of the fourteenth century, the battle of Chioza
ended the strife; the Genoese, who till then had usually
the advantage, having now lost all, and the Venetians,
almost become desperate, having, by one happy blow, be¬
yond all expectation, secured to themselves the empire
of the sea, and superiority in commerce.
About the same time that navigation was retrieved in
the southern parts of Europe, a new society of merchants
was formed in the north, which not only carried commerce
to the greatest perfection of which it was capable till the
discovery of the East and West Indies, but also formed a
5 B
746 N A V I G
History, new scheme of laws for its regulation, which still obtain
under the name of Uses and Customs of the Sea.
This society is that famous league of the Hanse Towns,
commonly supposed to have been instituted about the year
1164. See Hanse Towns. For the modern state of na¬
vigation in England, Holland, France, Spain, Portugal, &c.
see the articles Commerce, Company, &c.
We shall only add, that in examining the causes of com¬
merce passing successively from the Venetians, Genoese,
and Hanse Towns, to the Portuguese and Spaniards, and
from these again to the English and Dutch, it may be
established as a maxim, that the relation between com¬
merce and navigation, or their union, is so intimate, that
the fall of the one inevitably draws after it that of the
other ; and that they will always either flourish or decline
together. Hence so many laws, ordinances, statutes, and
edicts for its regulation ; and hence particularly that cele¬
brated act of navigation, which an eminent foreign author
calls the 'palladium or tutelar deity of the commerce of Eng¬
land, which was long considered as the standing rule, not
only of the British amongst themselves, but also as that
of other nations with whom they trafficked.
The art of navigation has been exceedingly improved
in modern times, both with regard to the form of the ves¬
sels themselves, and also with respect to the methods of
working them. The use of rowers is now entirely super¬
seded by the improvements made in the formation of the
sails, rigging, &c. by which means ships can not only sail
much faster than formerly, but can tack in any direction
with the greatest facility. It is also very probable that the
ancients were neither so well skilled in finding the latitudes,
nor in steering their vessels in places of difficult naviga¬
tion, as the moderns. But the greatest advantage which
the moderns possess over the ancients consists in the ma
riner’s compass, by which they are enabled to find their
way with more facility in the midst of an immeasurable
ocean, than the ancients could have done by creeping along
the coast, and never going out of sight of land. Some
people indeed contend that this is no new invention, but
that the ancients were acquainted with it. They say, that
it was impossible for Solomon to have sent ships to Ophir,
Tarshish, and Parvaim, which last they imagine to have
been Peru, without this useful instrument. They insist,
that it was impossible for the ancients to be acquainted
with the attractive virtue of the magnet, and to be igno¬
rant of its polarity ; nay, they affirm that this property of
the magnet is plainly mentioned in the book of Job, where
the loadstone is mentioned by the name of topaz, or the stone
that turns itself. But it is certain that the Romans who
conquered Judaea were ignorant of this instrument; and
it is very improbable that such an useful invention, if
it had once been commonly known to any nation, would
have been forgotten, or perfectly concealed from such a
prudent people as the Romans, who were so deeply inte¬
rested in the discovery of it.
Amongst those who admit that the mariner’s compass is
a modern invention, it has been much disputed who was
the inventor. Some attribute the honour of the discovery
to Flavio Gioia of Amalfi in Campania,1 who lived about
the beginning of the fourteenth century; whilst others con¬
tend that it came from the east, and was earlier known in
Europe. But, at whatever time it was invented, it is cer¬
tain, that the mariner’s compass was not commonly used
in navigation before the year 1420. In that year the
science was considerably improved under the auspices of
Henry duke of Visco, brother to the king of Portugal. In
the year 1485, Roderick and Joseph, physicians to John
II. king of Portugal, together with one Martin de Bohe¬
mia, a Portuguese native of the island of Fayal, and scholar
A T I O N.
of Regiomontanus, calculated tables of the sun’s declina- History,
tion for the use of sailors, and recommended the astrolabe
for taking observations at sea. Of the instructions of Mar¬
tin the celebrated Christopher Columbus is said to have
availed himself, and to have improved the Spaniards in
the knowledge of the art; for the farther progress of which
a lecture was afterwards founded at Seville by the Empe¬
ror Charles Y.
The discovery of the variation is claimed both by Colum¬
bus and by Sebastian Cabot. The former certainly did ob¬
serve the variation without having heard of it from any
other person, on the 14th of September 1492, and it is very
probable that Cabot might have done the same. At that
time it was found that there was no variation at the Azores,
where some geographers have thought proper to place the
first meridian, though it has since been observed that the
variation alters in time. The use of the cross staff now
began to be introduced amongst sailors. This ancient in¬
strument is described by John Werner of Nuremberg, in
his annotations on the first book of Ptolemy’s Geography,
printed in the year 1514. He recommends it for observ¬
ing the distance between the moon and some star, in order
thence to determine the longitude.
At this time the art of navigation was very imperfect,
on account of the inaccuracies of the plane chart, which
was the only one then known, and which, by its gross er¬
rors, must have greatly misled the mariner, especially in
voyages far distant from the equator. Its precepts were
probably at first only set down on the sea charts, as is the
custom at this day; but at length two Spanish treatises
were published in the year 1545, one by Pedro de Medina,
and the other by Martin Cortes, which contained a com¬
plete system of the art, as far as it was then known. These
seem to have been the oldest writers who fully handled the
art; for Medina, in his dedication to Philip prince of Spain,
laments that multitudes of ships daily perished at sea, be¬
cause there were neither teachers of the art, nor books by
which it might be learned ; and Cortes, in his dedication,
boasts to the emperor, that he was the first who had re¬
duced navigation into a compendium, valuing himself much
on what he had performed. Medina defended the plane
chart; but he was opposed by Cortes, who showed its er¬
rors, and endeavoured to account for the variation of the
compass, by supposing the needle to be influenced by a
magnetic pole (which he called the point attractive), dif¬
ferent from that of the world, which notion has been far¬
ther prosecuted by others. Medina’s book was soon trans¬
lated into Italian, French, and Flemish, and for a long
time served as a guide to foreign navigators. However,
Cortes was the favourite author of the English nation, and
was translated in the year 1561; whilst Medina’s work
was entirely neglected, though translated also within a
short time of the other. At that time the system ot
navigation consisted of an account of the Ptolemaic hypo¬
thesis, and the circles of the sphere ; of the roundness of
the earth, the longitudes, latitudes, climates, &c. and
eclipses of the luminaries; a calendar; the method of
finding the prime, epact, moon’s age, and tides; a de¬
scription of the compass, an account of its variation, for
the discovering of which Cortes said that an instrument
might easily be contrived; tables of the sun’s declination
for four years, in order to find the latitude from his
meridian altitude; directions to find the same by certain
stars; of the course of the sun and moon ; the length
of the days; of time and its divisions; the method of find¬
ing the hour of the day and night; and, lastly, a description
of the sea chart, on which, in order to discover where the
ship was, they made use of a small table, which showed,
upon an alteration of one degree of the latitude, how many
Jilt
'■v
1 See the articles Gioia and Magnetism.
History, leagueswere run in each rhumb, together with the departure
from the meridian. Besides, some other instruments were
described, especially by Cortes ; such as one to find the
place and declination of the sun, with the days and place
of the moon ; certain dials, the astrolabe, and cross staff;
together with a complex machine to discover the hour and
latitude at once.
About the same time proposals were made for findino-
the longitude by observations of the moon. In 1530 Germ
ma Frisius advised the keeping of time by means of small
clocks or watches, which were then, as he says, newly in¬
vented. He also contrived a new sort of cross staff, and
an instrument called the nautical quadrant, which last was
much praised by William Cunningham, in his Astronomical
Glass, printed in the year 1559.
In the year 1537, Pedro Nunez, or Nonius, published a
book in the Portuguese language, to explain a difficulty in
navigation proposed to him by the commander Don Martin
Alphonso de Susa. In this he exposed the errors of the
plane chart, and likewise gave the solution of several cu¬
rious astronomical problems, amongst which was that of
determining the latitude from two observations of the sun’s
altitude and the intermediate azimuth. He observed, that
although the rhumbs are spiral lines, yet the direct course
of a ship will always be in the arc of a great circle, where¬
by the angle with the meridians will continually change;
and hence all that the steersman can here do for the pre¬
serving of the original rhumb, is to correct these devia¬
tions as soon as they appear sensible. But in reality the
ship will thus describe a course without the rhumb line in¬
tended; and therefore his calculations for assigning the la¬
titude, where any rhumb line crosses the several meridians,
will be in some measure erroneous. He invented a method
of dividing a quadrant by means of concentric circles, which,
after having been much improved by Dr Halley, is used
at present, and is called a nonius.
In the year 1577, Mr William Bourne published a trea¬
tise, in which, by considering the irregularities in the moon’s
motion, he showed the error of the sailors in finding her age
by the epact, and also in determining the hour from ob¬
serving on what point of the compass the sun and moon ap¬
peared. He advised, in sailing towards the high latitudes,
to keep the reckoning by the globe, as there the plane
chart w as most erroneous. He despaired of our ever being
able to find the longitude, unless the variation of the com¬
pass should be occasioned by some such attractive point
as Cortes had imagined, of which, however, he doubted;
but as he had shown how to find the variation at all times,
he recommended to keep an account of the observations, as
useful for finding the place of the ship; and this advice was
prosecuted at large by Simon Stevin, in a treatise publish¬
ed at Leyden in 1599, the substance of which was the
same year printed at London in English by Mr Edward
Wright, entitled the Haven-finding Art. In this ancient
tract is also described the method by which our sailors esti¬
mate the rate of a ship in her course, by an instrument
called the log. This w as so named from the piece of wood
or log which floats in the water, whilst the time is reckoned
during which the line that is fastened to it is veering out.
The author of this contrivance is not known, neither was
it taken notice of till 1607, in an East India voyage pub¬
lished by Purchas; but from that time it became famous,
and was much taken notice of by almost all writers on na¬
vigation in every country; and it still continues to be used
as at first, although many attempts have been made to im¬
prove it, and contrivances proposed to supply its place,
many of which have succeeded in quiet water, but proved
useless in a stormy sea.
In the year 1581 Michael Coignet, a native of Antwerp,
published a treatise, in which he animadverted on Medina.
In this he showed, that as the rhumbs are spirals, making
navigation.
V47
endless revolutions about the poles, numerous errors must History,
arise from their being represented by straight lines on the
sea charts; but although he hoped to find a remedy for
these errors, he was of opinion that the proposals of No¬
nius were scarcely practicable, and therefore in a great
measure useless. In treating of the sun’s , declination, he
took notice of the gradual decrease in the obliquity of the
ecliptic; he also described the cross staff with three trans¬
verse pieces, which he admitted were then in common use
amongst the sailors. He likewise described some instru¬
ments of his own invention; but all of them are now laid
aside, excepting perhaps his nocturnal. He constructed a
sea table to be used by such as sailed beyond the sixtieth
degree of latitude ; and at the end of the book is delivered
a method of sailing upon a parallel of latitude by means of
a ring dial and a twenty-four hour glass. The same year
the discovery of the dipping needle was made by Mr Ro¬
bert Norman. In his publication on that subject he main¬
tains, in opposition to Cortes, that the variation of the com¬
pass was caused by some point on the surface of the earth,
and not in the heavens; and he also made considerable im¬
provements on the construction of compasses themselves,
showing especially the danger of not fixing, on account of
the variation, the wire directly under thefleur de Us, as com¬
passes made in different countries have it placed different¬
ly. 1 o this performance of Norman’s is prefixed a discourse
on the variation of the magnetical needle, by Mr William
Burrough, in which he shows how to determine the varia¬
tion in many different ways, and also points out many er¬
rors in the practice of navigation at that time, speaking in
very severe terms concerning those who had published up¬
on it.
During this time the Spaniards continued to publish trea¬
tises on the art. In 1585 an excellent compendium was
published by Roderico Zamorano, and contributed greatly
towards the improvement of the art, particularly in the sea
charts. Globes of an improved kind, and of a much larger
size than those formerly used, were now constructed, and
many improvements were made in other instruments ; ne¬
vertheless, the plane chart continued still to be followed,
though its errors were frequently complained of. Methods
of removing these errors had indeed been sought after;
and Gerard Mercator seems to have been the first who
found the true method of effecting this, so as to answer
the purposes of seamen. His method was to represent the
parallels, both of latitude and longitude, by parallel straight
lines, but gradually to augment the former as they ap¬
proached the pole. Thus the rhumbs, which otherwise
ought to have been curves, were now also extended into
straight lines ; and thus a straight line drawn between any
two places marked upon the chart formed an angle with
the meridians, expressing the rhumb leading from the one
to the other. But although in 1569 Mercator published
an universal map constructed in this manner, it does not
appear that he was acquainted with the principles upon
which this proceeded; and it is now generally believed,
that the true principles on which the construction of what
is called Mercator s chart depends wrere first discovered
by an Englishman, Mr Edward Wright.
Mr Wright supposed, but, according to the general opi¬
nion, without sufficient grounds, that this enlargement of
the degrees of latitude was known and mentioned by Pto¬
lemy, and that the same thing had also been spoken of by
Cortes. The expressions of Ptolemy alluded to relate in¬
deed to the proportion between the distances of the paral¬
lels and meridians; but instead of proposing any gradual
enlargement of the parallels of latitude in a general chart,
he speaks only of particular maps, and advises not to con¬
fine a system of such maps to one and the same scale, but
to plan them out by a different measure, as occasion might
require; with this precaution, however, that the degrees of
748
NAVIGATION.
History, longitude in each should bear some proportion to those of
latitude, and this proportion was to be deduced from that
which the magnitude of the respective parallels bore to a
great circle of the sphere. He added, that, in particular
maps, if this proportion be observed with regard to the
middle parallel, the inconvenience will not be great, al¬
though the meridians should be straight lines parallel to
each other. But here he is understood only to mean, that
the maps should in some measure represent the figures of
the countries for which they are drawn. In this sense Mer¬
cator, who drew maps for Ptolemy s tables, understoo
him ; thinking it, however, an improvement not to regu¬
late the meridians by one parallel, but by two, one distant
from the northern, the other from the southern extremity
of the map, by a fourth part of the whole depth; by which
means, in his maps, although the meridians are straight
lines, yet they are generally drawn inclining to each other
towards the poles. With regard to Cortes, he speaks only
of the number of degrees of latitude, and not of the extent
of them ; nay, he gives express directions that they should
all be laid down by equal measurement in a scale ot
leagues adapted to the map. )
For some time after the appearance of Mercators map,
it was not rightly understood, and it was even thought to
be entirely useless, if not detrimental. However, about
the year 1592 its utility began to be perceived ; and seven
years afterwards, Mr Wright printed his famous treatise
entitled the Correction of certain Errors in Navigation,
where he fully explained the reason of extending the
length of the parallels of latitude, and the uses thereof to
navigators. In 1610 a second edition of Mr Wright’s
book was published, with improvements. An excellent
method was proposed of determining the magnitude of the
earth ; and at the same time it was judiciously proposed to
make our common measures in some proportion to a de¬
gree on its surface, that they might not depend on the
uncertain length of a barleycorn. Amongst his other im¬
provements may be mentioned the Table of Latitudes tor
Dividing the Meridian computed to Minutes, whereas it
had been only divided to every tenth minute. He also pub¬
lished a description of an instrument which he calls the
cea rings, by which the variation of the compass, the alti¬
tude of the sun, and the time of the day, may at once
readily be determined in any place, provided the latitude
is known. He also showed how to correct the errors
arising from the eccentricity of the eye in observing by
the cross staff. In the years 1594, 1595, 1596, and 1597,
he amended the tables of the declinations and places of
the sun and stars from his own observations made with a
six-feet quadrant, a sea quadrant to take altitudes by a
forward or backward observation, and likewise with a
contrivance for the ready finding of the latitude by the
height of the pole star, when not upon the meridian. To
this edition was subjoined a translation of Zamorano’s
Compendium, above mentioned, in which he corrected some
mistakes in the original; adding a large table of the varia¬
tion of the compass observed in different parts of the
world, in order to show that it was not occasioned by any
magnetical pole.
These improvements soon became known abroad. In
1608 a treatise entitled Hypomnemata Mathematica was
published by Simon Stevin, for the use of Prince Maurice.
In the portion of the work relating to navigation, the author
having treated of sailing on a great circle, and shown how
to draw the rhumbs on a globe mechanically, set down
Wright’s two tables of latitudes and of rhumbs, in order
to describe these lines more accurately, pretending even
to have discovered an error in Wright’s table. But all
Stevin’s objections were fully answered by the author him¬
self, who showed that they arose from the rude method of History.,
calculating made use of by the former. . v-*-'
In 1624 the learned Wellebrordus Snellius, professor of the
mathematics at Leyden, published a treatise of navigation
on Wright’s plan, but somewhat obscurely; and as he did
not particularly mention all the discoveries of Wright, the
latter was thought by some to have taken the hint of all
his discoveries from Snellius. But this supposition has
been long ago refuted ; and Wright now enjoys the honour
of those discoveries, which is justly his due.
Mr Wright having shown how to find the place of the
ship upon his chart, observed that the same might be per¬
formed more accurately by calculation ; but considering,
as he says, that the latitudes, and especially the courses
at sea, could not be determined so precisely, he forbore
setting down particular examples, as the mariner may be
allowed to save himself this trouble, and only to mark out
upon his chart the ship’s way, after the manner then usu¬
ally practised. However, in 1614, Mr Raphe Handson,
amongst the nautical questions he subjoined to a translation
of Pitiscus’s Trigonometry, solved very distinctly every
case of navigation, by applying arithmetical calculations to
Wright’s Table of Latitudes, or of Meridional Parts, as it
has since been called. Although the method discovered by
Wright for finding the change of longitude by a ship sail¬
ing on a rhumb is the proper way of performing it, Hand-
son also proposes two methods of approximation without
the assistance of Wright’s division of the meridian line.
The first was computed by the arithmetical mean between
the cosines of both latitudes; and the other by the same
mean between the secants as an alternative, when Wright’s
book was not at hand ; although this latter is wider ot the
truth than the former. By the same calculations also he
showed how much each of these compendiums deviates
from the truth, and also how widely the computations on
the erroneous principles of the plane chart differ from them
all. The method generally used by our sailors, however,
is commonly called the middle latitude, which, although it
errs more than that by the arithmetical mean between the
two cosines, is preferred on account ot its being less ope-
yet in high latitudes it is more eligible to use that
of the arithmetical mean between the logarithmic cosines,
equivalent to the geometrical mean between the cosines
themselves ; a method since proposed by Mr John Bassat.
The computation by the middle latitude will always tall
short of the true change of longitude, that by the geome¬
trical mean will always exceed; but that by the arithme¬
tical mean falls short in latitudes of about 45 degrees, and
exceeds in lesser latitudes. However, none ot these me¬
thods will differ much from the truth when the change of
latitude is sufficiently small. _ j u t i
About this period logarithms were invented by John
Napier, baron of Merchiston in Scotland, and proved o
the utmost service to the art of navigation. From these
Mr Edmund Gunter constructed a table of logarithmic
sines and tangents to every minute of the quadrant, which
he published in 1620. In this work he applied to naviga¬
tion, and other branches of mathematics, his admirab e
ruler known by the name of Gunter’s scale,1 on which are
described lines of logarithms, of logarithmic sines and
tangents, of meridional parts, &c.; and he greatly improved
the sector for the same purposes. He also showed how
to take a back observation by the cross staff, by which the
error arising from the eccentricity of the eye is avoided.
He likewise described another instrument, of his own in¬
vention, called the cross bow, for taking altitudes ot the
sun or stars, with some contrivances for the more readily
collecting the latitude from the observation. The disco¬
veries concerning logarithms were carried into trance m
1 See Gunter’s Scale.
S ©
N A VIG
[History. 1624 by Mr Edmund Wingate, who published two small
tracts in that year at Paris. In one of these he taught the
use of Gunter’s scale; and in the other, that of the tables
of artificial sines and tangents, as modelled according to
Napier’s last form, erroneously attributed by Wingate to
Briggs.
Gunter’s rule was projected into a circular arch by the
Reverend Mr William Oughtred in 1633, and its uses were
fully shown in a pamphlet entitled the Circles of Propor¬
tion, where, in an appendix, several important points in
navigation are well treated. It has also been made in the
form of a sliding ruler.
The logarithmic tables were first applied to the differ¬
ent cases of sailing by Mr Thomas Addison, in his treatise
entitled Arithmetical Navigation, printed in the year 1625.
He also gave two traverse tables, with their uses ; the one
to quarter-points of the compass, and the other to degrees.
Mr Henry Gellibrand published his discovery of the
changes of the variation of the compass, in a small quarto
pamphlet, entitled a Discourse Mathematical on the Va¬
riation of the Magnetical Needle, printed in 1635. This
extraordinary phenomenon he found out by comparing the
observations which had been made at different times near
the same place by Mr Burrough, Mr Gunter, and himself,
all persons of great skill and experience in these matters.
This discovery was likewise soon known abroad ; for Atha¬
nasius Kircher, in his treatise entitled Magnes, first print¬
ed at Rome in the year 1641, informs us, that he had been
told of it by Mr John Greaves, and then gives a letter of
the famous Marinus Mersennus, containing a very distinct
account of the same.
As altitudes of the sun are taken on shipboard by ob¬
serving his elevation above the visible horizon, to ob¬
tain from these the sun’s true altitude with correctness,
Wright observed it to be necessary that the dip of the vi¬
sible horizon below the horizontal plane passing through
the observer’s eye should be brought into the account,
which cannot be calculated without knowing the magni¬
tude of the earth. Hence he was induced to propose dif¬
ferent methods for finding this; but he complains that the
most effectual was out of his power to execute, and there¬
fore he contented himself with a rude attempt, in some
measure sufficient for his purpose. The dimensions of the
earth deduced by him corresponded very well with the
usual divisions of the log line ; nevertheless, as he wrote
not an express treatise on navigation, but only for the cor¬
recting such errors as prevailed in general practice, the log
line did not fall under his notice. Mr Richard Norwood,
however, put in execution the method recommended by
Mr Wright as the most perfect for measuring the dimen¬
sions of the earth, with the true length of the degrees of
a great circle upon it; and, in 1635, he actually measured
the distance between London and York ; from which mea¬
surement, and the summer solstitial altitudes of the sun
observed on the meridian at both places, he found a de¬
gree on a great circle of the earth to contain 367,196 Eng¬
lish feet, equal to 57,300 French fathoms or toises, which is
very exact, as appears from many measurements that have
been made since that time. Of all this Mr Norwood gave
a full account in his treatise called the Seaman’s Practice,
published in 1637. He there showed the reason why
Snellius had failed in his attempt; and he also pointed out
various uses of his discovery, particularly for correcting
the gross errors hitherto committed in the divisions of the
log line. But necessary amendments have been little at¬
tended to by sailors, whose obstinacy in adhering to esta¬
blished errors has been complained of by the best writers
on navigation. This improvement, however, has at length
made its way into practice, and few navigators of reputa¬
tion now make use of the old measure of forty-two feet to
a knot. In this treatise Mr Norwood also describes his
A T IO N.
own excellent method of setting down and perfecting a sea
reckoning, by using a traverse table, which method he had
followed and taught for many years. He likewise shows
how to rectify the course by the variation of the compass
being considered; as also how to discover currents, and to
make proper allowance on their account. This treatise,
and another on trigonometry, were continually reprinted,
as the principal^ books for learning scientifically the art of
navigation. W hat he had delivered, especially in the lat¬
ter of them, concerning this subject, was abridged as a
manual for sailors, in a very small piece called" an Epi¬
tome, which useful performance has gone through a great
number of editions. No alterations were ever made in the
Seaman's Practice till the twelfth edition in 1676, when
the following paragraph was inserted in a smaller character:
“ About the year 1672, Monsieur Picart has published an
account in French, concerning the measure of the earth,
a breviate whereof may be seen in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions, No. 112, wherein he concludes one degree to con¬
tain 365,184 English feet, nearly agreeing with Mr Nor¬
wood’s experimentand this advertisement is continued
through the subsequent editions as late as the year 1732.
About the year 1645 Mr Bond published in Norwood's
Epitome a very great improvement of Wright’s method,
from a property in his meridian line, whereby the divisions
are more scientifically assigned than the author himself
was able to effect; it resulted from this theorem, that these
divisions are analogous to the excesses of the logarithmic
tangents of half the respective latitudes augmented by
forty-five degrees above the logarithm of the radius. This
he afterwards explained more fully in the third edition
of Gunter’s works, printed in 1653, where he observed
that the logarithmic tangents from 45° upwards increase
in the same manner as the secants do added together, if
every half degree be accounted as a whole degree of Mer¬
cator’s meridional line. His rule for computing the meri¬
dional parts belonging to any two latitudes, supposed to be
on the same side of the equator, is to the following effect:
“ Take the logarithmic tangent, rejecting the radius, of
half each latitude, augmented by forty-five degrees; di¬
vide the difference of those numbers by the logarithmic
tangent of 45° 30', the radius being likewise rejected, and
the quotient will be the meridional parts required, express¬
ed in degrees.” This rule is the immediate consequence
of the general theorem, that the degrees of latitude bear
to one degree (or sixty minutes, which in Wright’s table
stands for the meridional parts of one degree), the same
proportion as the logarithmic tangent of half any latitude
augmented by forty-five degrees, and the radius neglect¬
ed, to the like tangent of half a degree augmented by
forty-five degrees, with the radius likewise rejected. But
here there was still wanting the demonstration of this
general theorem, which was at length supplied by Mr
James Gregory of Aberdeen, in his Exercitationes Geome-
tricce, printed at London in 1668 ; and afterwards more
concisely demonstrated, together with a scientific deter¬
mination of the divisor, by Dr Halley, in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1695 (No. 219), from the consideration of
the spirals into which the rhumbs are transformed in the
stereographic projection of the sphere upon the plane of
the equinoctial, and which is rendered still more simple
by Mr Roger Cotes, in his Logometria, first published in
the Philosophical Transactions for 1714 (No. 388). It
is moreover added in Gunter’s book, that if g^th of this
division, which does not sensibly differ from the logarith¬
mic tangent of 45° P 30", with the radius subtracted from
it, be used, the quotient will exhibit the meridional parts
expressed in leagues, and this is the divisor set down in
Norwood’s Epitome. After the same manner the meri¬
dional parts will be found in minutes, if the like logarith¬
mic tangent of 45° 1' 30", diminished by the radius, be
'50 NAVIG
Theory, taken; that is, the number used by others being 12633,
 y   when the logarithmic tables consist of eight places ot
figures besides the index.
In an edition of a book called the Seaman s kalendar, Mr
Bond declared that he had discovered the longitude by hav¬
ing found out the true theory of the magnetic variation; and
to gain credit to his assertion, he foretold, that at London
in 1657 there would be no variation of the compass, and
from that time it would gradually increase the other way ;
which happened accordingly. Again, in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1668 (No. 40), he published a table of the
variation for forty-nine years to come. Thus he acquired
such reputation, that his treatise entitled The Longitude
Found, was in the year 1676 published by the special com¬
mand of Charles II. and approved by many celebrated ma¬
thematicians. It was not long, however, before it met with
opposition ; and in the year 1678, another treatise, entitled
The Longitude not Found, made its appearance, and as
Mr Bond’s hypothesis did not in any manner answer its
author’s sanguine expectations, the alfair was undertaken
by Dr Halley. The result of his speculation was, that the
magnetic needle is influenced by four poles; but this won¬
derful phenomenon seems hitherto to have eluded all our
researches. (See Magnetism.) In 1700, however, Dr
Halley published a general map, with curve lines express¬
ing the paths where the magnetic needle had the same va¬
riation ; which was received with universal applause. But
as the positions of these curves vary from time to time,
they should frequently be corrected by skilful persons, as
was done in 1644 and 1756, by Mr William Mountaine,
and Mr James Dodson. In the Philosophical Transactions
for 1690, Dr Halley also gave a dissertation on the mon¬
soons, containing many very useful observations for such as
sail to places subject to these winds.
A TIO N.
After the true principles of the art were settled by Wright, Theory.
Bond, and Norwood, the authors who wrote on navigation
became so numerous that it would be impossible to enu¬
merate them. New improvements were daily made, and
every thing relative to it was settled with an accuracy not
only unknown to former ages, but which would have
been reckoned utterly impossible. The earth being found
to be a spheroid, and not a perfect sphere, with the short¬
est diameter passing through the poles, a tract was pub¬
lished in 1741 by the Reverend Doctor Patrick Murdoch,
wherein he accommodated Wright’s sailing to such a
figure ; and the same year Mr Colin Maclaurin, in the
Philosophical Transactions (No. 461), gave a rule for de¬
termining the meridional parts of a spheroid; which spe¬
culation is farther treated of in his book of Fluxions,
printed at Edinburgh in 1742, and in Delambre’s Astro¬
nomy (t. iii. ch. xxxvi.).
Amongst the later discoveries in navigation, that of find¬
ing the longitude both by lunar observations and by time¬
keepers is the principal. It is owing chiefly to the re¬
wards offered by the British parliament that this has at¬
tained the present degree of perfection. We are indebt¬
ed to Dr Maskelyne for putting the first of these methods
in practice, and for other important improvements in na¬
vigation. The time-keepers constructed by Harrison for
this express purpose were found to answer so well that he
obtained the parliamentary reward. These have been im¬
proved by Arnold, Earnshaw, and many others, so as now
to be almost in common use.
The works which have latterly appeared on navigation
are those on the longitude and navigation by Dr Mackay,
Dr Inman, Mr Riddle, Mr Norie, and others, and which
contain every necessary requisite to form the practical na¬
vigator.
THEORY OF NAVIGATION.
The motion of a ship in the water is well known to depend
on the action of the wind upon its sails, regulated by the
direction of the helm. As the water is a resisting medium,
and the bulk of the ship very considerable, it thence fol¬
lows that there is always a great resistance on her fore¬
part ; and when this resistance becomes sufficient to ba¬
lance the moving force of the wind upon the sails, the ship
attains her utmost degree of velocity, and her motion is
no longer accelerated. This velocity is different accord¬
ing to the different strength of the wind; but the stronger
the wind, the greater resistance is made to the ship’s pas¬
sage through the water; and hence, although the wind
should blow ever so strongly, there is also a limit to the ve¬
locity of the ship, for the sails and ropes can bear but a cer¬
tain force of air ; and when the resistance on the fore-part
becomes more than equivalent to their strength, the velo¬
city can no longer be increased, and the rigging gives way.
The direction of a ship’s motion depends upon the posi¬
tion of her sails with regard to the wind, combined with
the action of the rudder. The most natural direction of
the ship is, when she runs directly before the wind, the
sails being then disposed so as to be at right angles thereto.
But this is not always the case, both on account of the
variable nature of the winds, and the situation of the
intended port, or of intermediate headlands or islands.
When the wind, therefore, happens not to be favourable,
the sails are placed so as to make an oblique angle both
with the direction of the ship and with the wind; and the
sails, together with the rudder, must be managed in such
a manner that the direction of the ship may make an acute
angle with that of the wind ; and the ship, making boards
on different tacks, will by this means arrive at the intend¬
ed port.
The reason of the ship’s motion in this case is, that the
water resists the side more than the fore-part, and that in
the same proportion as her length exceeds her breadth.
This proportion is so considerable, that the ship continual¬
ly flies off where the resistance is least, and that sometimes
with great swiftness. In this way of sailing, however,
there is a great limitation; for if the angle made by the
keel with the direction of the w ind be too acute, the ship
cannot be kept in that position ; neither is it possible for a
large ship to make a more acute angle with the wind than
about six points, though small sloops, it is said, may make
an angle of about five points with it or less. In all these
cases, however, the velocity of the ship is greatly retarded,
and that not only on account of the obliquity of her mo¬
tion, but by reason of what is called her lee-way. This is
occasioned by the yielding of the water on the lee-side of
the ship, by which means the vessel acquires a compound
motion, partly in the direction of the wind, and partly in
that which is necessary for attaining the desired port.
It is perhaps impossible to lay down any mathematical
principles on which the lee-way of a ship could be properly
calculated; only we may observe in general that it depends on
the strength of the wind, the roughness of the sea, and the
velocity of the ship. When the wind is not very strong,
the resistance of the water on the lee-side bears a very
great proportion to that of the current of air, and there¬
fore it will yield but very little; however, supposing the
ship to remain in the same place, it is evident, that the
water having once begun to yield, will continue to do so
for some time, even though no additional force were ap¬
plied to it; but as the wand continually applies the same
force as at first, the lee-way of the ship must go on con¬
stantly increasing till the resistance of the water upon the
lee-side balances the force applied on the other, when it
will become uniform, as does the motion of a ship sailing
•ATariner’s
Compass.
navigation.
751
degree of velocity,^hen eJe?yC^he^mives he^ own ^ lhJ;nce fol]ows’ that the farther we remove from the Mariner’
'length, a new quantity of water is to be nut in m'ntin ^ t0r,.lhe longer are the degrees of latitude. Of conse- Compass
which has not yet received any monrent™ and X-W ?Ue"uCe’,lf a "av'«at?r assiB™ “V certain number of miles
consequence will make a greaterTeSnc^’than iT ' „ d„ „ , eng‘t °f “ degree ofnear the equator, he
whence shin remains in8,^100 t"n LXlf0 l tl!at ,mea!“r? =■* he approaches towards the
to the swiftness of the ship, then the lee wav will he the f° ^ ^ lerwlse he will imagine that he has not sailed so
less; but if the wind be very strong, AeXkv of he,h^ ?/, stv f„ ^ aCt';anl)' done-. A1 "'ou,d therefore be -c-
will bear but a small proportion to that of the current of of lathn Ip ^ tab..^.containing ^ length of a degree
air, and the same efFectSP must foUw as thou/hTe shin efthe not-para"d fr0m the *
moved slowly and the wind was o-entle that is the shin hp m<J t’ ’ 1. .out t111S, a troublesome calculation must
of her course; and this deviation will certainlylre accord- originally sufgested by rxperiments^
mg o t err velocity and their magnitude. In all cases of the polar diameter was to the equatorial one as 229 "to
a rough sea, therefore, a great deal of lee-wayismade. Ano- 230. This proportion, however, has not been admitted
t er circumstance also occasions a variation in the quan- by succeeding calculators. The French mathematicians
tity of the lee-way, namely, the lightness or heaviness of who measured a degree of the meridian in Lapland made
bein? £Tldent> that when the ship ginks deep the proportion between the equatorial and pohr diameters
in the water, a much greater quantity of that element is
to be put in motion before she can make any lee-way,
than when she swims on the surface. As, therefore, it is
impossible to calculate all these things with mathematical
exactness, it is plain that the real course of a ship is ex¬
ceedingly difficult to be found, and frequent errors must
occur, which can only be corrected by means of celestial
observations.
In many places of the ocean there are currents, or places
where the water, instead of remaining at rest, runs with a
very considerable velocity for a considerable way in some
particular direction, and which will certainly carry the ship
greatly out of her course. This occasions an error of the
same nature with the lee-way; and therefore, whenever a
current is perceived, its direction and velocity ought to be
determined, and the proper allowances made.
Another source of error in reckoning the course of a
ship proceeds from the variation of the compass. There
are few parts of the world where the needle points exactly
north ; and in those where the variation is known, it is sub¬
ject to very considerable alterations. By these means the
course of the ship is mistaken ; for as the sailors have no
other standard to direct them than the compass, if the
needle, instead of pointing due north, should point north¬
east, a prodigious error would be occasioned during the
course of the voyage, and the ship would not come near
the port to which she was bound. To avoid errors of this
to be as 1 to 0*9891 ; those who measured a degree at
Quito in Peru made the proportion as 1 to 0*99624, or
266 to 265; M. Bouguer makes the proportion to be as
179 to 178; and M. Buffon, in one part of his theory of
the earth, makes the equatorial diameter exceed the polar
one by yg^-th of the whole. According to M. du Sejour,
this proportion is as 321 to 320; and M. de Laplace, in
his Memoir upon the Figure of Spheroids, has deduced
the same proportion. Later investigations, however, show
that the polar axis is to the equatorial diameter in the ra¬
tio of 300 to 301 nearly. From these variations, it ap¬
pears that the point is not exactly determined, and, con¬
sequently, that any corrections which can be made with
regard to the spheroidal figure of the earth must be very
uncertain.
It is of consequence to navigators, in a long voyage, to take
the nearest way to their port; but this is scarcely possible
to be done. The shortest distance between any two points
on the surface of a sphere is measured by an arc of a
great circle intercepted between them ; and therefore it is
advisable to direct the ship along a great circle of the
earth’s surface. But this is a matter of considerable dif¬
ficulty, because there are no fixed marks by which it can
be readily known whether the ship sails in the direction
of a great circle or not. For this reason the sailors com¬
monly choose to direct their course by the rhumbs, or the
bearing of the place by the compass. These bearings do
t vr cxo uuuiju* xu avuiu ci i ui o ui Lino ucai lug ui tuc piacc me cuiiipasd* j. ueoU Ucdllll^b UU
kind, the only method is to observe the sun’s amplitude not point out the shortest distance between places; be-
and azimuth as frequently as possible, by which the varia- cause, upon a globe, the rhumbs are spirals, and not arcs
tion of the compass will be perceived, and the proper al- of great circles. However, when the places lie directly
lowances can then be made for errors in the course which under the equator, or exactly under the same meridian,
this may have occasioned. the rhumb then coincides with the arc of a great circle,
Errors will arise in the reckoning of a ship, especially and of consequence shows the nearest way. The sailing
when she sails in high latitudes, from the spheroidal figure
of the earth; for as the polar diameter of our globe is
found to be considerably shorter than the equatorial one,
on the arc of a great circle is called great circle sailing ;
and the cases of it depend all upon the solution of pro¬
blems in spherical trigonometry.
MARINER’S COMPASS.
A ship is enabled to keep her course at sea by means
of an instrument called the mariner’s compass. It consists
of a magnetic steel bar attached to the under side of a
card divided into points and quarter points, and supported
by a fine pin, on which it turns freely within a box covered
with glass. By reason of the directive property of the
magnet, the north point, which is commonly denoted by
a fieur de Us, is readily known. The circumference of
the card is generally divided into thirty-two points, which
in the best compasses are again subdivided into half points
and quarters. These are reckoned sufficient for nautical
purposes. On the inside of the box is drawn a dark ver¬
tical line called lubber’s point. This point, or rather line,
and the pin on which the card turns, are in the same line or
plane with the keel of the ship; and hence the point on the
circumference of the card opposite to lubber’s point shows
the angle which the ship’s course makes with the magnetic
meridian, called the course of the ship.
752
Prelimi¬
nary
Principles.
NAVIGATION.
The annexed diagram gives a general view of the com
form with the meridian, are given in Table I. at the end Prelimi.
of this article, and, as thus described, the instrument is
called the steering compass. ,
The azimuth compass is the same instrument more nicely
made. The circumference of the card is divided into degrees
and parts by a vernier, and is fitted up with sight-vanes to
take amplitudes and azimuths, for the purpose ot determin¬
ing the variation of the compass by observation. The va¬
riation is then applied to the magnetic course shown by the
steering compass, wdience the true course with respect to
the meridian becomes known. The necessary rules for this
purpose will be given in a succeeding part of this article.
Besides the variation, the needle is also affected by the
dip, which is likewise fully explained in the article Mag¬
netism, as well as Mr Barlow s method of correcting the
effects of local attraction, arising from the effects of the
iron, guns, &c. in the vessel itself. Having made these
IPre
k
oi
✓-
pass.
The names of the points, and the angles which they preliminary observations, we shall now proceed to t le
PRACTICE OF NAVIGATION.
BOOK I.
CONTAINING THE VARIOUS METHODS OF SAILING.
The art of navigation depends upon astronomical and
mathematical principles. The places of the sun, moon,
planets, and fixed stars, are deduced from observation and
calculation, and arranged in tables, the use of which is ab¬
solutely necessary in reducing observations taken at sea
for the purpose of ascertaining the latitude and longitude
of the ship, and the variation of the compass. The prob¬
lems in the various sailings are resolved either by trigono¬
metrical calculation, or by tables or rules formed by the
assistance of trigonometry. By mathematics, the neces¬
sary tables are constructed, and rules investigated for per¬
forming the more difficult parts ot navigation. For these
several branches of science, and for logarithmic tables, the
reader is referred to the respective articles in this work.
A few tables are given at the end of this article; but as
the other tables necessary for the practice of navigation are
to be found in almost every treatise on that subject, it
seems unnecessary to insert them in this place.
Prob. I. The latitudes of two places being given, to find
the difference of latitude.
Rule. Subtract the less latitude from the greater, if
the latitudes be of the same name, but add them if of con¬
trary ; and the remainder or sum will be the difference of
latitude. „, . . ,
Example 1. Required the difference of latitude between
the Lizard, in latitude 49° 58' N. and Cape St Vincent, m
latitude 37° 3' N.
Latitude of the Lizard, . 49° 08' N.
Latitude of Cape St Vincent, 37 3 N.
Difference of latitude, • 12 55 — /75 miles.
Ex. 2. What is the difference of latitude between Fun¬
chal, in latitude 32° 38' N., and the Cape of Good Hope, in
latitude 34° 29' S. ?
Latitude of Funchal,
Latitude of Cape of Good Hope,
32° 38' N.
34 29 S.
Difference of latitude,
67 7 = 4027 miles.
CHAP. I. PRELIMINARY PRINCIPLES.
Sect. I Of the Latitude and Longitude of a Place.
The situation of a place on the surface of the earth is
estimated by its distance from two imaginary lines inter¬
secting each other at right angles. The one of these is
called the equator, and the other the first meridian. The
situation of the equator is fixed; but that of the first meri¬
dian is arbitrary, and therefore different nations assume
different first meridians. In Great Britain, we esteem that
to be the first meridian which passes through the Royal
Observatory at Greenwich.
The equator divides the earth into two equal parts, call¬
ed the northern and southern hemispheres ; and the latitude
of a place is its distance from the equator, reckoned on a
meridian in degrees and parts of a degree, being either
north and south, according as it is in the northern or south¬
ern hemisphere.
The first meridian being continued round the globe, di¬
vides it into two equal parts, called the eastern and western
hemispheres; and the longitude of a place is that portion of
the equator contained between the first meridian and the
meridian of the given place, and is either east or west, ac¬
cording as it is in the eastern or western hemisphere re¬
spectively to the first meridian.
Prob. II. Given the latitude of one place, and the dif¬
ference of latitude between it and another place; to find
the latitude of that place.
Rule. If the given latitude and the difference ot lati¬
tude be of the same name, add them; but it ot different
names, subtract them, and the sum or remainder will be
the latitude required of the same name with the greater.
Ex. 1. A ship from latitude 39° 22' N. sailed aue noith
560 miles. Required the latitude come to. 0 99, N
Latitude sailed from, . • 39° 2“ J>-
Difference of latitude 560', . • _ 9 20 N.
Latitude come to, • • 42
Ex. 2. A ship from latitude 7° 19' N. sailed 854 miles
south. Required the latitude come to. 0 iqi >J
Latitude sailed from, . • ' , 1 , ^ c *
Difference of latitude 854', • =14 14 b.
Latitude come to,
6 55 S.
Prob. III. The longitudes of two places being given, to
find their difference ot longitude.
Rule. If the longitudes of the given places are ot tne
same name, subtract the less from the greater, and the re¬
mainder is the difference of longitude; but it the longi¬
tudes are of contrary names, their sum is the difference o
longitude. If this exceeds 180°, subtract it from 3o ,
and the remainder is the difference of longitude.
IS) A VIG
Prelimi- Ex. 1. Required the difFerence of longitude between
ary Prill- Edinburgh and New York, their longitudes being 3° 12'
W. and 74° 2' W. respectively.
Longitude of New York, . . 74,° g' W.
Longitude of Edinburgh, . . . 3 12 W.
Difference of longitude, . . 70 50
Ex. 2. What is the difference of longitude between
Maskelyne’s Isles, in longitude 167° 59' E. and Olinda, in
longitude 34° 54^ W.
Longitude of Maskelyne’s Isles, . 167° 59' E.
Longitude of Olinda, . . . 35 54 W.
A TIO N.
753
Longitude sailed from, . . 90 54/ e. Prelimi-
Difference of longitude, . . .23 18 W.nary Prin-
  ciples.
Longitude come to, . . 13 24
Ex. 2. Ihe longitude sailed from is 25° 9' W. and dif¬
ference of longitude 18° 46'. W. Required the longitude
come to.
Longitude left, . . . 25° 9' W.
DifFerence of longitude, . . . 18 46 W.
Longitude in, ... 43 55 W.
Sum, . . . . 203 53
Subtract from, .... 360 0
Difference of longitude, . . 156 2
Prob. IY. Given the longitude of a place, and the dif¬
ference of longitude between it and another place, to find
the longitude of the latter place.
Rule. If the given longitude and the difFerence of lon¬
gitude be of a contrary name, subtract the less from the
greater, and the remainder is the longitude required, of
the same name with the greater quantity; but if they are
of the same name, add them, and the sum is the longitude
sought, of the same name with that given. If this sum
exceeds 180°, subtract it from 360° ; the remainder is the
required longitude, of a contrary name to that given.
Ex. 1. A ship from longitude 9° 54' E. sailed westerly
till the difFerence of longitude was 23° 18'. Required the
longitude come to.
Sect. II.—Of the Tides.
The theory of the tides has already been explained under
the article Astronomy, and will again be further illustrated
under that of Tides. In this place, therefore, it remains
only to explain the method of calculating the time of high
water at a given place.
As the tides depend upon the joint actions of the sun
and moon, and therefore upon the distance of these ob¬
jects from the earth and from each other; and as, in the
method generally employed to find the time of high water,
whether by the mean time of new moon, or by the epacts,
or tables deduced therefrom, the moon is supposed to be
the sole agent, and to have an uniform motion in the peri¬
phery of a circle, whose centre is that of the earth ; it is
hence obvious that this method cannot be accurate, and by
observation the error is sometimes found to exceed two
hours. This method is therefore rejected, and another
given, in which the error will seldom exceed a few mi¬
nutes, unless the tides are greatly influenced by the winds.
Table I.—For determining the Time of High Water.
Moon’s
Transit.
h. m.
0 0
10
20
30
40
50
1 0
10
20
30
40
50
2 0
10
20
30
40
50
3 0
10
20
30
40
50
4 0
Moon’s Horizontal Parallax.
60' 59'
— 4
6
8
10
12
15
17
20
22
24
27
29
31
34
36
38
40
42
44
46
48
50
52
53
55
- 3
5
7
10
12
14
17
20
22
24
27
30
32
35
37
39
41
43
45
47
49
52
54
55
— 57
58'
— 2
4
6
9
11
14
16
19
22
25
28
31
33
36
38
40
43
45
47
49
51
54
56
57
59
57'
— 0
3
5
8
10
13
16
19
22
25
28
31
33
36
39
41
44
46
49
51
53
56
58
60
— 62
56'
+ 2
— 1
4
7
10
12
16
19
22
25
28
31
34
37
40
42
46
48
51
54
56
58
61
63
— 65
55'
+ 4
+ 1
— 3
6
9
12
15
19
22
25
29
32
35
38
42
44
48
50
53
56
58
61
64
66
69
54'
+ 6
+ 2
— 1
5
8
11
15
18
22
25
29
33
36
39
43
46
50
52
55
58
61
64
67
69
— 72
Vloon’s Moon’s
Transit. Transit.
h. m-
12 0
10
20
30
40
50
13 0
10
20
30
40
50
14 0
10
20
30
40
50
15 0
10
20
30
40
50
16 0
4 0
10
20
30
40
50
5 0
10
20
30
40
50
6 0
10
20
30
40
50
7 0
10
20
30
40
50
8 0
60'
55
56
57
58
59
60
60
60
60
59
58
57
56
52
49
46
43
38
32
27
22
18
11
6
— 1
59'
57
58
60
61
62
62
63
63
63
62
61
60
58
54
51
48
44
39
33
27
22
18
11
6
+ 1
58'
• 59
61
63
64
65
65
66
66
66
65
63
62
60
56
53
50
45
40
33
28
22
17
10
5
+ 2
57'
62
63
65
66
67
67
68
68
68
67
65
65
62
59
55
51
47
41
34
28
22
16
10
4
+ 3
56'
• 65
66
68
69
70
70
71
72
71
70
68
68
65
62
58
54
49
43
35
29
22
16
8
2
+ 5
55'
• 69
70
72
73
74
75
75
76
75
74
72
71
69
65
60
56
51
44
36
29
22
15
7
0
+ 7
54'
— 72
73
75
76
78
79
79
80
80
78
76
74
72
68
63
58
53
45
37
30
22
14
6
+ 1
+ 9
Moon’s
Transit.
h. m.
16 0
10
20
30
40
50
17 0
10
20
30
40
50
18 0
10
20
30
40
50
19 0
10
20
30
40
50
20 0
5 c
VOL. XV.
754:
Prelim i-
NAVIGATION.
Table I.—{continued).
nary Prin¬
ciples.
Moon’s
ransit.
Moon’s Horizontal Parallax.
60'
h. m.
8 0—1
10
20
30
40
50
9 0
10
20
30
40
50
+ 2
5
14
15
17
16
16
16
59'
+ 1
4
7
10
13
16
17
18
19
18
18
18
58'
+ 2
5
9
12
16
18
57'
+ 3
7
11
15
18
20
56'
+ 5
9
14
18
21
23
55'
10 0!+ 15 + 17 + 20 +23
i —    — 
19
20
22
21
21
21
21
23
25
24
24
23
24
26
28
27
27
27
+ 7
12
16
21
25
27
54'
Moon’s Moon's
Transit. Transit-
+ 9
14
19
24
28
30
28
30
32
31
31
30
h. m-
20 0
10
20
30
40
50
32
34
36
35
35
34
+ 27
+ 30
21 0
10
20
30
40
50
+ 34 j22 0
h- m.
10 0
10
20
30
40
50
60'
+ 15
14
13
12
11
59'
+ 17
17
16
15
13
58'
+ 20
57'
56'
+ 23
11 0
10
20
30
40
50
12 0
11
— 1
20
18
17
16
22
20
19
18
14 16
12
10
7
6
4
1
+ 27
25
23
22
21
55'
19
14
12
9
7
5
2
— 1
+ o 4" o
17
15
11
9
7
4
+ 30
29
27
26
25
54'
Moon’s
Transit.
22
+ 2
20
17
14
12
9
6
+ 34
32
31
30
28
25
h. m.
22 0
10
20
30
40
50
+ 4
23
20
17
14
11
8
+ 6
24 0
Prelimi-
Prin.
nary
ciples.
Table II.—For finding the Height of the Tide.
Time of Transit.
Moon’s Hor. Par. 60'.
h. m.
0 0
0 40
1 20
2 0
2 40
3 20
4 0
4 40
5 20
6 0
6 40
7 20
8 0
8 40
9 20
10 0
10 40
11 20
h. m.
12 0
12 40
13 20
14 0
14 40
15 20
16 0
16 40
17 20
18 0
18 40
19 20
20 0
20 40
21 20
22 0
22 40
23 20
(part I.)
Moon’s Hor. Par. 57'.
Multipliers.
Multipliers.
0’995a +
1*104a +
M38a +
M04a +
0-995a +
0’853a +
0*668a +
0*460a +
0-284a +
O’133a +
0-1495
0-0385
0-0005
0-0385
0-1495
0-3195
0-5275
0-7495
0-9585
1-1275
Moon’s Hor. Par. 54'
Multipliers.
Time
from H.W.
0-034a + 1-2385
O-OOOa + 1-2775
0’034a + 1-2385
0-133a + 1-1275
0-284a + 0-9585
0*460a + 0-7495
0-668a + 0-5275
0-853a + 0-3195
0-883a
0-970a
l*000a
0-970a
0-883a
0-750a
0-587a
0’413a
0-250a
0-117a
+ 0-1175
+ 0-0305
+ 0-0005
+ 0-0306
+ 0-1176
+ 0-2506
+ 0-4136
+ 0-5876
+ 0-7506
+ 0-8836
12 0 24 0 0-995a + 0-1496
0030a
0-000a
0-030a
0-117a
0-250a
0-413a
0-587a
0-750a
0-883a
+ 0-9706
+ 1-0006
+ 0-9706
+ 0-8836
+ 0-7506
+ 0-5875
+ 0-4136
+ 0-2506
+ 0-1176
0-795a +
0-874a +
0-901a +
0-874a +
0-795a +
0-676a +
0-529a +
0-37 2a +
0-225a +
0-105a +
0-0826
0-0216
0-0006
0-0216
0-0826
0-1766
0-2906
0-4126
0-5276
0-6216
0-027a
0-000a
0-027a
0-105a
0-225a
0-372a
0-529a
0-676a
0-795a
+ 0-6826
+ 0-7036
+ 0-6826
+ 0-6216
+ 0-5276
+ 0-4126
+ 0-2906
+ 0-1766
+ 0-0826
(part n.)
h.
0 0
0 10
0 20
0 30
0 40
0 50
1 0
1 10
1 20
1 30
40
50
0
10
20
30
2 40
2 50
3 0
Mult.
1-000
0-998
0-993
0-985
0’974
0-959
0-941
0-921
0-897
0-871
Time
from H.W.
0-843
0-812
0-779
0-774
0-708
0-670
0-631
0-591
0-551
10
20
30
40
50
0
10
4 20
4 30
4 40
Mult.
0-510
0-460
0-429
0-389
0-349
0-311
0-274
0-238
0-204
0-173
50
0
10
20
30
40
50
0
20
0-143
0-116
0-091
0-069
0-050
0033
0-020
0010
0-000
To find the time of High Water.
Rule. Let the approximate time of high water be found,
by taking the corrections for the moon's horizontal pa¬
rallax for the nearest noon or midnight from Table I.
Again, to this time and the given longitude take from the
Nautical Almanack the moon’s horizontal parallax. Also
to the time of the moon’s transit over the meridian of
Greenwich apply the variation answering to the longitude
and daily variation between the given and preceding day
if the longitude is east. Subtract it from the transit over
the meridian of Greenwich, and the remainder will be the
time of transit over the meridian of the given place. But
if the longitude be west, the correction answering to the
longitude and daily variation of transit between the given
and following day must be added to the time of transit
over the meridian of Greenwich to obtain the time of
transit over the meridian of the given place. To the time
of high water, if new and full moon at the given place,
add the reduced time of transit over the meridian of the
same place, and to the sum apply the equation from the
table answering to the time of transit and horizontal pa¬
rallax formerly found; the result will be the true mean time
of high water required. T. he apparent time may be found
by applying the equation of time, with its proper sign.
Ex. 1. Required the time of high water at Leith on
Wednesday the 10th of May 1837, in longitude 3° 11' W.
By the rule, the time of high water will be about six
o’clock in the evening. In this case, the moon’s horizon¬
tal parallax will be 54 16", and the time of transit 4h 50“
mean time, or 4h 54m apparent time by applying the equa¬
tion of time 3m 50s by addition.
Apparent time of transit of upper meridian, 4 54“
Equation from the table to horizontal parallax
54' 16", and transit 4h 54m, subtract
Remainder,
Time of high water at new and full moon,
Apparent time of high water,
Equation of time, subtract .
Mean time of high water,
— 1 18
+
36
20
56
4
5 52
NAVIGATION.
Prelimi- If the sum exceed 12h 25m, subtract this number from
ary Pnn-it; if it exceed 24h 50™, subtract as before, and the re-
^ip , mainder will be the time of high water in the afternoon of
v the given day nearly. The time of high water of the tide
preceding may be found nearly by subtracting 25™ from it,
and the succeeding tide by adding 25™ to it. In cases of
great accuracy, however, a computation should be made
for each tide in a manner similar to that above.
Ex. 2. Required the time of high water at Aberdeen
on the 21st of June 1837, in longitude 2° 6' W.
As before, the time of high water will readily be found
to be about three o’clock.
Here the horizontal parallax of the moon will be 60' 30",
and the mean time of transit on the given day 15h 32™.
But as this transit exceeds 12h, it will be necessary to
take the time of transit over the under meridian, or, what
comes to the same thing, half the sum of the transits
on the given and preceding days, or 4 (14h 32™ 4- 15h
32™), . . . . . = 15h 2™
Correction from the table, . . . — 0 44
14 18
+ 1 10
15 28
12 25
3
+ o
Remainder,
High water at new and full moon,
Sum exceeding 12h
By rule, subtract
Apparent time of high water,
Equation of time,
Mean time, .... 34
Ex. 3. Required the depth at Aberdeen at the same
time, the rise of spring tides being 19 feet, denoted by a
in Tarble II. part 1, and that of the neap 14 feet, by b.
Now, by Table II. part 1, to transit 15h 2™, and hori¬
zontal parallax 60; 30", will be obtained 0-917 X 19
+ 0-242 X 14 = 20-8 feet.
Ex. 4. Required the height of the tide at 3h 15™ after
high water.
By part 2, 20-8 X 0-5 = . . . 10-4 feet.
In this manner, the time and rise of the tide may be
readily obtained nearly, unless both are much influenced
by the strength and direction of the wind.
Sect. III.— Of measuring a Shifts Run in a given Time.
The method commonly used at sea to find the distance
sailed in a given time is by means of a log-line and half¬
minute glass. A description of these is given under the
articles Log and Log-line, which see.
It has been already observed, that the interval between
each knot on the line ought to be fifty feet, in order to
adapt it to a glass that runs thirty seconds. But although
the line and glass be at any time perfectly adjusted to
each other, yet as the line shrinks after being wet, and as
the weather has a considerable effect upon the glass, it
will therefore be necessary to examine them from time to
time; and the distance given by them must be corrected
accordingly. The distance sailed may, therefore, be af¬
fected by an error in the glass, or in the line, or in both.
The true distance may, however, be found as follows :
Prob. I. The distance sailed by the log, and the se¬
conds run by the glass, being given, to find the true dis¬
tance, the line being supposed right.
Rule. Multiply the distance given by the log by 30,
and divide the product by the seconds run by the glass,
the quotient will be the true distance.
Ex. 1. The hourly rate of sailing by the log is nine
knots, and the glass is found to run out in 35 seconds.
Required the true rate of sailing.
9
30
35)270(7-7 = true rate of sailing.
Ex. 2. The distance sailed by the log is 73 miles, and
the glass runs out in 26 seconds. Sought the true dis¬
tance. '
73
30
26)2190(84-2 the true distance.
Prob. II. Given the distance sailed by the log, and the
measured interval between two adjacent knots on the line ;
to find the true distance, the glass running exactly 30 se¬
conds.
Rule. Multiply twice the distance sailed by the mea¬
sured length of a knot, point off two figures to the right,
and the remainder will be the true distance.
Ex. 1. The hourly rate of sailing by the log is five knots,
and the interval between knot and knot measures 53 feet.
Required the true rate of sailing.
Measured interval, = 53
Twice hourly rate, =r 10
True rate of sailing, r= 5-30
Ex. 2. The distance sailed is 64 miles, by a log-line
which measures 42 feet to a knot. Required the true dis¬
tance.
Twice given distance, = 128
Measured interval, . 42
True distance,
256
512
53-76
Seconds run by the glass, =
distance.
318
795
318
33)40068(121-4 = true
CHAP. II.—OF PLANE SAILING.
Plane sailing is the art of navigating a ship upon prin¬
ciples deduced from the notion of the earth’s being an ex¬
tended plane. On this supposition the meridians are es¬
teemed as parallel right lines. The parallels of latitude are
at right angles to the meridians ; the lengths of the degrees
on the meridians, equator, and parallels of latitude, are
everywhere equal; and the degrees of longitude are reckon¬
ed on the parallels of latitude as well as on the equator.
In this sailing four things are principally concerned, name¬
ly, the course, distance, difference of latitude, and departure.
The course is the angle contained between the meridian
and the line described by the ship, and is usually expres¬
sed in points of the compass.
The distance is the number of miles a ship has sailed on
a direct course in a given time.
755
Plane
Sailing.
Prob. III. Given the length of a knot, the number of
seconds run by the glass in half a minute, and the distance
sailed by the log; to find the true distance.
Rule. Multiply the distance sailed by the log by six
times the measured length of a knot, and divide the pro¬
duct by the seconds run by the glass ; the quotient, point¬
ing off one figure to the right, will be the true distance.
Ex. The distance sailed by the log is 159 miles, the
measured length of a knot is 42 feet, and the glass runs
33 seconds in half a minute. Required the true distance.
Distance by the log, . . 159
Six times length of a knot 42 x 6 = 252
756
Plane
Sailing.
NAVIGATION.
The difFerence of latitude is the portion of a meridian
contained between the parallels of latitude sailed from
and come to; and is reckoned either north or south, ac¬
cording as the course is in the northern or southern hemi-
* The departure is the distance of the ship from the me¬
ridian of the place she left, reckoned on a parallel of lati¬
tude. In this sailing, the departure and difference of
longitude are esteemed equal.
In order to illustrate the above, let A represent the po¬
sition of any given place, and AB the
meridian passing through that place; Fig. 1.
also let AC represent the line de- g —  -/ c
scribed by a ship, and C the point ar- /
rived at. From C draw CB perpendi- /
cular to AB. Now in the triangle /
ABC, the angle BAG represents the /
course, the side AC the distance, AB /
the difFerence of latitude, and BC the /
departure. /
In constructing a figure relating to x
a ship’s course, let the upper part of what the figure is to
be drawn on represent the novth, then the lower part will
be south, the right-hand side east, and the left-hand side
west.
A north and south line is to be drawn to represent the
meridian of the place from which the ship sailed ; and the
upper or lower part of this line, according as the course is Plane
southerly or northerly, is to be marked as the position of Sailing,
that place. From this point as a centre, with the chord
of 60°, an arch is to be described from the meridian to¬
wards the right or left, according as the course is easterly
or westerly; and the course, taken from the line of chords
if given in degrees, but from the line of rhumbs if express¬
ed in points of the compass, is to be laid upon this arch,
beginning at the meridian. A line drawn through this
point and that sailed from will represent the distance,
which, if given, must be laid thereon, beginning at the point
sailed from. A line is to be drawn from the extremity of
the distance perpendicular to the meridian ; and hence the
difFerence of latitude and departure will be obtained.
If the difFerence of latitude is given, it is to be laid upon
the meridian, beginning at the point representing the place
the ship left; and a line drawn from the extremity of the
difFerence of latitude perpendicular to the meridian, till it
meets the distance produced, will limit the figure.
If the departure is given, it is to be laid off on a parallel,
and a line drawn through its extremity will limit, the dis¬
tance. When either the distance and difFerence of lati¬
tude, distance and departure, or difFerence of latitude and
departure, are given, the measure of each is to be taken
from a scale of equal parts, and laid off on its respective
line, and the extremities connected. Hence the figure
will be formed.
Table HI.—To reduce Points of the Compass to Degrees, and conversely.
North-east Quadrant.
North.
N.£E.
N.iE.
N. | N.
N. hy E.
N. hy E. ^ E.
N. E. i E.
N. by E. | E.
South-east Quadrant
N. N. E.
N. N. E. £ E.
N. N. E. i E.
N. N. E. ! E.
N. E. by N.
N. E. | N.
N. E. | N.
N. E. i N.
N. E.
N.E.iE.
N. E. | E.
N. E. | E.
N. E. by E.
N. E. by E. i E.
N. E. by E. 1 E.
N. E. by E. | E.
E. N. E.
E. by N. | N.
E. by N. i N.
E. by N. J N.
E. by N.
E. | N.
E.|N.
E.£N.
East.
South.
S. £ E.
S.iE.
S. | E.
S. by E.
S. by E. ± E.
S. by E. -k E.
S. by E. | E.
S. S.E.
S. S. E. i E.
S. S. E. i E.
S. S. E. | E.
Points.
0 0
0 i
0 k
0 #
2 0
2 i
2 i
2 |
D. M. S.
0 0 0
2 48 45
5 37 30
8 26 15
11 15 0
14 3 45
16 52 30
19 41 15
S. E. by S.
S. E. | S.
S.
s.
S. E.i
S. E.i
S. E.
S. E. i E.
S. E. i E.
S. E. 1 E.
3 0
3 -1
3 J-
3 I
S. E. by E.
S. E. by E. i E.
S. E. by E. b E.
S. E. by E. | E.
E. S. E.
E. by S. | S.
E. by S. i S.
E. by S ^ S.
E. by S.
E. f S.
E. b S.
£
E. 4S,
East.
4 0
4 i
4 h
4 |
22 30 0
25 18 45
28 7 30
30 56 15
33 45 0
36 33 45
39 22 30
42 11 15
45 0 0
47 48 45
50 37 30
53 26 15
56 15 0
59 3 45
61 52 30
64 41 15
67 30 0
70 18 45
73 7 30
75 56 15
South-west Quadrant.
South.
S.^ W.
S.i w.
s.l w.
S. by W.
S.fyW.£W.
S.fyW.JrW.
S. by W. J W.
North-west Quadrant
North.
N. ^ W.
N.iW.
N.#W.'
N. by W.
N. by W. £ W.
N. by W. i W.
N. by W. | W.
S. S. W.
S. S. W.£W.
S. S.W.-I-W.
s. s.w.f w.
s.w.%s.
S. W.|S.
s. w.^s.
s. w.^s.
s. w.
S. W. £ w.
S.W.iW.
s. w. I w.
S. W.byW.
S.w.% W.£W.
S.W.fo/W.d. w.
S. W. by W. IW.
7 0
7 -1
7 1
7 £
1 4
8 0
78 45 0
81 33 45
84 22 30
87 11
90 0
15
0
W. S. W.
W. by S. | S.
W.fyS.iS.
W.fyS.^S.
W. by S.
W.fS.
W. J- s.
w.^s.
West.
N. N. W.
N. N. W.iW.
N. N. W. i W.
N. N.W.|W.
N. W.%N.
N. W. | N.
N. W.jN.
N. W. i N.
N.W.
N. W. a W.
N.W.} W.
N. W. | W.
N. W. by W.
N. W.fyW.lW.
N. W.fy W.}W.
N. W.byW.^W.
W. N. W.
W. by N. | N.
W. by N. i N.
W. by N. £ N.
W. by N.
W.f N.
W. b N.
W. £ N.
West.
Plane
Sailing.
navigation.
Prob. I. Given the course and distance, to find the dif-
^ terence ol latitude and departure.
Example. A ship from St Helena, in latitude 15° 55' S.
sailed S. W. by S. 158 miles. Required the latitude come
to, and departure.
By Construction.
Draw the meridian AB, and with
the chord of 60° describe the arch mn,
and make it equal to the rhumb of
three points, and through n draw AC
equal to 158 miles; from C, draw CB
perpendicular to AB; then AB ap¬
plied to the scale from which AC
was taken will be found to measure
131-4, and BC 87-8.
Fig. 2.
By Calculation
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius
is to the cosine of the course 3 points
so is the distance . 158
to the difference of latitude 131-4
To find the departure.
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius
is to the secant of the course 3i points
so is the difference of latitude 218 m.
to the distance . 282
. , To find the departure.
As radius . '
is to the tangent of the course 31 points
so is the difference of latitude 218
As radius
is to the sine of the course
so is the distance
3 points
158
87-8
10-00000
9-91985
2-19866
2-11851
10-00000
9-74474
2-19866
to the departure . 87-8 . . 1-94340
. By Inspection.
In the traverse table, the difference of latitude answer¬
ing to the course 3 points, and distance 158 miles, in a
distance column, is 131-4, and departure 87-8.
By Gunters Scale.
The extent from 8 points to 5 points, the complement
of the course on the line of sine rhumbs (marked S.R.) will
reach from the distance 158 to 131-4, the difference of la¬
titude on the line of numbers ; and the extent from 8 points
to 3 points on sine rhumbs will reach from 158 to 87-8, the
departure on numbers.1
Latitude St Helena, 15° 55' g.
Difference of latitude, . 2 11 S.'
Latitude come to,
18 6 S.
Prob. II. Given the course and difference of latitude, to
find the distance and departure.
Example. A ship from St George’s, in latitude 38° 45'
north, sailed S. E. 1S.: and the latitude by observation was
35° 7' N. Required the distance run, and departure.
Latitude St George’s, . 38°45'N.
Latitude come to, . 35 7 N.
Difference of latitude, . 3
By Construction.
Draw the portion of the meridian
AB equal to 218 m.: from the centre
A with the chord of 60° describe the
arch mn, which make equal to the
rhumb of 3^ points: through An
draw the line AC, and from B draw
BC perpendicular to AB, and let it
be produced till it meets AC in C.
Then the distance AC, being applied
to the scale, will measure 282 m.
and the departure BC 179 miles.
38 =r 218 miles.
Fig. 3.
757
Plane
Sailing.
1000000
10-11181
2-33846
2-45027
10-00000
9-91417
2-33846
2-25263
to the departure . 178-9
By Inspection.
Find the given difference of latitude 218 m. in a lati¬
tude column, under the course of 31 points ; opposite to
which, in a distance column, is 282 miles; a departure co-
umn is 1/8-9 m. the distance and departure required.
By Gunter s Scale.
Extend the compass from 41 points, the complement of
the course, to 8 points on sine rhumbs; that extent will
reach from the difference of latitude 218 miles to the dis¬
tance 282 miles on numbers; and the extent from 4 points
to the course 31 points on the line of tangent rhumbs
(marked T. R.) will reach from 218 miles to 178-9, the
departure on numbers.
Prob. HI. Given course and departure, to find the dis¬
tance and difference of latitude.
Example. A ship from Palma, in latitude 28° 37' N.
sailed N. W. by W. and made 192 miles of departure. Re¬
quired the distance run, and latitude come to.
By Construction.
Make the departure BC equal to 192 miles, draw BA
perpendicular to BC, and from
the centre C, with the chord
of 60°, describe the arch mn,
which make equal to the rhumb
of 3 points, the complement of
the course; draw a line through
C », which produce till it meet
BA in A: then the distance
AC being measured, will be
equal to 231 m. and the differ¬
ence of latitude AB will be 128-3 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As the sine of the course 5 points . 9-91985
is to radius ..... 10-00000
so is the departure . .' ‘192 . 2-28330
to the distance . . 230-9 . 2-36345
To find the difference of latitude.
As the tangent of the course 5 points 10-17511
is to radius .... 10-00000
so is the departure . . 192 . 2-28330
to the difference of latitude 128-3 . 2-10819
By Inspection.
Find the departure 192 m. in its proper column above
the given course 5 points; and opposite thereto is the dis¬
tance 231 miles, and difference of latitude 128-3, in their
respective columns.
1 For the method of resolving the various problems in navigation by the sliding gunter, the reader is referred to Dr Maekav’s
Treatise on the Description and Use of that Instrument.
758
Plane
Sailing.
By Gunters Scale.
, The extent from 5 points to 8 points on the line of sine
rhumbs, being laid from the departure 192 on numbers, wil
reach to the distance 231 on the same line ; and the extent
from 5 points to 4 points on the line of tangent rhumbs
will reach from the departure 192, to the difference of la¬
titude 128-3 on numbers.
Latitude of Palma, • • • 22 3« S’
Difference of latitude, • • • ^ » rs-
NAVIGATION.
complement of the course on sines ; and the extent from Plane
90° to the course 46° on the line of sines being laid from ^ bail‘n^
the distance 285, will reach to the departure 205 on the ^
line of numbers.
Latitude come to,
30 45 N.
Prob. IV. Given the distance and difference of latitude,
to find the course and departure. _ . , i o# vr
Example. A ship from a place in latitude 43 13 N.,
sails between the north and east 285 miles ; and is then by
observation found to be in latitude 46° 31' N. Required
the course and departure.
Latitude sailed from, . • *43 13 N.
Latitude by observation, . • 46 31 IN.
Difference of latitude, . • • 3 18= 198 miles.
By Construction.
Draw the portion of the meridian AB equal to 198 miles;
from B draw BC perpendicular to
AB; then take the distance 285
miles from the scale, and with one
foot of the compass in A describe
an arch intersecting BC in C, and
join AC. With the chord of 60°
describe the arch mn, the portion
of which, contained between the
distance and difference of latitude,
applied to the line of chords, will
measure 46°, the course; and the
departure BC being measured on
the line of equal parts, will be found equal to 20o miles.
Fig. 6.
Fig. 5.
Prob. V. Given the distance and departure, to find the
course and difference of latitude. .
Example. A ship from Fort-Royal in the island of Gre¬
nada, in latitude 12° 9' N., sailed 260 miles between the
south and west, and made 190 miles of departure. Re¬
quired the course and latitude come to.
By Construction.
Draw BC perpendicular to AB, and equal to the given
departure 190 miles ; then from the
centre C, with the distance 260
miles, sweep an arch intersecting
AB in A, and join AC. Now de¬
scribe an arch from the centre A
with the chord of 60°, and the por¬
tion mn of this arch, contained be¬
tween the distance and difference
of latitude, measured on the line
of chords, will be 47°, the course;
and the difference of latitude AB,
applied to the scale of equal parts, measures 1/ / ^ miles.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance . • • 260
is to the departure • • 199
so is radius 
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance . • • 285
is to the difference of latitude 198
so is the radius ....
to the cosine of the course . 46° 0'
To find the departure.
As radius . . . . •
is to the sine of the course » 46° O' .
so is the distance . • 285 .
to the sine of the course . 46° 57'
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius  
is to the cosine of the course 46° 57' .
so is the distance . • 260 .
to the difference of latitude 177-5
2-41497
2-27875
10-00000
9-86378
10-00000
9-83419
2-41497
2-24916
to the departure
205
2-45484
2-29660
10-00000
9- 84176
10- 00000
9-85693
2-45484
2-31177
By Inspection.
Find the given distance in the table in its proper column;
and if the difference of latitude answering thereto is the
same as that given, namely, 198, then the departure will
be found in its proper column, and the course at the top
or bottom of the page, according as the difference of lati¬
tude, is found in a column marked lat. at top or bottom. If
the difference of latitude thus found does not agree with
that given, turn over till the nearest thereto is found to
answer to the given distance. This is in the page marked
46 degrees at the bottom, which is the course, and the cor¬
responding departure is 205 miles.
By Gunter s Scale.
The extent from the distance 285 to the difference of
latitude 198 on numbers, will reach from 90° to 44°, the
By Inspection.
Seek in the traverse table until the nearest to the given
departure is found in the same line with the given distance
260. This is found to be in the page marked 47° at the
bottom, which is the course; and the corresponding di -
ference of latitude is 177-3.
By Gunters Scale.
The extent of the compass, from the distance 260 to
the departure 190 on the line of numbers, will reach from
90° to 47°, the course on the line of sines: and the extent
from 90° to 43°, the complement of the course on sines,
will reach from the distance 260 to the difference of lati¬
tude 177^ on the line of numbers.
Latitude Fort-Royal,
Difference of latitude,
Latitude in,
177
12° O'N.
= 2 57 S.
9 12 N.
Prob. VI. Given difference of latitude and departure,
sought course and distance. 0 m j
Example. A ship from a port in latitude 7° S. sailed
between the south andeast till her departure was 132 miles,
and was then by observation found to be in latitude 12 3 a.
Required the course and distance.
Latitude sailed from, . .
Latitude in by observation, .
7‘
12
56' S.
3 S.
Difference of latitude,
4 7 = 247.
Traverse
Sailing.
By Construction.
^ Draw the portion of the meridian AB
equal to the difference of latitude 247
miles; from B draw BC perpendicular
to AB, and equal to the given departure
132 miles, and join AC: then with the
chord of 60° describe an arch from the
centre A; and the portion mn of this
arch, being applied to the line of chords,
will measure about 28°; and the distance
AC, measured on the line of equal parts
will be 280 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude . 247
is to the departure . . . 132
so is radius
navigation.
Eg. 7.
2-39270
2-12057
10-00000
to the tangent of the course . 28° 7' 9-72787
To find the distance.
As radius 
is to the secant of the course 28° 7'
so is the difference of latitude 247 .
10-00000
10-05454
2-39270
to the distance
280
2-44724
By Inspection.
Seek in the table till the given difference of latitude and
departure, or the nearest thereto, are found together in
their respective columns, which will be under 28°, the re¬
quired course ; and the distance answering thereto is 280
miles.
By Gunter s Scale.
The extent from the given difference of latitude 247 to
the departure 132 on the line of numbers, will reach from
45° to 28°, the course on the line of tangents; and the
extent from 62°, the complement of the course, to 90° on
sines, will reach from the difference of latitude 247 to the
distance 280 on numbers.
CHAP. III.—OF TRAVERSE SAILING.
If a ship sail upon two or more courses in a given time,
the irregular tract she describes is called a traverse ; and
to resolve a traverse, is the method of reducing these seve¬
ral courses, and the distances run, into a single course and
distance. The method chiefly used for this purpose at sea
is by inspection, which shall therefore be principally ad¬
hered to, and is as follows.
Make a table of a breadth and depth sufficient to con¬
tain the several courses, &c. This table is to be divided
into six columns; the courses are to be put in the first,
and the corresponding distances in the second column ; the
third and fourth columns are to contain the differences of
latitude, and the two last the departures.
Now, the several courses and their corresponding dis¬
tances being properly arranged in the table, find the differ¬
ence of latitude and departure answering to each in the
traverse table; remembering that the difference of latitude
is to be put in a north or south column, according as the
course is in the northern or southern hemisphere; and
that the departure is to be put in an east column if the
course is easterly, but in a west column if the course is
westerly; observing also, that the departure is less than
the difference of latitude when the course is less than four
points, or 45° ; otherwise greater.
Add up the columns of northing, southing, easting, and
759
thTS and ’’I'' d0Wn thf SUm °f each at itS bollora i then Traverse
e diflerence between the sums of the north and south Sailing,
columns wtll be the difference of latitude made good of'—v^'
the same name with the greater; and the difference be¬
tween the sums of the east and west columns is the de¬
parture made good, of the same name with the greater sum
Now, seek in the traverse table till a difference of lati-
with thn< f epharture a.re f°und t0 ^ee as nearly as possible
Tame iLT 1160 the distance wil1 be ^und on the
same line, and the course at the top or bottom of the pase,
thanrthegdeparture. erCnCe °f la‘itUde U Breater OT Iess
a iSTS
ters at right angles to each other, at whose extremities
are to be marked the initials of the cardinal points, north
being uppermost.
Lay off each course on the circumference, reckoned from
its pioper meridian; and from the centre to each point
draw lines, which are to be marked with the proper num¬
ber of the course.
On the first radius lay off the first distance from the
centre, and through its extremity, and parallel to the se¬
cond radius, draw the second distance, of its proper length •
through the extremity of the second distance, and parallel’
to the third radius, draw the third distance, of its proper
length ; and thus proceed until all the distances are drawn.
A line drawn from the extremity of the last distance to
the centre of the circle will represent the distance made
good; and a line drawn from the same point perpendicu-
lar to the meridian, produced if necessary, will represent
the departure ; and the portion of the meridian intercept¬
ed between the centre and departure will be the differ¬
ence of latitude made good.
Ex. 1. A ship from Fyal, in lat. 38° 32' N., sailed as
follows: E. S. E. 163 miles, S. W. 1 W. 110 miles, S. E. f
S. 180 miles, and N. by E. 68 miles. Required the lati¬
tude come to, the course, and distance made good.
By Inspection.
Course.
E. S. E 
S. W. | W
S.E.fS...
N. by E....
Dist.
Diff. of Latitude.
163
110
180
68
S. 41 l E.. 281
66-7
66-7
s.
62-4
698
144-5
Departure.
276-7
66-7
210-0
150-6
107-2
13-3
271-1
85-0
186-1
85-0
85-0
Latitude left 38° 32'' N.
Difference of latitude  3 21 S.
Latitude come to 35 11 N.
By Construction.
With the chord of 60° describe the circle NE, SW (fig.
8), the centre of which represents the place the ship sail¬
ed from ; draw two diameters NS, EW at right angles to
each other, the one representing the meridian, and the
other the parallel of latitude of the place sailed from. Take
each course from the line of rhumbs, lay it oft' on the cir¬
cumference from its proper meridian, and number it in
order 1, 2, 3, 4. Upon the first rhumb Cl, lay off the first
distance 163 miles from C to A ; through it draw the se¬
cond distance AB parallel to C2, and equal to 110 miles;
760
NAVIGATION.
Fig. 8.
Traverse through B draw BD equal to 180 miles, and parallel to
Sailing. C3 ; and draw DE parallel to
—v C4, and equal to 68 miles.
Now CE being joined^ will
represent the distance made
good; which, applied to the
scale, will measure 281 miles.
The arch S», which repre- vv
sents the course, being mea¬
sured on the line of chords,
will be found equal to 4H°.
From E draw EF perpendi¬
cular to CS produced; then
CF will be the difference of
latitude, and FE the depar- -n u c i
ture made good ; which, applied to the scale, will be found
to measure 210 and 186 miles respectively.
As the method by construction is scarcely ever practis¬
ed at sea, it seems therefore unnecessary to apply it to the
solution of the following examples.
Ex. 2. A ship from latitude 1° 38' S. sailed as under.
Required her present latitude, course, and distance made
good.
Ex. 4. The course per compass from Greigsness1 to the Parallel 1
May is S. W. S., distance 58 miles; from the May to the ^ bailing. ^ ^
Staples, S. by E. | E., 44 miles; and from the Staples to
Flamborough Head, S. by E., 110 miles. Required the
course per compass, and distance from Greigsness to Flam-
borough Head.
Course.
N. W. by N...
W. N. W 
S. E. by E ...
W.S.W.iW.
N.|E 
N. 44° W  139 j 100-7=1° 4F
Latitude left 1 38 S.
Latitude come to 0 3 N.
Ex. 3. Yesterday at noon we were in latitude 13° 12' N.,
and since then have run as follows : S. S. E. 36 miles, S. 12
miles, N. W. \ W. 28 miles, W. 30 miles, S. W. 42 miles,
W. by N. 39 miles, and N. 20 miles. Required our present
latitude, departure, and direct course and distance.
Course.
S. S. E 
S.... 
N.W.jj W
w 
S. w 
W. by N..
N 
Diff. of Latitude.
Dist.
S 74° W..
36
12
28
30
42
39
20
17-8
110
7-6
20-0
33-3
12-0
29-7
45-4
Departure.
E.
13-8
75-0
45-4
13-8
w.
21-6
30-0
29-7
38-2
29-6=0° 30'
119-5
13-8
105-7
Yesterday’s latitude 13 12 N.
Present latitude 12 42 N.
Courses.
S.W.1S..
S.fyE.f E
S. fry E—
Dist.
58
44
11
Diff. of Latitude.
43-0
41-4
107-9
192-3
Departure.
w.
E.
14-8
21-5
36-3
38-9
38-9
36-3
2-6
Flence the course per compass is nearly
S. 1° W., and distance 192^ miles.
CHAP. IV.—OF PARALLEL SAILING.
The figure of the earth is spherical, and the meridians
gradually approach each other, and meet at the poles.
The difference of longitude between any two places is
the angle at the pole contained between the meridians of
those places, or it is the arch of the equator intercepted
between the meridians of the given places ; and the meri¬
dian distance between two places in the same parallel is
the arch thereof contained between their meridians. It
hence follows, that the meridian distance, answering to the
same difference of longitude, will vary with the latitude
of the parallel upon which it is reckoned; and the same
difference of longitude will not answer to a given meridian
distance when reckoned upon different parallels.
Parallel sailing is, therefore, the method of finding the
distance between two places lying in the same parallel
whose longitudes are known; or, to find the difference of
longitude answering to a given distance run in an east or
west direction. This sailing is particularly useful in mak¬
ing low or small islands. _ _
In order to illustrate the principles of parallel sailing,
let CABP (fig. 9) represent a sec¬
tion of one fourth part of the earth,
the arch ABP being part of a meri¬
dian ; C A the equatorial, and CP the
polar semi-axis. Also let B be the
situation of any given place on the
earth; and join BC, which will be
equal to CA or CP.2 The arch AB,
or angle ACB, is the measure of the
latitude of the place B ; and the arch
BP, or angle BCP, is that of its com¬
plement. If BD be drawn from B
perpendicular to CP, it will represent the cosine of lati¬
tude to the radius BC or CA.
Now since circles and similar portions of circles are in
the direct ratio of their radii; therefore,
As radius
Is to the cosine of latitude,
So is any given portion of the equator
To a similar portion of the given parallel.
Fig. 9.
But the difference of longitude is an arch of the equa-
1 Greiesness is about 2^ miles distant from Aberdeen, in nearly a S. E. hj E. ^ E. direction. o ,rpr;P,
2 This is not strictly true, as the figure of the earth is that of an oblate spheroid; and therefore the radius ot curvature
with the latitude. The difference between CA and CP, according to Sir Issac Newton’s hypothesis, is about 17 miles.
Parallel
Sailing.
NAVIGATION.
tor, and the distance between any two places under the
same parallel is a similar portion of that parallel.
Hence R : cosine latitude : : diff. longitude : distance.
And, by inversion,
cosine latitude : R :: distance : diff. of longitude.
Also, 8
diff of longitude : distance :: R : cos. latitude.
Prob. I. Given the latitude of a parallel, and the num¬
ber of miles contained in a portion of the equator, to find
the miles contained in a similar portion of that parallel.
^X"number of miles contained in a de-
By Construction.
Draw the straight line AB (fig. 11)
equal to the given distance 3&2 miles,
and make the angle B AC equal to 42°
the given latitude : from B draw
BC perpendicular to AB, meeting AC
in C : thpn An ,
Fig 11.
761
Parallel
Sailing.
then AC applied to the scale
will measure 466i-, the difference of
longitude required.
By Calculation.
As the distance
is to the difference of longitude
so is radius
There are two lines on the other side of the scale, with
respect to Gunter’s line, adapted to this particular pur¬
pose; one of which is entitled chords, and contains the
several degrees of latitude. The other, marked M. L.
signifying miles of longitude, is the line of longitudes, and t0 ^ie secant of the latitude
shows the number of miles in a degree of longitude in each
parallel. The use of these lines is therefore obvious.
Ex. 2. Required the distance between Treguier in
France, in longitude 3° 14' W., and Gaspey Bay, in longi¬
tude 64° 27' W., the common latitude being 48° 47' N.
Longitude Treguier, . . 3° 14' W.
Longitude Gaspey Bay, . . 64 27 W.
358 2-55388
522 2-71767
10-00000
46° 42' 10-16379
Difference of longitude . . 61 13—3673'
As radius ....
is to the cosine of latitude . 48° 47'
so is the difference of longitude 3673
to the distance
2420
10-00000
9-81882
3-56502
3-38384
Prob. II. Given the number of miles contained in a
portion of a known parallel, to find the number of miles in
a similar portion of the equator.
Example. A ship from Cape Finisterre, in latitude 42°
52' N., and longitude 9° 17'W., sailed due west 342 miles.
Required the longitude come to.
VOL. xv.
Prob. IV. Given the number of miles contained in the
portion of a known parallel, to find the length of a similar
portion of another known parallel.
Example. From two ports in latitude 33° 58' N., distance
348 miles, two ships sail directly north till they are in la¬
titude 48° 23' N. Required their distance.
By Construction.
Draw the,line CB, CE (fig. 13), making angles with CP
equal to the complements of the given Fig. 13.
latitudes, namely, 56° 2' and 41° 37'
respectively ; make BD equal to the ^ -
given distance 348 miles, and perpen¬
dicular to CP; now from the centre
C, with the radius CB, describe an arch
intersecting CE in E ; then EF drawn
from the point E, perpendicular to CP,
will represent the distance required;
which being applied to the scale, will
measure 278£ miles.
5 D
r
762
NAVIGATION.
Middle j^y (Jalculation.
Sailing. As the cosine of the latitude left . 33° 58' 9*91874
'is to the cosine of the lat. come to . 48 23 9*8,
so is the given distance . • 348 2*54158
Fig. 16.
278*6
2*44510
to the distance required
Prob. V. Given a certain portion of a known parallel,
together with a similar portion of an unknown parallel; to
find the latitude of that parallel.
Example. Two ships, in latitude 56° 0' N., distant 180
miles, sad due south ; and having come to the same pa¬
rallel, are now 232 miles distant. The latitude of that
parallel is required.
By Construction.
Make DB (fig. 14) equal to the
first distance 180 miles, DM equal to
the second 232, and the angle DBC
equal to the given latitude 56° ; from
the centre C, with the radius CB,
describe the arch BE; and through
M draw ME parallel to CD, intersect¬
ing the arch BE in E ; join EC and
draw EF perpendicular to CD : then
the angle FEC will be the latitude
required; which being measured, will
be found equal to 43° 53'.
By Calculation.
As the distance on the known parallel 180
is to the distance on that required 232
so is the cosine of the latitude left 56° O'
to the cosine of the latitude come to 43 53 9*857/8
2*25527
2*36549
9*74756
CHAP. V.—OF MIDDLE LATITUDE SAILING.
Fig. 15.
The earth is a sphere, and the meridians meet at the
poles; and since a rhumb-line makes equal angles with
every meridian, the line a ship describes is, theref ore, that
kind of a curve called a spiral.
Let AB (fig. 15) be any given
distance sailed upon an oblique
rhumb, PBN, PAM the extreme
meridians, MN a portion of the equa¬
tor, and PCK, PEL two meridians
intersecting the distance AB in the
points CE infinitely near each other.
If the arches BS, CD, and AR, be
described parallel to the equator,1 it
is hence evident that AS is the dif¬
ference of latitude, and the archMN
of the equator the difference of
longitude, answering to the given
distance AB and course PAB.
Now, since CE represents a very small portion of the
distance AB, DE will be the correspondent portion of a
meridian; hence the triangle EDC may be considered as
rectilineal. If the distance be supposed to be divided in¬
to an infinite number of parts, each equal to CE, and upon
these, triangles be constructed whose sides are portions of
a meridian and parallel, it is evident these triangles will be
equal and similar ; for, besides the right angle, and hypo-
thenuse which is the same in each, the course or angle
CED is also the same. Hence, by the 12th of V. Euc. the
sum of all the hypothenuses CE, or the distance AB, is to
the sum of all the sides DE, or the difference of latitude
AS, as one of the hypothenuses CE is to the correspond-
N
ing side DE. Now, let the triangle
GIH (fig. 16) be constructed similar
to the triangle CDE, having the angle
G equal to the course: then, as GH :
GI :: CE : DC :: AB : AS.
Hence, if GH be made equal to
the given distance AB, then GI will be the corresponding
difference of latitude.
In like manner, the sum of all the hypothenuses CE,
or the distance AB, is to the sum of all the sides CD, as
CE is to CD, or as GH to HI, because of the similar tri¬
angles.
The several parts of the same rectilineal triangle will,
therefore, represent the course, distance, difference of lati¬
tude, and departure.
Although the parts HG, GI, and angle G of the recti-
lineal triangle GIH, are equal to the corresponding parts
AB, AS, and angle A, of the triangle ASB upon the sur¬
face of the sphere ; yet HI is not equal to BS, for HI is
the sum of all the arcs CD ; but CD is greater than OQ,
and less than ZX: therefore HI is greater than BS, and
less than AR. Hence the difference of longitude MN
cannot be inferred from the departure reckoned either up¬
on the parallel sailed from or upon that come to, but on
some intermediate parallel TV, such that the arch TV is
exactly equal to the departure; and, in this case, the dif¬
ference of longitude would be easily obtained. For TV is
to MN as the sine FT to the sine PM; that is, as the co¬
sine of latitude is to the radius.
The latitude of the parallel TV is not, however, easily
determined with accuracy: various methods have, there¬
fore, been taken in order to obtain it nearly, with as little
trouble as possible; first, by taking the arithmetical mean
of the two latitudes for that of the mean parallel; second¬
ly, by using the arithmetical mean of the cosines of the la¬
titudes ; thirdly, by using the geometrical mean of the co¬
sines of the latitudes; and, lastly, by employing the paral¬
lel deduced from the mean of the meridional parts of the
two latitudes. The first of these methods is that which is
generally used. ... , • i
In order to illustrate the computations in middle latitude
sailing, let the triangle ABC (fig. 17) represent a figure
in plane sailing, wherein AB is the dif¬
ference of latitude, AC the distance, BC
the departure, and the angle BAG the
course. Also, let the triangle DBC be
a figure in parallel sailing, in which DC
is the difference of longitude, BC the
meridian distance, and the angle DCB
the middle latitude. In these triangles
there is, therefore, one side BC common
to both ; and that triangle is to be first
resolved in which two parts are given, and
then the unknown parts of the other tri¬
angle will be easily obtained.
Prob. I. Given the latitudes and longitudes of two places,
to find the course and distance between them.
Example. Required the course and distance from the
Island of May, in latitude 56° 12' N. and longitude 2° 37'
W., to the Naze of Norway, in latitude 57° 50' N. and
longitude 7° 27' E.
Latitude Isle of May, . 56® 12' N.
Latitude Naze of Norway, 57 50 N.
56° 12'
57 50
Difference of latitude,
Middle latitude,
Longitude Isle of May,
Longitude Naze of Norway,
Difference of longitude,
1 38- 98'
114
57
2 37 W.
7 27 E.
10 4 = 604'
[Middle
.latitude
'Jailing.
NAVIGATION.
By Construction.
Draw the right line AD (fig. 18) to represent the me
'ndian of the May; with the chord of
60° describe the arch mn, upon which
lay off the chord of 32° 59', the comple¬
ment of the middle latitude from m to
n: from D through n draw the line DC
equal to fiO^ the difference of longitude,
and from C draw CB perpendicular to
AD : make BA equal to 98' the difference
of latitude, and join AC ; which applied
to the scale will measure 343 miles, the B
distance sought: and the angle A bejng
measured by means of the line of chords,
Longitude of Brest,
Difference of longitude,
Fig. 18. Longitude come to,
763
4° 30' W. Middle
4 41 W. Latitude
  Sailing.
9 11 W.
Pros. III. Given both latitudes and course, required the
distance and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from St Antonio, in latitude 17° O'N.
and longitude 24° 25' W., sailed N. W. f N., till by ob¬
servation her latitude was found to be 28° 3F N. Required
the distance sailed, and longitude come to.
Latitude St Antonio, 17° O'N. . 17° O'N.
Latitude by observation, 28 34 N. . 28 34 N.
will be found equal to 73° 24', the required course. Difference of lat
By Calculation.
To find the course.1
As the difference of latitude . 98' . P99123
is to the difference of longitude 604 . 2'78104
so is the cosine of middle latitude 57° 1' 9*73591
to the tangent of the cosine . 73 24 . 10*52572
To find the distance.
As radius .... 10*00000
is to the secant of the course 73° 24' . 10*54411
so is the difference of latitude 98' . 1*99123
to the distance . . 343 . 2*53534
The true course, therefore, from the Island of May to
the Naze of Norway is N. 73° 24' E., E. N.E. |E. nearly;
but as the variation at the May is 21 points west, there¬
fore the course per compass from the May is E. by S.
Prob. II. Given one latitude, course, and distance sail¬
ed, to find the other latitude and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from Brest, in latitude 48° 23' N. and
longitude 4° 30' W., sailed S. W. f W. 238 miles. Re¬
quired the latitude and longitude come to.
By Construction.
With the course and distance construct the triangle
ABC (fig. 17), and the difference of latitude AB, being
measured, will be found equal to 142 miles: hence the la¬
titude come to is 46° P N., and the middle latitude 47°
12'. Now make the angle DCB equal to 47° 12'; and
DC, being measured, will be 281, the difference of longi¬
tude : hence the longitude come to is 9° 1P W.
By Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius ~ .
is to the cosine of the course 4f
so is the distance . 238
11 34 = 694/
Middle lat.
45 34
22 47
to the difference of latitude 141*8
Latitude of Brest, 48° 23' N.
Difference of lat. 2 22 S. .
10*00000
9*77503
2*37658
. 2*15161
48° 23' N.
half 1 11 S.
Lat. conie to, . 46 1 N. Mid. lat. 47 12 N.
To find the difference of longitude.2
As the cosine of mid. lat. 47° 12' 9*83215
is to the sine of the course 4f points 9*90483
so is the distance . 238 . 2*37658
to the difference of longitude 281*3 . 2*44926
By Construction. Fig. 19.
Construct the triangle ABC (fig. 19),
with the given course and difference of
latitude, and make the angle BCD equal c
to the middle latitude. Now the distance
AC and difference of longitude DC being
measured, will be found equal to 864 and
558 respectively.
- By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius
is to the secant of the course 3£ points
so is the difference of lat. 694
to the distance 864
To find the difference of longitude.
As the cosine of middle latitude 22° 47'
is to the tangent of the course
so is the difference of latitude
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of St Antonio,
Difference of longitude,
Longitude come to,
3f points
694
10-00000
10*09517
"2*84136
2*93653
9*96472
9*87020
2*84136
558*3
2*74684
24° 25' W.
9 18 W.
33 43 W7.
Prob. IV. Given one latitude, course, and departure,
to find the other latitude, distance, and difference of lon¬
gitude.
Example. A ship from latitude 26° 30' N., and longitude
45° 30' W., sailed N. E. ^ N. till her departure is 216 miles.
Required the distance run, and latitude and longitude
come to.
By Construction. Fig. 20.
With the course and departure con- P
struct the triangle ABC (fig. 20), and
the distance and difference of latitude,
being measured, will be found equal to B
340 and 263 respectively. Hence the la¬
titude come to is 30° 53', and middle
latitude 28° 42'. Now make the angle
BCD equal to the middle latitude, and
the difference of longitude DC applied to
the scale will measure 246'.
1 For R : cosine mid. lat. :: diff. of long. : departure,
And diff. of lat. : dep. :: It: tangent course;
Hence diff. of lat.: cosine mid. lat. :: diff. of long. : tang, course,
Or diff. of lat. : diff. of long. :: cosine mid. lat. : tang, course.
* This proportion is obvious, by considering the whole figure as an oblique-angled plane triangle.
764
NAVIGATION.
Middle
Latitude
Sailing.
By Calculation
To find the distance.
’ As the sine of the course
is to radius
so is the departure
points
216
to the distance . • 340-5
To find the difference of latitude.
As the tangent of the course points
is to radius •
so is the departure . 216 .
to the difference of lat.
Latitude sailed from,
Difference of latitude,  
Latitude come to, 30 53 N. Mid. lat. 28 42 N.
To find the difference of longitude.
26c
4
263-2
30' N.
23 N. half
9-80236
10-00000
2-33445
2-53209
9-91417
10-00000
2-33445
2-42028
26° 30' N.
2 12 N.
Prob. VI. Given both latitudes and departure; sought
the course, distance, and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from Cape St Vincent, in latitude
37° 2' N., longitude 9° 2' W., sails between the south and
west; the latitude come to is 18° 16' N., and departure
838 miles. Required the course and distance run, and
longitude come to.
Latitude Cape St Vincent, 37° 2'N. 37° 2'
Latitude come to, . 18 16 N. 18 16
Middle
Latitude
Sailing.
Difference of latitude,
18 46 = 2126, sum 55 18
Middle latitude, 27 39
28° 42'
216
246-2
10-00000
10-05693
2-33445
2-39138
45° 30' W.
4 6 E.
41 24 W.
As radius
is to the secant of the mid. lat.
so is the departure
to the difference of longitude
Longitude left,
Difference of longitude,
Longitude come to, •
Prob. V. Given both latitudes and
the course and difference of longitude.
Example. From Cape Sable, in latitude 43 24' N.
and longitude 65° 39' W., a ship sailed 246 miles on a di¬
rect course between the south and east, and was then by ob¬
servation in latitude 40° 48' N. Required the course and
longitude in.  
Latitude Cape Sable, 43° 24' N. 43 24 N.
Latitude by observation, 40 48 N. 40 48 IN.
distance to find 50 radius
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 22) equal to the dif¬
ference of latitude 1126 miles, and BC
equal to the departure 838, and join AC ;
draw CD so as to make an angle with
CB equal to the middle latitude 27° 39'.
Then the course being measured on
chords is about 361°, and the distance
and difference of longitude, measured on
the line of equal parts, will be found to
be 1403 and 946 respectively.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude 1126
is to the departure . 838
Fig. 22.
Difference of latitude,
2 36 = 156', sum 84 12
Middle latitude, 42 6
to the tangent of the course 36° 39'
To find the distance.
As radius ....
is to the secant of the course 36° 39'
so is the difference of latitude 1126
to the distance 1403
To find the difference of longitude.
By Construction.
Make AB (fig. 21) equal to 156
miles; draw BC perpendicular to AB,
and make AC equal to 246 miles. Draw
CD, making with CB an angle of 42° 6'
the middle latitude. Now DC will be
found to measure 256, and the course
or angle A will measure 50° 39'.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance . . 246
is to the difference of latitude 156
so is radius
Fig. 21.
As radius
is to the secant of mid. lat.
so is the departure
to the difference of longitude
Longitude Cape St Vincent,
Difference of longitude,
Longitude come to,
27° 39'
838
946
3-05154
2- 92324
10-00000
9- 87170
10-00000
10-09566
3- 05154
3-14720
10- 00000
10-05266
2-92324
2-97590
9° 2'W.
15 46 W.
24 48 W.
to the cosine of the course
50° 39'
2-39093
2-19312
10-00000
9-80219
Prob. VII. Given one latitude, distance, and depar¬
ture ; to find the other latitude, course, and difference of
longitude.
Example. A ship from Bordeaux, in latitude 44° 50'
N., and longitude 0° 35' W., sailed between the north
and west 374 miles, and made 210 miles of westing. Re¬
quired the course, and the latitude and longityde come
to.
To find the difference of longitude.
As the cosine of middle latitude 42° 6'
is to the sine of the course . 50 39
so is the distance . 246
9-87039
9-88834
2-39093
to the difference of longitude
Longitude Cape Sable,
Difference of longitude,
Longitude come to,
256-4
By Construction.
With the given distance and departure
make the triangle ABC (fig. 23). Now
the course being measured on the line of
chords is about 34^°, and the difference of
latitude on the line of numbers is 309
miles: hence the latitude come to is 49°
59' N., and middle 47° 25'. Then make the
angle BCD equal to 47° 25', and DC being
 measured will be 310 miles, the difference
61 23'W. of longitude.
Fig. 23.
2-40888
65° 39» W.
4 16 E.
Latitude
Sailing.
As the distance
is to the departure
so is radius
By Calculation.
To find the course.
NAVIGATION.
Double middle latitude,
Latitude left,
374 . S’fiTSST Latitude come to,
210 . 2-32222 _
10-00000 Ditrerence of latitude,
112° 30'
54 56
57 34
165
Middle
Latitude
Sailing.
2 38= 158 miles.
to the sine of the course . 34° 10' . 9-74935
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius ] 0-00000
is to the cosine of the course . 34° lO' . 9-91772
so is the distance . . . ~ 374 . 2-57287
to the difference of latitude . 309-4 2-49059
Latitude of Bordeaux, . 44° 50' N. . . 44° 50'
Difference of latitude, . .5 9 N. half 2 35
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude . .158
is to the departure . . 220
so is radius ... ,
to the tangent of the course . 54° 19'
To find the distance.
As radius 
is to the secant of the course . . 54° 19'
so is the difference of latitude . 158
2-19866
2-34242
10-00000
10-14376
10-00000
10-23410
2-19866
Latitude come to,
49 59 N. mid. lat. 47 25 t0 the distance
270-9 2-43276
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius  
is to the secant of mid. lat. . . 47° 25'
so is the departure . . . 210
Pros. IX. Given the course and distance sailed, and
difference of longitude ; to find both latitudes.
10-00000 Example. A ship from a port in north latitude, sailed
10-16963 S. E. £ S. 438 miles, and differed her longitude 7° 28'. Re-
2-32222 quired the latitude sailed from, and that come to.
to the difference of longitude . 310-3 2-49185
Longitude of Bordeaux, ... 0° 35' W.
Difference of longitude, • • . . 5 10 W.
Longitude in, . . • • . 5 45 W.
Pros. VIII. Given one latitude, departure, and differ¬
ence of longitude ; to find the other latitude, course, and
distance.
Example. A ship from latitude 54° 56' N., longitude
1° 10' W., sailed between the north and east till by ob¬
servation she was found to be in longitude 5° 26' E., and has
made 220 miles of easting. Required the latitude come
to, course, and distance run.
Longitude left, . . . • . 1° 10' W.
Longitude come to, . . . . 5 26 E.
By Construction.
With the course and distance construct
the triangle ABC (fig. 25), and make DC
equal to 448 the given difference of lon¬
gitude. Now the middle latitude BCD
will measure 48° 58', and the difference
of latitude AB 324 miles ; hence the la¬
titude left is 51° 40', and that come to 46°
16'.
By Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
Fig. 25.
A
i)
As radius .... 10-00000
is to the cosine of the course . 3f points 9-86979
so is the distance . . . 438 2-64147
Difference of longitude,
6 36=396
to the difference of latitude
324-5
2-51126
By Construction.
Make BC (fig. 24) equal to the depar¬
ture 220, and CD equal to the difference
of longitude 396 : then the middle latitude
BCD being measured, will be found equal
to 56° 15': hence the latitude come to is
57° 34', and difference of latitude 158'.
Now make AB equal to 158, and join AC,
which, applied to the scale, will measure
271 miles. Also the course BAG, being
measured on chords, will be found equal
to 54^°.
Fig. 24.
By Calculation.
To find the middle latitude.
As the departure . • • 220 2-34242
is to the difference of longitude . 396 2-59769
so is radius . . \ • • • 10-00000
to the secant of middle latitude . 56° 15' 10-25527
To find the middle latitude.
As the difference of longitude . . 448 2-65128
is to the distance . . . 438 2-64147
so is the sine of the course . . 3| points 9-82708
to the cosine of mid. latitude . 48° 58' 9-81727
Half difference of latitude, . . 2 42
Latitude sailed from, . . 51 40
Latitude come to, . . 46 16
Prob. X. To determine the difference of longitude made
good upon compound courses, by middle latitude sailing.
Rule I. With the several courses and distances find
the difference of latitude and departure made good, and
the ship’s present latitude, as in traverse sailing.
Now enter the traverse table with the given middle la¬
titude, and the departure in a latitude column, the corre¬
sponding distance will be the difference of longitude, of
the same name with the departure.
Example. A ship from Cape Clear, in latitude 51° 18'
N., longitude 9° 46' W. sailed as follows S. W. by S. 54
miles, W. by N. 63 miles, N. N. W. 48 miles, and N.E.^E.
85 miles. Required the latitude and longitude come to.
766
Middle
Latitude
Sailing.
NAVIGATION.
Courses.
S. W. by S.
W. by N...
N. N. W....
N. E.iE...
Dist.
54
63
48
85
Diff. of Latitude.
12-3
44*4
53-9
110-6
44-9
Departure.
44-9
44-9
65-7
65-7
w.
30-0
61-8
18-4
110-2
65-7
44-5
N. 34° W  79 65-7 = 1 6 N.
Latitude of Cape Clear 5118 N.
Latitude come to  52 24 N.
Sum 103 42
Middle latitude  31
Now, to middle latitude 51° 51' or 52°, and departure
44-5 in a latitude column, the difference of longitude
is 72 in a distance column.
Longitude of Cape Clear  9 46 \4.
Difference of longitude 
1 12 W.
Longitude come to.
10° 58'W.
titude, when the distances are considerable, this method is Middle
not to be depended on. To illustrate this, let a ship be ^^ude
supposed to sail from latitude 57° N., as follows: E. 240 ^
miles, N. 240 miles, W. 240 miles, and S. 240 miles ; then,
by the above method, the ship will be come to the same
place she left. It will, however, appear evident from the
following consideration, that this is by no means the case;
for let two ships, from latitude 61° N., and distant 240
miles, sail directly south till they are in latitude 57° N.;
now, their distance, being computed by Problem IV. of
Parallel Sailing, will be 269-6 miles; and therefore, if
the ship sailed as above, she will be 29-6 miles west
of the place sailed from, and the error in longitude will
be equal to 240 x secant 61°—secant 57° = 29-6 X secant
57° __ 54*4.
Theorems might be investigated for computing the errors
to which the above method is liable. These corrections
may, however, be avoided, by using the following method.
Rule II. Complete the traverse table as before, to which
annex five columns ; the first column is to contain the se¬
veral latitudes the ship is in at the end of each course and
distance ; the second, the sums of each following pair of
latitude; the third, half the sums, or middle latitudes; and
the fourth and fifth columns are to contain the differences
of longitude.
Now find the difference of longitude answering to each
middle latitude and its corresponding departure, and put
them in the east or west difference of longitude columns,
according to the name of the departure. 4 hen the differ¬
ence of the sums of the east and west columns will be the
difference of longitude made good, of the same name with
the greater.
The above method is that always practised to find the
difference of longitude made good in the course of a day’s
run, and will, no doubt, give the difference of longitude
tolerably exact in any probable run a ship may make in
that time, especially near the equator. But in a high la-
Example. A shin fromHalliford in Iceland, in !at.64° Slf N., long. 27» 15'W, sailed as follows: S.S.W. 46 miles,
S.W. 61 miles, S. % W. 59 miles, S. E. by E. 86 miles, S. fe, E. i E. 76 miles. Required the lat. and long, come to.
Tkaverse Table.
Courses.
s. s. w 
s. w 
S. 5?/ w 
s. E. by E....
S. by E. \ E.
Dist.
Diff. of Lat.
N.
46
61
59
86
76
S.
42- 5
43- 1
57-9
47-8
72-7
Departure.
E.
71-5
220
W.
17-6
43-1
11-5
264-0 93-5 | 72-2
72-2
21-3
By Rule I.
Latitude Halliford  64° SO7 N.
Difference of latitude  4 24 S.
Latitude in   60 6 N.
Sum  124 36
Middle latitude  62 18
Now, to middle latitude 62° 18', and departure 21-3,
the difference of longitude is  46 E.
Longitude Halliford  27 15 W.
Longitude in  26 29
The error of common method in this example is 12'.
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
64°
63
63
62
61
60
30'
48
5
7
19
6
Sums.
128° 18'
126 53
125 12
123 26
121 25
Middle
Latitudes.
64° 9'
63 27
62 36
61 43
60 43
Diff. of Long.
E.
150-9
45-0
195-9
161-8
W
40-4
96-4
25-0
161-8
Difference of longitude.
Longitude Halliford 
34-1 E.
27 15-0 W.
Longitude in  26 40-9 W.
navigation.
lercator’i
bailing.
> chap. vi.—of mercatok’s sailing.
It was observed, in Middle Latitude Sailing, that the
difference of longitude made upon an oblique rhumb
could not be exactly determined by using the middle lati¬
tude. In Mercator s Sailing the difference of longitude is
very easily found, and the several problems of sailing are
resolved with the utmost accuracy, by the assistance of Mer¬
cator’s chart or equivalent tables.
In Mercator’s chart, the meridians are straight lines pa¬
rallel to each other ; and the degrees of latitude, which at
the equator are equal to those of longitude, increase with
the distance of the parallel from the equator. The parts
of the meridian thus increased are called meridional parts.
A table of these parts was first constructed by Mr Edward
Wright, by the continual addition of the secants of each
minute of latitude.
For by parallel sailing,
R : cos. of lat. : : part of equat. : similar part of parallel.
And because the equator and meridian on the globe are
equal; therefore,
R : cos. lat. :: part of meridian : similar part of parallel.
Or sec. lat. : R :: part of merid. : similar part of parallel.
TT secant latitude R
Hence  . —   
part of meridian part of parallel’
But in Mercator’s chart the parallels of latitude are
equal, and radius is a constant quantity. If, therefore, the
latitude be assumed successively equal to ‘ T, 2', 3',’ &c.
and the corresponding parts of the enlarged meridian be re¬
presented by a, 6, c, &c.; then,
secant V __ secant 2' secant 3'
part of mer. a part of mer. b part ofmer. c,&c.
Hence secant F : part of mer. a :: secant 2': part of mer.
b :: secant 3': part of mer. e, &c.
Therefore, by 12th V. Euclid,
Secant 1': part of mer. a :: secant ]/ + secant 2' + se¬
cant 3', &c. : parts of a -f- 6 -f- mer. c, &c.
That is, the meridional parts of any given latitude are
equal to the sum of the secants of the minutes in that la¬
titude.1
Since CD : LK :: R : secant LD, fig. 15.
And in the triangle CED,
ED : CD :: R : tangent CED;
Therefore ED : LK : : R2 : secant LD X tangent CED.
Hence LK — X sec. X LD X tang. CED _
R2
ED X sec. LD tang. CED
X
767
But
R ~ R
ED X sec. LD .
R"
is the enlarged portion of the me¬
ridian answering to ED. Now the sum of all the quan-
ED X secant LD „
corresponding to the sum or all
titles
R
the ED’s contained in AS, will be the meridional parts
answering to the difference of latitude AS ; and MN is the
sum of all the corresponding portions of the equator LK.
CED
Whence MN = mer. diff. of lat. X tangent - jj—.
That is, the difference of longitude is equal to the meri¬
dional difference of latitude multiplied by the tangent of
the course, and divided by the radius.
This equation answers to a right-angled rectilineal tri¬
angle, having an angle equal to the course; the adjacent
Fig. 26.
side equal to the meridional difference of latitude, and the Mercator’s
opposite side the difference of longitude. This triangle is, Sailing.
1 *1 ra-e’ similar t0 a. triangle constructed, with the course
and ditterence of latitude, according to the principles of
plane sailing, and the homologous sides will be proportional.
a 1 fig’ 26’ the anSle A represents the course,
Ab the difference of latitude, and if AD be made equal
to the meridional difference of latitude,
then DE, drawn perpendicular to AD,
meeting the distance produced to E, will
be the difference of longitude.
The meridional parts on the terrestrial
spheroid of ^jth of compression to any la¬
titude l, may be found from the following
formula. P=7915'-705 log. tan. (45°+ 1/)
— 22'-88 sin. / — 0'-0508 sin. 31—, &c.2
It is scarcely necessary to observe, that
the meridional difference of latitude is
found by the same rules as the proper
difference of latitude ; that is, if the given
latitudes be of the same name, the difference of the cor¬
responding meridional parts will be the meridional differ¬
ence of latitude ; but if the latitudes are of a contrary de¬
nomination, the sum of these parts will be the meridional
difference of latitude.
Pros. I. Given the latitudes and longitudes of two
places, to find the course and distance between them.
2ix. Required the course and distance between Cape
Finisterre, in latitude 42° 52' N., longitude 9° 17' W., and
Port Praya in the island of St Jago, in latitude 14° 54' N.,
and longitude 23° 29-' W.
Lat. Cape Finisterre, 42° 52'
Latitude Port Praya, 14 54
Mer. parts,
Mer. parts,
2852
904
Difference of lat. = 27 58 Mer. dif. lat. 1948
1678
Longitude Cape Finisterre, 9°
Longitude Port Praya, 23
17' W.
29 W.
Diff. longitude,
14 12 = 852.
Construction.
Draw the straight line AD (fig. 26) to represent the
meridian of Cape Finisterre, upon which lay off AB, AD
equal to 1678 and 1948, the proper and meridional differ¬
ences of latitude. From D draw DE perpendicular to AD,
and equal to the difference of longitude 852; join AE,
and draw BC parallel to DE; then the difference AC
will measure 1831 miles, and the course BAC 23° 37'.
By Calculation.
To find the course.
As the meridian difference of lat. 1948
is to the difference of longitude 852
so is radius
to the tangent of the course 23° 37'
To find the distance.
As radius
is to the secant of the course 23° 37'
so is the difference of latitude 1678 .
to the distance
1831
3-28959
2- 93044
10-00000
9-64085
10-00000
10-03798
3- 22479
3-26277
1 This is not strictly true ; for instead of taking the sum of the secants of every minute in the distance of the given parallel from
the equator, the sum of the secants of every point of latitude should be taken.
LMA
768
NAVIGATION.
Mercator’s Phob. II. Given the course and distant K.il«dfVom
Sailing. a place whose situation is known, to find the latitude and
'^EMmple. ‘a slfi^from CApe Hinlopen in Virginia. in
latitude 38° 47' N., longitude 75° 4' W., sailed 267 miles
N. E. by N. Required the ship’s present place.
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius  
is to the secant of the course . 3| points
so is the difference of latitude . 246
Mercator's
Sailing.
Jfer<
Sai
10-00000
10-13021
2-39093
By Construction.
With the course and distance sailed,
construct the triangle ABC (fig. 27) ;
and the difference of latitude AB being
measured, is 222 miles; hence the lati¬
tude come to is 42° 29' N., and the meri¬
dional difference of latitude 293. Make
AD equal to 293; and draw DE per¬
pendicular to AD, and meeting AC pro¬
duced in E ; then, the difference of lon¬
gitude DE being applied to the scale of
equal parts, will measure 196: the lon¬
gitude come to is therefore 71° 48' W.
to the distance • • 3^2
To find the difference of longitude.
2-52114
As radius
is to the tangent of the course
so is the mer. diff. of latitude
3f points
338
10-00000
9-95729
2-52892
to the difference of longitude
Longitude Port Canso,
Difference of longitude,
306-3
2-48621
60° 55' W.
5 6 E.
Longitude in,
55 49 W.
By Calculation.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius . • •
is to the cosine of the course 3 points
so is the distance • • 267
10-00000
9-91985
2-42651
Prob. IV. Given the latitude and longitude of the
place sailed from, the course, and departure ; to find the
distance, and the latitude and longitude, of the place come
Example. A ship sailed from Sallee, in latitude 33°
58' N., longitude 6° 20' W., the corrected course was
N.W. by W. \ W., and departure 420 miles. Required the
LN . V V • Utf ” ’ • 2 **•?***-'- 1  . *
distance run, and the latitude and longitude come to.
to the difference of latitude . 222
2-34636
Lat. Cape Hinlopen, = 38° 47' N. Mer. parts, 2528
Difference of lat. . 3 42 N.
Latitude come to, . 42 29 N. Mer. parts, 2821
Meridional difference of latitude,
293
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius
is to tangent of the course
so is the mer. diff. of latitude
3 points
293
10-00000
9-82489
2-46687
By Construction
With the course and
departure construct the
triangle ABC (fig. 29) ;
now AC and AB being
measured, will be found
to be equal to 476 and
224 respectively; hence
the latitude come to
is 37° 42' N., and meri¬
dional difference of lati¬
tude 276. Make AD
Fig. 29.
to the difference of longitude 195-8
2-29176
Longitude Cape Hinlopen,
Difference of longitude,
75° 4' W.
3 16 E.
equal to 276 ; and draw DE perpendicular thereto, meet¬
ing the distance produced in E ; then DE applied to the
scale will be found to measure 516'. The longitude in is,
therefore, 14° 56' W.
Longitude come to,
71 48 W.
Prob. III. Given the latitudes and bearing of two
places, to find their distance and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from Port Canso in Nova Scotia, in
latitude 45° 20' N., longitude 60° 55' W., sailed S. E. ^ S.,
and, by observation, was found to be in latitude 41° 14' N.
Required the distance sailed and longitude come to.
Lat. Port Canso, . 45° 20' N. . Mer. parts, 3058
Lat. in, by observation, 41 14 N. . Mer. parts, 2720
By Calculation.
To find the distance.
As radius 
is to the cosecant of the course 5^ points
so is the departure . . 420
10-00000
10-05457
2-62325
to the distance . . .476-2
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius 
is to the cotangent of the course 5^ points
so is the departure . . 420
2-67782
10-00000
9-72796
2-62325
Difference of lat.
4 6 = 246 Mer. diff. lat. 338
By Construction.
Fig. 28.
to the difference of latitude
Lat. of Sallee, 33° 58' N.
Diff. of lat. 3 44 N.
224-5
Mer. parts,
2-35121
2169
Make AB (fig. 28) equal to 246,
and AD equal to 338 ; draw AE,
making an angle with AD equal
to 3| points, and draw BC, DE per¬
pendicular to AD. Now AC being
applied to the scale, will measure
332, and DE 306.
Latitude in, 37 42 N. Mer. parts,
Mer. difference of latitude,
To find the difference of longitude.
2445
276
As radius
is to the tangent of the course 5-| points
so is the mer. diff. of latitude 276
10-00000
10-27204
2-44091
to the difference of longitude 516-3
2-71295
Mercator’s
Sailing.
Longitude of Sallee,
Difference of longitude,
navigation.
6° 20' W.
8 36 W.
Longitude in,
14 56 W.
Prob. V. Given the latitudes of two places, and their so is radius
distance ; to find the course and difference of longitude.
Example. A ship from St Mary’s, in latitude’ 36° 57'
]\., longitude 25° 9' W., sailed on a direct course between
the north and east 1162 miles, and was then by observation
in latitude 49° 57' N. Required the course steered, and
Ey Calculation.
To find the course.
As the difference of latitude . 217
is to the departure . . 145
769
Mercator’s
Sailing.
2*33646
2*16435
10-00000
longitude come to
Lat. of St Mary’s
Lat. come to,
36° 57' N.
49 57 N.
Mer. parts,
Mer. parts,
3470
2389
to the tangent of the course . 33° 56'
. To find the distance.
As radius
is to the secant of the course
so is the difference of latitude
9*82789
33° 56'
217 .
10-00000
10*08109
2*33646
Difference of lat.
13 0
Mer. diff. lat. 1081
780
Ey Construction.
Make AB equal to 780, and AD
equal to 1081; draw BC, DE per¬
pendicular to AD ; make AC equal
to 1162', and through AC draw
ACE; then the course or angle
A being measured, will be found
equal 47° 50', and the difference of
longitude DE will be 1194.
Fig. 30.
to the distance . . . 261*5
To find the difference of longitude.
As the difference of latitude . 217
is to the mer. diff. of latitude . 382
so is the departure . . . 146
2*41755
2*33646
2*58206
2*16435
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of Aberdeen,
Difference of longitude,
257
2*40995
2° 8'W.
4 17 E
Longitude come to,
2 9 E.
Ey Calculation.
To find the course.
As the distance . . . 1162
is to the difference of latitude . 780
so is radius
3*06521
2*89209
10-00000
Prob. VII. Given one latitude, distance, and departure;
to find the other latitude, course, and difference of longi¬
tude. 6
Example. A ship from Naples, in latitude 40° 51' N.,
longitude 14° 14' E., sailed 252 miles on a direct course
between the south and west, and made 173 miles of west¬
ing. Required the course made good, and the latitude
and longitude come to.
to the cosine of the course . 47° 50'
To find the difference of longitude.
As radius ......
is to the tangent of the course
9-82688
so is the mer. diff. of latitude
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of St Mary’s,
47° 50'
1081 .
1000000
10*04302
3*03383
Fig. 32.
1194
Difference of longitude,
Longitude in,
3*07685
25° 9'W.
19 54 E.
5 15 W.
Prob. VI. Given the latitudes of two places, and the de¬
parture ; to find the course, distance, and difference of lon¬
gitude.
Example. From Aberdeen, in latitude 57° 9' N., longi¬
tude 2° 8' W., a ship sailed between the south and east till
her departure was 146 miles, and latitude come to 53° 32'
N. Required the course and distance run, and longitude
come to.
Latitude Aberdeen, 57° 9'N. Mer. parts, 4199
Latitude come to, 53 32 N. Mer. parts, 3817
Ey Construction.
With the distance and departure make the triangle ABC
as formerly. Now the course BAG
being measured by means of a line
of cords, will be found equal to 43°
21', and the difference of latitude ap¬
plied to the scale of equal parts will
measure 183'; hence the latitude
come to is 37° 48' N., and meridional
difference of latitude 237. Make AD
equal to 237, and complete the figure,
and the difference of longitude DE
will measure 224'; hence the longi¬
tude in is 10° Sty E. .
As the distance
is to the departure
so is radius
Ey Calculation.
To find the course.
. 252
173
2*40140
2*23805
10-00000
Difference of latitude, 3 37 = 217' Mer. diff. lat. 382
Fig. 31.
Ey Construction. A
With the difference of latitude 217
m. and departure 146 m. construct the
triangle ABC ; make AD equal to 382,
draw DE parallel to BC, and produce
AC to E ; then the course BAG will
measure 33° 56', the distance AC 261,
and the difference of longitude DE
257.
to the sine of the course . 43° 21' . 9*83665
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius  10*00000
is to the cosine of the course 43° 21' . 9*86164
so is the distance . . 252
2*40140
to the difference of latitude 183*2 * 2*26304
Latitude of Naples, 40° 51'N. Mer. parts, 2690
Difference of latitude, 3 3 S
Latitude come to, . 37 48 N. Mer. parts, 2453
VOL. xv.
Meridional difference of latitude,
237
5 E
770
navigation.
To find the difference of longitude.
Mercator’s
Sailing. As radius • • • •
'is to the tangent of the course
so is the mer. diff. of latitude
to the difference of longitude
Longitude of Naples, .
Difference of longitude,
43° 21'
. 237
223-7
10-00000
9-97497
2-37475
2-34972
14° 14'E.
3 44 W.
A E. 47 miles, and E. 84 miles,
sent place.
Required the ship’s pre-Mercator's
Sailing.
10 30 E.
Longitude in, • • •
Prob. VIII. Given one latitude, course, and difference
of longitude; to find the other latitude and distance.
Example. A ship from Tercera, in latitude 38 4o
longitude 27° 6'W., sailed on a direct course, which, when
corrected, was N. 32° E., and is found by observation to
be in longitude 18° 24' W. Required the latitude come
to, and distance sailed.
Longitude of Tercera, . • - * is 24 W*.
Longitude in, * • • *
8 42=522
Fig. 33.
Difference of longitude,
By Construction.
Make the right-angled triangle ADE,
having the angle A equal to the course
32°, and the side DE equal to the dif¬
ference of longitude 522: then AD will B
measure 835, which, added to the meri¬
dional parts of the latitude left, will give
those of the latitude come to 48° 46';
hence the difference of latitude is 601 :
make AB equal thereto, to which let BC
be drawn perpendicular; then AC ap¬
plied to the scale will measure 708 miles.
By Calculation.
To find the meridional difference of latitude.
As radius 10-00000
is to the co-tangent of the course 32° 0' 10-20421
so is the difference of longitude 5 22 2*71767
to the mer. difference of latitude 8352 2-92188
Latitude of Tercera, 38° 45' N. Mer. parts, 2526
Mer. diff. of lat. 835
Latitude come to, 48 46 N. Mer. parts, 3361
Difference of latitude, 10 1=601 miles.
To find the distance.
As radius ...... 10-00000
is to the secant of the course 32° 0' . 10-07158
so is the difference of latitude 601 . 2-77887
to the distance
707-7
Courses.
E.S.E 
S. E. by S...
E. by N 
S. E. by E. ^ E.
E 
S. 72° E
List.
53
74
68
47
84
197
Diff. of Lat.
13-3
13-3
Departure.
E.
w.
20-3
61-5
22-1
103-9
13-3
49-0
41-1
66-7
41-5
84-0
282-3
90-6= 1° 31'
Latitude left 4-9 10 S. m. pt. 3397
Latitude come to 50 41 S.m.pt. 3539
Mer. difference oflatitude.  142
Now to course 72°, and opposite to 71, half the
mer. difference of latitude in a latitude column, is
218-7 in a departure column, which doubled is 437
the difference of longitude. ...
Longitude of Port St Julian 68 44 W.
Difference of longitude  7 D E.
 61 27 W.
Longitude come to.
2-85045
Pros. IX. To find the difference of longitude made
good upon compound courses.
Rule I. With the several courses and distances complete
the traverse table, and find the difference of latitude, de¬
parture, and course made good, and the latitude come to,
as in Traverse Sailing. Find also the meridional difference
of latitude.
Now to the course and meridional difference of latitude,
in a latitude column, the corresponding departure will be
the difference of longitude, which, applied to the longitude
left, will give the ship’s present longitude.
Example. A ship from Port St Julian, in latitude 49° KH
S. longitude 68° 44' W. sailed as follows: E. S. E. 53
miles, S. E. by S. 74 miles, E. by N. 68 miles, S. E. by E.
Although the above method is that usually employed at
sea to find the difference of longitude, yet, as it has been
already observed, it is not to be depended on, especially
in high latitudes, long distances, and a considerable varia¬
tion in the courses, in which case the following method
becomes necessary.
Rule II. Complete the traverse table as before, to
which annex five columns. Now, with the latitude left,
and the several differences of latitude, find the successive
latitudes, which are to be placed in the first of the an¬
nexed columns ; in the second, the meridional parts corre¬
sponding to each latitude is to be put; and in the third,
the meridional differences of latitude.
Then to each course, and corresponding meridional dil-
ference of latitude, find the difference of longitude, by
Prob. IV. which place in the fourth or fifth columns, ac¬
cording as the coast is easterly or westerly; and the dif¬
ference between the sums of these columns will be the dif¬
ference of longitude made good upon the whole, of the
same name with the greater.
remarks.
1. When the course is north or south, there is no dif¬
ference of longitude. e
2. When the course is east or west, the diffeience
longitude cannot be found by Mercator’s Sailing ; in this
case the following rule is to be used :
To the nearest degree to the given latitude taken as a
course, find the distance answering to the departure m a
latitude column; this distance will be the difference of
^eL 1. Four davs ago we took our departure from Faro
Head, in latitude 58° 40' N. and longitude 4° 5(V W. and
since have sailed as follows : N. W. 32 miles, W. nn e ,
W. N. W. 93 miles, W. by S. 77 miles, S. W. 58 miles’
and W. | S. 49 miles. Required our present latitude and
lonp-itude.
Method of
resolving
the Pro¬
blems of
Mercator’s
Sailing.
navigation.
Traverse Table.
Courses.
N. W 
W 
W.N.W.
W. by s..
S. W  
W.fS....
Dist. -
DifF. of Lat. I Departure.
N.
W. 1° s.
32
69
93
77
58
49
343
22-6
35'6
58-2
15-0
41*0
7-2
63-2
58-2
5-0
22-6
69-0
85-9
75-5
41-0
48-5
342-5
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
58° 40'
59 3
59 3
59 38
59 23
58 42
58 35
Merid.
Parts.
4370
4415
4415
4484
4454
4374
4361
Merid.
Diff. Lat.
45
0
69
30
80
13
Diff. of Longitude.
w.
45-0
134-0
166-5
151-0
80-0
88-0
664-5
Longitude of Faro Head   4° 5(y
Difference of longitude H 4, yy.
Longitude in  
54 W.
771
Method of
resolving
the Pro¬
blems of
Mercator’s
Sailing.
Ex. 2. A ship from latitude 78° 15' N. longitude 28° methods; the bearing and distance of Had.,it’*
14'E. sailed the following courses and distances. The in latitude 79° 55' N. longitude 11° 55' E is dsn ^
latitude come to is required, and the longitude, by both quired. ' ‘US° re‘
Traverse Table.
Courses.
W. N. W.
S. W 
N. W. £ W....
N. by E,
N. W. | N...,
S. by E. | E...
Dist.
154
96
89
110
56
78
Diff. of Latitude.
N.
58-9
56-4
107-9
45-0
268-2
141-3
67-9
73-4
141-3 47-8
Departure.
21-5
26-3
Longitude Table.
Successive
Latitudes.
142-3
67- 9
68- 8
33-4
312-4
47-8
126-9
By Rule I
Latitude left 78° 15' N.
DifF. of latitude 2 7 N.
Lat. come to 80 22 N.
| 264-6
Mer. parts 7817
Mer. parts 8504
687
Meridional diff. of latitude 
As difference of lat 126-2 2-10346
is to mer. diff. of lat 687  2-83696
so is the departure 264-6 2-42256
to diff. of longitude 1432 3*15606
23° 52' W.
Longitude left   28 14 E.
Longitude in 4 22 E.
The error of this method, in the present example, is
therefore 1° 23'.
78° 15'
79 14
78 6
79 2
80 50
81 35
80 22
Merid. Parts. 1^ridj01nal 1
Diff. of Lat.
Diff. of Longitude,
7817
8120
7774
8056
8676
8970
8504
303
346
282
620
294
466
123-6
166-7
731-7
346-0
343-6
218-0
290-3
1639-3
290-3
1349-0
Longitude left 28° 14' E.
Difference of longitude 22 29 W.
Longitude in  5 45 E.
To find the bearing and distance of Hacluit’s head¬
land.
Lat H. H. = 79° 55' N. M. P. 8347 Lon. 11° 55' E.
Lat. ship = 80 22 N. M. P. 8504 Lon. 5 45 E.
Diff. lat.
0 27 M. D. L. 157 D. L. 6 10
370
Now to 78-5 half the meridional difference of lati¬
tude, and 185-0 half the difference of longitude, the
course 67°, and opposite to the difference of latitude 27,
the distance is 69 miles. Hence Hacluit’s headland
bears S. 67° E. distant 69 miles.
CHAP. VII. CONTAINING THE METHOD OF RESOLVING
THE SEVERAL PROBLEMS OF MERCATOR’S SAILING, BV
THE ASSISTANCE OF A TABLE OF LOGARITHMIC TAN¬
GENTS.
k
Prob. I. Given one latitude, distance, and difference of
longitude; to find the course and other latitude.
Rule. To the arithmetical complement of the logarithm
of the distance.add the logarithm of the difference of lon¬
gitude in minutes, and the log. cosine of the given latitude;
the sum, rejecting radius, will be the log. sine of the ap¬
proximate course.
To the given latitude taken as a course in the traverse
table, and half the difference of longitude in a distance
column, the corresponding departure will be the first cor¬
rection of the course, which is subtractive if the given la¬
titude is the least of the two ; otherwise additive.
In Table A, under the complement of the course, and
772
NAVIGATION.
,?-,-■ ts ssrins.:;1^.•'.-£ "E"i.7 ~*~:>« *-~- •>.«-
sSing” being taken as is found in Table B opposite to the given ence of latitude ts found as formerly.
Arc.
1°
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Table A.
10’
3'
12
27
47
74
107
146
190
20°
1'
6
13
23
36
52
70
'92
30°
V
4
8
14
23
33
44
58
40°
1'
2
6
10
16
22
30
40
50°
O'
2
4
7
11
16
21
28
60°
O'
1
3
5
8
11
15
19
70°
0'
1
2
3
5
7
9
12
80°
90°
Table B.
Lat.
0°
10
20
30
40
50
60
70
80, &c.
3
J+ !
,* + f
-r To
4
1
J
1 _I_ I
H "T To
TI
Example. From latitude 50° N. a ship sailed 290 miles
between the south and west, and differed her longitude 5 .
Required the course, and latitude come to.
Distance • • 290 ar* c0* Iog- 7,53760
•• - =
Approximate course, • 41 41 sine 9‘82|7^
To lat. 50°, and half dilf. long. 150 in a dist. col. the first
correction in a dep. col. is 115, . +1 05
Approximate course, . 41 41
Cor. • • • 1 55 .
In Table A to co. course 48° and first corr. _ o 2
1° 55', the second direction is . J
To course 41° and diff. long. 5°, the number 1
is 15, of which \ (Table B) being taken, — 0 3
gives . • • • J  
True course, • • • S. 43 31 W.
To find the difference of latitude.
As radius • • • •
is to the cosine of the course 43° 33'
so is the distance • • 290
to the difference of latitude 210*2
Latitude left, . , • •
Difference of latitude,
10-00000
9*86020
2*46240
2*32260
50° 0' N.
3 30 S.
46 30 N.
Latitude come to, • • •
This problem was proposed and resolved by Mr Robert
Hues, in his Treatise on the Globes, printed at London in
the year 1639, p. 181.
It was afterwards proposed by Dr Halley, in the second
volume of the Miscellanea Curiosa, p. 35, in the following
words:
A ship sails from a given latitude, and, having run a cer¬
tain number of leagues, has altered her longitude by a given
angle ; it is required to find the course steered. And he
then adds : The solution hereof would be very acceptable, if
not to the public, at least to the author of this tract, being likely
to open some further light into the mysteries of geometry.
Since that time, this problem has been solved in an in¬
direct manner, by several writers on navigation, and others;
as Monsieur Bouguer, in his Nouveau Trade de Naviga¬
tion ; Mr Robertson, in the second volume of his Elements
of Navigation ; Mr Emerson, in his Theory of Navigation,
which accompanies his Mathematical Principles of Geo¬
graphy ; Mr Israel Lyons, in the Nautical Almanac for
1772; and Monsieur Bezout, in his Trade de Navigation ;
and lately, Baron Maseres, with the assistance of Mr Att-
wood, has given the first direct solution of this problem.
For a comparison of the various solutions which have hi¬
therto been made of this problem, the reader is referred
to that by Dr Mackay, in the fourth and sixth volumes of
Baron Maseres’ Scriptores Logarithmici.
CHAP. VIII.—OF OBLIQUE SAILING.
Oblique sailing is the application of oblique-angled plane
triangles to the solution of problems at sea. This sailing
will be found particularly useful in going along shore, and
in surveying coasts and harbours, &c.
Ex. 1. At llh A. M. the Girdle Ness bore W. N. W.,
and at 2h P. M. it bore N. W. by N.; the course during
the interval S. by W. five knots an hour. Required the
distance of the ship from the Ness at each station.
By Construction.
Describe the circle N, E, S, W,
and draw the diameters NS, EW
at right angles to each other : from
the centre C, which represents the
first station, draw the W. N. W.
line CF; and from the same point
draw CH, S. by W., and equal to
15 miles, the distance sailed. From
H draw HF in a N. W. by N. di¬
rection, and the point F will repre¬
sent the Girdle Ness. Now the distances CF,
measure 19*1 and 26*5 miles respectively.
By Calculation.
In the triangle FCH are given the distance CH 15 miles,
the angle FCH equal to 9 points, the interval between the
S. by W. and W. N. W. points, and the angle CHF equal
to 4 points, being the supplement of the angle contained
between the S. by W. and N. W. by N. points ; hence
CFH is 3 points ; to find the distances CF, HF.
To find the distance CF.
As the sine of CFH 3 points
is to the sine of CHF 4 points
so is the distance CH 15 miles
m is
HF will
9*74474
9*84948
1*17609
to the distance CF 19*07,
To find the distance FH.
As the sine of CFH 3 points
is to the sine of FCH points
so is the distance CH 15 miles
to the distance FH 26*48,
Ex. 2. Running up Channel E. by S. per compass at the
rate of 5 knots an hour. At llh A. M. the Eddystone
1*28083
9*74474
9*99157
1*17609
1*42292
Current
■Sailing.
i& thouse bore ]\. % E. | E., and the Start Point N. E.
;Jl k* 4 a^d at 4 P. M. the Eddystone bore N. W. by
N., and the Start N. | E. Required the distance and
tfhewtart fr°m the Eddystone> the variation be-
mg 2% points W.
By Construction.
Let the point C represent the first station, from which
draw the N. by E. £ E. line CA, the V\v ^
N. E. by E. £ E. line CB, and the E. g‘ 5'
by S. line CD, which make equal to
25 miles, the distance run in the
elapsed time ; then from D draw
the N. E. by N. line DA intersect¬
ing CA in A, which represents the
Eddystone ; and from the same point
draw the N. f E. line DB cutting
CB in B, which therefore represents
the Start. Now the distance AB j)
applied to the scale will measure 22-9, and the bearing ppr
compass BAF will measure 73±°.
Many other examples might be given. These and all
other cases which can occur in practice are to be resolved
by plane trigonometry, from calculating the triangles which
the data of the given case afford.
CHAP. IX. OF WINDWARD SAILING.
NAVIGATION.
773
gainSt u the dis!ancf made good will be equal to Instru-
i ereoce between the ship’s rate as given by the loo- ments pro-
and that of the current. And the absolute motion of the posed t0
ship will be a-head if her rate exceeds that of the cur- s?!ve Pro-
rent; but if less, the ship will make stern way. If the ship’s ln
course be oblique to the current, the disJnce made 3od-i^L
in a given time will be represented by the third side of
,w lereof the Stance given by the log, and
shLd l0dthf CUrrent 'n the same time> are thegother
sides; and the true course will be the angle contained be¬
tween the meridian and the line actually described by the
1. A ship sailed N. N. E. at the rate of 8 knots an
nour during 18 hours, in a current setting N. W. by W
good*1 ^ 311 h°Ur‘ Required the course and distance made
Fig. 37.
By Construction.
Draw the N. N. E. line CA (fig. 37)
equal to 18 X 8 = 144 miles; and from
A draw AB parallel to the N. W. by W.
rhumb, and equal to 18 X 21 = 45 miles;
now BC being joined will be the dis¬
tance, and NCB the course. The first of
these will measure 159 miles and the se¬
cond 6° 23’.
Windward sailing is, when a ship by reason of a con¬
trary wind is obliged to sail on different tacks in order to
gain her intended port; and the object of this sailing is to
find the proper course and distance to be run on each tack.
Ex. The wind at N. W., a ship bound to a port 64
miles to the windward proposes to reach it on three boards ;
two on the starboard and one on the larboard tack, and
each within 5 points of the wind. Required the course and
distance on each tack.
By Construction.
Draw the N. W. line CA (fig. 36)
equal to 64 miles ; from C draw CB
W. by S., and from A draw AD pa¬
rallel thereto, and in an opposite di¬
rection ; bisect AC in E, and draw
BED parallel to the N. by E. rhumb,
meeting CB, AD in the points B
and D: then CB z= AD applied to
the scale will measure 36^ miles,
and BD — 2 CB = 72^ miles.
Ex. 2. A ship from latitude 38° 20' N. sailed 24 hours
in a current setting N. W. by N., and by account is in la¬
titude 38° 42' N., having made 44 miles of easting; but
the latitude by observation is 38° 58' N. Required the
course and distance made good, and the drift of the cur¬
rent.
By Construction.
Make CE (fig. 38) equal to 22 miles, the difference of lati¬
tude by dead reckoning, and EA — 44 miles the departure,
and join CA ; make CD=:38 miles, the difference oflatitude
by observation ; draw the parallel oflatitude DB, and from
A draw the N. W. by N. line
AB, intersecting DB in B, and
AB will be the drift of the
current in 24 hours : CB be¬
ing joined, will be the distance
made good, and the angle
DCB the true course. Now,
AB and CB applied to the
scale, will measure 19*2 and
505 respectively ; and the an¬
gle DCB will be 41£°.
Fig. 36.
x>
Fig. 38.
D R
CHAP. X. OF CURRENT SAILING.
The computations in the preceding chapters have been
performed upon the assumption that the water has no
motion. This may no doubt answer tolerably well in
those places where the ebbings and flowings are regular,
as then the effect of the tide will be nearly counterbalanced.
But in places where there is a constant current or setting
of the sea towards the same point, an allowance for the
change of the ship’s place arising therefrom must be made.
And the method of resolving these problems, in which the
effect of a current or heave of the sea is taken into consi¬
deration, is called current sailing.
In a calm, it is evident a ship will be carried in the di¬
rection and with the velocity of the current. Hence, if a
ship sails in the direction of the current, her rate will be
augmented by the rate of the current; but if sailing di-
CHAP. XI. INSTRUMENTS PROPOSED TO SOLVE THE VA¬
RIOUS PROBLEMS IN SAILING, INDEPENDENT OF CALCU¬
LATION.
Various methods besides those already given have
been proposed, to save the trouble of calculation. One of
these methods is by means of an instrument composed of
rulers, so disposed as to form a right-angled triangle, hav¬
ing numbers in a regular progression marked on their
sides. These instruments are made of different materials,
such as paper, wood, brass, &c. and are differently con¬
structed, according to the fancy of the inventor. A num¬
ber of other instruments, very differently constructed, have
been proposed for the same purpose ; of these, the rectan¬
gular instrument by the late A. Mackay, LL.D. F. R. S. E.
&c. is one of the best. It is seldom, however, that any of
them are used.
774
Sea-
Charts.
NAVIGATION.
CHAP. XII. OF SEA-CHARTS.
The charts usually employed in the practice of naviga¬
tion are of two kinds, namely, Plane and Mercator s Charts.
The first of these is adapted to represent a portion of the
earth’s surface near the equator, and the last for all por¬
tions of the earth’s surface. For a particular description
of these, see the article Chart ; and as these are particu¬
larly described under the above article, it is therefore suf¬
ficient in this place to describe their use.
Use of the Plane Chart.
Prob. I. To find the latitude of a place on the chart.
Rule. Take the least distance between the given place
and the nearest parallel of latitude ; now this distance ap¬
plied the same way on the graduated meridian, from the
extremity of the parallel, will give the latitude of the pro-
P°Thus the distance between Bonavista and the parallel
of 15°, being laid from that parallel upon the graduated
meridian, will reach to lt>° 5*, the latitude icquired.
downwards on the meridian from the given parallel, and Of finding
the intercepted degrees will be the distance between the
places. j c , Longitude
Or, take an equal extent of a few degrees from the me- at Sea
ridian on each side of the parallel, and the number of ex-
tents, and parts of an extent, contained between the places,
being multiplied by the length of an extent, will give the
required distance.
Case III. When the given places differ both in latitude
and longitude.
Rule. Find the difference of latitude between the given
places, and take it from the equator or graduated parallel;
then lay a ruler over the two places, and move one point
of the compass along the edge of the ruler until the other
point just touches a parallel; then the distance between
the place where the point of the compass rested by the
edge of the ruler, and the point of intersection of the ruler
and parallel, being applied to the equator, will give the
distance between the places in degrees and parts of a de¬
gree, which multiplied by 60 will reduce it to miles.
Prob. II. To find the course and distance between two
given places on the chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the given places, and take the
nearest distance between the centre of any of the com¬
passes on the chart and the edge of the ruler; move this
extent along so as one point of the compass may touch
the edge of the ruler, and the straight line joining their
points may be perpendicular thereto ; then will the other
point show the course. The interval between the places,
being applied to the scale, will give the required dis-
ta Thus the course from Palma to St Vincent will be found
to be about S. S. W. f W. and the distance 13^°, or 795
miles.
Prob. II. Given the latitude and longitude in, to find
the ship’s place on the chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the given latitude, and lay off
the given longitude from the first meridian by the edge of
the ruler, and the ship’s present place will be obtained.
Prob. III. Given the course sailed from a known place,
and the latitude in, to find the ship’s present place on the
Rule. Lay a ruler over the place sailed from, in the di¬
rection of the given course, and its intersection with the
parallel of latitude arrived at will be the ship’s present
place.
Prob. III. The course and distance sailed from a known
place being given, to find the ship’s place on the chart.
Rule. Lay a ruler over the place sailed from parallel
to the rhumb, expressing the given course; take the dis¬
tance from the scale, and lay it off from the given place
by the edge of the ruler; and it will give the point repre¬
senting the ship’s present place.
Thus, suppose a ship had sailed S. W. fry W. 160 miles
from Cape Palmas; then, by proceeding as above, it will
be found that she is in latitude 2° 57' N.
The various other problems that may be resolved by
means of this chart require no further explanation, being
only the construction of the remaining problems in Plane
Sailing on the chart.
Use of Mercator s Chart.
Prob. IV. Given the latitude of the place left, and the
course and distance sailed, to find the ship s present place
on the chart.
Rule. The ruler being laid over the place sailed from,
and in the direction of the given course, take the distance
sailed from the equator, put one point of the compass at
the intersection of any parallel with the ruler, and the
other point of the compass will reach to a certain place
by the edge of the ruler. Now this point remaining in the
same position, draw in the other point of the compass until
it just touch the above parallel when svveeped round; ap¬
ply this extent to the equator, and it will give the differ¬
ence of latitude. Hence the latitude in will be known,
and the intersection of the corresponding parallel with the
edge of the ruler will be the ship’s present place.
. The other problems of Mercator’s Sailing may be very
easily resolved by this chart; but as they are of less use
than those given, they are therefore omitted, and may serve
as an exercise to the student.
The method of finding the latitude and longitude of a
place, and the course or bearing between two given places
by this chart, is performed exactly in the same manner as
in the plane chart, which see.
Prob. I. To find the distance between two given
places on the chart.
Case I. When the given places are under the same
meridian.
Rule. The difference or sum of their latitudes, accord¬
ing as they are on the same or on opposite sides of the
equator, will be the distance required.
Case II. When the given places are under the same
parallel.
Rule. If that parallel be the equator, the difference or
sum of their longitudes is the distance; otherwise, take
half the interval between the places, lay it off upwards and
BOOK II.
containing the method of finding the latitude
and longitude of a ship at sea, and the varia¬
tion OF THE compass.
CHAP. I. METHOD OF FINDING THE LATITUDE AT SEA.
Sect. I.—Of Hadley’s Quadrant.
Hadley’s quadrant is the chief instrument in use at pre¬
sent for observing altitudes at sea. The form of this in¬
strument, according to the present mode of construction,
is an octagonal sector of a circle, and therefore contains
45 degrees; but because of the double reflection, the limb
NAVIGATION.
'finding is divided into 90 degrees. See Astronomy and Quad-
11 e Latl; rant. Fig. 39 represents a quadrant of the common con-
bneitude struction’ of which the following are the principal parts.
lt Sea. ^ tlie frame of the quadrant.
2. BC, the arch or limb.
3. D, the index; a b, the subdividing scale.
4. E, the index-glass.
5. F, the fore horizon-glass.
6. G, the back horizon-glass.
7. K, the coloured or dark glasses.
8. HI, the vanes or sights.
775
dicular to the plane of the instrument. This mirror being Of finding
fixed to the index, moves along with it, and has its direc- Tati”
tion changed by the motion thereof; and the intention of lude and
this glass is to receive the image of the sun, or any other Lo^tude
object, and reflect it upon either of the two horizon-glasses,v a ^ea~_ .
according to the nature of the observation.
The brass frame with the glass is fixed to the index by
the screw c; the other screw serves to replace it in a
peipendicular position, if by any accident it has been de¬
ranged.
Fig. 39.
Of the Frame of the Quadrant.
The frame of the quadrant consists of an arch BC, firm¬
ly attached to the two radii AB, AC, which are bound to¬
gether by the braces LM, in order to strengthen it, and
prevent it from warping.
Of the Index D.
The index is a flat bar of brass, and turns on the centre
of the octant: at the lower end of the index there is an
oblong opening; to one side of this opening the vernier
scale is fixed, to subdivide the divisions of the arch; at the
end of the index there is a piece of brass, which bends un¬
der the arch, carrying a spring to make the subdividing
scale lie close to the divisions. It is also furnished with
a screw to fix the index in any desired position. The
best instruments have an adjusting screw fitted to the in¬
dex, that it may be moved more slowly, and with greater
regularity and accuracy, than by the hand. It is proper,
however, to observe, that the index must be previously
fixed near its right position by the above-mentioned screw.
Of the Index- Glass E.
Upon the index, and near its axis of motion, is fixed a
plane speculum, or mirror of glass quicksilvered. It is set
in a brass frame, and is placed so that its face is perpen-
Of the Horizon- Glasses F, G.
On the radius AB of the octant are two small specu-
lums: the surface of the upper one is parallel to the index-
glass, and that of the lower one perpendicular thereto,
when 0 on the index coincides with 0 on the limb. These
mirrors receive the reflected rays, and transmit them to
the observer.
The horizon-glasses are not entirely quicksilvered ; the
upper one F is only silvered on its lower half, or that next
the plane of the quadrant, the other half being left trans¬
parent, and the back part of the frame cut away, that no¬
thing may impede the sight through the unsilvered part
of the glass. The edge of the foil of this glass is nearly
parallel to the plane of the instrument, and ought to be
very sharp, and without a flaw. The other horizon-glass
is silvered at both ends. In the middle there is a trans¬
parent slit, through which the horizon may be seen.
Each of these glasses is set in a brass frame, to which
there is an axis passing through the wood-work, and is fit¬
ted to a lever on the under side of the quadrant, by which
the glass may be turned a few degrees on its axis, in or¬
der to set it parallel to the index-glass. The lever has a
contrivance to turn it slowly, and a button to fix it. To
set the glasses perpendicular to the plane of the instru¬
ment, there are two sunk screws, one before and one be¬
hind each glass : these screws pass through the plate on
which the frame is fixed, into another plate; so that by
loosening one and tightening the other of these screws, the
direction of the frame with its mirror may be altered, and
set perpendicular to the plane of the instrument.
Of the Coloured Glasses K.
There are usually three coloured classes, two of which
are tinged red and the other green. They are used to pre¬
vent the solar rays from hurting the eye at the time of ob¬
servation. These glasses are set in a frame, which turns
on a centre, so that they may be used separately of to¬
gether as the brightness of the sun may require. The
green glass is particularly useful in observations of the
moon ; it may be also used in observations of the sun, if
that object be very faint. In the fore observation, these
glasses are fixed as in fig. 39 ; but when the back observa¬
tion is used, they are removed to N.
Of the two Sight Vanes, H, I.
Each of these vanes is a perforated piece of brass, de¬
signed to direct the sight parallel to the plane of the quad¬
rant. That which is fixed at I is used for the fore, and
the other for the back observation. The vane I has two
holes, one exactly at the height of the silvered part of the
horizon-glass, the other a little higher, to direct the sight
to the middle of the transparent part of the mirror.
Of the Divisions on the Limb of the Quadrant.
The limb of the quadrant is divided from right to left
into 90 primary divisions, which are to be considered as
degrees, and each degree is subdivided into three equal
parts, which are therefore of 20 minutes each : the inter¬
mediate minutes are obtained by means of the scale of di¬
visions at the end of the index.
Of finding Of the Vernier, or Subdividing Scale.
tude and The dividing scale contains a space equal to 21 divisions
liongitude of the limb, and is divided into 20 equal parts. Hence the
at Sea. ciifference between a division on the dividing scale and a
^ v ' division on the limb is one twentieth of a division on the
limb, or one minute. The degree and minute pointed out
by the dividing scale may be easily found thus.
Observe what minute on the dividing scale coincides
with a division on the limb; this division being added to
the degree and part of a degree on the limb, immediately
preceding the first division on the dividing scale, will be
the degree and minute required.
Thus, suppose the fourteenth minute on the dividing
scale coincided with a division on the limb, and that the
preceding division on the limb to 0 on the vernier was 56°
40'; hence the division shown by the vernier is 56° 54'. A
magnifying glass will assist the observer to read off the co¬
inciding divisions with more accuracy.
Adjustments of Hadleys Quadrant.
The adjustments of the quadrant consist in placing the
mirrors perpendicular to the plane of the instrument. The
fore horizon-glass must be set parallel to the speculum,
and the planes of the speculum and back horizon-glass
produced must be perpendicular to each other when the
index is at 0.
Adjustment I. To set the index-glass perpendicular to
the plane of the quadrant.
Set the index towards the middle of the limb, and hold
the quadrant so that its plane may be nearly parallel to the
horizon : then look into the index-glass, and if the portion
of the limb seen by reflection appears in the same plane
with that seen directly, the speculum is perpendicular to
the plane of the instrument. If they do not appear in the
same plane, the error is to be rectified by altering the po¬
sition of the screws behind the frame of the glass.
Adjustment II. To set the fore horizon-glass perpen¬
dicular to the plane of the instrument.
Set the index to 0 ; hold the plane of the quadrant pa¬
rallel to the horizon ; direct the sight to the horizon, and
if the horizons seen directly and by reflection are apparent¬
ly in the same straight line, the fore horizon-glass is per¬
pendicular to the plane of the instrument; if not, one of
the horizons will appear higher than the other. Now if
the horizon seen by reflection is higher than that seen di¬
rectly, release the nearest screw in the pedestal of the
glass, and screw up that on the farther side, till the direct
and reflected horizons appear to make one continued
straight line. But if the reflected horizon is lower than
that seen directly, unscrew the farthest, and screw up the
nearest screw till the coincidence of the horizons is per¬
fect, observing to leave both screws equally tight, and the
fore horizon-glass will be perpendicular to the plane of the
quadrant.
Adjustment III. To set the fore horizon-glass parallel
to the index-glass, the index being at 0.
Set 0 on the index exactly to 0 on the limb, and fix it
in that position by the screw at the under side ; hold the
plane of the quadrant in a vertical position, and direct the
sight to a well-defined part of the horizon ; then if the ho¬
rizon seen in the silvered part coincides with that seen
through the transparent part, the horizon-glass is adjusted ;
but if the horizons do not coincide, unscrew the milled
screw in the middle of the lever on the other side of the
quadrant, and turn the nut at the end of the lever until
both horizons coincide, and fix the lever in this position
by tightening the milled screw.
As the position of the glass is liable to be altered by fix¬
ing the lever, it will therefore be necessary to re-examine
it; and if the horizons do not coincide, it will be necessary
either to repeat the adjustment, or rather to find the error Of fir
of adjustment, or, as it is usually called, the indzx error ; I
which may be done thus :
Direct the sight to the horizon, and move the index atB
until the reflected horizon coincides with that seen direct-
ly; then the difference between 0 on the limb and 0 on
the vernier is the index error ; which is additive when the
beginning of the vernier is to the right of 0 on the limb,
otherwise subtractive.
Adjustment IV. To set the back horizon-glass perpen¬
dicular to the plane of the instrument.
Put the index to 0 ; hold the plane of the quadrant pa¬
rallel to the horizon, and direct the sight to the horizon
through the back-sight vane. Now if the reflected horizon
is in the same straight line with that seen through the
transparent part, the glass is perpendicular to the plane of
the instrument. If the horizons do not unite, turn the
sunk screws in the pedestal of the glass until they are ap¬
parently in the same straight line.
Adjustment V. To set the back horizon-glass perpen¬
dicular to the plane of the index-glass produced, the index
being at 0.
Let the index be put as much to the right of 0 as twice
the dip of the horizon amounts to ; hold the quadrant in a
vertical position, and apply the eye to the back vane; then
if the reflected horizon coincides with that seen directly,
the glass is adjusted ; if they do not coincide, the screw in
the middle of the lever on the other side of the quadrant
must be released, and the nut at its extremity turned till
both horizons coincide. It may be observed, that the re¬
flected horizon will be inverted ; that is, the sea will be ap¬
parently uppermost and the sky lowermost.
This method of adjustment is esteemed troublesome,
and is often found to be very difficult to perform at sea,
on which account the method of observation by the back
horizon-glass is seldom or never used.
Use of Hadley's Quadrant.
The altitude of any object is determined by the position
of the index on the limb, when by reflection that object
appears to be in contact with the horizon.
If the object whose altitude is to be observed be the sun,
and if so bright that its image may be seen in the trans¬
parent part of the fore horizon-glass, the eye is to be ap¬
plied to the upper hole in the sight-vane; otherwise, to
the lower hole : and in this case the quadrant is to be held
so that the sun may be bisected by the line of separation
of the silvered and transparent parts of the glass. The moon
is to be kept as nearly as possible in the same position;
and the image of the star is to be observed in the silvered
part of the glass adjacent to the line of separation of the
two parts.
There are two different methods of taking observations
with the quadrant. In the first of these the face of the
observer is directed towards that part of the horizon im¬
mediately under the sun, and is therefore called the fore
observation. In the other method, the observer s back
is to the sun, and it is hence called the back observation.
This last method of observation is to be used only when
the horizon under the sun is obscured, or rendered indis¬
tinct by fog or any other impediment.
In taking the sun’s altitude, whether by the fore or back
observation, the observer must turn the quadrant about
upon the axis of vision, and at the same time turn himself
about upon his heel, so as to keep the sun always in that
part of the horizon-glass which is at the same distance as
the eye from the plane of the quadrant. In this way the
reflected sun will describe an arch of a parallel circle round
the true sun, the convex side of which will be downwards
in the fore observation and upwards in the back ; and con¬
sequently, when, by moving the index, the lowest point of
NAVIGATION.
)f finding the arch in the fore observation, or highest in the back, is
itude and mad.6 t0 t0Uch the horizon> the quadrant will stand in a
Longitude v^F1tica^ P^ane’ and the altitude above the visible horizon
at"sea. Wl11 be properly observed. The reason of these operations
may be thus explained: The image of the sun being al¬
ways kept in the axis of vision, the index will always show
on the quadrant the distance between the sun and any
object seen directly which its image appears to touch;
therefore, as long as the index remains unmoved, the image
of the sun will describe an arch everywhere equidistant
from the sun in the heavens, and consequently a parallel cir¬
cle about the sun as a pole. Such a translation of the sun’s
image can only be produced by the quadrant’s being turn¬
ed about upon a line drawn from the eye to the sun as an
axis. A motion of rotation upon this line may be resolv¬
ed into two, one upon the axis of vision, and the other
upon a line on the quadrant perpendicular to the axis of
vision ; and consequently a proper combination of these
two motions will keep the image of the sun constantly in
the axis of vision, and cause both jointly to run over a pa¬
rallel circle about the sun in the heavens ; but when the
quadrant is vertical, a line thereon perpendicular to the
axis of vision becomes a vertical axis ; and as a small mo¬
tion of the quadrant is all that is wanted, it will never dif¬
fer much in practice from a vertical axis. The observer
is directed to perform two motions rather than the single
one equivalent to them on a line drawn from the eye to
the sun; because we are not capable, while looking to¬
wards the horizon, of judging how to turn the quadrant
about upon the elevated line going to the sun as an axis,
by any other means than by combining the two motions
above mentioned, so as to keep the sun’s image always in
the proper part of the horizon-glass. When the sun is
near the horizon, the line going from the eye to the sun
will not be far removed from the axis of vision ; and con¬
sequently the principal motion of the quadrant will be
performed on the axis of vision, and the part of motion
made on the vertical axis will be but small. O the con¬
trary, when the sun is near the zenith, the line going to
the sun is not far removed from a vertical line, and con¬
sequently the principal motion of the quadrant will be
performed on a vertical axis, by the observer’s turning
himself about, and the part of the motion made on the
axis of vision will be but small. In intermediate altitudes
of the sun, the motions of the quadrant on the axis of vi¬
sion, and on the vertical axis, will be more equally di¬
vided.
Observations taken with the quadrant are liable to er¬
rors, arising from the bending and elasticity of the index,
and the resistance it meets with in turning round its centre ;
whence the extremity of the index, on being pushed along
the arch, will sensibly advance before the index-glass be¬
gins to move, and may be seen to recoil when the force
acting on it is removed. Mr Hadley seems to have been
apprehensive that his instrument would be liable to errors
from this cause ; and, in order to avoid them, gives parti¬
cular directions that the index be made broad at the end
next the centre, and that the centre, or axis itself, have
as easy a motion as is consistent with steadiness; that is,
an entire freedom from looseness, or shake as the workmen
term it. By strictly complying with these directions the
error in question may indeed be greatly diminished; so
far, perhaps, as to render it nearly insensible, where the
index is made strong, and the proper medium between
the two extremes of a shake at the centre on one hand,
and too much stiffness there on the other, is nicely hit:
but it cannot be entirely corrected; for to more or less
of bending the index will always be subject, and some
degree of resistance will remain at the centre, unless the
friction there could be totally removed, which is im¬
possible.
777
Of the reality of the error to which he is liable from Of finding
this cause, the observer, if he is provided with a quadrant the Lati-
turmshed with a screw for moving the index gradually tude and
may thus satisfy himself. After finishing the observation! Lo"gl.tude
lay the quadrant on a table, and note the angle; then v at Sea‘ ,
cautiously loosen the screw which fastens the index, and
it will immediately, if the quadrant is not remarkably well
constructed, be seen to start from its former situation,
more or less according to the perfection of the joint and
the strength of the index. This starting, which is owing
to the index recoiling after being released from the con¬
fined state it wras in during the observation, will sometimes
amount to several minutes; and its direction will be op¬
posite to that in which the index was moved by the screw
at the time of finishing the observation. But how far it
affects the tiuth of the observation, depends on the man¬
ner in which the index was moved in setting it to 0, for
adjusting the instrument; or in finishing the observations
necessary for finding the index error.
The easiest and best rule to avoid these errors seems to
be this: In all observations made by Hadley’s quadrant,
let the observer take notice constantly to finish his obser¬
vations by moving the index in the same direction which
was used in setting it to 0 for adjusting, or in the obser¬
vations necessary for finding the index error. If this rule
is observed, the error arising from the spring of the index
will be obviated. For as the index was bent the same
way, and in the same degree, in adjusting as in observing,
the truth of the observations will not be affected by this
bending.
To take Altitudes by the Fore Observation.
1. Of the Sun.
Turn down either of the coloured glasses before the ho¬
rizon-glass, according to the brightness of the sun ; direct
the sight to that part of the horizon which is under the
sun, and move the index until the coloured image of the
sun appear in the horizon-glass; then give the quadrant
a slow vibratory motion about the axis of vision; move
the index until the lower or upper limb of the sun is in
contact with the horizon at the lowest part of the arch
described by this motion, and the degrees and minutes
shown by the index on the limb will be the altitude of
the sun.
2. Of the Moon.
Put the index to 0, turn down the green glass, place
the eye at the lower hole in the sight-vane, and observe
the moon in the silvered part of the horizon-glass ; move
the index gradually, and follow the moon’s reflected image
until the enlightened limb is in contact with the horizon
at the lower part of the arch described by the vibratory
motion as before, and the index will show the altitude of
the observed limb of the moon. If the observation is
made in the day-time, the coloured glass is unneces¬
sary.
3. Of a Star or Planet.
The index being put to 0, direct the sight to the star
through the lower hole in the sight-vane and transparent
part of the horizon-glass ; move the plane of the quadrant
a very little to the left, and the image of the star will be
seen in the silvered part of the glass. Now move the in¬
dex, and the image of the star will appear to descend ;
continue moving the index gradually until the star is in
contact with the horizon at the lowest part of the arch
described, and the degrees and minutes shown by the
index on the limb will be the altitude of the star.
5 F
VOL. XV.
778
Of finding To take Attitudes hy the Back Observation.
the Lati- _ . . _
tude and !• Of the Sun*
LaTiiUde Put the stem of the coloured glasses into the perfora-
tion between the horizon-glasses; turn down either accord¬
ing to the brightness of the sun, and hold the quadrant
vertically ; then direct the sight through the hole in the
back sight-vane, and the transparent slit in the horizon-
glass to that part of the horizon which is opposite to the
sun; now move the index till the sun is in the silvered
part of the glass, and by giving the quadrant a vibratory
motion, the axis of which is that of vision, the image of
the sun will describe an arch the convex side of which is
upwards ; bring the limb of the sun, when in the upper
part of this arch, in contact with the horizon, and the in¬
dex will show the altitude of the other limb of the sun.
2. Of the Moon.
The altitude of the moon is observed in the same man¬
ner as that of the sun, with this difference only, that the
use of the coloured glass is unnecessary unless the moon
is very bright; and that the enlightened limb, whether it
be the upper or lower, is to be brought in contact with
the horizon.
3. Of a Star or Planet.
Look directly to the star through the vane and transpa¬
rent slit in the horizon-glass; move the index until the
opposite horizon, with respect to the star, is seen in the
silvered part of the glass, and make the contact perfect,
as formerly. If the altitude of the star is known nearly,
the index may be set to that altitude, the sight directed
to the opposite horizon, and the observation made as be¬
fore.
Sect. II.—Of finding the Latitude of a Place.
The observation necessary for ascertaining the latitude
of a place, is that of the meridional altitude of a known
celestial object; or two altitudes when the object is out of
the meridian. The latitude is deduced with more cer¬
tainty and with less trouble from the first of these me¬
thods than from the second; and the sun, for various rea¬
sons, is the object most proper for this purpose at sea. It,
however, frequently happens that, by the interposition of
clouds, the sun is obscured at noon, and by this means the
meridian altitude is lost. In this case, therefore, the me¬
thod by double altitudes becomes necessary. The latitude
may be deduced from three altitudes of an unknown ob¬
ject, or from double altitudes, the apparent times of ob¬
servation being given.
The altitude of the limb of an object observed at sea
requires four separate corrections in order to obtain the
true altitude of its centre; these are for semidiameter, dip,
refraction, and parallax. (See Astronomy, and the re¬
spective articles.) The first and last of these corrections
vanish when the observed object is a fixed star.
When the altitude of the lower limb of any object is ob¬
served, its semidiameter is to be added thereto in order
to obtain the central altitude; but if the upper limb be
observed, the semidiameter is to be subtracted. The dip
is to be subtracted from, or added to, the observed alti¬
tude, according as the fore or back observation is used.
The refraction is always to be subtracted from, and the
parallax added to, the observed altitude.
NAVIGATION.
Table IV.—Dip of the Horizon.
Height
of Eye.
Feet.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
Hip of
Horizon.
M. S.
0 57
21
39
1 55
2 8
20
31
42
52
1
10
18
26
34
42
49
3 56
4 3
4 10
4 16
Height
of Eye.
Feet.
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
70
80
90
100
Dip of
Horizon.
M. S.
4 22
4 28
34
40
46
4 52
4 58
3
9
14
39
2
24
6 44
7 4
7 23
7 59
8 32
9 3
9 33
Of finding
the Lati.
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
The dip in the preceding table answers to an entirely
open and unobstructed horizon. It, however, frequently
happens that the sun is over the land at the time of obser¬
vation, and the ship nearer to the land than the visible ho¬
rizon would be if unconfined. In this case, the dip will be
different from what it would otherwise have been, and is to
be taken from the subjoined table, in which the height is
expressed at the top, and the distance from the land in the
side column in nautical miles. Seamen, in general, can
estimate the distance of any object from the ship with suf¬
ficient exactness for this purpose, especially when that
distance is not greater than six miles, which is the great¬
est distance of the visible horizon from an observer on the
deck of any ship.
Table V.—Dip of the Sea at different Distances from the
Observer.
Distance
of Land in
Sea Miles.
0 0
0 0
0 of
1 0
Height of the Eye above the Sea, in Feet.
Dip.
M.
1 0T
0
0
0
0
0
11
6
4
4
3
3
2
2
2
2
2
2
2
Dip.
M.
22
11
8
6
5
4
3
3
3
3
3
3
3
Dip.
10 15 20 25 30 35 | 40
M.
34
17
12
9
7
6
5
5
4
4
4
4
4
Dip. Dip
M. M.
45
22
15
12
9
8
6
6
5
5
4
4
4
Dip.
M.
56
28
19
15
12
10
8
7
6
6
5
5
5
68
34
23
17
14
11
10
8
7
6
6
5
5
Dip. Dip
M. M.
79
39
27
20
16
14
11
9
8
7
7
6
6
90
45
30
23
19
15
12
10
8
7
7
6
6
;)f finding
i the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
NAVIGATION.
779
Of finding
the Lati¬
tude and
Longitude
at Sea.
780
NAVIGATION.
Of finding Prob. I. To reduce the sun’s declination to any given
the Lati- meridian. . ,
tude and rule. Find the number in the table answering to the
Longitudelon itude in the table nearest to that given, and to the
v a ea^ . nearest day of the month. Now, if the longitude is west,
and the declination increasing, that is, from the 20th o
March to the 22d of June, and from the 22d of September
to the 22d of December, the above number is to be added
to the declination ; during the other part of the year, or
while the declination is decreasing, this number is to be
subtracted. In east longitude the contrary rule is to be
applied. . ,
Ex. 1. Required the sun’s declination at noon ibth
April 1836, in longitude 84° W. M
Sun’s declination at noon at Greenwich, 10 14,I IN.
Number from table, • • 4~ J ^
Reduced declination, . ■ • ^
'Ex. 2. Required the sun’s declination at noon 22d Mai ch
1836, in longitude 151° E.
Sun’s declination at noon at Greenwich, 0 4«rJ J\.
Equation from table, . • ^
Reduced declination,
30° 14' N. Of finding
16 30 S- the Lati-
tude and
Zenith distance,
Declination, ....
Latitude, 13 44 N.Londitude
at Sea.
Prob. IV. Given the meridian altitude of a planet, to
find the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Compute the true altitude of the planet as di¬
rected in last problem (which is sufficiently accurate for
altitudes taken at sea); take its declination from the Nau¬
tical Almanac, and reduce it to the time and meridian of
the place of observation ; then the sum or difference of
the zenith distance and declination of the planet will be
the latitude, as before.
Ex. 1. August 7, 1836, the meridian altitude of Saturn
was 68° 42' N., and height of the eye 15 feet. Required
the latitude.
Observed altitude of Saturn, . . 68° 42' N.
Dip and refraction, . . • —0 4
True altitude,
Zenith distance,
Declination,
0 36-0 N. Latitude,
68 38 N.
21 22 S.
9 8 S.
30 30 S.
Prob. II. Given the sun’s meridian altitude, to find the
latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. The sun’s semidiameter is to be added to or
subtracted from the observed altitude, according as the
lower or upper limb is observed ; the dip answering to the
height from Table IV. or V. is to be subtracted if the fore
observation is used ; otherwise, it is to be added ; and the
refraction answering to the altitude from lable vol. IV. p.
100, art. Astronomy, is to be subtracted ; hence the true
altitude of the sun’s centre will be obtained. Call the al¬
titude south or north, according as the sun is south or
north at the time of observation, which subtracted from
90°, will give the zenith distance of a contrary denomina¬
tion.
Reduce the sun’s declination to the meridian of the place
of observation, by Prob. I.; then the sum or difference of
the zenith distance and declination, according as they are
of the same or of a contrary denomination, will be the la¬
titude of the place of observation, of the same name with
the greater quantity.
Ex. 1. October 19, 1836, in longitude 32° E., the me¬
ridian altitude of the sun’s lower limb was 48° 53' S.;
height of the eye 18 feet. Required the latitude.
Obs. alt. sun’s low. limb, 48° 53' S. Sun’s dec. noon, 9° 55' S.
Semidiameter, . +0 16 Equation tab. — 2
Dip and refraction, —0 5 Reduced dec. 9 53 S.
True alt. sun’s centre, 49 4 S. Zenith dist. 40 56 N.
Latitude, 31 3 N.
Prob. III. Given the meridian altitude of a fixed star,
to find the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Correct the altitude of the star by dip and re¬
fraction, and find the zenith distance of the star as former¬
ly ; take the declination of the star from the Nautical Al¬
manac, and reduce it to the time of observation. Now,
the sum or difference of the zenith distance and declination
of the star, according as they are of the same or of a con¬
trary name, will be the latitude of the place of observation.
Ex. 1. December 1, 1836, the meridian altitude of Sirius
was 59° 50' S., height of the eye 14 feet. Required the
latitude.
Observed altitude of Sirius, . . 59° 50' S.
Dip and refraction, . . . — 0 4
True altitude, . . . 59 46 S.
Prob. V. Given the meridian altitude of the moon, to
find the latitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Take the proportional part of the daily variation
of the moon’s passing the meridian at Greenwich, answer¬
ing to the ship’s longitude; which being applied to the time
of passage given in the Nautical Almanac, will give the
time of the moon’s passage over the meridian of the ship.
Reduce this time to the meridian of Greenwich ; and by
means of the Nautical Almanac find the moon’s declination,
horizontal parallax, and semidiameter at the reduced time.
Apply the semidiameter, dip, and refraction to the ob¬
served altitude of the limb, and the apparent altitude of
the moon’s centre will be obtained; to which add the
moon’s parallax in altitude (found from Problem VII. of
next chapter), and the sum will be the true altitude of the
moon’s centre; which subtracted from 90°, the remain¬
der is the zenith distance, and the sum or difference of
the zenith distance and declination, according as they are
of the same or of a contrary name, will be the latitude ot
the place of observation.
Ex. 1. December 19, 1836, in longitude 30°, W., the
meridian altitude of the moon’s lower limb was 81° 15' N.,
height of the eye 12 feet. Required the latitude.
Time of pass, over the mer. of Greenwich, = 9h 30'
Equation to this and long. . • + 0 4
Time of pass, over mer. ship,
Longitude in time,
Reduced time,
Moon’s dec. at 1 lh,
Eq. to 34ra, ....
Reduced declination,
Moon’s hor. par. . . •
Moon’s semidiameter,
Observed altitude of the moon’s lower limb,
Semidiameter,
Dip, .....
Apparent altitude of the moon’s centre,
Refraction, 
Parallax in altitude, ....
True altitude of the moon’s centre,
Zenith distance, . •
Declination, ....
Latitude,
9 34
2 0
11 34
= 20° 9' N.
0 6
20 15 N.
54' 56"
15 0
81° 15' N.
+ 0 15
— 0 3
81 27 N.
0 0
+ 0 8
81
8
20
35 N.
25 S.
15 N.
11 50 N.
flffi
tie!
tuifc
Long
at!
navigation.
fh/ifn2 Remark- If the object be on the meridian below the
nude and V?\e ^ the j1™6 of observation, then the sum of the true
Longitude n'^ode and the complement of the declination is the la-
at Sea- ritude of the same name as the declination or altitude.
  ' Ex. 1. July 2, 1836, in longitude 15° W. the altitude of
the sun’s lower limb at midnight was 8° 58', height of the
eye 18 feet. Required the latitude.
Observed altitude sun’s lower limb, . 8° 58'
Semidiameter, . . t . _j_o 16
Dip and refraction, . . .  0 10
781
True altitude of sun’s centre,
Com pi. declin. reduced to time and place,
Latitude,
9
66
76 1 N.
Prob. VI. Given the latitude by account, the declina¬
tion and two observed altitudes of the sun, and the inter¬
val of time between them, to find the true latitude.
Rule. To the log. secant of the latitude by account,
add the log. secant of the sun’s declination ; the sum, re¬
jecting 20 from the index, is the logarithm ratio. To this
add the log. of the difference of the natural sines of the two
altitudes, and the log. of the half elapsed time from its pro¬
per column.
Find this sum in column of middle time, and take out
the time answering thereto ; the difference between which
and the half elapsed time will be the time from noon when
the greater altitude was observed.
Take the log. answering to this time from column of
rising, from which subtract the log. ratio, the remainder is
the logarithm of a natural number; which being added to
the natural sine of the greater altitude, the sum is the natu¬
ral cosine of the meridian zenith distance ; from which and
the sun s declination the latitude is obtained as formerly.
If the latitude thus found differs considerably from that
by account, the operation is to be repeated, using the com¬
puted latitude in place of that by account.1
Ex. In latitude 49° 48' N. by account, the sun’s de¬
clination being 9° 37' S. at 0h 32m p. m. per watch, the al¬
titude of the sun’s lower limb was 28° 32', and at 2h 41m
it was 19° 25’; the height of the eye 12 feet. Required
the true latitude.
First observed altit. 28° 32' Second altitude, 19° 25'
Semidiameter, -j- 0 16 Semidiameter, -{- () 16
Dip and refraction,—0 5 Dip and refraction,—0 6
True altitude, 28 43 True altitude, 19 35
Time per wat. Alt. N. Sines. Lat by acc. 49° 48'Secant, 0-19013
Oh 32m 28° 43' 48048 Declination, 9 37 Secant, 0-00615
2 41 19 35 33518
Differ.
9
4 30s
37 0
Log. ratio,
14530 Log.
Half elapsed time,
Middle time, .
O 32 30
Natural number.
Rising,
639
0-19628
4-16227
0-55637
4 91492
3-00164
2-80536
Mer. zenith dist. 00° 52' N. Cosine, 48667
Declination, 9 37 S.
Latitude,
51 15 N.
As the latitude by computation differs 1° 27' from that Of finding
by account, the operation must be repeated. the Lati-
Computed latitude, 51° IS- Secant, 0-20348 Longitude
4 N.
57 N.
Declination,
Logarithm ratio,
Difference of nat. sines,
Half elapsed time,
Middle time,
Rising,
9 37 Secant, 0-00615 at Sea.
14530
lh 4m 30s
1 40 20
0 35 50
Natural number,
Gr. altitude,
Mer. zen. dist.
Declination,
28° 43' N. Sine,
Log.
Log.
Log.
Log.
753
48048
0-20963
4-16227
0-55637
4-92827
3-08630
2-87667
60 47 N. Cosine, 48801
9 37
Latitude, 51 10 N.
As this latitude differs only 5' from that used in the
computation, it may therefore be depended on as the true
latitude.
Pros. VII. Given the latitude by account, the sun’s de¬
clination, two observed altitudes, the elapsed time, and
the course and distance run between the observations; to
find the ships latitude at the time of observation of the
greater altitude.
Rule. Find the angle contained between the ship’s
course and the sun’s bearing at the time of observation of
the least altitude, with which enter the Traverse Table as
a course, and the difference of latitude answering to the
distance made good will be the reduction of altitude.
Now, if the least altitude be observed in the forenoon,
the reduction of altitude is to be applied thereto by addi¬
tion or subtraction, according as the angle between the
ship’s course and the sun’s bearing is less or more than
eight points. If the least altitude be observed in the af¬
ternoon, the contrary rule is to be used.
The difference of longitude in time between the obser¬
vations is to be applied to the elapsed time by addition or
subtraction, according as it is east or west. This is, how¬
ever, in many cases so inconsiderable as to be neglected.
With the corrected altitudes and interval, the latitude
by account and sun’s declination at the time of observa¬
tion of the greatest altitude, the computation is to be per¬
formed by the last problem.
Remark. If the sun come very near the zenith, the sines
of the altitude will vary so little as to make it uncertain
which ought to be taken as that belonging to the natural
sine of the meridian altitude. In this case the following
method will be found preferable.
To the log. rising of the time from noon found as be¬
fore, add the log. secant of half the sum of the estimated
meridian altitude, and greatest observed altitude; from
which subtract the log. ratio, its index being increased by
10, and the remainder w ill be the log. sine of an arch ;
which added to the greatest altitude, will give the sun’s
meridian altitude.
1 This method is only an approximation, and ought to be used under certain restrictions ; namely,
The observations must be taken between nine o’clock in the forenoon and three in the afternoon. If both observations be in the
forenoon, or both in the afternoon, the interval must not be less than the distance of the time of observation of the greatest altitude
from noon. If one observation be in the forenoon and the other in the afternoon, the interval must not exceed four hours and a half;
and, in all cases, the nearer the greater altitude is to noon the better.
If the sun’s meridian zenith distance be less than the latitude, the limitations are still more contracted. If the latitude be double
the meridian zenith distance, the observations must be taken between half past nine in the morning and half past two in the after¬
noon, and the interval must not exceed three hours and a half. The observations must be taken still nearer to noon if the latitude
exceed the zenith distance in a greater proportion. SeeMackay’s Treatises on the Longitude and Navigation, &c.; Requisite Tables,
3d edit.; Mendoza Rios’s Tables; Norie’s and Riddle’s Treatises on Navigation ; &c.
782
NAVIGATION.
Of finding CHAP. II.
the Longi¬
tude at Sea
by Lunar
Observa¬
tions.
-METHOD OF FINDING THE LONGITUDE AT SEA
BY LUNAR OBSERVATIONS.
Sect. I.—Introduction.
The observations necessary to determine the longitude
by this method are, the distance between the sun and
moon, the moon and a planet, or the moon and a fixed star
near the ecliptic, together with the altitude of each. The
planets used in the Nautical Almanac for this purpose are
the following:—Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The
stars are, a Arietis, Aldebaran, Pollux, Regulus, Spica \ir-
ginis, Antares, a Aquilcc, Fomalhaut, and a Pegasi; and
the distances of the moon’s centre from the sun, and from
one or more of these planets and stars, are contained in
the xiiith—xviiith pages of the month, at the beginning of
every third hour mean time by the meridian of Greenwich.
The distance between the moon and one of these objects
is observed with a sextant; and the altitudes of the ob¬
jects are taken as usual with a Hadley’s quadrant.
In the practice of this method, it will be found conve¬
nient to be provided with three assistants. Two of these
are to take the altitudes of the sun and moon, or moon and
star, at the same time that the principal observer is taking
the distance between the objects ; and the third assistant is
to observe the time, and write down the observations. In
order to obtain accuracy, it will be necessary to observe
several distances, and the corresponding altitudes, the in¬
tervals of time between them being as short as possible ;
and the sum of each divided by the number will give the
mean distance and mean altitudes; from which the time
of observation at Greenwich is to be computed by the rules
to be explained.
If the sun or star from which the moon’s distance is ob¬
served be at a proper distance from the meridian, the time
at the ship may be inferred from the altitude observed at
the same time with the distance. In this case the watch
is not necessary ; but if that object be near the meridian,
the watch is absolutely necessary, in order to connect the
observations for ascertaining the mean time at the ship and
at Greenwich with each other.
An observer without any assistants may very easily take
all the observations, by first taking the altitudes of the ob¬
jects, then the distance, and again their altitudes, and re¬
duce the altitudes to the time of observation of the dis¬
tance ; or, by a single observation of the distance, the
time being known from which the altitudes of the bodies
may be computed, the longitude may be determined.
A set of observations of the distance between the moon
and a star or planet, and their altitudes, may be taken with
accuracy during the time of the evening or morning twilight;
and the observer, though not much acquainted with the stars,
will not find it difficult to distinguish the star from which
the moon’s distance is to be observed. For the time of ob¬
servation nearly, and the ship’s longitude by account be¬
ing known, the estimate time at Greenwich may be found ;
and by entering the Nautical Almanac with the reduced
time, the distance between the moon and given star will
be found nearly. Now set the index of the sextant to this
distance, and hold the plane of the instrument so as to be
nearly at right angles to the line joining the moon’s cusps ;
direct the sight to the moon, and, by giving the sextant a
slow vibratory motion, the axis of which being that of vi¬
sion, the star, which is usually one of the brightest in that
part of the heavens, will be seen in the transparent part of
the horizon-glass.
the sun and moon, or between the moon and a planet or Of finding
fixed star, in order to ascertain the longitude of a place bythe Lcmgi.
lunar observations. It is, therefore, made with more care Sea
than the quadrant, and has some additional appendages that 0^"“
are wanting in that instrument. tions.
Fig. 40 represents the sextant, so framed as not to be
Fig. 40.
Sect. II.—Of the Sextant.
This instrument is constructed for the express purpose
of measuring with accuracy the angular distance between
liable to bend. The arch AA is divided into 120 degrees;
each degree is divided into three parts; each of these parts,
therefore, contains twenty minutes, which are again sub¬
divided by the vernier into every half minute or thirty
seconds. The vernier is numbered at every fifth of the
longer divisions, from the right towards the left, with 5,
10, 15, and 20 ; the first division to the right being the be¬
ginning of the scale.
In order to observe with accuracy, and make the images
come precisely in contact, an adjusting screw B is added
to the index, which may thereby be moved with greater ac¬
curacy than it can be by the hand ; but this screw does not
act until the index is fixed by the finger-screw C. Care
should be taken not to force the adjusting screw when it
arrives at either extremity of its adjustment. When the
index is to be moved any considerable quantity, the screw
C at the back of the sextant must be loosened ; but when
the index is brought nearly to the division required, this
back screw should be tightened, and then the index may
be moved gradually by the adjusting screw.
There are four tinged glasses D, each of which is set in
a separate frame that turns on a centre. They are used to
defend the eye from the brightness of the solar image and
the glare of the moon, and may be used separately or to¬
gether as occasion requires.
There are three more such glasses placed behind the ho¬
rizon-glass at E, to weaken the rays of the sun or moon
when they are viewed directly through the horizon-glass.
The paler glass is sometimes used in observing altitudes at
sea, to take off the strong glare of the horizon.
The frame of the index-glass I is firmly fixed by a strong
cock to the centre plate of the index. The horizon-glass
F is fixed in a frame that turns on the axes or pivots, which
move in an exterior frame ; the holes in which the pivots
move may be tightened by four screws in the exterior
frame. G is a screw by which the horizon-glass may be
set perpendicular to the plane of the instrument: should
this screw become loose, or move too easy, it may be easily
tightened by turning the capstan headed screw H, which
ileh
lilies1
Ifb
«j? on onc side of the socket through which the stem of the
!de at lea nger"SCreW Passes-
;yeLunara . The sextant is furnished with a plain tube without any
:)bserva- passes; and to render the objects still more distinct, it
tions. has two telescopes, one representing the objects erect, or
—'m their natural position : the longer one shows them in¬
verted; it has a large field of view, and other advantages,
and a little use will soon accustom the observer to the in¬
verted position, and the instrument will be as readily ma¬
naged by it as by the plain tube alone. By a telescope the
contact of the images is more perfectly distinguished; and
by the place of the images in the field of the telescope, it
is easy to perceive whether the sextant is held in the pro¬
per place for observation. By sliding the tube that con¬
tains the eye-glasses in the inside of the other tube, the ob¬
ject is suited to different eyes, and made to appear per¬
fectly distinct and well defined.
The telescopes are to be screwed into a circular ring at
K ; this ring rests on two points against an exterior rmg,
and is held thereto by two screws : by turning one or other
of these screws, and tightening the other, the axis of the
telescope may be set parallel to the plane of the sextant.
The exterior ring is fixed on a triangular brass stem that
slides in a socket, and, by means of a screw at the back of
the quadrant, may be raised or lowered so as to move the
centre of the telescope to point to that part of the horizon-
glass which shall be judged the most fit for observation.
Tinged glasses are provided to screw on the eye end of
either of the telescopes or the plain tube.
NAVIGATION.
783
nrnC^fCt’ axis, of the te,escope is adjusted; if not, Of finding
proceed as at the other wire, and continue till no error re- the Longi-
tude at Sea
It is sometimes necessary to know the angular distance b^Lunar
twppn the* xxrifoo   ? , . , , Observa-
. # —xvnuw we cuiimiar distance
between the wires of the telescope ; to find which, place
e wn es perpendicular to the plane of the sextant, hold
the instrument vertical, direct the sight to the horizon,
and move the sextant in its own plane till the horizon and
upper wire coincide; keep the sextant in this position,
and move the index till the reflected horizon is covered
by the lower wire, and the division shown by the index
of the limb, corrected by the index error, will be the an-
guJar distance between the wires. Other and better me¬
thods will readily occur to the observer at land.
tions.
Use of the Sextant.
Adjustments of the Sextant.
The adjustments of a sextant are, to set the mirrors
perpendicular to its plane and parallel to each other when
the index is at zero, and to set the axis of the telescope
parallel to the plane of the instrument. The three first of
these adjustments are performed nearly in the same man¬
ner as directed in the section on the quadrant; as, how¬
ever, the sextant is provided with a set of coloured glasses
placed behind the horizon-glass, the index error may be
more accurately determined by measuring the sun’s dia¬
meter twice, with the index placed alternately before and
behind the beginning of the divisions; half the differ¬
ence of these two measures will be the index error, which
must be added to or subtracted from all observations,
according as the diameter measured with the index to
the left of 0 is less or greater than the diameter measur¬
ed with the index to the right of the beginning of the di¬
visions. It will be more accurate to measure the sun’s ho¬
rizontal diameter, as the vertical diameter is often affected
with refraction.
When the distance between the moon and the sun, a pla¬
net or a star, is to be observed, the sextant must be held so
that its plane may pass through the eye of the observer and
both objects; and the reflected image of the most lumi¬
nous of the two is to be brought in contact with the other
seen directly. To effect this, therefore, it is evident, that
when the brightest object is to the right of the other, the
face of the sextant must be held upwards; but if to the
left, downwards. When the face of the sextant is held
upwards, the instrument should be supported with the
right hand, and the index moved with the left hand. But
when the face of the sextant is from the observer, it should
oe held with the left hand, and the motion of the index
regulated by the right hand.
_ Sometimes a sitting posture will be found very conve¬
nient for the observer, particularly when the reflected ob¬
ject is to the right of the direct one; in this case the in¬
strument is supported by the right hand, the elbow may
rest on the right knee, the right leg at the same time
resting on the left knee.
If the sextant is provided with a ball and socket, and a
staff, one of whose ends is attached thereto, and the other
rests in a belt fastened round the body of the observer,
the greater part of the weight of the instrument will by
this means be supported by his body.
To observe the Distance betiveen the Moon and any Celestial
Object.
1. Between the Sun and Moon.
Adjustment IV.— To set the Axis of the Telescope parallel
to the Plane of the Instrument.
Turn the eye end of the telescope until the two wires
are parallel to the plane of the instrument; and let two
distant objects be selected, as two stars of the first mag¬
nitude, whose distance is not less than 90° or 100°; make
the contact of these objects as perfect as possible at the
wire nearest the plane of the instrument; fix the index in
this position ; move the sextant till the objects are seen
at the other wire, and if the same points are in contact,
the axis of the telescope is parallel to the plane of the
sextant; but if the objects are apparently separated, or
do partly cover each other, correct half the error by
the screws in the circular part of the supporter, one of
which is above and the other between the telescope and
sextant; turn the adjusting screw at the end of the in¬
dex till the limbs are in contact; then bring the objects
to the wire next the instrument; and if the limbs are
Put the telescope in its place, and the wires parallel to
the plane of the instrument; and if the sun is very bright,
raise the plate before the silvered part of the speculum ;
direct the telescope to the transparent part of the horizon-
glass, or to the line of separation of the silvered and trans¬
parent parts, according to the brightness of the sun, and
turn down one of the coloured glasses ; then hold the sex¬
tant so that its plane produced may pass through the sun
and moon, having its face either upwards or downwards,
according as the sun is to the right or left of the moon ;
direct the sight through the telescope to the moon, and
move the index till the limb of the sun is nearly in con¬
tact with the enlightened limb of the moon; now fasten
the index, and by a gentle motion of the instrument make
the image of the sun move alternately past the moon;
and, when in that position where the limbs are nearest
each other, make the coincidence of the limbs perfect by
means of the adjusting screw ; this being effected, read off
the degrees and parts of a degree shown by the index on
the limb, using the magnifying glass; and thus the angu¬
lar distance between the nearest limbs of the sun and moon
is obtained.
784
Of finding
the Longi¬
tude at Sea
by Lunar
Observa¬
tions.
NAVIGATION.
2. Between the Moon and a Planet or Star.
Direct the middle of the field of the telescope to the
line of separation of the silvered and transparent parts ot
the horizon-glass; if the moon is very bright, turn down
the lightest coloured glass, and hold the sextant so that
its plane may be parallel to that passing through the eye
of the observer and both objects ; its face being upwar s
if the moon is to the right of the star, but if to the left
the face is to be held from the observer; now direct the
sight through the telescope to the star, and move the in¬
dex till the moon appears by the reflection to be near y
in contact with the star; fasten the index, and turn the
adiusting screw till the coincidence of the star and en¬
lightened limb of the moon is perfect; and the degrees
and parts of a degree shown by the index will be the ob¬
served distance between the moon’s enlightened limb and
the star. , , . , .
The contact of the limbs must always be observed in
the middle between the parallel wires.
It is sometimes difficult for those not much accustomed
to observations of this kind, to find the reflected image
in the horizon-glass ; it will perhaps in this case be found
more convenient to look directly to the object, and, by
moving the index, to make its image coincide with that
seen directly.
Sect. III.—Of the Circular Instrument of Reflection.
This instrument was proposed with a view to correct
the errors to which the sextant is liable, particularly the
error arising from the inaccuracy of the divisions on the
limb. It consists of the following parts, a circular ring or
limb, two moveable indices, two mirrors, a telescope, co¬
loured glasses, &c.
The limb of this instrument is a complete circle of me¬
tal, and is connected with a perforated central plate by
six radii; it is divided into 720 degrees, each degree being
divided into three equal parts, and the division carried
to minutes by means of the index scale as usual.
The two indices are moveable about the same axis,
which passes exactly through the centre of the instru¬
ment ;—the first index carries the central mirror, and
the other the telescope and horizon-glass, each index
being provided with an adjusting screw for regulating
its motion, and a scale for showing the divisions on the
by two screws in a vertical direction with regard to the Of finding
plane of the instrument, but is not capable of receiving
lateral motion. .by Lunar
There are two sets of coloured glasses, each set contain- o]jServa.
ing four, and differing in shade from each other. The tions.
glasses of the larger set, which belongs to the central'—v-*-'
mirror, should have each about half the degree of shade
with which the correspondent glass of the set belonging
to the horizon-mirror is tinged. These glasses are kept
tight in their places by small pressing screws, and make
an angle of about 85° with the plane of the instrument,
by which means the image from the coloured glass is not
reflected to the telescope. When the angle to be mea¬
sured is between 5° and 34°, one of the glasses of the
largest set is to be placed before the horizon-glass.
The handle is of wood, and is screwed to the back of
the instrument,‘immediately under the centre, with which
it is to be held at the time of observation. .
Fig. 41 is a plan of the instrument, wherein the limb is
represented by the divided circular plate ; A is the central
Fig. 41.
mirror; aa, the places which receive the stems aa of the
glass; EF the first or central index, with its scale and ad¬
justing screw; MN the second or horizon-index ; GH the
telescope; IK the screws for moving it towards or from
the plane of the instrument; C the plane of the coloured
glass; and D its place in certain observations.
Fig. 42 is a section of the instrument, wherein the se-
limb.
The central mirror is placed on the first index, imme¬
diately above the centre of the instrument, and its plane
makes an angle of about 30° with the middle line of the
index. The four screws in its pedestal for making its
plane perpendicular to that of the instrument have square
heads, and are therefore easily turned either way by a
key for that purpose.
The horizon-glass is placed on the second index near
the limb, so that as few as possible may be intercepted of
the rays proceeding from the reflected object when to the
left. The perpendicular position of this glass is rectified
in the same manner as that of the horizon-glass of a sex¬
tant, to which it is similar. It has another motion, where¬
by its plane may be disposed so as to make a proper angle
with the axis of the telescope, and a line joining its centre
and that of the central mirror.
The telescope is attached to the other end of the index.
It is an achromatic astronomical one, and therefore inverts
objects; it has two parallel wires in the common focus of
the glasses, whose angular distance is between two and
three degrees, and which, at the time of observation, must
be placed parallel to the plane of the instrument. This is
easily done, by making the mark on the eye-piece coin¬
cide with that on the tube. The telescope is moveable
Fig. 42.
veral parts are referred to by the same letters as in fig. 41.
The circular reflecting instrument was greatly improved
by Messrs Mendoza Rios, Troughton, Dollond, &c.
Adjustments of the Circular Instrument.
I. To set the horizon-glass so that none of the rags from
the central mirror shall be reflected to the telescope from the
horizon-mirror, without passing through the coloured glass
belonging to this last mirror.—Place the coloured glass be¬
fore the horizon-mirror ; direct the telescope to the silver¬
ed part of that mirror, and make it nearly parallel to the
plane of the instrument; move the first index ; and if the
rays from the central mirror to the horizon-glass, and from
thence to the telescope, have all the same degree of shade
with that of the coloured glass used, the horizon-glass is
in its proper position; otherwise, the pedestal of the glass
must be turned until the uncoloured images disappear.
Offii
lief
Hides
Obse:
tion
lie Lonef r!: ?la,ce thetw?.adJust,nS to»ls on *e limb, about 350"
Tirument d,S,ant’ T on each side of the division
Lunar on “e 'eft, answering to the plane of the central mirror
))bserva- produced; then, the eye being placed at the upper ede;e of
tions. the nearest tool, move the central index till one half only
  'of the reflected image of this tool is seen in the central
mirror towards the left, and move the other tool till its
haJf to the right is hid by the same edge of the mirror;
then, if the upper edges of both tools are apparently in the
same straight line, the central mirror is perpendicular to
the plane of the instrument; if not, bring them into this
position by the screws in the pedestal of the mirror.
III. To set the horizon mirror perpendicular to the plane
of the instrument—The central mfrror being previously
adjusted, direct the sight through the telescope to any
well-defined distant object; then, if, by moving the central
index, the reflected image passes exactly over the direct
object, the mirror is perpendicular ; if not, its position must
be rectified by means of the screws in the pedestal of the
glass.
A planet, or star of the first magnitude, will be found a
very proper object for this purpose.
IV. To make the line of collimation parallel to the plane of
the instrument.—Lay the instrument horizontally on a ta¬
ble ; place the two adjusting tools on the limb, towards the
extremities of one of the diameters of the instrument; and
at about fifteen or twenty feet distant let a well-defined
mark be placed, so as to be in the same straight line with
the tops of the tools; then raise or lower the telescope till
the plane, passing through its axis and the tops of the tools,
is parallel to the plane of the instrument, and direct it to
the fixed object; turn either or both of the screws of the
telescope till the mark is apparently in the middle between
the wires; then is the telescope adjusted ; and the differ¬
ence, if any, between the divisions pointed out by the in¬
dices of the screws will be the error of the indices. Hence
this adjustment may in future be easily made.
In this process, the eye-tube must be so placed as to ob¬
tain distinct vision.
V. To find that division to which the second index being
placed, the mirrors will be parallel, the central index being
at zero.—Having placed the first index exactly to 0, direct
the telescope to the horizon-mirror, so that its field may
be bisected by the line of separation of the silvered and
transparent parts of that mirror ; hold the instrument ver¬
tically, and move the second index until the direct and
reflected horizons agree; and the division shown by the
index will be that required.
This adjustment may be performed by measuring the
sun’s diameter in contrary directions, or by making the re¬
flected and direct images of a star or planet to coincide.
navigation.
785
fi 11 y t*'e moon, and the sun will be seen in the Of findinir
neld of the telescope; fasten the central index, and make the Longi-
tne contact of the same two limbs exact by means of thetudeatSea
adjusting screw : Then half the angle shown by the cen- ^Lunar
tral index will be the distance between the nearest limbs
of the sun and moon. tions.
lr iThf Sl?n being t0 tbe left of the t"0011- ' v ’
o d the instrument with its face upwards, so that its
p ane may pass through both objects; direct the telescope
to the moon, and make its limb coincide with the nearest
limb of the sun s reflected image, by moving the second
index; now put the instrument in an opposite position;
direct its plane to the objects, and the sight to the moon,
the central index being previously moved towards the se¬
cond by a quantity equal to twice the measured distance ;
and make the same two limbs that were before observed
coincide exactly, by turning the adjusting screw of the
first index ; then half the angle shown by the first index
will be the angular distance between the observed limbs
of the sun and moon.
To observe the Angular Distance between the Moon and a
Fixed Star or Planet.
I. The star being to the right of the moon.
In this case the star is to be considered as the direct ob¬
ject ; and the enlightened limb of the moon’s reflected
image is to be brought in contact with the star or planet,
both by a direct and inverted position of the instrument,
exactly in the same manner as described in the last article.
If the moon’s image is very bright, the lightest tinged glass
is to be used.
II. The star being to the left of the moon.
Proceed in the same manner as directed for observing
the distance between the sun and moon, the sun being to
the right of the moon, using the lightest tinged glass if
necessary.
Sect. IV—Of the Method of determining the Longitude
from Observation.
Pros. I. To convert degrees or parts of the equator into
time.
Rule. Multiply the degrees and parts of a degree by 4,
beginning at the lowest denomination, and the product
will be the corresponding time; observing that minutes
multiplied by 4 produce seconds of time, and degrees mul¬
tiplied by 4 give minutes.
Ex. Let 26° 45' be reduced to time.
26° 45'
4
Use of the Circular Instrument.
To observe the Distance between the Sun and Moon.
I. The sun being to the right of the moon.
Set a proper coloured glass before the central mirror
if the distance between the objects is less than 35°; but
if above that quantity, place a coloured glass before the
horizon-mirror; make the mirrors parallel, the first index
being at 0, and hold the instrument so that its plane may
be directed to the objects, with its face downwards, or
from the observer; direct the sight through the telescope
to the moon; move the second index, according to the or¬
der of the divisions on the limb, till the nearest limbs of
the sun and moon are almost in contact; fasten that index,
and make the coincidence of the limbs perfect by the ad¬
justing screw belonging thereto; then invert the instru¬
ment, and move the central index towards the second by
a quantity equal to twice the arch passed over by that in¬
dex ; direct the plane of the instrument to the objects ;
VOL. xv.
lh 47ra 0« z= time required.
Prob. II. To convert time into degrees.
Rule. Multiply the given time by 10, to which add the
half of the product. The sum will be the corresponding
degrees.
Ex. Let 3h 4m 28s be reduced to degrees.
3h 4m 28s
10
30 44 40
Half zz 15 22 20
Corresponding deg. z: 46 7 0
Prob. III. Given the time under any known meridian,
to find the corresponding time at Greenwich.
Rule. Let the given time be reckoned from the pre¬
ceding noon, to which the longitude of the place in time
is to be applied by addition or subtraction, according as it
5 G
786
navigation.
Of finding is east or west; and the sum or difference will be the cor-
the Longi-responding time at Greenwich. rnh , „
tudeatSea j^x What time at Greenwich answers to 6 15 at a
oyKLunar sl^P in longitude 76° 45' W. ?
Observa- I ^ at ^ . . . 6M5-
Longitude in time, . • / W.
tions.
Time at Greenwich,
11 22
Prob. IV. To reduce the time at Greenwich to that
under any given meridian. _ j-
Rule. Reckon the given time from the preceding noon,
to which add the longitude in time if east, but subtract it
if west; and the sum or remainder will be the correspond-
^matifthe" expected time of the beginning of place of observation, and obtained from the Nautical Alma
the lunar eclipse of February 25, 1793, at a ship in longi- nac, the remainder will be the approximate time of obserya
Prob. VI. Given the latitude of a place, and the alti- Of finding
tude of a known fixed star, to find the mean time of ob-^1^
servation and error of the watch. . by Lunar
Rule. Correct the observed altitude of the star, and re- Observa-
duce its right ascension and declination to the time of ob- tions.
servation. . . , ,
With the latitude of the place, the true altitude and
declination of the star, compute its horary distance from
the meridian by last problem ; which being added to
or subtracted from its right ascension, according as it
was observed in the western or eastern hemisphere, the
sum or remainder will be the right ascension of the me¬
ridian.
From the right ascension of the meridian subtract the
sidereal time of mean noon, reduced to the meridian of the
tude 109° 48' E. ?
Begin, of eclipse at Greenwich per Naut. Aim. 9h 23™ 4os
Ship’s longitude in time, . • • 7 191^
Time of beginning eclipse at ship,
16 42 57
True altitude,
Latitude,
Declination,
37°
20
Prob. V. Given the latitude of a place, the altitude and
declination of the sun, to find the apparent time, and the
error of the watch. , r t-tr *
Rule. If the latitude and decimation are of different
names, let their sum be taken; otherwise, their difference.
From the natural cosine of this sum or difference, su^‘
tract the natural sine of the corrected altitude, and find
the logarithm of the remainder; to which add the log.
secants of the latitude and declination: the sum will be  
the log. rising of the horary distance of the object from j)iff*erence) . 17
the meridian, and hence the apparent time will be known. jytitu(je 0f Arcturus, 34
The equation of time being then applied as directed m
the Nautical Almanac, the mean time of observation is
obtained. . , „„„ „
Example. September 15, 1792, in latitude 33 56 S.
and longitude 18° 22' E., the mean of the times per watch
was 8h 12m 10s A. M., and that of the altitudes of the sun’s
lower limb 24° 48'; height of the eye 24 feet. Required
the error of the watch.
Sun’s declin. at noon, per Nautical Almanac, 2° 405'N.
Equation to 3h 48“ A. M. . . +0 3-7
Equation to 18° 22' E. .** . • + 0 ^
tion ; from which subtract the reduction of sidereal to mean
time, answering thereto, the result will be the mean time
of observation; and hence the error of the watch will be
known.
^ Ex. December 12, 1836, in latitude 37° 46' N., and
longitude 21° 15' E., the altitude of Arcturus east of the
wnc 34° 6-4' the heieht of the eye 10 feet. Re¬
meridian was 34° 6*4', the height of the eye 10 feet,
quired the apparent time of observation.
Observed alt. of Arcturus, 34° 6-4'
Dip and refraction, . — 0 4-4
34 2-0
46-0' N.
2-0 N.
Sec. 0-10209
Sec. 0-02711
44-0 N. Co.
2-0 N. Sine,
95248
55968
Difference,
39280 4-59417
Arcturus’s merid. dist.
Arcturus’s right asc.
4h 7m 35s
14 8 12
Rising, 4-72337
Right asc. of merid. . 10 0 37
Sidereal time of mean noon, 17 24 37
Reduced declination,
2 45-4 N.
Approximate time,
Reduction of sid. \
to mean time, J
16 36 0
- 0 2 43
Obs. alt. sun’s lower limb,
Semidiameter,
Dip, .
Correction,
24° 48'
4- 0 16-0
— 0 4-7
— 0 1-9
Mean time of obs.
16 33 17
True altitude sun’s centre,
Latitude,
Declination,
24 57-4
33 56
2 45-4
Sum,
36 41-4
Secant lat.
Secant dec.
Nat. cosine sum,
Nat. sine alt.
0-08109
0-00050
80188
42193
37995
Difference,
Rising 3 48 51
Sun’s meridian distance,
Apparent time, .
Equation of true, subtract,
Mean time,
Time per watch,
Watch fast of mean time,
Los. 4-57973
4-66132
3h 48“ 51*
8 11 9 A. M.
0 5 10
8 5 59 A. M.
8 12 10
0 6 11
Prob. VII. Given the apparent altitude of the sun,
moon, a planet or star, to find the true altitude.
The altitude obtained from observation corrected .or
dip and for the semidiameter of the body, if the limb has
been observed, is the apparent altitude of the centie.
From the apparent altitude subtract the refraction (1 able
vol. IV. p. 100, art. Astronomy); and to the remainder
add the parallax in altitude; the sum is the true altitude
required. .
The parallax in altitude is found by adding to the log.
cosine of the apparent altitude corrected for refraction, the
logarithm of the horizontal parallax ; the sum is the loga¬
rithm of the parallax in altitude.
The horizontal parallax of the object observed will be
found in the Nautical Almanac. The horizontal parallax
of the sun may always be supposed 9". The parallax of a
star is insensible. .
Ex. The observed altitude of the moons upper limb
was observed 32° 17', the height of the eye being eighteen
feet, the moon’s horizontal parallax being 57' 58", and se¬
midiameter 16'. Required the apparent and true alti-
tiirlps.
kfL
tioi
Of finding Observed altitude,
Ihe Longi- Djp
Hide at Sea 1
by Lunar
Observa- o •
tions.
Apparent altitude of centre,
Refraction,
Cosine, .
Log. hor. parall. 3478
Log. parallax in altitude,
Parallax in altitude,
True altitude of centre, .
N A VIG
32° 17' 0"
0 4 0
32 13 0
0 16 0
. 32 57 0
0 1 33
9-92878 31 55 27
3-54133
3-47011
. + 0 49 12
32 44 39
Prob. VIII. Given the apparent distance between the
moon and the sun or a fixed star or planet, and the apparent
and true altitudes of these bodies, to find the true distance.
A T i o N.
787
To th= logarithmic difference answering to the Of finding
moons apparent altitude and horizontal parallax, add thethe Longi-
loganthmic sines of half the sum, and half the differencetude atSea
ot the apparent distance and difference of the apparent al- b^,Lunar
hal5 fhf sr wiu be the logarithmic cosine of an
arch, now add the logarithmic sines of the sum and differ-
ence of this arch and half the difference of the true alti-
tudes, and half the sum will be the logarithmic cosine of
naff the true distance.
Remarks. The apparent distance is found by adding to or
subtracting from the observed distance of the limbs the
sum of the semidiameters of the bodies (the moon’s being
increased by the augmentation for her altitude), according
as the nearer or more remote limbs have been observed. If
a star or the centre of a planet has been observed, no al¬
lowance is to be made for the semidiameter of the object
In computing the true altitude from the apparent by the
preceding problem, the refraction and parallax should be
taken to seconds.
Example. Let the apparent altitude of the moon’s centre be 48° 22' that of the sun’s 27° 4,3' tbo * i
distance 81° 23' 40", and the moon’s horizontal parallax 58'45". Required the true distance ’ PP '
Apparent altitude sun's centre,
Correction,
Sun’s true altitude,
Sun’s apparent altitude.
Moon’s apparent altitude,
Difference,
Apparent distance,
Sum,
Difference,
Half difference true altitudes,
Arch,
Sum,
Difference,
True distance,
27° 43' 0" Apparent altitude moon’s centre,
- 0 1 40 Correction,
27 41 20 Moon’s true altitude,
Sun’s true altitude,
27 43 0
48 22 0 Difference,
20 39 0 Half,
81 23 40 Logarithmic difference,
102 2 40
60 44 40
10 39 33
51 27 29
62 7 2
40 47 56
40 32 16
2
81 4 32
Half,
Half,
51° 1' 20"
30 22 20
Cosine,
Sine,
Sine,
Sine,
Sine,
Cosine,
48° 22' 0"
+ 0 38 26
49 0 26
27 41 20
21 19 6
10 39 33
9-994638
9-890639
9-703820
19-589097
9-794548
9-946417
9-815183
19-761600
9-880800
This is nearly the method of Borda, similar to Problem XIX. Practical Astronomy, which may be consulted,
as well as Problems IV. and XX.
Prob. IX. To find the time at Greenwich answering to
a given distance between the moon and the sun, or one of
the stars or planets used in the Nautical Almanac.
Rule. If the given distance is found in the Nautical
Almanac opposite to the given day of the month, or to
that which immediately precedes or follows it, the time is
found at the top of the page. But if this distance is not
found exactly in the ephemeris, subtract the prop. log. of
the difference between the distances which immediately
precede and follow the given distance (which prop. log.
is given in the Almanac) from the prop. log. of the differ¬
ence between the given and preceding distances; the re¬
mainder will be the prop. log. of the excess of the time
corresponding to the given distance, above that answer¬
ing to the preceding distance ; and hence the mean time
at Greenwich is known.
Example. September 19, 1836, the true distance be¬
tween the centres of the sun and moon was 110° 3' 5".
Required the mean time at Greenwich.
Given distance, 110° 3' 5"
Dist. at 3 hours, 109 3 58
Difference, . 0 59 7 Prop. log. . 4835
Prop. log. from Almanac, 2578
Excess, . lh 47m 2s Prop. log. . 2257
Preceding time, 3 0 0
Mean time at Green. 4 47 2
Prob. X. The latitude of a place and its longitude by
account being given, together with the distance between,
and the altitude of the moon and the sun, or one of the
stars or planets in the Nautical Almanac ; to find the true
longitude of the place of observation.
Rule. Reduce the estimate time of observation to the
meridian of Greenwich by Problem III., and to this time
take, from the Nautical Almanac, the moon’s horizontal
788
NAVIGATION.
Of finding parallax and semidiameter. Increase the ^semidiameter
the Longi-by the augmentation answering to the moon’s altitude. ,
tudeatSea Fin(j the apparent and true altitudes of each objects
Ob™ centre, and the apparent central distance; with which
tions. compute the true distance by 1 roblem \ III., and find the
'mean time at Greenwich answering thereto by the last
problem. .
If the sun or star be at a proper distance from the me¬
ridian at the time of observation of the distance, com- Of finding
pute the mean time at the ship. If not, the error of the™e L™gi-
watch may be found from observations taken either before Lunar
or after that of the distance.
The difference between the mean times of observa¬
tion at the ship and Greenwich will be the longitude ofv
the ship in time, which is east or west according as the
time at the ship is later or earlier than the Greenwich time.
r- i Hn tiip 8th of Anril 1835 at 2h 21m 28s P. M. mean time, in latitude 21° 33' N. longitude 155° 44 E. by
Ex. 1. On the 8th ot April i».50, at ^ J i: , nuaPrvPrl to he 111° 16'7", the observed alti-
account, the distance between the sun and 3$?32^. the height of'^reye 20
feeO^h^barometer^beillg'at'^’^f io^h^^aniJ Fahrenheit’s thermometer a, 75". Required the true iongitude
Q.t 2h 21m 28s To est. time sun’s semidiameter, . lo
Mean time at ship, , • ■ in 22 56 Moon’s semidiam. + aug. . 15
Longitude in time E. . • • Moon’s eq. hor. par . . 57
Est. Greenwich time on 7th, • 15 58 32 Red. for lat.
59"
4
20
2
Moon’s Right Ascension.
April 7th, at 15*, 8* 46™ 59-02*
Prop, part for 58m 32s-f- 0
2 16-01
Red. R. A.
Sun’s obs. alt. lower limb,
Dip to 20 feet,
App. alt. lower limb,
Sun’s semidiameter,
App. cent. alt.
Sun’s parallax,
Refraction,
8 49 15-03
53<
- 0
8' 53"
4 26
53 4
-j- 0 15
27
59
53 20
-|-0 0
— 00
26
5
40
Sun’s true alt. • 53 19 51
Apparent central distance,
Sun’s apparent altitude,
Moon’s apparent altitude,
Sum, . . • •
Half, . . . •
Difference of half and distance,
Sun’s true altitude,
Moon’s true altitude,
Sum,
Half, or arc 1st, .
Half, or arc 2d,
Sum of arcs 1st and 2d,
Difference, . . .
Half true distance,
True distance,
True distance at 15h,
True distance at 18*,
Proportional par.
Equation to mean second difference,
Preceding hour,
Red. hor. par.
Moon’s Declination.
22° 28' 46-7" N.
_07 10-0
Red. dec. . 22 21 36-7
Pol. dist. • 67 38 23-3
Moon’s obs. alt. lower limb, 14° 38' 32"
Dip to 20 feet. . — 0 4 26
App. alt. lower limb,
Moon’s semidiameter,
App. cent. alt.
Moon’s parallax,
Refraction,
14 34
+ 0 15
6
42
14 49 48
+ 0 55 31
_ 0 3 24
Moon’s true altitude,
1110 47' 48"
. 53 20 26 Secant,
14 49 48 Secant,
15 41 55
179 58 2
89 59 1 Cosine,
21 48 47 Cosine,
53 19 51
15 41 55
69 1 46
Cosine,
Cosine,
34 30 53
89 4 5 Cosine,
123 34 58 Sine,
54 33 12 Sine,
55 28
Sine,
110 56 16
110 28 27
112 0 10
+
Sidereal Time.
+
57 18
0m 9-48
2 37-46
Red. S. T.
24* — S. T.
Obs. dist. n. 1.
Sun’s semid.
Moon’s semid.
1 2 46-94
22 57 13-06
. 111° 16' 7"
+ 0 15 59
+ 0 15 42
App. central dist. Ill 47 48
0-223984
0-014713
6-456427
9-967736
9-776115
9-983490
(Sum) 16-422465
(Half) 8-211232
’¥920691
9-910974
(Sum) 19-831665
(Half) 9-915832
Difference.
0» 27' 49"
1 31 43
0* 54m 35-5s
0 0 4-5
15 0 0-0
Prop. log.
Prop. log.
Prop. log.
0-81097
0-29282
0-51815
Greenwich mean time on 7th,
. 15 54 40-0
NAVIGATION.
To find Moon’s true altitude,
be Longi- Moon’s polar dist.
rJrnnnf ShiP’S latitude,
,Sum,
Half sum,
Difference of half sum and alt.
Meridian dist. west,
Moon’s reduced R. A.
24h — sidereal time,
Mean time at ship, 8th,
Mean time at Greenwich, 7th,
15° 41' 55"
67 38 23
21 33 0
104 53 18
Cosecant,
Secant,
Cosine,
Sine,
52 26 39
36 44 44
18h 35m 0s 1 Reduced versine,
8 49 15 l
22 57 13 j
2 21 28
15 54 40
Longitude, . . . . 10 26 48 = 150° 42'east.
Remark. In the preceding example, the true distance and mean time at the ship have been
different from those before given, which would, however, have given the same results.
789
Variation
0-033947 of the
0-031472 ConiPass-
9-784996
9-776892
9-627307
computed by methods
CHAP. III. TO FIND THE LONGITUDE BY MEANS OF A
CHRONOMETER.
In order to find the longitude at sea by means of a
chronometer, its daily rate on mean solar or sidereal time
must be established by observations made at some parti¬
cular place, and its error ascertained for the meridian of
that or of any other known place.
An observatory is the most proper and convenient place
for this purpose, as there the rate and error may be both
determined with the utmost accuracy by equal altitudes,
or transits over the meridian of the sun or stars. But if
an observatory is not adjacent, the rate and error of the
chronometer may be found by altitudes taken daily for
several days from the horizon of the sea, or by the me¬
thod of reflection from an artificial horizon.
If by these observations the daily rate is found to be
nearly the same; that is, if the chronometer gains or loses
nearly the same portion of absolute time daily, it may be
depended on for finding the longitude ; but if its rate is
unequal, it must be rejected, as the longitude inferred
from it cannot be expected to be accurate.
It would be proper to have two chronometers, and that
they should be wound up at different stated times of the
day, so that if one should be found stopt, either through
neglect in winding up, or otherwise, it may be set by the
other, observing to apply the former interval of time be¬
tween them, and the change in their rates of going in that
interval.
Prob. To find the longitude of a ship at sea by a chro¬
nometer.
Let several altitudes of the sun, or of any fixed star
or planet, be observed, and find the true mean altitude;
with which, the ship’s latitude, and object’s declination,
compute the mean time of observation.
To the mean of the times of observation, as shown by
the chronometer, apply its error and accumulated rate.
Hence the mean time under the meridian of the place
where the error and rate were established will be known ;
to which apply the difference of longitude in time be¬
tween that place and Greenwich, and the mean time of
observation under the meridian of Greenwich will be ob¬
tained. The difference between the time at the place of
observation and that at Greenwich will be the longitude
of the ship in time ; and it is east or west, according as
the time, by observation, is later or earlier than the Green¬
wich time.
Ex. May 19, 1804, in latitude 42° 15' N., five altitudes
of the sun’s lower limb were observed in the afternoon, the
mean being 43° 45’, and the mean of the times of observa¬
tion, as given by a chronometer, 7h0m 56s, the chronome¬
ter’s error having been settled at the Royal Observatory at
Greenwich, March 16, at noon, 1™ 18s fast for mean time,
and daily gain 7s-83, height of the eye twenty-six feet.
Required the longitude of the place of observation.
The true altitude of the sun’s centre is found to be 43°
55', with which, the latitude, and sun’s declination 19®51'N.,
the sun’s meridian distance is found to be 311 12m 34s, and
the equator of time being 3ra 51s subtractive, the mean time
at the place of observation is 3h 8m 43s.
Time by chronometer, . . , 7h Qm 56s
Error, March 16, . . . — 0 118
Accumulated gain (7s *83 X 64^), . — 0 8 23
Mean time at Greenwich, . . 6 51 15
Mean time at place of observation, . 3 8 43
Longitude in time, . . . 3 42 32
= 55° 38° W.
For various other methods of determining the longitude
of a place, the reader is referred to Mackay’s Treatise on
the Longitude, Inman’s, Riddle’s, and Norie’s Treatises on
Navigation ; Mendoza Rios’s and Thomson’s Tables, &c.
CHAP. IV. OF THE VARIATION OF THE COMPASS.
The variation of the compass is the deviation of the
points of the mariner’s compass from the corresponding
points of the horizon, and is denominated east or west
variation, according as the north point of the compass is
to the east or west of the true north point of the horizon.
A particular account of the variation, and of the seve¬
ral instruments used for determining it from observation,
may be seen under the articles Azimuth, Compass, and
Variation ; and for the method of communicating mag¬
netism to compass needles, see Magnetism.
Pros. I. Given the latitude of a place, and the sun’s
magnetic amplitude, to find the variation of the compass.
Rule. To the log. secant of the latitude add the log.
sine of the sun’s declination, the sun will be the log. co¬
sine of the true amplitude; to be reckoned from the north
or south, according as the declination is north or south.
The difference between the true and observed ampli¬
tudes, reckoned from the same point, and if of the same
name, is the variation; but if of a different name, their
sum is the variation.
If the observation be made before noon, the variation
will be east or west, according as the observed amplitude
is nearer to or more remote from the north than the true
amplitude. The contrary rule holds good in observations
taken after noon.
790
NAVIGATION.
Variation
of the
Compass.
Ex. 1. May 15, 1836, in latitude 33° 10' N. longitude
18' W. about 5h a. m. the sun was observed to rise E. by
N. Required the variation.
18c
— 0
+ 0
58' N.
4
1
18
. 33
N. 67
N. 78
55
10
13 E.
45 E.
Sine, 9-51080
Secant, 0-07723
Cosine, 9-58803
True altitude, ....
Sun’s declin. 18th November, at noon,
Equation to 3^h from noon,
Equation to 24° 30' W.,
Reduced declination,
Polar distance,
Altitude,
Latitude,
Sum,
Half, .
Difference,
8 16
CHAP. V. OF A SHIPS JOURNAL.
Ship’s
Journal.
Sun’s dec. May 15, at noon,
Equation to 7h from noon,
Equation to 18° W.,
Reduced declination,
Latitude,
True amplitude,
Observed amplitude,
Variation, . . . 11 32; .
which is west, because the observed amplitude is more dis¬
tant from the north than the true amplitude, the obser¬
vation being made before noon.
It may be remarked, that the sun’s amplitude ought to
be observed at the instant the altitude of its lower limb is
equal to the sum of 15 minutes and the dip of the horizon.
Thus, if an observer be elevated 18 feet above the sur¬
face of the sea, the amplitude should be taken at the in¬
stant the altitude of the sun’s lower limb is 19 minutes.
Prob. II. Given the magnetic azimuth, the altitude and
declination of the sun, together with the latitude of the
place of observation ; to find the variation of the compass.
Rule. Reduce the sun’s declination to the time and
place of observation, and compute the true altitude of the
sun’s centre.
Find the sum of the sun’s polar distance and altitude
and the latitude of the place, take the difference between
the half of this sum and the polar distance.
To the log. secant of the altitude add the log. secant of
the latitude, the log. cosine of the half sum, and the log. co¬
sine of the difference ; half the sum of these will be the log.
sine of half the sun’s true azimuth, to be reckoned from the
south in north latitude, but from the north in south latitude.
The difference between the true and observed azimuths
will be the variation as formerly.
Ex. 1. November 18,1836, in latitude 50° 22' N. longi¬
tude 24° SO7 W. about three quarters past eight A. m. the
altitude of the sun’s lower limb was 8° 10', and bearing
per compass S. 23° 18' E.; height of the eye twenty feet.
Required the variation of the compass.
Observed altitude of sun’s lower limb, . zz 0° 10’
Semidiameter, . . . . . , -}■ () 16
Dip and refraction, . . . — 0 10
19
— 0
+ o
25 S.
2
1
19 24
109°
8
50
24'
16
22
Secant,
Secant,
0-00454
0-19527
Half true azimuth,
True azimuth,
Observed azimuth,
Variation,
168
84
25
22
2
1
23
43
2
Cosine,
Cosine,
Sine,
9-01803
0-95591
19-17375
9-58687
S. 45
S. 23
26 E.
18 E.
22 8 W.
A journal is a regular and exact register of all the va¬
rious transactions that happen aboard a ship, whether at
sea or land, and more particularly that which concerns a
ship’s way, from whence her place at noon or any other
time may be justly ascertained.
That part of the account which is kept at sea is called
sea work; and the remarks taken down while the ship is
in port are called harbour work.
At sea, the day begins at noon, and ends at the noon of
the following day; the first twelve hours, or those con¬
tained between noon and midnight, are denoted by p. m.,
signifying after mid-day ; and the other twelve hours, or
those from midnight to noon, are denoted by a. m., signi¬
fying before mid-day. A day’s work marked Wednesday,
March 6, began on Tuesday at noon, and ended on Wed¬
nesday at noon. The days of the week are usually repre¬
sented by astronomical characters. Thus © represents
Sunday ; D , Monday ; £ , Tuesday ; £ , Wednesday ; If,
Thursday; $, Friday; and Saturday.
When a ship is bound to a port so situated that she will
be out of sight of land, the bearing and distance of the
port must be found. This may be done by Mercator’s or
Middle Latitude Sailing; but the most expeditious me¬
thod is by a chart. If islands, capes, or headlands inter¬
vene, it will be necessary to find the several courses and
distances between each successively. The true course
between the places must be reduced to the course per com¬
pass, by allowing the variation to the right or left of the
true course, according as it is west or east.
At the time of leaving the land, the bearing of some
known place is to be observed, and its distance is usually
found by estimation. As perhaps the distance thus found
will be liable to some error, particularly in hazy or foggy
weather, or when that distance is considerable, it will
therefore be proper to use the following method for this
purpose.
Let the bearing be observed of the place from which
the departure is to be taken; and the ship having run a
certain distance on a direct course, the bearing of the
same place is to be again observed. Now, having one
side of a plain triangle, namely, the distance sailed, and all
the angles, the other distances may be found by Prob. I.
of Oblique Sailing.
The method of finding the course and distance sailed in
a given time is by the compass, the log-line, and half¬
minute glass. These have been already described. In
the royal navy, and in ships in the service of the East In¬
dia Company, the log is hove once every hour; but in
most other trading vessels only every two hours.
The several courses and distances sailed in the course
of twenty-four hours, or between noon and noon, and
whatever remarks are thought worthy of notice, are set
down with chalk on a board painted black, called the log-
board, which is usually divided into six columns ; the first
column on the left hand contains the hours from noon to
noon ; the second and third the knots and parts of a knot
sailed every hour, or every two hours, according as the
log is marked ; the fourth column contains the courses
steered ; the fifth, the winds ; and in the sixth the various
remarks and phenomena are written. The log-board is
transcribed every day at noon into the log-book, which is
ruled and divided after the same manner.
The courses steered must be corrected by the variation
of the compass and leeway. If the variation is west, it
must be allowed to the left hand of the course steered;
but if east, to the right hand, in order to obtain the true
course. The leeway is to be allowed to the right or left
of the course steered, according as the ship is on the lar¬
board or starboard tack. The method of finding the va-
Ship’s
Journal.
A T I O N. 79]
the water, which, acting on the rudder, brings her head Ship’s
again to the wind. Thus the ship has a kind of vibratory Journal,
motion, coming up to the wind and falling olf from it again
alternately. Now the middle point between those upon
which she comes up and falls oft' is taken for her apparent
course ; and the leeway and variation is to be allowed from
thence, to find the true course.
Ihe setting and drift of currents, and the heave of the
sea, are to be marked down. These are to be corrected
by variation only.
The computation made from the several courses, cor¬
rected as above, and their corresponding distances, is call¬
ed a day's work ; and the ship’s place, as deduced there-
Irom, is called her place by account, or dead reckoning.
It is almost constantly found that the latitude by account
does not agree with that by observation. From an attentive
consideration of the nature and form of the common log, that
its place is alterable by the weight of the line, by currents,
and other causes, and also the errors to which the course
is liable, from the very often wrong position of the com¬
pass in the binnacle, the variation not being well ascertain¬
ed, an exact agreement of the latitudes cannot be expected.
When the difference of longitude is to be found by dead
reckoning, if then the latitudes by account and observa¬
tion disagree, several writers on navigation have proposed
to apply a conjectural correction to the departure or differ¬
ence of longitude. Thus, if the course be near the meri¬
dian, the error is wholly attributed to the distance, and the
departure is to be increased or diminished accordingly; if
near the parallel, the course only is supposed to be erro¬
neous ; and if tbe course is towards the middle of the qua¬
drant, the course and distance are both assumed wrong.
This last correction will, according to different authors,
place the ship upon opposite sides of her meridian by ac¬
count. As these corrections are, therefore, no better than
guessing, they should be absolutely rejected.
If the latitudes are not found to agree, the navigator
ought to examine his log-line and half-minute glass, and
correct the distance accordingly. He is then to consider
if the variation and leeway have been properly ascertain¬
ed ; if not, the courses are to be again corrected, and no
other alteration whatever is to be made on them. He is
next to observe if the ship’s place has been affected by a
current or heave of the sea, and to allow for them accord¬
ing to the best of his judgment. By applying these cor¬
rections, the latitudes will generally be found to agree to¬
lerably well; and the longitude is not to receive any far¬
ther alteration.
It will be proper, however, for the navigator to deter¬
mine the longitude of the ship from observation as often
as possible ; and the reckoning is to be carried forward in
the usual manner from the last good observation; yet it
will perhaps be very satisfactory to keep a separate account
of the longitude by dead reckoning.
N A VIG
nation, which should be determined daily if possible, is
given in the^ preceding chapter; and the leeway may be
understood from what follows.
When a ship is close hauled, that part of the wind
which acts upon the hull and rigging, together with a
considerable part of the force which is exerted on the sails,
tends to drive her to the leeward. But since the bow
of a ship exposes less surface to the water than her side,
the resistance will be less in the first case than in the se¬
cond ; the velocity in the direction of her head will there¬
fore in most cases be greater than the velocity in the di¬
rection of her side; and the ship’s real course will be be¬
tween the two directions. The angle formed between the
line of her apparent course and the line she really de¬
scribes through the water is called the angle of leeway, or
simply the leeway.
There are many circumstances which prevent the lay¬
ing down rules for the allowance of leeway. The con¬
struction of different vessels, their trim with regard to the
nature and quantity of their cargo, the position and mag¬
nitude of the sail set, and the velocity of the ship, toge¬
ther with the swell of the sea, are all susceptible of great
variation, and very much affect the leev/ay. The follow¬
ing rules, are, however, usually given for this purpose.
1. When a ship is close hauled, has all her sails set, the
water smooth, with a light breeze of wind, she is then sup¬
posed to make little or no leeway.
2. Allow one point when the top-gallant sails are
handed.
3. Allow two points when under close reefed top-sails.
4. Allow two points and a half when one top-sail is
handed.
5. Allow three points and a half when both top-sails are
handed.
6. Allow four points when the fore course is handed.
7. Allow five points when under the main-sail only.
8. Allow six points when under balanced mizen.
9. Allow seven points when under bare poles.
These allowances may be of some use to work up the
day’s work of a journal which has been neglected; but a
prudent navigator will never be guilty of this neglect. A
very good method of estimating the leeway is to observe
the bearing of the ship’s wake as frequently as may be
judged necessary ; which may be conveniently enough
done by drawing a small semicircle on the tafferel, with
its diameter at right angles to the ship’s length, and divid¬
ing its circumference into points and quarters. The angle
contained between the semidiameter which points right
aft, and that which points in the direction of the wake, is
the leeway. But the best and most rational way of bring¬
ing the leeway into the day’s log is to have a compass or
semicircle on the tafferel, as before described, with a low
crutch or swivel in its centre; after heaving the log, the
line may be slipped into tbe crutch just before it is drawn
in, and the angle it makes on the limb with the line drawn
right aft will show the leeway very accurate^, which, as
a necessary article, ought to be entered into a separate
column against the hourly distance on the log-board.
In hard blowing weather, with a contrary wind and a
high sea, it is impossible to gain any advantage by sailing. In
such cases, therefore, the object is to avoid as much as
possible being driven back. With this intention it is usual
to lie to under no more sail than is sufficient to prevent the
violent rolling which the vessel would otherwise acquire, to
the endangering her masts, and straining her timbers, &c.
When a ship is brought to, the tiller is put close over to
the leeward, which brings her head round to the wind.
The wind having then very little power on the sails, the
ship loses her way through the water; which ceasing to
act on the rudder, her head falls off from the wind, the
sail which she has set fills, and gives her fresh way through
General Rules for working a Day's Work.
Correct the several courses for variation and leeway ;
place them, and the corresponding distances, in a table
prepared for that purpose. From whence, by Traverse Sail¬
ing, find the difference of latitude and departure made
good ; hence the corresponding course and distance, and
the ship’s present latitude, will be known.
Find the middle latitude at the top or bottom of the tra¬
verse table, and the distance, answering to the departure
found in a latitude column, will be the difference of longi¬
tude ; or, the departure answering to the course made
good, and the meridional difference of latitude in a latitude
column, is the difference of longitude ; the sum or dif¬
ference of which, and the longitude left, according as they
are of the same or of a contrary name, will be the ship’s
present longitude of the same name with the greater.
792
NAVIGATION.
Ship’s Compute the difference of latitude between the ship and
Journal. intended port, or any other place whose bearing and
distance may be required : find also the meridional differ¬
ence of latitude and the difference of longitude. Now the
course answering the meridional difference of latitude found
in a latitude column, and the difference of longitude in a
departure column, will be the bearing of the place, and the
distance answering to the difference of latitude will be the
distance of the ship from the proposed place. If these
numbers exceed the limits of the table, it will be neces¬
sary to take aliquot parts of them; and the distance is to be
multiplied by the number by which the difference of lati¬
tude is divided.
It will sometimes be necessary to keep an account of the
meridian distance, especially in the Baltic or Mediterra¬
nean trade, where charts are used in which the longitude
is not marked. The meridian distance on the first day is
that day’s departure ; and any other day it is equal to the
sum or difference of the preceding day’s meridian distance
and the day’s departure, according as they are of the same
or of a contrary denomination.
It will be found very satisfactory to lay down the ship’s
place on a chart at the noon of each day, and her situation
with respect to the place bound to and the nearest land
will be obvious. The bearing and distance of the intend¬
ed or any other port, and other requisites, may be easily
found by the chart, as already explained ; and indeed every
day’s work may be performed on the chart, and thus the
use of tables superseded.
Ship’s
Journal.
Specimens of a ship’s journal may be found in the works
on navigation already mentioned. The reader is also re¬
ferred to these works for the traverse table, and tables of
meridional parts, log. rising, middle time, half elapsed time,
logarithmic difference, &c. which have been employed in
the solution of the various problems.
END OF VOLUME FIFTEENTH.
Printed by Thomas Allan Si Co.,
and Balfour & Jack,
and Stereotyped by Thomas Allan & Co.
MICRO M ET ER
PLATE (('(TAIL
< reo.-Aikman. Sculpt
*
are of the same Joui t
w
down the ship’s
nd her situation
he nearest land
:e of the intend¬
ed or r,m othei Vrr, ? may be easily
md indeed every
rt, and thus the
;
und in the works
reader is also re-
ile, and tables of
lalf elapsed time,
een employed in
the solution < the g| \ problem^.
>LUMF FIPTBRHTH,
MICROMET ER.
I* LATE CCCLVII.
~v
Fig. ?
—
■}. Aibnnn., Sad/) t
M ICROM ETER.
E
PLATE C C CL VIIf.
A
Fig. 22.
A... ..B
| Co—Pe-aa—qb
E   P
A
9.
g.31.
g.33.
Geo. Aikman. Sculpt i
J-fjjoo
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Ge-O. Aik man, Sculp* k
*
PLATE CCCLIX.
Fig. 5.
Fig 6.
Fig. ?.
M 1 ( R O S C O PE .
Fig.l.
Fig. 4.
Fuf. 13.
Fig. 9.
Fig. 10.
Fig. 17. 70.
Fig 15.
Fiq. 11.
TU-
Geo.Aikman., Sculpt
MICROS COPE
PLATE CCCLX.
Fig. 19.
Fig. 29.
PLATE CCCLXI.
M i CK O S C O PE
Gto. Aikman, Sculpt
f
MICROSCOPE.
MICROSCOPIC OBJECTS.
PLATE CCCLXII.
Gtc. Aiknum., Sculp*
s
MINE RAL O GY.
PLATE CCCLXIU.
Fig. 30.
Fig. 20.
Fig. 33.
Fig. 34.
5
IN GAL’S CAVE „ STAFFA.
FIKGAL’S CAVE, STAFFA
M <) LLUSCA
PLATE CCCLXVI
Geo. Aikman, Sculp *
MOLLUSCA
CCCLXVI
Spirula australis.
Irqonauta
’jus drrhosus
IlyaJru g/a/>nsa
Pneunwdcrnwn, diap?uiman
VautUus um l'/Jun/us.
Ctio horeulis
(//<> borealis.
( vm India Peronii .
Geo. Aikman, Sculp*
M () LI A' SC A.
f»IJATE Ci'CLXVIU
/.
Scv//*'(! pelaaim.
2’rvdms /'</ fas.
Defp/u/iula cait'/jr
• 'reo. Airman, SoUp*
V •
MOLLUSC A.
PLATE (TCLXJS.
Trochus p(Modus.
iJelphlmdu
azlmr.
De/p/iimda calm/'.
8.
Solarium hyl/ridum.
8.
Solarium hylrulum .
4.
VelutiruL Invipatu.
6.
Delpki/wla, limu.
6.
Didpl/inul/L lima,.
9.
I‘alud/ria viv.ipara.
7.
Scalaria prcl/osa..
jlSucci/uurv loevissimum.
, Sicnuvi, Sculp*
^ • • i r c: i' A
PLATE CCCLXX
Fusus retroversus.
&to.Aikm>uL, Sailp
M0LLUSCA.
PLATE rCCLXX.
n
Iliirpa ventrimsa .
10.
Ji.
Ji.
Murex h/iuxtr/Ju/n.
S‘as.wrr//a rrispata,.
Fasciolaria, tmpezii/m.
/Xrn/t/ perversa.
Fusus retroversus.
'reo. A iktruut, Sailpt
M OLLUSCA
PLATE CCCLXXI.
/ nio Pictowm
7'ereJ)rutid/j minium
lingula anatina.
Crassabdla sulcata
Lingula anatina
Dimas arietina
Dimas arietimz
Anatina hispidula.
Cydas cornea,.
1 credo mu ads.
&eo. Aikman, Sculpt
1.
MOLLUSC A.
ClavelliruL Lepadiforrnis.
PLATE CCCLXXI1
2.
Ciona intcs/inch's.
4
\
MUSIC.
PLATE CCCLXXIII.
EXAMPLES OF MELODY.
N?3. YALENTIAN DULZAYNA.
Si la mar fuese tin _ _ ta, <fcc.
N? 5. OLD SPANISH or MOORISH AIR. From Salinas..
N? 6. D? D?
Que me querys el Ca_val _ le _ ro, <Src,
N? 7. D? D?
Aunqne soy morenica, ico..
N? 8. D? D?
d — • d- cr
Aqnel_la Mori_ca, <Src.
N? 9. D? D9
Ca_tael lo _ bo do va, Arc.
N910. D? D9
Aficion grande, <tc.
N912. D9 D9
Las maiianas de A_bril, <fcc.
N9 13. ANCIENT NEAPOLITAN AIR,
From D9
Oyd me un po_co Senora, A’C.
N9 14. FRENCH AIR of 15^ CENTORY.
Ascribed to Jean Mouton.
1'
-~m i ■
SONG (■ \NNIBALS.
Tntti.
tti.
—Tj-
&£a.Aifanan, Si'idpt
MUSIC.
PLATE CCCLXXIV.
EXAMPLES OF MELODY.
N? 15. ANCIENT GERMAN MELODY. Beginning of 15^ Century.
Dein Blick, <L'C.
N?16. D? D? D9
N? 17. EGYPTIAN AIR. Performed in honour of Buonaparte at Cairo.
/rSA AlfariML, Sculp t
II v sT'c.
.9 A.NDANT1, hy PASS I K LLO .
MUSIC.
PLATE CCCLXXV.
ILLUSTRATION OF RHYTHM AND STRUCTURE OF MELODY.
Perfect Cad?
Oto. A Iknian, Sculp1
MUSIC.
PLATE CCCLXXM.
N? 22. C.
N? 23.
N? 24.
N? 25.
ui -hd ^
N? 26. D.
N? 27.
Gto. Aiknuin.,Sculp t
Geo.Aiknian, Sculp:
MUSIC.
1LLUSTRATIONS OF HARMONY.
FLA TE CCCLXXVU.
Geo. Aikrnan, Sculpt
/
—